Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hovercraft hanger was quiet, almost empty. Only one vehicle was being prepped for takeoff, and less than a dozen people were around.

The takeoff would be unheralded, inconspicuous, as would the two drop-offs the hovercraft would make.

Two trusted people, two sets of forged records, two names replacing all others in two separate glass bowls, and a destroyed Arena. Then the war would truly begin. At last.

Flames swirled up the walls, consuming the house and everything in it. The screams of a woman mingled with the crying of a baby and young child, and beyond the smoke pouring into the street, a cackling laugh sounded.

He could see the man, standing invulnerable in Peacekeeper white, his eyes flashing yellow in the light of the raging fire. He wanted to kill him, to tear him apart with his bare hands.

But he couldn’t move, couldn’t leave the sobbing child or the wailing baby, couldn’t do anything but watch their home burn down.

A young woman walked past, unrecognizable to him if he didn’t already know who she was. The hundred tiny alterations to her face and the changing of her hair color rendered her a new person, a new self to go with her entirely new name. Such extreme measures hadn’t been necessary with the other operative.

It figured that choosing both had been a lottery, a random choice of names from a pool of volunteers. He still hated it.

“Why am I here, Mrs. President?”

She merely gestured at the screen, and someone hit a play button on the scene of yet another Reaping in District Nine. He didn’t understand what was so interesting about it until he heard the male tribute’s name read out, saw the teenager walking through the crowd, heard and saw the younger boy screaming and running towards his brother, being forced back by Peacekeepers.

Devastation, rage, terror, hitting him like a physical blow. “This is my fault,” he whispered when someone paused the video. “I did this to them.”

The woman by his side said, “You can’t know that.”

But she was wrong. This had to be his fault.

He waited until she was mostly done saying goodbye, stepping back from a long embrace and wiping tears from her eyes. Then he approached, hesitant, unwilling to do this again. Except this would be different. This was planned.

He’s too young, he thought was the eighteen-year-old gave him a small smile. This is a waste. This is wrong. I shouldn’t allow this.

“Watch your back,” he said gruffly.

She sniffled, he refused to shed any tears, and their boy said, “I will. I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Sammy crying, Azazel laughing, Dean swinging a black blade downward.

John Winchester wrapped his arm around Kate and watched Adam disappear into the hovercraft, destined for a Hunger Games arena. He watched, and made a silent promise, like all the ones he’d never managed to fulfill before.

Whether or not he comes back, I will burn the Capitol down.

This time, at least, he knew he wouldn't be alone.

Chapter Text

One of the worst things about District Thirteen, in Dean’s opinion, was the lack of alcohol.

There were a lot of other crappy things about the place. It was ugly, it was underground, it was supposed to be dead approximately eighty years ago, it was where John Winchester had been hiding out for the last decade...Oh, and that whole thing about Adam not-Rosen being Dean’s Thirteen-native half-brother sucked, too, like those purple-inked “mandatory schedules”...but if he had enough alcohol, maybe all those other things wouldn’t be so unbearable. The Capitol, for all its faults, had always had plenty of free booze.

In Thirteen, everything was rationed, from clothes to food to hot water, and Dean was having a hard enough time holding it together without that shit.

Some people...Bobby, Jody, John, some doctor or other...had halfheartedly tried to get him to follow his schedule or even just leave his room more than once or less a day, but he ignored all of them, pretending everyone except Castiel didn’t exist.

Cas is trying to keep me going, so I guess I owe him the same.

Other than that, he didn’t see the point of trying anymore.

The Games are over, everyone else is fighting a war, and Sam’s...gone. No one trusted me, I failed anyway, and I just want a damn drink.

Cas was the only person who didn’t try to force him to eat regularly, or shower, or even move from the single bed in the cramped gray compartment he’d been assigned to once the hospital couldn’t find any more reasons to keep him. Day after day, Cas disregarded his own schedule and sat next to Dean through the alternating silence and rages. He had his own compartment, but ended up in Dean’s almost every night, sharing the too-small bed and not leaving even when Dean woke up screaming and thrashing hard enough to hurt someone.

The nights on which he didn’t show up were the ones during which Dean didn’t sleep at all.

He was no stranger to nightmares, to visions of his mother burning to death, to memories of the Sixty-Sixth Games, to twisted images of people he loved in the Arena. Those familiar terrors came now, but the worst was the sight of Sam falling, falling, falling.

After the chaos, there had been some searching, limited by resources and the bloody war erupting across the nation, and it hadn't been successful. Sam was gone, without even a body left to bury or burn.

Dean had watched it happen and kept seeing it over and over again. Sam had somehow put together the pieces of Thirteen’s undercover force-field-destruction plot and tackled Lucifer over the edge of a cliff to stop him from interrupting it.

Waking up and realizing that was the last time he’d see his brother left Dean...empty. If he were at home, in the Victor’s Village house he’d never admit that he loved, he’d have drained all the alcohol bottles by now and probably broken into Bobby’s place to raid the older man’s stash. He’d have sobered up a few times and took a long drive or three through the farm sectors in the sleek black car he sometimes called “Baby” and washed once a week as long as he was at home. Then he’d have gone back to the house and started all over again.

But for all he knew, that house had burned to the ground and that car had been destroyed in one of the Capitol’s scattered bombings of districts Four, Eight, and Nine. Those had been locations of the most post-Game unrest, though Five, Seven, Ten, and Eleven were openly rebelling, too. Dean only knew that because Cas had mentioned it once or twice.

Bobby and Jody tried to discuss those things, too, or so he thought whenever they showed up looking like crap in Thirteen’s boring gray uniforms. He’d turn away, tune them out, and they’d eventually leave. John had been even more persistent, until Dean finally snapped and punched him in the face. That had been back in the hospital, which was lucky as the action, which could've meant serious disciplinary action, had been passed off as “mental instability warranting a couple more days of medical observation”.

That had been weeks ago. Dean wasn’t sure how long they’d been in Thirteen altogether. The days seemed to blur together, like this one.

“Dean.”

Cas stood in the doorway, so Dean sat up on the bed and swung his legs over the side. “Hey, Cas. What time is it?”

“Almost six in the evening.” Carrying what looked like a computer tablet, Cas walked over and sat down next to Dean. “A number of rebel refugees arrived today. From District One.”

His district. “Huh. Any...any important news for you?” Why would there be?

Castiel Novak didn’t have many friends, and had gone into Career training early on due to pressure from his family. Not many people knew that after the Games, Cas had cut all ties with said family and refused to acknowledge any relation of his except his cousin Gabriel, who had turned his back on their wealthy, influential relatives years previous. And Gabriel died in the Arena, so…

“Nothing specific about my parents or other relations,” Cas said quietly. “But one of the arrivals...I knew him. He was a good friend of Gabriel’s; they worked together at some point. It seems Gabriel gave him a message, right after the Reaping...” Cas held up a data-stick. “It’s for me, for when I returned home after the Games. But now...”

“He gave it to you here.” Dean frowned, not quite putting things together. “Cas, if you...if you want to look at it alone...”

“No. That’s why I’m here. I’d...I don’t want to be alone.”

The party to was too decadent, too glittery, too crowded and loud. The garden outside the mayor’s mansion was wonderfully quiet and almost empty.

“What are you doing out here? I thought all you One Victors liked this kind of thing.”

“What kind of ‘thing’ are you referring to?”

“You know...parties, fancy shit, people. You’re all such fucking crowd pleasers.”

“Oh. I usually prefer to be alone.”

Cas stuck the data-stick into the side of the tablet and waited for the information to load. What popped up was a window for a video, and Cas hit play.

“Hey, cousin.” Gabriel Novak grinned against a background of what was clearly his candy shop’s storeroom. “This is so cliche, but...if you’re watching this, I’m dead.”

Hearing a sharp intake of breath from Cas, Dean automatically reached out to cover the other man’s hand with his own.

“If I’m Reaped, which may or may not happen...I mean, my odds are what? One out of forty-something?...I’m not going to win. I suppose I could flirt and charm and seduce my way through, but honestly? I’m not going to even try. There will be younger tributes, more polite tributes...better Victors than me. Good luck to them.”

Others “better than him”? Didn’t he say something like that to Sam and Charlie?

“Here’s the thing, Cassie. I really fucking hate the Capitol. Like, I hate it so much that if they know some of the things I’ve done to undermine it, my name’s definitely on every single one of those slips of paper in that one bowl. For instance...your twin brother.”

Cas stiffened and pulled his hand from Dean’s, and the other man abruptly remembered the one time Cas had really told him about James Novak, sometime during that night after Gabriel’s death by Lucifer’s sword.

“James was being trained as a Career, too, but he hated it. He was no good, was never going to be allowed to volunteer...Our parents forced him into it, like they forced me and her parents forced the girl Jimmy fell in love with. They were children, Dean, and they made mistakes. They were barely sixteen...”

Gabriel-in-the-video sighed heavily before he went on. “After Jimmy got his girl knocked up and expelled from Career school, he came to me for help. I had...connections, which I can’t discuss in case this video falls into enemy hands...suffice to say, I found a way to get him and Amelia out. But he didn’t show...We knew the Peacekeepers must’ve gotten to him, but I made Amelia leave anyway. I know it looks like she just got disposed of in the shadows, but...Cas, she made it out, I promise. And she was tough...I bet that kid made it, too.”

They’d shot James Novak behind District One’s Career academy in front of the entire student body, and though it was never made public for obvious reasons, Jimmy’s twin brother had been forced to volunteer two years earlier than he would’ve otherwise.

“So there’s hope there, little cousin. But listen to me...” Gabriel’s expression had gone from amused to somber during the course of the video, and now it went somewhere darker. “I don’t want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger, Castiel...as girly as it sounds, I care about you too much...but things are changing. And if you get a chance...give ‘em hell.” With a wink and another grin, Gabriel reached for something off-screen, and the video ended.

Letting out a shuddering sigh, Cas set aside the tablet and covered his face with his hands, not moving for a very long time. Meanwhile, Dean stared blankly at the floor and wondered how Gabriel Novak, of all people, had gotten through to him.

“If you get a chance...give ‘em hell.”

Bobby and Jody had been conspiring with rebels during the Seventy-Fifth Games and maybe even before. Other Victors, like Crowley, had done the same. Most of the districts were rebelling, resisting the rule of the Capitol, and the other districts might very well follow.

There might not be any alcohol available, but there was a war going on.

That might be enough.

The President of District Thirteen was a beautiful woman, in the same way that a marble statue could be called beautiful.Her wavy brown hair fell perfectly to her shoulders, as unmoving as her expression. Other than that hair, she was more or less colorless, just like her uniform which was identical to those worn by everyone else in the district. Her voice remained toneless, though her gaze was sharp and made Dean feel like he was doing something wrong by being in the same room with her.

“Mr. Winchester, Mr. Novak. You asked to meet with me?”

The morning after watching Gabriel’s message, Dean and Cas had made their way to the Command Center and asked to see President Amara Odon. She was there and willing to see them, in an apparently non-urgent meeting including some advisers, multiple military officers, "Chuck" the former Gamemaker, and John Winchester.

So he’s kind of important in the government here. Go figure. I guess he was working for Thirteen long before he up and left...

While Dean was still considering whether or not to ask if his so-called father could leave the room, Cas started talking. “We...Dean and I...would like to be of help to the revolution.”

“More specifically,” Dean said, “we’d like to fight.”

John’s jaw visibly clenched. Dean told himself not to look that direction again. 

The president raised her eyebrows. “You’re both fighters, I’ll admit. But neither of you have formal training.”

“Then train us,” Cas said. “It seems to me that this rebellion needs all the soldiers it can get, and other Victors are already on the battlefield.”

Vaguely wondering if he should know which ones, Dean almost missed her reply. “Of course. That will not be a problem. Thank you for volunteering. We like to give a choice, when possible.”

“If I may, Amara,” Chuck said, and she gave him a curt nod. He looked to the Victors. “We have to ask this of everyone, but...are you sure? You’re not Thirteens...you weren’t raised to be soldiers, not like this. Are you certain...”

“We’re certain,” Dean said harshly. “The Capitol’s killed too many already. They caused the death of Cas’s cousin, his only real family.” Lucifer was demented, but he was their puppet, too. Hatred stirring inside him Dean added, “They murdered my brother. We’re sure about this. Just tell us where to go.”

We'll give them hell. 

Chapter Text

He could tell from the moment he opened his eyes that it was going to be a bad day.

The slivers of light shining through the worn window shutters sent daggers of pain through his skull, and his vision wouldn’t focus through it. The cracks on the dust-toned walls seemed to skitter around, turning his stomach. He rolled over on the ancient mattress, gagging off of the side; nothing came up except a dribble of bile. He closed his eyes and waited for the reflex to fade, then moved back to the center of the too-small mattress, keeping his eyes shut tightly and curling up under the threadbare blanket.

Please stop...It hurts...His throat burned, too much to even cry out for help. There was a jug of water, he remembered, on the left side of the bed, not too far from where he’d tried to vomit. But it was too far for him to reach now.

He moaned, and a million colors exploded behind his eyelids. He gave into unconsciousness again.

The light had changed when he drifted back into wakefulness, but the pain hadn’t. His entire head throbbed and he gagged again, and that turned into a hacking cough as he attempted to reach the water jug without opening his eyes all the way. Someone laughed, and he jerked back onto the bed. “No...” he rasped. “No...go away...”

The laughter only grew in volume, and he clamped his hands over his ears, trying to scream to drown out the noise. Nothing but a whimper came out. Stop…It’s not real...not real…

What’s the matter, Sammy? Aw, are you scared of me?

“Go away...no, no, no...” Even with his eyes shut he could see blood dripping off the walls, see the shadowed figure laughing at him, at his weakness…

“Sam?”

He recoiled, then realized that this voice wasn’t the other voice. This one was higher, gentler, the accent odd and muddled. But this was a good voice, a comforting voice.

“Bad day?”

The laughter receded, and he nodded, eyes still closed. He opened them a tiny bit, so the owner of the good voice could help him drink some water, then he slipped back into sleep again, only this time it was full of loud screams and roaring water and falling.

He woke up to find the cracks flitting about again, and he wanted to cry.

It’ll keep happening...This, over and over and over again...I always come back to this…

Because you’re broken, Sam. You should’ve died in the desert.

I should’ve…

On bad days, Sam hurt all over, couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t even take care of himself, and he hated it.

On good days, he hurt all over, could take care of himself, and could think semi-clearly most of the time. He sometimes hated that, too.

I suppose I should consider myself lucky, he thought as he heaved himself onto the wide shelf of rock about a hundred yards from the house, gritting his teeth and remaining on his hands and knees until he caught his breath. I can’t even remember anything after the fall, and the water…

Ash had hypothesized that the Arena must have had a “plumbing system” around the base to control flow and prevent flooding of the engineered rivers within, and when...whatever had happened, Sam had been “flushed out” with the excess water.

