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

-35-

The stage lights are so bright and blinding that for a moment, all I can discern is the booming roar of the crowd.  It makes my chest vibrate, rattles the floor beneath my feet.  That alone is terrifying enough, and my nerves only worsen tenfold when my eyes adjust and I see just how many people are crammed into the audience, cheering for us, completely losing their minds over our appearance.  The crowd stretches on for miles.  There are so many people.

If it weren't for the deathlike grip I have on Cas' hand, I don't think I would be able to walk forward like a normal human being.  My legs shake and my head spins, but I try to focus on holding onto him, how calm and poised he seems to be.  Deep down, I know he's anxious—I recognize the glint hiding behind his eyes—but he's not carrying himself that way at all.  He looks collected, composed, entirely comfortable with what's going on.  Then there's me, the nervous wreck who's barely keeping his balance.  Maybe a big smile will conceal my inner turmoil.  It's worth a shot.

Caesar Flickerman is at the front of the stage, waiting for us with a delighted grin on his face.  I blanked out most of the walk from the platform—I can't hear anything other than the deafening crowd—so I'm startled back to reality when he gives each of us a brief but tight hug.  The audience, of course, goes insane at this interaction.  Caesar only laughs it off and makes a witty remark that I can't process.  There's too much going on.

Two velvety sofas sit behind us, facing away from the crowd and toward a large screen where, without a doubt, the highlights of the Games will be broadcast.  Looking at them makes my insides twist and turn—we'll be forced to sit there for hours and relive some of the worst moments of our lives—but right now, with how violently my legs are trembling, I've never wanted to sit down more.  I hate standing in front of this massive audience when a stiff wind could knock me over at any second.

Cas gives my hand a subtle squeeze—he's still here with me—as Caesar welcomes us and the crowd.  Something about these past few weeks being quite the adventure.  Something about how excited he is to be standing here with us.  I think he even congratulates us on our victory, which elicits a thunderous cheer from the audience.  I'm not sure.  All I'm doing is smiling and fighting to keep my food in my stomach.

When Caesar finally gestures for us to take a seat on the velvety sofas, I'm worried I'm too quick to plop down and lean back against the plush cushions, but the relief is instantaneous.  It's impossible for me to suppress a heavy sigh, one that makes my shoulders shudder, as Cas sits next to me and Caesar takes his place on the other sofa.  Cas sits so close that our legs are touching, and he wedges our interlocked hands between them.  Out of sight for the audience, but for me, it's just as reassuring as ever.

"Are you ready to get started?"  Caesar asks us, that same beaming smile still lighting up his face.

Of course not.  I don't want to watch a three hour highlight reel filled with death and suffering.  Living through it once was more than enough.  Watching the other tributes die, fighting to keep Cas and myself alive, was terrible the first time around.  Now we get the pleasure of doing it all over again.

"As ready as I think we'll ever be,"  Cas answers with a laugh, but even he can't hide the fact that it sounds nervous.

Thankfully, no one seems to notice, or care, for that matter.  Caesar tells the crew to start the video, and as the stage lights begin to dim, a hush falls over the rambunctious audience.  Right, because watching it as it happened apparently wasn't enough for them.  They don't want to miss a single second of the highlights.

My heart starts racing as the Capitol seal flashes on the screen.  I can hear every thumping, rapid beat in my ringing ears.  I don't want to be here.  I can't watch this all over from the beginning.  How have past victors done this?  And most of them do it alone.  I can't even bear the thought of sitting here by myself during the highlights.  Even with Cas right next to me, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand, I want to get up and run.  Flee the stage before the food I ate prior decides to make a reappearance.  I can feel it rolling around in my churning stomach.  I try to swallow, but it's to no avail.  And it only gets worse when the video really begins.