Promises of a Sacrificial Lamb |Destiel x The Hunger Games|

-5-

The delectable smell of hot, fresh food hits my nose and makes my mouth water in an instant.  I must be hungrier than I thought.  Rowena and Castiel are already in the diner car, seated at a round table that looks like it's made of the finest wood in the world.  It practically glimmers in the light.  Before them sits an entire array of lavish food, ranging from simple appetizers to high-class cakes and cookies.  There's enough here to feed half our district.  This is insane!

Rowena spots me standing bug-eyed in the doorway and waves me over, her pale face alight with a grin as she takes a plate and starts picking out her lunch.  "Dean, dear!  Come join us!"  she chirps.  "I was just telling this handsome young man how the Capitol spares no expense for its valiant tributes.  If you think this buffet is wonderful, then I can't wait to see your reactions when we arrive to the Capitol!"

Castiel doesn't seem to take too kindly to her gushing compliment about him.  He shrinks down into his shoulders as I approach the table and take a seat next to him, but Rowena doesn't seem to notice.  Either that, or she's not bothered by it.

He does look a lot better now that we're out of the stress of the reaping, though.  With new, clean clothes and I assume a shower, his dark hair is a lot fluffier, his face now immaculate and free of tear stains.  Although his eyes are still rather puffed up, he looks more at ease, more prepared to take on our upcoming challenges.  I'm glad.

There's already a gleaming plate set on the table in front of me, so all I have to do is decide which direction I'm going to take.  Do I go savory and pick out some pasta coated with red sauce, or slices of steaming turkey and mashed potatoes?  Do I gorge myself on sweets, like the tempting cheesecake that's sitting before me?  Or do I go all out because why not?  I'm here, I'm being shipped off to what could be certain death, so why not take advantage of an all-you-can-eat?  It's not like I care how much the Capitol spends.  They're drowning in money, anyway.

"Are we gonna meet our mentor soon?"  I ask Rowena as I pile potatoes and rolls and turkey slices onto my plate.  I take a glob of pasta for good measure, too.  Might as well.

"He should be coming,"  our escort says, glancing at the door with a sigh.  "I told him to meet us here at lunchtime."

I notice Castiel hasn't touched any food at all yet.  He's just staring down at his empty plate, eyes glazed over and expression completely vacant.  Surely he has to be hungry.  It's been hours since we've last had an opportunity to eat anything.

Maybe I was wrong about thinking he was more at ease.

Before I have a chance to ask him if he's all right, the door to the diner car slides open, and an older, stocky man with a scowling face and an unkempt scruff shuffles into the room.  He looks far from pleased or exuberant as he heaves a massive sigh and reluctantly sits down next to Rowena.  The latter looks like she's using all of her strength to keep from scolding him.

If this is our mentor, my hopes have plummeted to my feet.

Rowena is fighting to put on a smile.  I can see the pain shining behind her eyes.  "Boys,"  she says through gritted teeth.  "I'd like for you to meet your mentor.  This is—"

"Singer,"  the man grunts.  I'm almost afraid to look him in the eye.  "Bobby Singer."

"He's a bit of a Grumpy Gus,"  Rowena quickly adds, "but he knows what he's doing.  He's here to help you boys figure out how to survive."

It has to have been years since this man won his Games.  I don't doubt his intelligence or ability to help us—he did win once, after all—but has it really been that long since District 9 has had a victor?  Maybe I'm being too confident in our abilities to win and go home.