Being “flushed” is about as fun as it sounds. Maneuvering himself into a sitting position, Sam looked out over the cliff-riddled landscape, the ramshackle two-story house, and the patches of green vegetation lining the riverbank. The “farm” existed by the river that ran through a stretch of flat land between massive, red-brown canyon walls, often mottled with the shadows of passing clouds. Most of the cliffs were steep, but in the direction Sam had his back to, there was a more gradual incline with a well-worn path that led to the plateau above.

Downriver, he heard Cesar calling to Jesse, saying something about “the damn sheep” while the dog barked excitedly. There were only about a dozen sheep in the flock, but that, and a few hardy crops in the garden and along the river, was about as much as this bit of land could support, or so Sam had been told.

I’m pretty fucking useless at this kind of life, especially like this. His fractured fingers, wrist, and ankle were healing nicely considering the lack of advanced medical facilities in the arena, the gashes from Lucifer’s sword were now pinkish-red scars, and the pounding his head had taken on the way out of the Arena hadn’t taken all of his intelligence from him. But he was weak, and fragile, and couldn’t go more than a couple days without having a meltdown and spending an entire day or several alone in a room, wrestling with nausea and nameless panic and things that weren’t really there.

He’d been here, somewhere between the borders of District Five, District Two, and District Ten, for around eleven weeks, living with one of what he had learned where many groups of Outsiders, or people living in the gaps between districts and along the edges of Panem. People weren’t supposed to leave their districts or the nation, period, but if they managed to escape and weren’t important or dangerous enough to pursue, they were often left alone to eke out a living on the lands no one wanted when Panem was formed. Some people had always lived on the outside, though those tended to be more “savage and nasty”, as Eileen put it.

They’re not supposed to exist, but they do...and not much else.

It was strange, being technically outside the borders of Panem. It was like nothing and no one he knew inside even existed anymore, and if they did, if they continued to exist despite recent events...it almost didn’t matter.

How would anyone know?

This farm belonged to Eileen Leahy, whose parents had been runaways from District Five. They had both been killed by escaped Capitol mutts, and their infant daughter had been rescued and raised by the former owner of this farm, once a Five herself. After her guardian’s passing a few years ago, Eileen had accumulated her own small group of people. Two of them, plus Eileen herself, had found Sam among the canyons, close enough to dead for vultures to take interest. He hadn’t truly woken up for nearly three weeks.

Maybe I shouldn’t have.

The sound of someone scrambling up onto the roughly four-foot high rock brought him out of his wandering thoughts. A skinny, tanned girl of about fifteen years of age joined him on the flat top of the rock, brushing strands of lank dark hair out of her face. “Hi.”

“Hey, Magda.” He almost managed a smile. “What brings you out here?”

“Eileen wanted me to check on you. She thinks you might wander off alone one of these days.”

“She said that?”

“She didn’t have to.”

Sam rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Where would I go? I don’t know this area.”

“You’d go nowhere, and that’s the problem.” Magda fixed one of her unblinking gazes on him.

“Would that really be such a bad thing?” He didn’t realize he’d said it out loud until Magda’s gaze somehow intensified. “Damn it, Magda, I’m not planning to...do anything...”

“Jesse wanted to tie you down the other day. Cesar talked him out of it.”

“Which day was that?” One of the bad ones, for sure, but there’s so many of those...

“The day you tried to rip your own eyeballs out.”

Sam curled in on himself when he remembered. Lucifer, blood-stained and grinning, with Alex and Bobby and Jody and Dean dead at his feet, yet all telling him with lifeless mouths that he should die, too…The memory sucked him in, turning the desert view into a dusty room filled with ghosts.

Magda was saying something, shaking him by the shoulder, but what caught Sam’s attention and snapped him out of his daze was a high-pitched shriek from the house. They exchanged wide-eyed glances and slid off the rock in a flurry of dust and limbs; only one person in their alliance could scream that high.

Not alliance, group, the back of Sam's mind hissed at him as he tried to keep up with Magda. This is not the Arena.

Their pace slowed as they approached and heard a whoop inside the house, coming from a very different person than the one who had screamed. “Shit, he probably scared her with some of his tech!” Magda said loudly as Cesar and Jesse arrived panting with Bones the mostly-golden dog at their heels.

The two burly men looked at each other in exasperation. “Typical,” Jesse said, and Cesar snorted. Magda rolled her eyes.

Sam followed the other three people into the house, trying not to replay the shriek in his head, because doing that could so easily lead to replaying other screams, and from there, his “good day” could become a bad one in seconds. The flashback earlier had been bad enough.

Inside the house, off of the kitchen/living room, was a room no one ever entered unless invited. It was a narrow room, filled with old rags, other assorted trash, and likely every piece of half-decent tech in a twenty-mile or so radius. Currently, the door to said room was wide open, and inside stood Eileen, her dark hair tied up with a strip of cloth. Next to her, seated by some kind of technological contraption Sam thought looked like it’d been cobbled together from a thousand other pieces of tech, was the one and only weird-haired, obsessed-with-tech-like-a-Three-despite-talking-like-a-Seven, Ash.

Seeming to sense the presence of more people, Eileen turned and signed, Come here; Ash has something.

They did as instructed. “Ash has many things, and we don’t want to see most of them,” Cesar muttered; Jesse and Magda chuckled.

“Heard that!” Ash called cheerfully, turning to face them all with a broad grin. “Guess what?”

“You scared the crap out of Claire again?” Magda said. “Where is she, anyway?”

Eileen, who was facing the teenager and reading her lips, answered out loud. “I think she’s the bedroom. Ash threw something in excitement, and she’s sulking because he scared her.”

“I’ll apologize, I promise. But...I think can get a clear signal! For the first time in two freaking years...”

Sam stiffened. Over the years, Ash had been one of the Outsiders who worked with old, smuggled, and improvised tech to “eavesdrop” on the goings-on in Panem as much as possible. For that reason, the name “Winchester” had been recognized by Eileen’s group when Sam had been lucid enough to give it. But, because their radio had broken down a couple years back and Ash hadn’t found the parts to maybe repair in until recently, the Quarter Quell twist and everything else of note within Panem hadn’t been known to the group on the farm. News from inside Panem...maybe about the Arena...though that was outside of it, right, somewhere miles from here...

“Hang on a second...” Ash fiddled with some knobs as Magda took up a position by the radio, presumably to sign whatever might come through to Eileen. At first, “whatever” was just static, then, gradually, a voice emerged in bits and pieces.

“...In this difficult time...patience...We will prevail...”

“President Dick Roman,” Sam said, the memory of that same voice reading out what amounted to Sam’s death sentence rising to the surface.

“Probably some mandatory speech,” Cesar said, then Ash hushed them all.

For a few minutes, the voice came through uninterrupted. “...together, we can and will stop this absurd threat in all its forms. With that in mind, here is the list of Victors hereby confirmed to be traitors to Panem and enemies of the Capitol: Castiel Novak, District One. Lisa Braeden, District Four. Net Everett, District Four...”

The list went on, featuring familiar names from almost every district, such as Fergus MacLeod, Ellen Harvelle, Rufus Turner, and…

“Robert Singer, Jody Mills, and Dean Winchester, District Nine.”

Something snapped in Sam’s chest, and tears were running down his face even before the radio cut out to the sound of Ash cursing.

“Sam?” Eileen looked up at him with concern, reaching out but not quite touching him. Behind her, Jesse and Cesar were talking rapid-fire with Ash, and a diminutive figure with messy blonde hair had found her way from the next room into Magda’s arms.

“He’s alive.” Wiping his eyes roughly, Sam choked out, “I wasn’t...wasn’t sure before. But if he’s being called out as an enemy of the Capitol...”

My brother’s alive.

In Sam’s current muddled state and bare existence outside, just knowing that somewhere inside, his brother was still breathing, still fighting...that counted as a win.

Chapter Text

(One week earlier...)

“I feel like I just went ten rounds with a Capitol wrestler,” Dean groaned as he gingerly settled on the bench between Cas and Jody. They and the two other people at the cafeteria table spared him a glance as he added, “Though last week it felt like fifty.”

“Basic military training is maybe not too much for you, then?” On the other side of the table, Crowley grimaced at his water glass; he was suffering due to the no-alcohol rule, too. “Just be grateful they’ll let you outside at all.”

A lot of Thirteen’s training of soldiers took place in the underground bunkers, but some of it, mostly vigorous physical exercises, was above ground. Otherwise, trips to the surface in Thirteen were rare.

“Feeling left out, Crowley?” Dean grinned, then sighed as he looked down at the assortment of grayish food on his plate. I feel sorry for anyone who had to grow up eating this crap.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to march into battle and go down in a blaze of glory. But just because I am not as young as you and your precious Cas does not mean I am not capable of doing something other than sit around down here.”

“Well, you’re not much of any kind of soldiers, even if you did shoot a man,” Rowena said, looking down at her stew as if the lumpy mess could tell her the future. “The Thirteens might be concerned.”

“Yes, and these gray insects took my revolver away!”

“Fergus, you knew you couldn’t just carry a weapon around like that!”

“But it was a collectible, Mother!”

Dean considered using his spoon to catapult a chunk of potato at the whining Victor from Five; Jody seemed to read his mind and shook her head at him. Rolling his eyes, he redirected the spoonful of vegetable to his mouth. Around it, he asked, “Where’s Bobby?”

“On his way, I think. He wanted to stop and check on Ellen.”

Nodding, Dean chewed his food without tasting it. When the Seventy-Fifth Games had ended, Ellen’s daughter Jo had been picked up by the Capitol and remained their prisoner, even though she’d had nothing to do with the rebel plot. No one was sure if she was alive or dead, and on top of it all, Ellen had come down with some kind of virus a week back and was still partially quarantined in the hospital. Despite everything, or maybe because of it, Ellen had said that once she had recovered, she wanted to go to her district and aid the rebellion there.

They might use Jo against her, though, assuming she’s still alive.

The Capitol had killed people and taken several prisoners after the explosive end of the Games, many of them close to the tributes. Linda Tran had died giving other Victors including Dean time to escape, Nine’s stylists and prep teams had been executed, and several Victors such as Meg Masters remained unaccounted for, over two months later. To be fair, President Roman and others in the government were trying to suppress the problem, not even acknowledging a full “revolution” and calling it nothing more than “rabbles causing unrest”.

Probably should’ve reconsidered that when they started firebombing certain neighborhoods in some districts…

Billie, District Nine’s most recent tribute escort, was dead, too. Apparently, she’d attempted to stop Bobby and Jody from leaving the Training Center or at least talk them out of it, and Cas had shown up, panicked, and killed her with the three-edged dagger he’d gotten to keep from his Games. As someone who had liked Billie a lot more than any other tribute escort he’d encountered, Dean was still unsure how to feel about it. Hell, he hadn’t even known about it until Gabriel’s message had helped him decide to fight with the rebels a couple weeks ago. Before that, he hadn’t cared enough to find out.

The cafeteria filled, the dinnertime crowd grew noisier around them, and while Crowley, Rowena, and Cas got into a discussion about underground politics and Thirteen’s worst rules, Jody leaned closer to Dean and said, “I had a chat with your father this morning.”

“Yeah?” Dean shoved another spoonful of stew into his mouth. “What did he want?”

“He wants to talk to you, and Bobby wasn’t willing to hear him out, so I...”

“I’ve got nothing to say to John.” Haven’t since I got here and saw him standing in my hospital room.

“He wants to explain...”

“He doesn’t have anything to explain. He kept ditching me and Sam to sneak around for the rebels, at some point he shacked up with a Thirteen, and eventually he decided it was time to split and left Nine for good.”

Jody’s expression would’ve hurt less if it was less...disappointed. “There’s more to it than that, Dean. Give him a chance.”

There might be more to it, but I don’t need that shit right now. What he needed was to finish basic training, get out into the war proper, and stay angry. Talking about his abandonment issues and working through feelings wouldn’t help him bring the Capitol down.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed red hair. There goes the undercover agent, he thought, giving her a sideways look as she sat down alone at a nearby table. She’d been the only tribute rescued by the rebels, and she wasn’t even supposed to be in the Arena. She wasn’t even from a district.

Celeste Middleton, aka Charlie Bradbury, was from the Capitol, and had fled from there years ago, making her way to District Thirteen. She’d volunteered to be passed off as a viable tribute in the Seventy-Fifth Games, undergoing surgical procedures in order to be disguised. Under different circumstances, Dean supposed he’d have been impressed, or something like that.

But she’s here, and he isn’t.

Bobby arrived, bringing with him complaints about how many time Chuck kept cornering him and trying to discuss the making of televised propaganda videos, or “propos”, featuring the Victors residing in Thirteen. “I told him that yeah, sure, most of us would be happy to help out, but I’m not the boss of anyone, and if he wants to discuss mastermind stuff, he should ask you, Crowley.”

“You’re not wrong; I believe I do have more of the required...finesse than you. But I think I make him nervous.”

“I think Crowley makes everyone nervous,” Cas muttered in Dean’s ear. “When he knows how to.”

“Not you, though?”

Cas shrugged. “I’m smart enough not to show it.”

Smiling faintly, Dean bumped the other’s man’s shoulder with his own and said, “Never change, Cas.”

The two of them been assigned a single, new compartment the same day they started training. There were two beds, stacked on top of each other, but most nights they still shared one. With other things to channel their anger and grief into, moments of...enjoyment...were becoming more common between the two of them. Later that night, for instance.

“Dean, I do not believe what we just did is what District Thirteen’s command have in mind when they stress the importance of conserving shower water.”

“Come on, one or two of them must’ve considered that, uh, strategy.” Dean flopped down under the covers and patted the empty patch of mattress. “Admit it, you enjoyed that.”

“It was most pleasurable, but...” Cas got into bed next to Dean. “I’m almost certain we were overheard. Those are public showers, Dean.”

“Yeah, but we weren’t that loud. You should’ve heard the couple I overheard last week.” The narrowness of the bed made cuddling of a sort inevitable, which Dean didn’t mind. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. “Did you hear about Six?” Another district had openly joined the rebellion that day.

“I heard.” A bunker-wide signal sounded, and the lights went out as they did every night. Somewhere in the dark, Cas added, “I think they’ll send us out soon. The districts need all the help they can get.”

“We’ve worked hard enough in training.” The last few weeks had been a blur of learning orders, combat training, both in firearms and hand-to-hand, and those damned long runs and endless cycles of other strength-building exercises. As much as he complained about soreness, which was decreasing day by day, Dean didn’t mind all the hard work. Except…

“I overheard you and Jody at dinner, when you were talking about your father.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Dean finished his earlier thought. I don’t mind all the training, except when the orders sound like what Dad used to bark at me.

Cas continued, “I agree that you should talk to him.”

“Why would I need to? Would you talk to your parents now?”

“I know my parents’ excuses, their lies, their truths. I came to understand them and their choices long ago. I don’t think you ever managed the same with your father.”

Dean snorted and rolled over, putting his back to Cas. “Yeah, well, it’s not like he ever gave me much of a chance.”

“He’s giving you a chance now.” Pause. “Dean, you can be angry at him for his past actions. I cannot blame you for that. But think of it this way; he did just lose both of your brothers.”

