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

-15-

It's like I'm moving through water.  It's difficult to move my legs.  I can hardly hear anything over the shrill ringing in my ears, but I know the audience is shrieking and cheering with delight as I cautiously make my way to the center of the stage where Caesar is waiting for me.  My heart hammers.  My hands tremble.  Thousands upon thousands of eyes are staring right at me, and grabbing Caesar's outstretched hand is more of a stabilizer for me than an act of greeting.

I cannot do this.

At least we get to sit during the interviews.  I'd surely pass out if we had to stand.  I clasp my shaking hands together in my lap, desperate to hide how nervous I am, and force myself to look at Caesar's pastel green wig and pale makeup as the audience slowly quiets down.

"Welcome, Dean!  Welcome!"  Caesar exclaims, and it takes me an agonizingly long second to register his words and give him the brightest smile I can muster up.  The stage lights are so hot and suffocating.  "So, the Capitol must be quite different from your home back in District Nine.  How's city life been treating you so far?"

Don't panic.  Don't panic.

I see Crowley sitting down front.  He gives me a near-imperceptible nod of his head, reminding me to remember his words.  Stay calm.  Take a deep breath.  Be myself.  Pretend like the question is coming from Cas.

I turn back to Caesar and, with another attempt at a smile, I manage to string together a response from the jumbled mess in my mind.  "Well, it's definitely a lot busier, that's for sure.  I usually go to bed when it gets dark out, but you guys like to stay up and party all night."

A wave of relief—at least I think it's relief—floods through me when I hear a series of chuckles and noises of agreement coming from the audience.  Caesar, on the other hand, I'm worried is going to fall out of his seat from laughing so hard.  I don't think what I said was that funny, but that's what Caesar is best at.  Making sure each interview stands out, regardless of how anxious or awkward the tribute is.  I can appreciate that.

"I didn't even think about that, but I suppose we do!"  the enthusiastic host laughs.  "Not the party type then, Dean?  What's it like in District Nine?"

"Hot and disgustingly humid."  My smile widens when another small chorus of chuckles rises up into the evening air.  Maybe this isn't so bad after all.  "And in the winter, there might as well be snow coming out of our ears."

"Sounds like you get every forecast imaginable over there,"  Caesar remarks.

"Pretty much,"  I agree with a feeble laugh of my own.  "But it's home.  It's quiet, the people are friendly, and it's spacious.  I couldn't ask for anything else."

Now the audience murmurs gentle ahhs of sympathy.  There they go acting like they know me, like they care about me.  That familiar indignation begins to seep into my veins, but thankfully Caesar continues before I get too worked up.

"So sweet,"  he gushes.  "We'll come back to that, though.  Right now I want to know how training went for you, Dean.  We all saw you received a fantastic score of nine.  Do tell."

I glance up at the balcony that holds the group of Gamemakers.  Most of their expressions are blank as they gaze down at me.  "Training went well,"  I manage to say.  I'm about to make a comment on how afraid I was at first, but then I remember what Bobby said.  Be lionhearted and fierce.  I rethink my words quickly.  "A lot of the other boys tried to intimidate us, but it didn't work on me."  That's a lie.  "I just focused on making myself better and stronger.  And I think it paid off, too.  I mean, I got a nine for my score, didn't I?"