Right, my “brothers”. The Capitol had Adam Milligan-Winchester, and just like with Jo, there had been no news about him since the Arena. Knowing the Capitol, it was probably kinder to hope that he was dead. Then there’s Sam...my real brother…Though thinking that did seem a bit harsh on a person who had volunteered to go into a freaking Hunger Games for a greater purpose. Neither Adam nor his parents really deserved what had happened to him.

However, in Dean’s mind, John had lost him and Sammy already, when he left them all those years ago. So what if he’d watched Sam fall like the rest of the nation? He shouldn’t be claiming family rights to grief, not with Sam. He doesn’t deserve a chance to explain, especially if…

“Dean?” Cas moved closer, hand brushing against Dean’s side.

Fumbling around, Dean caught Cas’s hand and interlaced their fingers. “Sorry, Cas. I’m not mad at you. Just...I’ve had a decade to stew in how many ways my dad failed me, okay?”

“I understand.” A huff of warm air hit Dean’s neck. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“’Night, Cas.”

 Castiel, as it turned out, was right. Four days later, a unit of Thirteen soldiers including Dean and Cas were given their marching orders. Not that there was much actual marching involved; they rode hovercrafts to District Eight.

“What are you doing here, Bobby?” Dean asked when the older man boarded the same hovercraft as him and Cas. “And what’s with all the cameras?” A number of people decked out with clipboards, tablets, and giant, insect-like camera packs swarmed in, milling around and jabbering long after the soldiers had sat down.

“They’re hoping for propo footage, and Chuck said I should ‘supervise’ your boys.” Bobby found a seat near Cas and Dean and sat down with a grunt. “I’ll be staying on the hovercraft, thank you very much. Maybe if I were twenty years younger...I think I’ll sit this one out a radio call away.”

“Great, so we escape the Capitol, but not the cameras,” Dean grumbled. At least we’re in military uniforms rather than Thirteen civilian clothes. The uniforms verged on bulky, but were plain black and definitely an improvement in appearance. Plus the armor, however little, might come in handy…

Yet there was disappointingly few bullets flying when the hovercrafts dropped them off. “This won’t be a long mission,” Major Jefferson said, her tone clipped. “We’re assisting Eight’s rebels in a sweep of the district center and making our own assessment of the current conditions for President Odon.”

During Dean’s Victory Tour, he’d visited District Eight, and he’d seen other footage of the place over the years. It had always struck him as ugly, with sooty air and rows of cramped apartment buildings and factories.

Today, entire strips of those hideous buildings lay in heaps of charred rubble. The air smelled of burning things, and the light filtering down was gray, a bit too much like in the Arena of the Sixty-Sixth Games. Bombers and Peacekeepers had withdrawn, leaving a broken district center behind.

Eight’s rebels looked about as ragged as the town itself, and their thirty-ish leader, Aaron Patel, was indistinguishable from the rest except for the deference the others gave him. On his instruction, most of the soldiers from Thirteen followed his second-in-command off to do the security sweep; Major Jefferson, Dean, Cas, the camera contingent, and a few others joined Patel in a general inspection. “We’ve taken the district, more or less,” Patel said, leading the way through the wreckage of a factory. “But we don’t know if that’ll last and the cost’s been high, both for soldiers and civilians.”

He showed them around the ruined Justice Building and a warehouse functioning as a hospital, which was packed to the edges with hundreds of people, mostly civilians, and reeked of blood and disease and death. Dean, overwhelmed by nausea, made some excuse and stumbled out within a couple minutes. Cas followed him out. “Crowding that many people together is not a good idea."

“Where else are they going to put them?” Dean pointed out, still breathing through his mouth. There’s a lot of corpses out here…While they waited for their commanding officer, Dean checked over his military-grade automatic rifle and his handgun for something to do. All in order. Then he used the radio clipped to his belt to make a probably-unauthorized call to Bobby, who told him to “shut up and pay attention to your damn surroundings, you idjit”.

As Jefferson and the others emerged and they went to check on the district’s meager defenses, Patel said, “I was told to expect some Victors, but I’m surprised to see Novak. I heard rumors that most of the Ones are aligning themselves with the Capitol.”

“They are,” Cas replied. “But I am not most of One’s Victors.”

“So I see.” Patel glanced at Dean. “Winchester, on the other hand...I always thought you could be a hothead.”

Before Dean could answer, a crackling siren split the air.

“Capitol airstrike!” Patel shouted.

Both he and Jefferson started shouting orders, and Dean was half-certain that one of those orders involved “getting the Victors off the street”, but he was already running with Cas, following a group of Eight rebels headed for the rooftops. In the distance, multiple rows of hovercrafts uncloaked and sped towards the remains of the district.

On the roof of some low concrete structure, Dean felt the falling bombs detonating some distance away and shaking the building under his feet. He and Cas exchanged looks and followed the lead of the rebels surrounding them and began rapid rifle fire at the wave of low-flying aircraft.

“Random shots are no good, Dean!” Cas bellowed over the sound of explosions and constant gunfire. “Try to actually aim at them!”

“What do you think I’m doing, you jackass?” Dean roared in return. “They’re moving too damn fast!”

A minute later, however, he was letting out roar of victory as he got the hang of aiming at moving objects and he and Cas brought down a hovercraft together. His heart pounded as he kept shooting, adrenaline pumping through his veins as more hovercrafts fell to the rebel guns, crashing to earth in flames, and for the first time in longer than Dean could remember, he was so fucking awake he felt amazing.

Cas even seemed exhilarated as the few remaining hovercrafts vanished over the horizon and the group of rebels left the rooftop, exhausted but elated. We took out, what? Half of them? Two-thirds? Considering this whole air raid thing was unexpected, and all we have are regular guns…We did damn good. Much better than sitting around all useless in Thirteen.

The triumphant feeling lasted until they rounded a collapsed factory chimney and saw the hospital and the desperate crowd surrounding it.

“Oh, no,” Cas said, gripping Dean’s arm, and Dean swore helplessly.

Everyone was helpless as the hospital burned.

People were shouting, confusedly. "...no survivors...no warning...message from the president..." 

Dean looked around, found the cameras, pulled away from Cas. 

"Dean, what are you..." 

"Giving the Capitol a little hell."

Chapter Text

The Outsiders in this part of the desert didn’t usually have to fear long winters, or large natural predators, or Capitol oppression, at least most of the time. What they did have to fear was drought and floods.

Even with their homes and fields clustered along the banks of rivers, lack of rain and extreme heat could still kill an entire year’s harvest. And if the autumn rains fell too heavily, those same rivers that might save people in the summer could destroy everything in their path.

Sam heard the unexpected rain on a bad night when he hurt all over and couldn’t move without triggering a pounding in his head to rival the pounding on the roof. For a while, he thought he was back in the cave on the last night of the Games, except instead of Charlie with him it was Lucifer and he couldn’t stop whimpering through the pain.

He managed to fall asleep just before dawn, so the roar of the river and panic of the other residents came only as a muffled sounds in a nightmare. When he woke up, still tired and aching but clearheaded, it was to find the farm in chaos.

Seeing a chance to be useful, Sam pitched in without being asked when it came to cleanup and salvage. The flash flood had missed the house and sheds only to hit lower fields, carrying away five sheep and what was supposed to be the last of this year’s harvest. This, obviously, didn’t bode well for anyone.

“Everyone else we know well lives in canyons, too,” Eileen said. The relatively small number of people in the area were somewhat spread out to make the best of limited resources, but they generally kept in contact for the purposes of trade, information, and defense against roving mutt packs and/or less peaceful Outsiders. Therefore, Eileen’s concern was palpable when she said, “So much damage...it might be widespread.”

To determine if that was the case, Cesar took one of the ancient rifles and his aging mare, the only form of transportation they had other than walking, and rode out to check on their nearest neighbors. Jesse and Bones took up residence on the front step and barely moved until Cesar returned the next evening.

Sam spent that time helping out where he could and spending a lot of time following Claire and Magda around, the latter of whom had started teaching him sign language. Eileen had taught her, but Sam was reluctant to bother the older woman when she always had so much on her mind. I don’t want to be any more of a burden.

Ash had managed to catch a few more radio broadcasts over the last week, but none had mentioned Dean. Whatever peace Sam had gotten from having some confirmation of his brother’s survival kept slipping away.

What they had learned, however, was that a full-on war was raging inside Panem’s borders, with eight or more out of twelve districts rebelling with the aid of a not-so-dead District Thirteen. Putting two and two together, the general consensus was that the partial destruction of the Seventy-Fifth Arena had been some kind of rebel plot for the purpose of kick-starting a revolution.

“Charlie from Three and Adam from Six were in on it, maybe others, too,” Sam said as he and the girls watched the remaining sheep grazing on scraggly grasses among strips of red-brown mud.

“And you helped them.” Magda, braiding Claire’s hair with thin, calloused fingers, paused long enough to give him a look. “But you didn’t know anything about wrecking the Arena.”

“No, but Charlie was my ally, and...and I think Adam asked me to help.” Those last moments in the Arena remained blurry and confused in Sam’s head. “Either way, I’d chose them over Lucifer any time.” Sam recalled that Cesar had mentioned the possibility that Lucifer had survived, too, and he shuddered. I can’t even think about that...if he came after me for real…

Having the monster from Two lurking at the edge of his vision was already more than enough.

“You’re District Nine, right?” Claire, her braids finished, scooted around on her rock seat to face him and Magda.

“Yes, I am.”

“My mom told me we’re District One.” The nine-year-old tilted her head. “Have you ever been there?”

“No, but my brother has.”

“Almost no one visits different districts in Panem, silly,” Magda said. Claire shrugged and scampered off to play with Bones, who had apparently given the front-step vigil a rest. Sighing, Magda said, “Her mom left Panem somewhere way up north, but worked her way south. Claire was born outside, and then her mom died not long after they got here.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” Sam watched the dirt-stained, rag-wearing girl and tried to imagine her as a child born into a district where almost no one went hungry on a regular basis. I wonder why her mother left. “What about you? I mean, you’ve told me you’re from Two, but...”

“Ran away from my parents after my brother died in an accident.” Magda seemed to shrink into herself for a moment. “They blamed me. They blamed me for everything.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Not your fault, is it?”

Bones and Claire moved closer, both tousled and panting, and the dog stuck his head under Sam’s hand. Petting him absentmindedly, Sam thought about the people he was living with and what he knew about them. Eileen’s family was from Five, Magda’s a Two, Claire’s mom was a One, Ash is a Seven, Cesar’s from Ten and I think Jesse’s from Eight...not sure, I should ask him…Eileen and Claire were born out here or as good as, Cesar left because he was accused of stealing, Jesse’s brother was killed by Peacekeepers and he ran, Magda fled from her parents, God knows why Ash left his home...Except for the occasional Victor gathering caught on television, Sam had never seen anything like this mix of districts in one place.

The Capitol wouldn’t allow it.

Cesar arrived back in time for dinner, and over food that was bland and barely enough to fill seven stomachs, he confirmed that every other nearby settlement, about dozen in all, had suffered losses, some more than others. “...Asa’s cousin went down the river with their sheep, and the Santos family lost their house.”

“We were lucky,” Jesse said, and Cesar nodded wearily.

Eileen stood up and started to collect dishes; Sam signed “thank you” when she took his plate, and she half-smiled and corrected his signing with her free hand. He laughed a little and mentally promised to do better than he had been in the future, and not just with his sign language. I’m recovering well physically, and I can’t stay on here as a burden, especially not now. I’ll keep it together.

He managed one more decent day before the cracks on the walls started jerking around like puppet strings and Lucifer returned to smirking in the corner. Remaining in his room, Sam lay in a fetal position, clutching the battered amulet that had someone survived the end of the Arena with him and trying to hang on to some shred of his sanity.

In between the snake-like whispers of his worthlessness and the ghostly-yet-painful memory-sensation of roaring water slamming him under over and over again, Sam recalled days of finding his brother passed out in his own vomit and nights of hearing him crying out in his sleep, and wondered if Dean had ever felt like the world was spinning too fast to stand, like he was forever sliding off a terrifying precipice into something too horrible to comprehend.

But even he was never this bad. He didn’t constantly see people that aren’t there. 

The hallucinations eventually shifted into nightmares as he slept, only to morph into twisted memories when he woke to begin it all over again.

I'm so tired of this...

“I’ll never leave you. It’s my job to take care of you, remember?”

It shouldn’t have been your job. You should’ve had a childhood, too.

“Shut up, bitch.”

Right back at you, jerk.

“It’s not going to be you.”

It was never going to be me, until it was.

“I’m winning this for you.”

I just wanted you to come back alive.

“Everything’s going to be okay now, Sammy. I’m back, and you’re safe.”

No one’s ever safe, anywhere.

“Don’t you dare leave me, Sam! I won’t make it if you leave!”

I hate that I never did leave. And I’m sorry that I ever tried.

“See ya, Sammy.”

I’m so sorry, Dean…

Gradually awakening somewhat sane again, Sam realized that he wanted to see his brother again. Well, there were a lot of people he wanted to see again, preferably alive, but his brother was at the top of the list. Somewhere inside Panem, he’s fighting, pissing off the Capitol somehow, and I should be there with him...Winchesters were supposed to stick together, weren’t they?

Rubbing the small horned deity pendant between his fingers, Sam allowed himself to imagine handing it back to Dean, saying, “Here, you probably want this back.”

Like that’ll ever happen, a snide voice whispered, and he let out a frustrated growl. “Go away.”

“Um, I was just bringing you some soup. Honestly.”

Sam jerked upright, knocking his blanket to the floor. “Magda? Sorry, I wasn’t...wasn’t talking to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh. Right. It’s okay.” She handed him the clay bowl and sat down cross-legged at the end of the bed as he ate a couple spoonfuls of the thin soup. “It’s around noon. You’ve been...out of it for a day and a half.”

“I know. I feel like the shittiest guest ever.”

“I think you are.”

He barked out a laugh, then stopped to wonder when he’d last let out any kind of laugh at all. “Yeah, thanks.”

See, you’re nothing but a useless creature, a problem. You always have been.

Sam took a deep breath. Maybe, but I’m not going to stay here and be one.

If people had ways of getting out of Panem, there had to be ways to get in. Maybe I’m insane. Maybe I’ll always be useless for days at a time. But I have to go back. I have to do something.

When he explained this to Eileen later, she looked up at him worriedly and said, “Any way in or out is dangerous.”

“I know. But I...it’s something I have to do. Do you know anyone who could...”

“Maybe. We’ll have to wait for a little while, because of the flooding. No one has time or resources to spare.”

“I understand. Until then...I’ll help out with anything you need me to. As long as I’m not hallucinating...I owe you. All of you.”

She smiled faintly. “Yes, you do.”

Somehow that didn’t sting, and he managed to smile back.

Chapter Text

A day or so after the mission in District Eight, President Roman and, by extension, the rest of the Capitol’s government, finally admitted to the public that there was a major problem worth more than scorn and a dropped bomb or two. The admission probably had something to do with the rebel propo that was aired throughout the districts, featuring a hospital full of innocent people going up in flames, two Victors shooting down Capitol hovercrafts...for all the annoyance, one had to admit the camera crew was damn good at the job...and one of said rifle-toting Victors looking straight into a camera and “telling it like it is”.

Coming from Dean, “telling it like it is” translated into “take a look around; the Capitol is evil and the president is a murdering bastard, so do yourselves a favor and fuck the status quo. Also: Dick Roman, go fuck yourself.” Dean had been shouting by the end.

Apparently, all this further translated into “genius”, or so Chuck said, and the propo was ready for airing mere hours after most of the mission squad returned to Thirteen. Bobby and Jody both scolded Dean and Cas for not obeying orders and risking themselves, but it seemed halfhearted.

We did good, or at least close to it, Dean thought to himself as he, Cas, and several others watched the finished propo in the Command Center. Even Amara looks pleased. Plans for several other propos were already in the works, building off the excellent reception of this one. The head dick himself has released a list of “traitor Victors”, rebels are gaining ground in almost every district...If it weren’t for the hospital full of dead people...I’d say that mission was a real success.

When the president of Thirteen suggested a similar visit to District Nine, Dean said yes before she finished speaking. 

He was less than happy to see that the large group departing for District Nine a couple days later included Charlie Bradbury, seemingly assisting with the film tech, and John Winchester, who Dean first spotted in the aircraft hanger, saying goodbye to a blonde woman he recognized as soldier-turned-nurse Kate Milligan. Adam’s mom, and Dad’s...something. Are they married? He told himself that he didn’t care and inserted himself into a conversation between Bobby, Jody, and Cas about the mission.

District Nine turned out to be less of a mess than District Eight, yet seeing it still hurt. Reports were that the harvest in some sectors had been destroyed. The central part of the main town, Justice Building included, still stood despite new soot stains and hundreds of bullet holes. A lot of the merchant and residential areas had suffered from fires, and the entire east end of the town, with its narrow streets and bedraggled tenements, had been leveled by Capitol bombers. Dean winced and cursed when he saw that. We used to live there. Guess the “bad neighborhoods” are expendable to the Capitol.

Most of the Peacekeepers had already been routed from the main district, though some were reportedly holed up in some farm sector settlements to the north. Maybe due to the success, Nine’s rebels, or at least the large group gathered in the square when Thirteen’s hovercrafts landed, looked less desperate than those in Eight. Many of them cheered at the sight of their Victors. A bony, ungainly figure emerged from the crowd as Dean reached the end of the hovercraft ramp with Bobby, and the older man suddenly laughed out loud. “Garth, you idjit! Do you even know how to shoot that gun?”

The skinny man who used to do maintenance around Victor’s Village and go out for drinks with Bobby every other Saturday looked like he should’ve been crawling under the weight of his rifle alone, yet had a bounce in his step and a bright grin on his face. “I knew you guys weren’t dead even before the propo!” he crowed, hugging Bobby, Dean, and Jody in that order. “You were amazing, Dean, honestly. Just so you know, once the Arena went down, I pitched in and fought the good fight, just like you always said I should, Bobby!”

“When I said that, I didn’t mean it quite so literally,” Bobby muttered as Castiel became the next bewildered recipient of one of Garth’s famous hugs. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re in charge, boy!”

It turned out that Garth was, more or less, in command of most of Nine’s rebels, on the merit of having been the first person who had climbed a figurative soapbox upon the destruction of the Arena and egged half the town into attacking any and all present Peacekeepers. Upon hearing the story in full, Bobby groaned and said, “How are you still alive, Garth?” while Jody and Dean laughed.

Despite the evidence of battle everywhere, the mood of the people seemed almost jubilant as the Victors and gun-and-camera-show went around the district, speaking with civilians and fighters they knew, and visiting two hospitals as well as multiple destroyed neighborhoods and grave sites. A lot of people were out and about, mostly helping with cleanup.

Bobby and Jody became involved in a serious strategy meeting with Garth and the other rebel leaders. Dean avoided that in favor of giving the Thirteen soldiers tasked with watching him and Cas a guided tour of the town. Everywhere, there were things to talk about, and every time, the cameras caught almost every gesture and word. For once, Dean didn’t feel totally uncomfortable. He was actually glad that the cameras were there.

Nine’s better off than Eight, but the Capitol still fucked this place up, and I want the whole damn country to know how much that pisses me off.

He gave a little speech to that effect while standing in front of the still-smoking remains of a tenement building that had not been cleaned out since its destruction a couple weeks previously. Dean imagined the twisted, burned bodies likely still inside and focused on turning his resulting horror and disgust into usable rage. I’m getting pretty damn good at that.

Like in District Eight, Cas didn’t say much of anything in front of the cameras, but he stayed by Dean’s side constantly, a reassuring, grounding presence that Dean especially appreciated when they ended up on the street where the Winchesters had once lived. All that was left of the garage and apartment was a few charred posts rising from blackened rubble. According to Garth, the family that had taken over the garage after Dean’s Games hadn’t made it out when the bombs fell.

Something about seeing the utter destruction of the place, even if he hadn’t lived there in a long time drained the rage right out of Dean and left him feeling shaky. That was our home. We stayed there longer than most places...that was the last place I lived before being a Victor…besides the Community Home, which I don't count...

John was there, too, standing off to the side, gripping a rifle despite there being no current threat. Dean tried to not look at him.

“You said you used to live here?” Minerva, some ex-Capitol friend of Chuck’s who directed most of the propo filming, gave Dean a sympathetic look through eyes surrounded by swirling, vivid blue tattoos. “Would you like to say anything in particular?”

“Yeah, I...I, uh, knew the family who lived here after me and Sam. Not well, but they...they were nice.” Stomach churning, he managed to say, “They had a couple kids. Both under Reaping age. I heard they didn’t make it.”

He glanced back at the wreckage and found he couldn’t tear his eyes away or keep speaking. He heard Cas telling Minerva that they could stop filming, and then the man from one was again in his space. “Dean? Jody called; she and Bobby are headed to Victor’s Village. It seems it was mostly untouched by both sides. Do you…”

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his hand over his face. “Yeah, let’s go there.”

A couple miles away from the town center, Victor’s Village, save for the lack of leaves on the ornamental trees lining the dozen separate yards, looked eerily similar to how it had looked months ago when its Victors had left it. Many of the formerly unused houses had been commandeered as shelters for townspeople whose homes were now destroyed. Three houses, however, had been left untouched, “by order of Garth.”

Jody and Bobby went straight into their respective homes, but Dean headed for the single-car garage next to his. As the door slid up, revealing the interior, he grinned and said, “Cas, I don't think you've met Baby.”

The car was fine, and while Cas looked on with amusement, Dean murmured a couple apologies to the vehicle before he reluctantly locked the garage behind him. “Damn, I wish I could take her with.”

“She will surely be waiting for you when you return, Dean,” Cas said. The When this is all over went unspoken. “Now, is there anything you want from your house?”

Checking over the house didn’t take too long, even with Cas staying close enough to bump into him at every turn. Dean didn’t typically think of himself as a collector, but there were some things he wanted to keep close. The jagged-edged black blade from his Games for one, though he’d never been sure why he kept it. His car keys, “just in case.” The pictures of him, Sam, Bobby, and Jody that he kept in the kitchen. The faded photographs of his once-complete family that he kept in his bedroom.

Without lingering on any item, he shoved everything into a battered old duffle bag he found in a closet. With that done, he steeled himself and headed for the one upstairs door he’d been avoiding so far.

Sam’s room was ridiculously tidy, with the bed made and everything put away correctly. Like he was putting his affairs in order, Dean thought as he stood frozen in the doorway for a solid minute or two. He didn’t think he’d be coming back. That, or he had just been acting as some kind of organization freak, per usual.

Stepping further into the room, Dean looked around at the full bookshelf, the clothes hung up neatly in the closet, the thin layer of dust coating everything. His gaze came to rest on the single framed photo on the bedside table, and his chest hitched when he recognized it.

“Let go of me!” Sam demanded, trying to writhe his way out of a headlock.

Dean pretended he wasn’t struggling to hang onto his giant of a brother and replied, “Not a chance, Sammy!”

“I’m freaking eighteen, Dean! Don’t call me Sammy!”

“Would you two stand still long enough for a picture?” Jody called. “Preferably one where you’re not strangling each other! I’m not going to ask twice, boys!”

“Yes, ma’am!” they shouted in unison, arranging themselves into a more acceptable side-hug position. Sam grinned, but his hair was literally standing on end, and Dean couldn’t stop laughing as the camera clicked. 

Dean took the picture and sat down heavily on the bed. He didn’t look up even when he heard Cas’s footsteps in the room. “When Sam...when he graduated from the district school, I made him have a celebration...just a meal with Bobby and Jody and a lot of beer...It was fun. Jody made us stand for a photo..I didn’t actually know Sam kept a copy.”

He felt the bed dip next to him as Cas sat down. “You both look happy.”

“Yeah. I guess we were happy...as happy as you can get in Panem.” Dean’s eyes stung, and he shut them, only to have a blurry copy of the photograph swim in his mind’s eye. He drew a shuddering breath, and the full weight of missing Sam came crashing down on him, crushing all his rebelliousness to dust. Tears leaked from behind his eyelids as he whispered, “Why’d he have to...”

He never finished his sentence, and Cas didn’t prompt him to, instead opting to take Dean’s hand and sit quietly for as long as necessary.

Before he left, Dean raided Sam’s closet for a couple shirts and a jacket.

They took the hovercrafts up north that afternoon, closer to the besieged Peacekeepers, and after a Nine’s three Victors gave a joint-effort, rousing speech to the rebel forces, Dean fell asleep in a tent next to Cas while wearing Sam’s coat. 

The next morning, as another farm sector was cleared of Capitol forces, Dean and Cas killed several Peacekeepers between them, aiming and hitting from a distance. It made Dean wonder if killing was always easier when you couldn’t see the faces of your victims. Seeing his father gunning down enemies with no expression made him wonder if being a killer ran in the family. Breaking the neck of the young, out-of-uniform-but-armed Peacekeeper who jumped out and tried to stab Cas after the battle was mostly over made him wonder what Sam had really thought, and would have thought now, about all the blood on Dean’s hands.

The cameras caught just about everything, the propo crew worked their magic, and by the time everyone got back to Thirteen the following day, District Three was in open rebellion and the Capitol was pulling troops from Twelve in order to protect districts One and Two.

A whole new round of propos began to be filmed and aired from several districts: Rufus and Ellen plotting and fighting with the rebels in Seven, Rowena and Crowley revealing all of the dirty secrets they’d learned over the years from Capitol elites, Missouri in Eleven speaking about lost tributes from years past and other innocent lives ruined by the Games and Capitol’s rule. The last type of message proved to be a serious motivator for many, so before long several Victors were participating in the “We Remember” propos. Cas even agreed to open up somewhat about his cousin Gabriel and his last message.

Dean refused to talk about his brother on camera for the time being...I think yelling on the battlefield is more my thing...but he kept going to bed wrapped in Sam’s old clothes.

Chapter Text

Red Rock was one of those places where the name was a little too on-point. Around the place where two rivers met, several jagged rock formations, all reddish shades of brown and orange, loomed towards the sky. The settlement of Red Rock itself consisted of five houses clustered on a little hill, surrounded by various outbuildings and twisting strips of farmed and fenced land. A man named Asa Fox ran the place, and when the “civilized” Outsiders in the area gathered for a sort of community meeting, Asa ran that, too.

Tucked away as much as possible in a dark corner of Asa’s living room, Sam watched as various representatives from thirteen households besides Eileen’s filtered in by twos and threes, all raggedly-dressed and worn down by sun and wind. Even in Nine, where many people spent most of their lives laboring in the grain fields, Sam had never seen people like these. They’re all so battered by their harsh lives, yet they exude pure strength. These people are true survivors. And they are truly free.

Almost three weeks after the flooding, a meeting had been called, and Eileen had chosen to bring Sam, Cesar, and Ash to it. Ash had been the only one to complain...he didn’t like traveling...and a glare from Eileen had put a stop to that.

Sam’s mind wandered furthered as the overlapping murmur of several conversations filled the room. It’s strange to be somewhere where the Capitol has no control, or doesn’t care to...somewhere with no Reapings, but so many other challenges...Some might say the security the Capitol offers is worth losing some freedoms...No, that’s not right. There has to be a balance...People starve inside Panem as well as Outside…

Distantly, he heard Asa’s voice quieting everyone else’s, but it took him a minute or two to actually focus on the Outsider’s words.

“...a minute of silence for our losses.”

In the quiet that followed, during which Sam looked around for the people he knew. Cesar stood almost directly in front of him, Eileen by Asa’s side across the room. Ash had positioned himself in another corner by a rickety table; as always, he fiddled with some old pieces of tech he’d fished out of his pockets.

Asa broke the silence by saying, “We can rebuild after a flood; we have before. But there are other, even larger matters to consider. By now I’m sure we have all heard the rumors that a rebellion is brewing within Panem’s districts.”

“Something is always brewing inside the districts,” a gray-bearded man said roughly. “Why should we care?”

“Yeah!” a woman across from him said. “Why should we care what they’re up to? We have enough trouble out here!”

“’Cause this isn’t just a couple isolated riots in outlying districts.” When everyone’s eyes had turned to Ash, the man from Seven tucked away his bits of tech and sauntered into the circle of people. “This is an actual rebellion, with alliances and bombings and battles. Last broadcast I caught? Said all but three districts are in open rebellion, and they’re all led by District Thirteen.”

“Wait,” someone asked after a stunned pause. “Isn’t District Thirteen the destroyed one?”

“Apparently not so destroyed.” Ash shrugged. “Point is, there’s an actual war going on. For the first time in seventy-five years.”

The bearded man spoke again. “Again, why should we care? As long as we stay away from those damned arenas, no one in that country cares about us.”

Cesar responded to that. “Wars are messy. They could spill over into our lands if those Inside aren’t careful. And, if the rebellion succeeds and a better system is put in place, I’d consider going back.”

“For some of us out here, a new Panem could mean a better life.” Eileen’s voice carried over an outbreak of mutters, and sparked another, louder burst.

“You think the districts can win?”

“Our system is better than any they could create!”

“Even if it were better in the districts, why would they accept people like us?”

Well, if a lot of people die in this rebellion, population boosting could be a motive.

Before everyone’s gazes had turned to him, Sam didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud.

“And who,” the gray-bearded man asked, “are you?”

Ignoring the ever-present pain down to his bones, Sam rose to his feet. “I’m Sam Winchester.”

When everyone kept staring, Eileen clarified for him. “He’s from inside. He washed out of an Arena.”

“You were in the Hunger Games?” A dark-skinned teen who stood next to Asa moved closer as if to get a better look.

A girl who had to be his sister asked eagerly, “How do you get... washed out …of an Arena?”

“Some rebels blew its force field out and Sam here got lucky,” Ash said.

That immediately brought a tidal wave of questions, all of which Sam had to leave for Eileen and the others to answer. The surge of loud, demanding voices set his head to pounding and triggered a surge of panic that drowned out everyone else. Until Cesar took hold of his arm and guided him outside, he felt like he couldn’t even breathe.

“Stay here,” Cesar said as he helped Sam sit down on a rock bench by a horse corral. “You going to be okay?”

Sam managed to nod. “...Yeah. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

After the other man went inside, Sam remained on the bench, watching the afternoon shadows grow longer as the sun sank down over the orange-red landscape. Concentrating on the scenery kept his focus from wandering into dark places yet again, and he barely moved when he heard people exiting Asa’s house, scattering around the settlement for the night, many still talking heatedly.

No one came close to him except the community leader himself. “You doing all right?”

“Managing.” Sam glanced at Asa as the older man sat next to him. “I’m sorry if I was a disruption.”

“We’ve had much worse, trust me.” Asa gave him the same wry half-smile he had when they’d met earlier that day. “Eileen explained your whole story to us. Not surprising that you’re having a rough go of it these days.”

“I guess.” Sam looked down at his hands. “Look, I...I don’t want to cause trouble for any of your people. But I need to go home, back to the districts. Do you know anyone that could help me? I already tried Cesar, Jesse, and Ash. They won’t even consider it.”

“Hmm.” Asa let out a sigh. “I can’t help personally; I’m Outsider born and bred. But I can ask around. And there’s some of us who want...Well, we’re going to discuss it more tomorrow. You should come inside, get some food and sleep along with the rest of us. There’s still a lot to talk about...if you’re up for it.”

Sam chuckled. “I’ll try to be.”

The next day w ent better, though Sam didn’t know if it was sheer willpower or pure luck.

He managed to sit through the entirety of the community meeting, even answering some questions about the political climate in Panem leading up to the Seventy-Fifth Games. I just wish I knew more. The Capitol likes to keep everyone in the dark...I wonder if Dean knew anything about the rebellion? Would he have told me if he did?

T he general consensus in the end was that more information was needed. At first, this was taken to mean that Ash should keep trying to catch radio transmissions; he was the only person in the area with the know-how.

Yet the Seven didn’t appreciate all the responsibility being put on him. “Look, my radio’s barely holding together as it is, and it’s not going to get any better. Either we need one that’s more usable, or we need some spies.”

The discussion dragged on for a while longer, then Eileen brought up the nearest other settlements. “We should reach out to Silver Canyon, White River, and Saddle Hills. They might have more tech, or even people who know how to get into the districts.”

“I know a possible way into District Ten,” Cesar put in. “Not sure of it’s still open.”

Asa nodded thoughtfully. “We could also use people who can get information from Five or Two.”

“Two’s still under Capitol control, last we heard,” Sam said, holding himself firm under the stares he was getting again. “Five’s a safer bet for spying. And I’d like to go...to any district, honestly. I need to contact my brother.”

Over the predictable mutters, Asa said, “If we make any solid plans to enter any districts, we’ll see that you’re involved. But first, we have to reach out to our more distant neighbors like Eileen suggested and see how...and if...they will help.”

That afternoon, Eileen and Sam headed back to the farm, taking turns riding Cesar’s horse. The other man had volunteered to remain in Red Rock and join one of the parties heading to the other settlements. That had been as much as anyone felt able to agree on.

Anxious over the delay and wishing he had the strength and knowledge to enter the districts alone, Sam asked Eileen to teach him more sign language to pass the time. After they’d tired of that, they talked about their families and experiences growing up, and in the end, sheer exhaustion made Sam fell asleep on Cesar’s mare’s back while Eileen was in the middle of a story about her long-time guardian and a rattlesnake .

The next day, he forced himself to get up and, despite the shadows taunting him around every corner, managed to help Jesse tend to the sheep for most of the day.

If I’m going to be any use in what’s coming, I need to get stronger. I have to.

It might very be the only way for him to see his brother again.

Chapter Text

The last warmth of summer throughout Panem faded into cooler fall days and colder nights. District Twelve was “liberated” in short order; in reality, rebel forces arrived to find the poorest district half-burned and completely abandoned by Peacekeepers. Many of its residents, led by their Victor Asher Gallagher, were up for a fight, and joined the rebel army without hesitation.

Thirteen’s leaders kept Dean and Castiel moving around, shipping them from Seven...where they spent a disturbingly exhilarating week helping to hunt down fugitive Peacekeepers in the forest with Rufus and Ellen...to Five...where they participated, along with Rowena and Crowley, in the strangest rally anyone had ever seen, complete with alcohol and what sounded like black magic...to Six, where they met with an unexpectedly-clearheaded Becky Rosen at her home in Six’s Victor’s Village.

Due to her often-public manic and depressive episodes, often exacerbated by stress, Dean had forgotten that Becky wasn’t actually a complete fool. She had won the Seventy-Third Hunger Games by cleverly keeping herself hidden until she only had two competitors left, and, as it turned out, had exaggerated her breakdown during the Quarter Quell in order to help protect Adam’s true identity, as well as herself.

“I agreed to pretend he was my cousin; Rosen’s a common surname in Six, so it worked,” she told Dean. “I didn’t know he was your brother, though.”

“Half-brother,” Dean muttered.

“I’m not much good fighting or speeches or anything like that,” Becky said, looking out of her living room window towards Six’s rundown urban center. “But I’ve been writing pamphlets to be dropped in loyalist areas...most One and Two, now...and I think I’m pretty good at that.”

“You are doing your part,” Castiel said, “as we are all trying to.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “Keep doing you, Becky.”

Victors of all sorts were becoming useful to both sides as the war went on. Kyle “Sparky” Darren of Three, the oldest Victor alive by a few months, soon arrived in Thirteen from a hideout in his own hometown, grinning and full of ideas on military tech to aid the cause. Meanwhile, the next-oldest Victor, Magnus Maru of Two and his compatriot Uriel Mount, planned, executed, and filmed the brutal assassination of Eight’s first Victor, James Wyatt, who had spent his entire life after the Seventeenth Games educating the children of his district.

A number of others Victors openly proclaimed themselves loyal to the Capitol, disparaged “traitor Victors, and were even seen fighting alongside Peacekeepers. These included Meg Masters, which stung both Dean and Castiel, who had always been on decent terms with her.

“Her little sister just got murdered in the Games and one of her own mentors gets butchered by the same people she’s allied herself with...How does that make sense, Cas?”

“Meg, for all her good qualities, has usually proven that she is loyal to herself, Dean. She must have her own goals in mind.”

“Huh. Well if I ever meet her, I’ll be sure to ask what the hell those goals are.”

Besides outliers like Meg, most Victors from One and Two either aligned themselves with the Capitol or simply held back from openly supporting either side; Cole Trenton and Gwen Campbell were among those who tried to remain neutral. And some simply disappeared , such as infamous Balthazar from One, Victor Henrickson from Eleven, and Anna Milton from Five. After appearing in the background of a couple Capitol propos, the most recent Victor of all, Belphegor from One, also vanished.

Personally, Dean thought several of inner-district Victors had decided to use their various connections and vanish in the pursuit of self-preservation. Others, like Victor and Anna… They’re probably dead.

While President Roman gradually withdrew most of his troops to protect districts One and Two, he kept sending elite forces out on stealth missions, which resulted in more than one demoralizing incident for the rebels. A train carrying a massive shipment of food from District Eleven to other rebelling regions was derailed and burned. An unexpected bombing left much of Four’s largest town in ruins with dozens dead. A surprise attack in Nine ended with everyone in an entire farm sector dead.

That specific sector happened to be the last one the Winchester’s had lived in before moving into the district’s main urban center, so the message was clear.

But after each attack, the rebels regrouped. In Four, Lisa Braeden and Marina Fisher took the lead in rallying their battered district, citing the losses of their respective son and niece as their motivation. District Eight, reeling from destruction, loss, and betrayal, found several new leaders to guide them forward, including Victor Julia Wright. And in One, a loyalist rally was completely derailed by undercover rebels. In the chaos, One’s oldest Victor, Lela Swan, was killed.

The mastermind of the rebel disruption, One’s second-oldest Victor Lily Sunder, was caught and executed. With her last words, she called out to her people to fight back against their conditioning and defy the Capitol to their last breath. In reaction, underground rebel recruitment in One surged.

As for Dean and Castiel, they headed to Nine from Six after the farm sector’s destruction. Jody and Bobby had already been there a week; both looked more exhausted than Dean had ever seen them.

“It’s been a rough few days, boy,” Bobby explained as he gave Dean a brief hug.

Jody snorted. “More like a rough few months. Or years.”

At the farm sector, after giving a somewhat lackluster speech, Dean found himself wandering alone along the edge of a burned wheat field. The air tasted of ashes, and he kept walking until he found his way to the nearest irrigation canal and crossed it. On the other side, the narrow band of trees by the water were barely singed, and the neighboring sector beyond looked only as dead as it should mid-autumn.

When Dean heard footsteps approaching, he sighed and said, “I’m fine, Cas. Just needed some space.”

“Oh, um...Castiel’s back with the film crew.” Charlie sounded nervous, but she didn’t hesitate before sitting on the ground next to Dean. “They sent me to find you. No hurry, though. We’re done for the day.”

“Good.” Dean focused his gaze on the leafless branches above their heads.

Eventually, Charlie ventured, “Would you like some chocolate?”

After a moment, Dean nodded and accepted the piece of candy that the redhead handed him. “Uh...thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Taking a bite, Dean said around it, without thinking, “You split a chocolate bar with Sam, too. In the Arena.”

“Yeah. Well, he split it with me.”

Dean glanced at the Capitol-turned-rebel, and suddenly it hit him. She’s the last person who had a real conversation with my brother.

It took him a minute to work through that. “You and Sam...you were friends.”

“Sort of. Sam was easy to be friends with, but…” Charlie shrugged. “I was keeping a lot of secrets.” Her Capitol accent bled through her district-style speech as she spoke. “That’s just kind of my life, I suppose.”

“Why’d you leave the Capitol?”

Pause. “President Roman...he killed my parents. Or ordered it, at least. They had dangerous ideas, and...and he made it look like a car accident. I found out, by hacking into...Anyway, I knew I was next. So I did some sleuthing and found a way out.”

“And the volunteering for the Games thing? Why did you agree to that.”

Charlie looked puzzled. “I...I’m not sure I know anymore. But at the time...it just seemed like the right thing to do. Volunteer, I mean. They had a pool...drew names at random.”

“So Thirteen had its own Reaping for the Seventy-Fifth Games.”

“I guess you could look at it that way.” She bit her lip. “Dean, I...I’m so sorry about Sam. I tried to save him...tried to get the tracker out so the Capitol wouldn’t…”

“I know.” He realized then that the anger he’d been holding against Charlie, for surviving when Sam hadn’t, was gone. “You did your best. And hey, you did kick-start a revolution with that force field trick.”

She smiled at him, a little shyly. “Guess I did.”

Sam would’ve done his best to help, too, if he’d known. Hell, he did anyway.

When they went back to Thirteen a couple days later, Dean agreed to speak about his brother for a promo. If he’d been paying more attention, he would have noticed how pleased Chuck seemed about the timing.

“I’m seriously regretting this,” he told Castiel as the film crew fitting him with a mic and fussed around with the cameras. They’d decided to film him outdoors, in the morning. Apparently natural light “flattered” him. “And why is my father here?” I don’t mind Bobby and Jody watching; John, on the other hand…

“When I spoke about Gabriel, I found it easier to ignore everyone and just focus on what I remember of him,” Cas replied. “Also, if it helps...I agreed to talk about my own brother after this. About how the Games took his life without him ever entering an Arena.”

“Oh.” Dean swallowed. “Okay. Well, I’ll be here if you need me.”

Cas’s face creased into a tiny smile. “Likewise, Dean.”

Sitting on the base of an old pillar in front of the cameras, waiting as someone counted down to zero, Dean tried to concentrate on Castiel’s advice. Just think about Sam. “Hello there,” he said as the recording began. “I’m pretty sure you all know who I am: Dean Winchester, District Nine. And today I’m going to talk about my little brother.”

He didn’t realize for a while that it was surprisingly easy, almost cathartic , talking about Sam. About how kind he’d been, how smart, how strong. How Dean had basically raised him, and didn’t think he’d have survived the aftermath of the Games without him. How he’d been clever enough to put limited pieces of information together and sacrificed himself so a rebel plot could succeed.

“I was angry...still am...that he went like that. That he’s not here, fighting alongside me. Or locked away for his own safety...I mean, I’d be really tempted.” Dean managed a chuckle, rubbing his eyes. “But I know that Sam...he would’ve been on board with the whole rebel plot, if he’d known.

“I remember, that last day in the Arena, listening to him talk...He said he almost didn’t want to win. I know why, ‘cause I know...knew him...He felt guilty, for killing another tribute. Like he’d...he’d betrayed himself, who he was...who other people thought he was…” He paused, trying to steady his voice as he went on. “Truth is, if he were here, I’d tell him...I’d tell Sammy that it was okay, even if it wasn’t. I’d tell him that he didn’t need to worry about what I thought about him...because he’s my little brother, and I love him, and that...that’ll never change.” Drawing a shaky breath, Dean whispered, “Sorry, I can’t, I...I’m done.”

The crew immediately stopped recording, and Dean chanced a look at the other spectators. Bobby and Jody looked sorrowful, but John...was crying . Silently, yes, but crying, tears leaking down his lined, unshaven face.

Dean didn’t have time to process that before Cas enveloped him in an embrace that he had to lean into. “Your turn, I guess,” he mumbled.

“Yes. My turn.”

John slipped off before the cameras started rolling on Castiel, who spoke in a near monotone about what had happened to his twin for about half the amount of time Dean had spoken. But, as someone used to the “Warrior Angel” from One, Dean could hear the undertone of anguish, of unresolved anger over what had happened to Jimmy. And this is why Cas is a so-called traitor to his district. Plus he’s a decent human being.

That afternoon, at a command meeting, Sparky Darren that the two latest propos might be aired within the Capitol itself. “Using some of old Devereaux’s work arounds,” he said, mentioning another late Victor from Three, “I think I can finally get us into their network.”

Even Amara seemed enthusiastic about the idea, and for extra effect, some of Crowley and Rowena’s most scandalous confessions would also be aired, if time allowed.

Dean didn’t bother to watch any of it, instead opting to go to bed early. Castiel, however, seemed on edge and said he’d come to bed later.

When he did return to their room long after midnight, he shook Dean awake. “Dean, come on. Something is happening.”

Training kicking in, Dean rocketed upright. “What? An attack? Sabotage?”

“No, it’s...Just follow me.”

Barely dressed, Dean stumbled along Thirteen’s gray corridors after Cas, who led him unerringly to the hospital.

The first thing they saw when they entered was Ellen Harvelle, returned from Seven a day earlier, sobbing as she cradled her battered, bleeding daughter in her arms.

“Jo?” Dean gasped, then saw someone else on a stretcher nearby. “Anna!”

“Dean!” Anna lifted her head as he rushed to her side, weakly waving away the nearest medical staff. “Peacekeepers grabbed me at a bar...interrogated me...I didn’t know what was going on...Dean, they killed Victor... Victor Henrickson…”

One of the doctors pushed Dean away. “You two can talk later; Ms. Milton needs medical attention…”

Bewildered, Dean turned to Castiel. “What’s going on?” Wait, is that Dad getting his arm bandaged over there?

“I believe a rescue mission was undertaken tonight,” Cas said levelly, “without our knowledge.”

“Okay, but why? Do you think it’s more bullshit about…” He didn’t get further before the screaming started.

It came from a room down the hall, as did the wailing Kate Milligan who rushed into John Winchester’s arms a few seconds later. “Oh, God, John, what did they do to him? He doesn’t even know me! What did they do to our son? ”

Time seemed to stop, and for a minute, all Dean could hear was those bloodcurdling, animalistic howls.

Adam. 

Chapter Text

The reason why Dean and Castiel had been left in the dark was absolute bullshit.

“You thought we might give something away in our propos if you told us?” Dean bellowed after he finally got n explanation, almost an hour later. “You used us as a distraction instead of letting us in on it?”

“Don’t yell at us, Dean!” Bobby shouted right back. “Jody and I were against not telling you idjits!

“Chuck insisted the mission was time-sensitive and needed to be top-secret,” Jody explained, “and that you and Cas are potential security risks. The President agreed.”

“Security risks? What the…”

“You’re not exactly known for being subtle, boy,” Bobby interjected. “Though I do think you’re better at keeping secrets than Chuck and Amara believe. Either way, the mission is over, and it was successful.”

Dean couldn’t argue with that, as irritated as he was to have been left out.

Then again, “successful” was a relative term.

As she hadn’t known anything about rebel plots and wasn’t particularly close to her co-Victors from Five, Anna hadn’t been seriously harmed. The Capitol had intimidated and interrogated her, then locked her up and ignored her until rescuers arrived.

The Victor of the Twenty-Sixth Hunger Games, Gadreel Craft of Two, had been put in a similar situation for some reason that no one really knew; he was no rebel conspirator. The sixty-seven-year-old, still fit for his age, had been caught in the Capitol shortly after the Arena’s destruction. He had been detained, supposedly without cause, though some admitted to not buying that completely. Dean had to agree; from what little he saw of Gadreel after the rescue, he gained a distinct impression of someone who didn’t like to give up his secrets.

Jo Harvelle, on the other hand, had not been dealt with as kindly as Anna and Gadreel. The day after the mission, Dean overheard Ellen sobbing as she told Jody, “Those bastards tortured my daughter over and over...I don’t even know everything they did to her...all in the name of ‘uncovering rebel secrets.’ She didn’t know any! They just did it to get back at me!” Jo would remain in Thirteen’s hospital for almost a month.

But the last of the rescued had it the worst. Whatever harm the Capitol had done to Jo, it had been intended to be physical, despite the inevitable mental repercussions.

When they had tortured Adam, they had targeted his mind. Physically, he was only malnourished and fatigued from lack of actual sleep. Mentally, he was lost.

None of the doctors in Thirteen were able to pinpoint exactly what had been done to him, just that it had shattered his sanity. He didn’t speak, barely ate, and only slept when sedated. He didn’t even seem aware of his surroundings most of the time, often screaming at the slightest touch or softest voice.

Despite all that, or probably because of it, his mother almost never left him. Word was that John stayed there as much as he could as well.

So on the rare occasions that Dean went to the hospital, he avoided the area where Adam’s room was located at all costs. Mostly he went to visit Anna and Jo, who had had adjoining cells and who ended up sharing a hospital room until the former was discharged a week after the rescue.

Neither woman wanted to talk much about their experiences in captivity..mostly they were interested in hearing details about the rebellion...but Jo did admit to Dean that the Capitol had attempted to film a propo with her in it at some point. “I wouldn’t follow their script,” she said with a twisted smile. “Got an extra beating for my trouble, but...worth it, honestly.”

Now, the Capitol seemed to want the whole situation buried, but Thirteen refused to let that happen. Within a few days of the rescue, the president herself gave a televised statement about the mission and its results. Anna was in good enough shape by then to make some remarks, and Ellen read a short statement from Jo.

The war dragged on in increasingly chillier weather, and the mayor of District One, along with the remaining Peacekeeper force there, surrendered to the rebels about a week Victors Amethyst Moore and Naomi Frost got caught and killed in a raid on a high-end loyalist officers camp. In retaliation, One Victors Davies and Bevell planned...and, according to some sources, executed...the assassination of Rufus Turner when he arrived in the district with rebels from Seven a mere three days after the raid.

Bobby’s immediate reaction was to find a bottle of smuggled alcohol and get drunk, then get up the next morning and demand to be sent to One or Seven. “Either place is good as long as I get to remind those One bastards up close that Rufus was a goddamned hero!”

Her initial reaction kept private, Ellen went to, partly on Jo’s insistence; the older woman was now the only remaining Victor from Seven, yet understandably reluctant to leave her daughter. When he saw her in person before she left, Dean thought losing her mentor had made her look diminished, somehow.

When he saw her on television giving a speech in honor of Rufus the next night, however, there was no trace of that. She was full of grief and anger, yes, but spoke powerfully. The crowd of Sevens and rebel Ones seemed set on fire by her words, roaring with approval and rage for a long time after she stepped down.

Dean was trying to get approval for him and Castiel to join in on the fight in District One when the surrender occurred. No wonder, with all the momentum the rebels were getting there. “Well, Cas, guess we’ll have to settle for Two.”

Tasha Banes looked so out of place in Red Rock that Sam thought she was a hallucination when he first saw her.

She was a beautiful woman who somehow always managed to look put-together and stylish in the middle of a desert, a traveling healer of sorts, and the mother of Asa Fox’s two teenage children, Alicia and Max .

Supposedly she also had connections in the districts that she contacted when it suited her , which was why after the community meeting about the rebellion, Asa had sent his kids to track her down in some settlements far north. They and others had rapidly spread the idea of an organized Outsider resistance against the Capitol, and Red Rock had started to look like a much bigger village than it was. Information started trickling in from various sources including Ash’s patched-up radio and Tasha’s connections, fueling the fire bit by bit.

When Sam returned there with Eileen mere weeks after his last visit, he told her, “I honestly didn’t think this many Outsiders would be interested in the rebellion,”

“A lot of them still have family in the districts,” she replied, “and even those who don’t, hate that we suffer more than we have to. Because the Capitol won’t share with anyone who doesn’t follow them blindly.”

Tasha Banes said something similar to Sam during the one brief conversation he had with her; that conversation was also when he realized that she was Capitol-born.

What does it take for a Capitol to flee Panem itself?

As Red Rock grew more crowded and busy by the day, Sam kept his head down and worked on building up his strength. Some of the Outsiders were going to storm into Panem sooner rather than later, and Sam had to be with them.

Soon a semi-organized force took shape, directed by Asa . Some people who were not well enough to fight in a war or who weren’t one hundred percent committed on being soldiers were given the task of running the farms of the people who were likely going. An older couple took over Eileen’s farm, as she, Cesar, and Jesse wanted to fight and Ash was considered too useful to leave out of the action.

Cesar hadn’t left Red Rock after the first community meeting, and Jesse arrived a few days after Sam and Eileen returned, bringing Ash, Magda, and Claire along with him; a lot of people who were readying to fight were bringing their children to Red Rock for safety.

One evening, sitting with Magda and watching Claire play with another little girl named Kaia in the light of a red sunset, Sam said, “ You know, even though I’ve been holding myself together better recently, all these preparations feel so unreal that I wonder if I’m just fooling myself.”

Magda shrugged. “You’ve looked sane enough since I got here.”

“Hopefully that’s enough for Asa and the others to let me go along. He said I’d be involved but...” Sam shook his head. “If Eileen or Cesar or Jesse says I’m still unstable…”

“Which you are. You think so, right?”

He close his eyes, turned to face the warmth of the sinking sun. “I have to get into Panem, Magda. I have to fight. I don’t have to be completely stable...just stable enough.”

Magda sighed, barely audible over the shrieks of Clair and Kaia as they chased each other around rock piles. “They’re letting me go, so I guess that’s a good sign.”

Turning to her, eyes wide , Sam s tarted to say , “But you’re…”

“Too young?” She snorted. “There have been fifteen-year-old Victors, right?”

“That’s not…not the same thing. The Games aren’t the same as a war.”

“Then you’re not that much more experienced than me.” Meeting his gaze, she said with a half-smile, “We’ll just have to watch each other’s backs, won’t we? You, me, Cesar, Jesse, and Eileen.”

He managed a smile in return. “And Ash?”

“Yeah.” The teenager made a face. “Ash, too.”

They sat quietly for a while longer until Eileen showed up, just out of another meeting. “We’ve picked an entry location,” she said. “Tasha knows someone who can get us into District Five.”

Sam’s pulse sped up. “How soon?”

“A couple weeks or so.”

So close…

Then Eileen admitted that their plan included going stealth to entirely avoid detection by rebels and Capitols alike, and being “completely stable” might’ve helped Sam avoid the near-meltdown that ensued.     

Chapter Text

The slopes of District Two’s hills and mountains were mostly steep and all slick from repeated light snowfalls, making the going treacherous if someone was, say, sneaking around in the middle of the night.

Naturally, that wasn’t enough to stop someone who was both a Victor and a Winchester.

“This is a bad idea, Dean.”

“Come on, Cas! This is a normal reaction to being left out of all the important conversations because we’re ‘too unstable.’ Unstable my ass.”

“Given our current course of action, I am inclined to agree about that potential instability. Yours and mine both.”

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“We could have simply waited for Jody to inform us of any developments.” Bobby was still in District One with Ellen. “As much as I care about you, I have to observe that patience is not a virtue you possess.”

“Yeah, love you, too, Cas, but please shut up. I’m about to lose my footing here.”

“And whose fault would that be?”

Slipping and barely catching himself in time to avoid a nasty fall, Dean let out a few swear words instead of answering. Although he would never admit it out loud, he was seriously rethinking this plan of his.

The war in District Two had proved disappointing thus far, mostly because face-to-face skirmishes had almost entirely given way to the siege of the last major loyalist stronghold in the district: a military base located under a mountain. It housed not only a large force of Peacekeepers, but a lot of aircraft and weapons. The rebel’s goal of capturing the fortress mostly intact had so far only prolonged the wait.

So, within a couple weeks, Dean had gotten incredibly bored and decided on an impromptu scouting mission at least partway up the summit nearest the mountain above the base. He’d decided on a night trip partly because the mountain’s defenses had been used against rebels before when they’d been spotted, and partly because he knew no one would give him permission to go.

Which brought him and Castiel to a cold, slippery mountainside under a sky that was way more dark than not.

He’d just made it up to a wide ledge...Barely halfway, damn it... when Cas’s voice rumbled from below, “Dean?”

“Yes?”

“You...never mind.”

Cas isn’t the “never mind” type of guy. “What is it?”

Hedidn’t respond until he’d clambered up to the ledge as well. “It’s nothing, Dean.”

“You’re lying.”

“That is not…”

Castiel didn’t get a chance to finish, because suddenly several narrow, blinding beams of light started hitting them from at least two directions.

“What the…” Dean tried to shield his eyes, squinting at the approaching armed figures. I swear to God if this is a rebel patrol…

Then he heard a vaguely familiar roar of fury and Cas’s bellowed, “Dean, get down!”, followed by more yells and the unmistakable sound of guns being cocked.

Dean was reaching for his sidearm...should’ve brought the rifle...when Castiel body-slammed him to the ground, bullets whizzing overhead. He rolled off quickly, though, giving Dean a chance to draw and fire into their attackers.

The next few minutes were a mix of shooting, scrambling, and falling. Somehow they made it down the hillside with the loyalists...fucking Uriel from the Twenty-Something Games, of all people...isn’t he way too old for this shit?...and all but crashed into a rebel patrol, drawn by the commotion.

“What the hell were you doing up there?” the lead officer demanded as her soldiers rushed past to meet the approaching enemies. “Never mind; you can explain later. Now get out of here!”

“We can help!” Dean shouted, adrenaline rushing through him, urging him back into the fray. “Let us help!”

“Dean…” Close by his side, Castiel sounded...off. “Dean, I think I should…”

“Cas, what are you…” Dean turned and froze as he glanced down from the other man’s face.

Under the lead officer’s flashlight, the spreading dark spot under Cas’s open coat was horribly visible.

Any thought of rushing into battle left Dean’s mind in an instant. Grabbing Castiel, he all but dragged him away from the fight, back to the main military encampment outside the mountain fortress, all the way to the hospital, where he yelled for help until one of the attending doctors told him to “Shut up or I’ll have you sedated.”

Afterwards, Dean reflected that he should have kept yelling. A sedative would’ve been useful.

The bullet had gone right through Castiel’s torso, miraculously not causing severe damage to any vital organs. He still underwent immediate surgery and was shipped back to Thirteen the next morning. Dean went with him.

Their attackers, as it turned out, were a small force sent out from a secret door to the fortress to cause general havoc. It was a last-ditch attempt to accomplish some victory in Two; the rest of the loyalists surrendered within a few hours of the group’s annihilation at the hands of the rebels.

Just the Capitol left.

Dean didn’t participate more than he had to in the following round of triumphant, inspiring propos; he was too busy “babysitting the other idjit”, as Bobby put it during a long-distance call.

When Cas first woke up after his surgery, groggy and mostly silent due to painkillers, Dean relayed the news of victory to him. “Doctor says you might be well enough to come along to the Capitol when we go...if not, you can always join us later...it’s gonna take a while…”

“Dean.”

“Yeah?” Dean had been standing at the end of Castiel’s hospital bed; he moved around to sit on the uncomfortable chair beside it. “You want anything?”

“Dean.”

“Yes, Cas?”

“...you said you loved me.”

Thinking back, Dean remembered the throwaway comment. Cas wakes up after being shot and going through surgery, and he’s thinking about…

He coughed to cover his suspicious tightening of his throat and prickling in his eyes, then said, “Yeah, well...I meant it.”

Blinking up at him, Cas said solemnly, “Thank you.”

He promptly fell asleep after that, and remained so even when Anna and Jo came in to visit. The Victor was all but confirmed to be going to the Capitol as a soldier, and Jo had recovered enough to consider joining the rebel forces herself, at least as reserve. “Haven’t told Mom yet, though. Not looking forward to it.”

Apparently Adam was recovering somewhat, too. Dean didn’t ask for details.

The ever-colder days turned into a blur of preparations for the invasion of the Capitol and the anticipated end of the war. The more he heard about the Capitol’s defenses, however, the more convinced Dean became that capturing the city would take ages. Due to antiaircraft defenses, the invasion would have to start on the ground.

“Intel is that they’re already evacuating the outskirts and setting up Gamemaker traps everywhere for the rebels to walk into,” he told Castiel over breakfast one morning.

“So it’s another Arena. In a sense.”

“Fuck. Just what we need.”

Pause. “Dean.”

“Yes?”

“They are not going to let me go to the Capitol next week. The doctors think it’s too soon.”

Shifting in his seat, Dean said, “Then I’ll wait until you’re cleared.”

“You don’t want to do that.”

“...No. I don’t.”

Cas smiled slightly. “You will go when the majority of the rebel forces do, and I will join you when I can.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, well...you’d better. Who’s gonna take a bullet for me if you’re not there?”

I’m going to murder whoever arranged th e seating in here. And whoever made the rule that you’re not aloud to switch seats after sitting down.

On his way to the Capitol via hovercraft...and without Castiel...Dean found himself sitting directly across from John Winchester. A.k.a. , the last place I want to be, other than maybe an Arena or Dick Roman’s mansion. He tried to keep his hands busy so he’d have an excuse not to look at his father, but there was only so many times one could take apart and reassemble a handgun before it got boring.

The trip had already dragged on for over an hour when John leaned forward and said quietly, “Dean.”

Noting that most of the people around them were asleep, Dean demanded without meeting his gaze, “What do you want?”

“We haven’t…” John sighed, rubbed his face, tried again. “We haven’t really talked. Since you came to Thirteen.”

“I’d think that punch you took to the face would’ve let you know that a conversation with you is the last thing I want.”

“Dean…” John shook his head. “Fine. You don’t have to have a conversation with me if you don’t want to. I’ll just talk and hope you listen.”

When Dean didn’t respond, he continued, “I’m sorry, Dean. I truly am. Working with Thirteen...I thought it was the right thing to do. I still think that; the revolution was necessary...people like me were necessary...But...because I worked with them, because I got in too deep...I didn’t do right by you and Sam. I blame myself for your both ending up in the Games…”

“You’re probably right about that.” He glanced up, nothing with some satisfaction that John looked far more uncomfortable than he felt. He deserves it.

The older man let out another sigh, slumping a little in his seat. “I wasn’t ever the best parent, especially after losing your mother...I never expect you to forgive me for that. But I...I hope...and so does Kate; Adam would, too, if he were more himself...that one day you can move past that. And maybe...we could be something like a family again.”

After a long pause, Dean said levelly, “Sam would’ve forgiven you and been able to move on. I’m not sure I ever can.”

Nodding slowly, John replied, “I understand. It’s about what I expected.” He hesitated. “Dean...just one more thing.”

“What?”

When he looked up, he was startled by the amount of pain John was letting his expression show. “I wish your brother was here...not for me, but for you. He didn’t deserve any of the shit that happened to him.”

Don’t you dare fucking cry. “Yeah.” Dean sniffed, leaned back, and closed his eyes. “Gonna grab a nap before we reach the Capitol.”

Chapter Text

Except for the soft hums and rattles of the engines and track, all was quiet in the train’s freight cars. Some of the people within slept, others checked weapons.

Sam kept his mouth shut mostly out of necessity, as he had for the past three weeks. All through the trek across Outsider lands, while climbing over a damaged part of District Five’s wall, and while sneaking into the very train that now carried the Outsider rebels northward, he had kept silent and done as he was told.

Eileen had told him in no uncertain terms that was the only way he was joining the mission, and deep down he knew she was right.

It won’t be long until the whole nation knows who the Outsiders are, and then I can contact Dean.

He held onto that like a lifeline as the sleepless hours onboard the train dragged on. When his thoughts about his brother grew too scattered, he forced himself to focus on the sound of Magda’s soft snores. The teen beside him certainly wasn’t having a problem sleeping.

The Outsiders filled several train cars; Eileen was in a different one than Sam, but across from him he could just make out Cesar and Jesse in the dim light from the single ceiling light strip. They were both sitting upright, not slumped like Magda, but they might’ve been sleeping, too.

The plan was relatively simple. Tasha Banes’s contact had arranged for them to be dropped off near an unusual entry point to the Capitol district. Apparently, if someone could get through the mountainous southwest border, they could gain access...with explosives...to an old network of tunnels that had been forgotten by almost everyone in Panem and only been rediscovered by non-Thirteen-affiliated spies within the Capitol recently; they led right up into the city outskirts. Once there, the Outsiders would cause as much unexpected mayhem as possible, and hopefully join up with the main rebel forces to bring the Capitol to its knees.

Sam didn’t care as much as he knew he should about the details as long as the plan worked. As long as I get back to my brother.

Upon entering District Five, the Outsiders had been caught up on the parts of the rebellion they hadn’t known of, thus confirming that while many notable people had died, Dean Winchester was not one of them.

I have to hold onto that. I have to.

Magda shifted next to him, dropping her head against his shoulder as her snores continued. He kept still, figuring that she needed the rest. Well, I do, too, but I’m not going to get it.

The train sped on through the night, with Sam struggling to keep his head level as the hours wore on.

Oddly enough, that got easier after the train stopped, as the Outsiders blew their way into ancient mountain tunnels, as they crept through the darkness for almost twenty-four hours, as they began to fight their way through the less-defended “backside” slums of the Capitol.

Afterward, Sam didn’t remember most of it. Not whether he actually managed to kill anyone that day, not how many times Magda or someone else had to drag him out of the line of fire when he wouldn’t duck and cover, not exactly where they met the defecting pair of Peacekeepers desperate to speed up the Capitol’s surrender by any means necessary, including guiding any rebels they could find to the city’s rotten core.

But Sam would remember, for the rest of his life, invading the Presidential Palace.

(One week earlier)

Dean was bored.

The issue with being a famous person on the front lines during a several-week siege was that the higher-ups wanted you filming propos instead of actually doing something useful.

“If I have to shoot at another abandoned building, I swear I’m gonna…”

“Be quiet and eat your soup, Dean.”

At least Cas had finally joined him at the front, along with the rest of the “Star Squad.” Said squad included was led by Major Jefferson of that first propo mission in Eight, plus a few Thirteen soldiers Dean called “the babysitters.” John was one of them.

He and Dean dealt with it by talking to each other as little as possible, though things did feel a bit...easier between them, after their conversation on the hovercraft.

The actual “stars”, besides Dean and now Cas, included Anna Milton, Marina Fisher from Four, and Jo Harvelle, who had arrived with Castiel. An ever-present film crew, led by Minerva, also buzzed around, but Dean didn’t mind the director herself so much any more, and Charlie was also with the crew a lot of the time, and she was definitely fun to be around.

Besides the occasional Crowley sighting...he seemed to be lurking around despite not being a soldier, and refused to tell any of his fellow Victors what he was up to if they got a chance to ask...and dismantling the few Gamemaker traps they were allowed to while being filmed, the Star Squad spend weeks doing nothing much at all. Day by day, rebel forces pushed further into the Capitol, and yet the Victors who had helped fan the flames of rebellion were left behind. Their most persistent enemies were the on-and-off icy rain and the consistent winter chill.

This particular evening, Dean wasn’t the only one complaining.

“It is ridiculous.” Marina glanced around the tent with her startlingly-blue eyes. “If we must be used for filming only, at least film us doing something interesting.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “We almost got killed in Eight, but the propos were awesome, right?”

Charlie giggled. Minerva gave her a stern look, but she was clearly suppressing a smile as she said, “That was a complete accident.”

While the Victors plus Jo and film crew usually ate together in the large supplies tent, Jefferson and other Thirteens tended to stick together a few yards away. However, Jefferson had great hearing, as exhibited when she yelled, “That was an accident, and I don’t want you lot pulling one of those tricks on me again, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Jo called, then muttered, “I wish we’d even get a chance to.”

A few days later, after another round of activating traps from a distance and eating army rations that made Thirteen’s food seem sumptuous, Dean flopped down on his bedroll next to Castiel in one of the smaller tents. Night had fallen fast and cold; Anna and Jo were already snoring a couple feet away, and Minerva never went to bed earlier than midnight, opting instead to lurk around outside or something.

Good a time as any to talk. “Hey, Cas?” he said softly.

“Yes, Dean?”

“You ever think about what you’re going to do after all this is over? ‘Cause it will be soon, even if we don’t get to see any of it…”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.” Pause. “I don’t think I want to go back to District One.”

“I’ll probably go back to Nine. Scratch that, I’m definitely going back. Got to take care of Baby if nothing else.” Dean hesitated. “Cas...would you want to come home with me? When this is over?”

He had to hold himself back from saying any of the other things that started rushing through his head, lots of them sappy. I miss you so much when you’re gone...I’m happier with you...I never want to live without you...I need you…

“Dean…” He heard Cas’s shuddering breath. “I love you.”

The only thing Dean could think to say to that was, “So...is that a yes?”

“Dean.”

“Okay, I get it!” Smiling like an idiot, Dean reached over and found Castiel’s hand in the dark. Their fingers intertwined. “I love you, too.”

The sun had a long way to go before rising when Jefferson started shouting at them to wake up.

Stumbling out of the tent with the others, shivering as he struggled to pull his heaviest jacket on, Dean didn’t have much time to take in the lamp-lit scene before Jefferson started talking.

He did have just enough time to think, What the hell is Crowley doing here?

“Listen up, everyone!” Even in the dim light, Jefferson looked pissed off. “We’ve been given a special mission...one that goes against everything I was told previously, but I made a call, and it’s confirmed. Perhaps you’d like to explain some of the details, sir?”

Crowley went from blank faced to his default expression: a smirk. “Well, as some of you may have guessed…”

“We really weren’t trying,” Marina said; next to her, Jo and Anna exchanged grins. Crowley ignored them and kept going.

“...I have been spending my time here gathering information to aid in finishing up this whole unpleasant rebellion business sooner rather than later. Yesterday, an informant of mine was kind enough to provide a map,” at this juncture he brandished a tablet, “that has a very detailed plan of the Capitol sewers, through which a small group could potentially pass undetected, from rebel-occupied territory into the heart of the city itself.”

“Meaning the Presidential Palace.” Jefferson put in.

“Exactly.” Crowley inclined his head briefly towards the major. “Your task is to kill President Roman...and get it on camera. Then it will be broadcast, and...voila! Most of the remaining Capitol forces should crumble.”

After a pause, John said, “Who cleared this again? President Odon?”

“I checked, Winchester,” Jefferson repeated, regretfully. “It’s legit.”

Dean felt Castiel’s hand close around his wrist as Jo spoke up. “A small group could potentially get to the Palace?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Were you expecting it to be easy?”

Another pause, and Dean felt the urge to break it. “So, our mission is to go sneak around in some sewers and hopefully kill a president?” When everyone looked at him, he shrugged. “Sounds like a plan. When do we leave?”

With a sigh, Jefferson said, “Immediately. Get geared up, everyone. We leave in ten.”

Chapter Text

Twenty-four hours underground in District Thirteen was, at worst, vaguely annoying.

Twenty-four hours underground in the endless sewer/maintenance tunnel system far underneath the Capitol’s streets was utterly maddening.

Even with Crowley’s map...and Crowley to decipher it; he wouldn’t let anyone else look at it except Jefferson a few times...navigating the tunnels took way longer than expected.

The storm drain they had descended into lay miles behind them. More dark, twisting pathways stretched ahead, some large enough to walk through with some elbow room, some too small to stand straight in. Some were completely dry, while in others, the squad and film crew had to slosh through water, sometimes knee-deep. Sometimes it wasn’t just water.

After over twelve hours, Jefferson ordered that they take a break longer than a mere breather. They had managed to reach some sort of storage room just above and off of one of the watery tunnels. It stored mostly dust at the moment, and everyone had just enough room to find a spot along the walls.

“Two guards at a time in the doorway,” Jefferson said. “I’ll be one of the people on first watch. Everyone else, eat something and get some rest. We still have a long way to go.”

Faint rumbling reached their ears from far overhead, from where the war still raged on the Capitol’s streets.

John volunteered to be on watch with the major, and everyone settled down to eat some protein bars and try to sleep. Jo, Anna, and Marina whispered to each other for a while; Dean even heard a couple stifled giggles from them a couple times. Several people checked over their weapons while the film crew checked their equipment. Crowley was the only one who seemed to doze off quickly, and that was probably due to whatever was in the flask he drank from to wash down his rations.

If he hadn’t been sitting on the other side of the room, Dean would’ve tried stealing it. Nonetheless, after what felt like hours, he did drift off. The switching of sentries woke him up both times it happened, inevitable in the cramped space. Still, he got more sleep than he expected.

Then came the smell.

Rot. Ash. Gray skies.

His Arena.

Dean jolted awake in time to hear Marina whispering to the Thirteen soldier she was on sentry duty with, “I could’ve sworn I heard something…”

Taking a deep breath, Dean almost choked as it hit full force.

The only warning Benny and I ever got from those things was that fucking smell.

The same rotting stench that was currently filling the tunnel. And in the distance…

Hissing. Snarling. Mutts.

“They’re mutts!” Dean burst out. “Everyone wake up! Mutts are tracking us!”

That woke everyone up; Jefferson must have been awake already, because she sounded completely coherent as she asked, “How can you tell?’

“We’ve been hearing things,” Marina said. “Something’s definitely getting closer.”

“Yeah, and…” Another wave of the stench hit him, and Dean flinched. “I know that smell. It’s mutts from my Games. The ones with the massive mouths and all the fucking teeth…”

He trailed off, and Jefferson nodded. “All right, people, we need to get moving. Right now.”

A couple minutes later, they were struggling through the tunnels at a faster pace than before, their headlamps and rifle scope lights just illuminating the way. But the stench kept getting worse, and the snarling kept sounding louder, echoing in the confined space.

It took an incredible amount of concentration for Dean to fight off the flashbacks.

“Let the Sixty-Sixth Hunger Games begin!”

Snarling, inky-black, humanoid creatures, gaping mouths full of massive fangs where their faces should have been...crawling up the rock pile, getting closer…

Black stone blades scattered around the Cornucopia...the first person falling to them within seconds of the gong sounding...

“Guess this is it for me, brother. Make it quick, will you?”

Castiel must have realized Dean was struggling, because he caught hold of his hand and wouldn’t let go, even if it made it slightly harder to run.

Having a panic attack would make it even more difficult.

But when the squad turned a corner and Jefferson shouted “On our six!” and gunfire erupted in every direction and the mutts were suddenly everywhere, Cas had to let go.

Dean managed to get his shit together and start shooting within a few seconds...just in time to see one of the creatures get a hold of Anna and take off her head in one bite.

“No!” Jo screamed, taking down the slavering mutt in a hail of bullets before Dean could even react.

Everything started happening in flashes then. Crowley bellowing, “ Follow me! ” as he brandished his tablet with the precious map in one hand and a handgun in the other. Two Thirteen soldiers being forced into a corner, their screams deafening as they were torn apart. A cameraman tripping and being overwhelmed immediately. Jefferson pushing everyone else in front of her a smaller, higher-up tunnel and being yanked back by more mutts before she could follow.

Stumbling after Crowley, Dean heard his father cry out and turned to see a pursuing mutt pinning him to the floor; he shot it down and pulled John back to his feet.

They made it down one passageway and into a wider one, this one with a few inches of water on the floor and lit by some dim maintenance lights. Several yards away was a ladder along one wall, leading upwards.

At Crowley’s insistence, Cas made it up the ladder first and shoved the metal trapdoor open. Dean saw him scramble through, then turned and started firing at the mutts spilling into the passage behind him. Marina, John, and Charlie... Whose rifle is she even using... stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, though a glance at his father made him realize that one of them shouldn’t be there. He can’t even hold his gun up, his shoulder’s that fucked... “John, get back!”

“Dean, I can…”

“You’re no good to me dead, Dad!”

“I got him!” Minerva appeared from nowhere, seizing John’s uninjured arm and pulling him towards that ladder.

“Slow those things down and get the hell over here!” Crowley shouted.

They’d taken at least a dozen when they collectively decided to make a run for it, despite the fact that even more kept coming. Dean was right behind Marina, about to start up, when Crowley grabbed his arm and forced the tablet into his hand. “You’re more dexterous than I,” the older man said. Without thinking, Dean nodded and started to climb one-handed, not having time to stow the tablet anywhere on his person.

Cas hauled him the last few inches through the trapdoor, but when they looked down, expecting to see Crowley at least part way up, he was still at the bottom. In his hands he held a belt of at least ten grenades.

What the...

The Victor from Five glanced up at them, half-smirking as the mutts surrounded him. “Bye, boys,” he said, then pulled one of the pins.

Despite Cas slamming the trapdoor shut immediately and shouting at everyone to get back, the explosion below still knocked them all to the ground.

There was no time to think after that. Dean took the lead, using Crowley’s well-marked map to guide them through the maintenance tunnels, which were devoid of mutts, but not of traps. As they raced around a corner, Marina shoved Charlie out of the way just in time to save the redhead from a horizontal spout of flames that erupted from the wall. The Victor from Four was enveloped entirely, beyond help, her horrifying screams cut off seconds later when Cas shot her in the head.

For a moment, Dean froze, gaze locked on Marina’s burning body as it collapsed to the ground, then bullets were whizzing down the passage from an arriving group of Peacekeepers and John was yelling at him and then they were running again.

There was no time for anything else, even feeling.

They ended up in what seemed to be an abandoned level of servant and maintenance worker quarters, still underground but not more than a mile from the City Circle and the Presidential Palace. They had managed to lose the Peacekeepers when a section of floor several yards wide had turned into pit of spinning blades. Miraculously, one else in the squad had been killed after Marina.

In a dimly-lit, spartan living room/kitchen, they had time to take a breath.

I wish we didn’t.

Out of the entire squad, six people had survived. On a threadbare couch, Minerva, stone-faced, patched up John’s teeth-torn shoulder with a first aid kit fished from someone’s backpack. Jo paced around the room while Charlie sobbed silently in a corner. Cas stood guard by the door to the hallway.

Dean found himself in the only seat besides the couch, Crowley’s tablet in his hands, adrenaline-fueled numbness giving away to horror.

They’re all dead. Anna, Marina, Jefferson, the other soldiers, the entire camera crew besides Minerva and Charlie…

Almost a dozen people, gone in the span of a couple hours. All gone because of a stupid mission someone in the highest ranks of the rebellion had cooked up.

This was a fucking terrible plan from the beginning.

The image of the mutts ripping Anna’s head off kept replaying in his head, and for a few minutes, he had to concentrate on trying not to vomit.

“What now?” Jo asked eventually, breaking the uneasy silence. “Keep going? Go back? Stay here? I know which I would rather do.”

“We wouldn’t make it if we turned around,” John said, wincing as he tried to move his injured shoulder. “But we’ll most likely die if we go on. Staying here isn’t an option; they know we’re in this area, and they will find us.”

“So what do we do?” Minerva said. “Go forward or back?”

“We should go on.” Everyone’s gazes moved to the doorway, where Cas stood. He didn’t look back at them, only saying in a monotone, “Minerva and Charlie should still have handheld cameras. President Roman may still be within reach, if we are lucky and strike fast. Going back means certain death, but going forward means we may give the rebellion something useful before the end, if only our martyrdom.”

Pause. “I agree with you, Castiel.” Jo halted her pacing, her face resolute. “Just a little push, and this war will end. We might as well try to be that push before we die. Otherwise, everyone we just lost would have died in vain.”

She looked around the room, and Minerva was first to nod. “Yes,” the director said, “We have the handhelds. I’m willing to try and finish what we started. Charlie?”

The redhead only nodded briefly, rubbing tears from her face.

John sighed heavily, eyes closing for a moment. “I’m not sure how much use I’ll be, but I’m going.” He glanced up. “Dean?”

Taking a shaky breath, Dean said, “Yeah. It’s the last chance we have of killing Dick Roman.” Last chance for revenge. “ Let’s do it.”

Two hours, a few protein bars, and several more dark corridors later, the remaining squad members broke into the basement of the Presidential Palace by sheer luck. The rebels were gaining ground in the city, and even many of the palace guards had been transferred to securing the outside of the building or to the streets.

Not to mention, a couple Avoxes they came across gave some helpful directions before slipping away into the darkness of the maintenance tunnels, to hide or escape Dean didn’t know.

John still had grenades in his pack , which they used to blast open any locked doors. The lavish mansion, untouched by war, started to look less pristine as the squad just managed to overwhelm the few guards that confronted them. Jo even managed to get the current location of the President out of one before he died.

Then they burst into Roman’s gold-embellished office to find the man himself alone save for one un-helmeted Peacekeeper, sitting at his massive desk, looking oddly smug for a man about to lose his entire country regardless of whether he died or not.

Somehow, the lack of fear halted them all in their tracks, frozen in the middle of the room .

“Well,” the President said with a smirk, “It looks like the would-be assassins have finally arrived. A bit late, I must say. The war is almost over, you know.”

The Peacekeeper behind him chuckled, squinting his strangely-yellowish eyes, and Dean heard John let out a soft curse.

“Still,” Roman said, his expression going from relaxed to feral in an instant, “I wouldn’t miss a chance to kill some of Panem’s worst heroes for the world.”

Several things happened at once then. The President dived behind his desk as at least a dozen Peacekeepers came storming out of several hidden doorways and the squad fell into a defensive position. In the hallway behind them, they could hear a dozen more soldiers arriving, if not more .

So this is it. This is how we die. For a second, Dean locked eyes with Cas, who had run out of ammo a few minutes earlier. “I love you.”

Cas dropped his useless gun and pulled out his silver three-sided blade without looking. “I love you, too, Dean.”

Then all hell broke loose. Especially in the hallway.

The squad had managed to take out several Peacekeepers in the room when they realized that the ones in the hall were under attack by someone else entirely. Several someones, in fact.

Men and women with old weapons and no uniforms, some of whom came charging in around the time Minerva managed to wing the yellow-eyed Peacekeeper, distracting him long enough for John to sneak up and ram a knife into his neck with one hand. Dean thought he heard his father yell “That’s for my wife!”, but he couldn’t be sure with all the yelling and gunshots. Plus, he was fighting alongside Cas, injuring opponents enough with bullets that the Victor from One could finish them off with the silver blade.

Then Cas cried out and stumbled, blood staining his arm, and Dean realized too late that he’d just run out of bullets just when Dick Roman had a gun aimed at his head.

Things got quiet suddenly, as most of the Peacekeepers were dead or dying, and everyone else had frozen, watching the President as he stood in front of his desk, holding a gun without the slightest trace of a tremor.

“Dean Winchester,” he hissed, sounding for a moment like the mutts in the sewer, “You have been one of the worst thorns in my side this entire war. And you were so well-behaved before…”

“You shoot him, we kill you!” John shouted.

Struggling to his feet and gripping his injured arm, Castiel added, “I will rip your insides apart with my bare hands if you harm him!"

“Hmm, yes, I suppose you will. But then again, the satisfaction of…” Roman glanced past Dean at the door, and the mask slipped. He looked...startled.

Someone behind Dean let out a roar, and a gunshot rang out. Then another, and another.

Dick Roman faltered, dark spots appearing and spreading on his gray shirt and suit jacket. Now he looked confused. His weapon slipped out of his hand.

He’d barely hit the ground when Dean spun around to see who had just saved his damn life.

Standing among the raggedly-dressed strangers, a towering figure of a man lowered his rifle and whispered, shakily, “...Dean?”

One moment, Dean was frozen, thinking It can’t be on a frantic loop.

Another moment, and he realized that it was .

Then he’d crossed the room in no time at all and was hugging his little brother like he’d never let him go.

Chapter Text

Following the fight in the Presidential Palace, Sam found a lot of things confusing. He had to assume that some of it was because of his state of mind, of course. Even without understandable amounts of shock, his brain was still “rather scrambled”, as Eileen put it.

John Winchester being alive, for instance, was very confusing. So was the fact that Charlie was alive and in the mansion, and so was the lady with a tattooed head insisting that Dean stop clinging to Sam and make a filmed speech over Dick Roman’s dead body.

Sam hadn’t even known it was Dean he was saving. He’d just seen the President holding someone hostage and had fired without a thought. Thankfully, when someone suggested he make a statement as someone who had figuratively risen from the dead, Eileen and Magda put a stop to it. “Do you want him to freak out?” the teen said, brandishing her rifle at Jo Harvelle. “’Cause that’s how you make Sam freak out.”

Somehow the video of dead Dick got aired from somewhere in the Palace, and the last Peacekeepers battling rebels out on the street surrendered. Pockets of resistance from loyalists in the districts more or less disintegrated. Rebel command took over, and for the next month, everything was about cleaning up the mess that war left.

Sam, almost immediately examined by rebel doctors and deemed “mentally unstable”, didn’t have to do much except find a quiet place to rest and try to process everything.

Dad, alive and married again. Adam Rosen, not a Rosen at all and my and Dean’s half-brother. Charlie, an ex-Capitol. The war, over. The Games, over forever.

The Outsiders, who had helped invade the Capitol in their own way, were offered help at every turn. Many of them, especially those who had fled Panem themselves or their children, decided to stay or were fetched from outside the district borders. Those who stayed outside were promised help and protection; they wouldn’t be isolated anymore unless they really wanted that.

All of this made sense to same; the confusing bit was when Claire was brought to the Capitol to be reunited with her makeshift family, was DNA tested, and revealed to be Castiel Novak’s niece. Dean kept talking about it for about two days straight.

The fact that he and Castiel were together now was not confusing. When Dean acted awkward about it, Sam pointed out, “You never shut up about him before, Dean. I think I could’ve called this.”

He couldn’t have called John’s survival, or his new wife and Adam. During a visit to the hospital, Sam happened to briefly see his half-brother, now under treatment in the Capitol, for the first time since the Games and thought That might be the first person I’ve seen who’s more unstable than me. Apparently he was getting better, however, or so John said.

Dean spent a lot of time shadowing Sam in the weeks following their reunion, though he was often called away to make statements for the cameras or something like that. Sometimes when he was gone, John would visit Sam’s room...which he barely left...and talk. Forgiving his father was an ongoing process, but Sam saw having one parent back as a net positive, in the end.

“You’re handling my existence better than Dean did,” John joked at one point.

“I guess I’m used to handling crazy things at this point.”

Eileen, Magda, Cesar, and Jesse were frequent visitors as well, despite being very busy. Even Ash stopped by sometimes. And when Bobby and Jody arrived from District Thirteen, Sam found himself embraced and doted on more than he had in his entire life.

Sometimes it was overwhelming. Fortunately, the people around him seemed to understand when he’d had too much. And if they didn’t, well, Magda or Eileen was usually around to tell them off.

An assigned therapist would also come and go, taking a nap during appointments more often than not, as Sam still didn’t feel like he could put anything he was feeling into words.

Nothing feels real, yet. The shadows are still always there.

It was still better, though. Even if his sleep was often interrupted by Dean coming in to check on him in the middle of the night. Sometimes he would stay, then Cas would inevitably follow an hour or so later and fall asleep on the couch while the brothers shared the bed.

I guess Castiel is part of the family now.

About three weeks after the surrender, Sam was eating lunch with Magda...something they had gotten in a habit of doing...when Castiel wandered in. “Is Dean here?”

“Not right now.” Sam managed a smile. “Want some lunch? We have lots.”

The Victor from One blinked. “Yes. Thank you.”

He sat down with them and had just picked up a sandwich when Magda said, “You’re Claire’s uncle, right?”

A blue-eyed stare. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

“You haven’t met her yet.”

“I do not know her.”

“You never will if you don’t meet her to begin with.”

“…You are right.”

“I know.” Magda sipped her glass of water with an air of superiority.

“Then I will make an effort to meet her later today.”

“Good.”

I’m just gonna leave this conversation alone...

A few minutes of weird silence later, Dean came storming in. “The motherfucker set us up!” he roared.

While Sam was struggling to hold down instinctual panic and Magda moved protectively in front of him, Dean quieted himself marginally and kept going. “That fucking Gamemaker Chuck forged those orders, for the mission...Bastard claims he was protecting Amara from ‘dissenting voices’ or something...like I give a shit about politics...but it was all a lie, he wanted us dead, martyrs were better for his own game...He fucking killed Anna, and Marina, and...Cas, I…”

Sam hadn’t seen his brother snap and really cry yet, not even when they’d been reunited, and wanted to comfort him. But Castiel got there long before he could unfreeze himself, pulling Dean into his arms and holding him tight.

Chuck was arrested and imprisoned for some category of treason, and Amara Odon became President of Panem. She immediately set in motion further elections for government positions across Panem and appointed popular general Aaron Patel as her second-in-command. She also promised another presidential election in only a year. John said he believed she would keep that promise, and Sam decided to believe him.

Dad probably knows better than I do about this. Not that it makes that much difference to me; I’m just the guy who survived getting flushed out of a Hunger Games Arena.

He did learn one important thing about that. According to declassified Capitol files, Lucifer Rex’s body had been found just outside the wreckage of the Seventy-Fifth Arena.

He’ll never be able to hurt me again. I’ll never see the real Lucifer again.

So much remained unsettled, but his head kept on clearing and bit by bit, he felt more stable.

He also started thinking more and more about home.

The day after Chuck’s masterminding of the Star Squad’s doomed mission became public, an exhausted, disheartened Dean and Cas were summoned to a meeting with President Odon and the remaining Victors.

There weren’t that many. Many had died in the last days of the rebellion, killed by whichever side they weren’t on. A few, such as Meg Masters, had simply vanished.

The number of known survivors came to fifteen. Those who had been rebels included Dean, Cas, Jody, Bobby, Ellen, Rowena, Becky Rosen, Julia Wright, Lisa Braeden, Missouri Moseley,“Sparky” Darren from Three, Asher Gallagher from District Twelve, and Donna Hanscum from District Ten. The only two “neutrals”, Gadreel Craft and the most recent Victor, Belphegor Rapt of District One, sat at the table in one of the Palace’s meeting rooms. The bullet holes were still being repaired in the Presidential office; it hadn’t been top priority.

“Thank you all for being here,” Amara said once everyone had settled. “Now that things are settling down, and know that many of you would like to begin thinking about next steps, about where to go now that it’s all over. You are all free to leave the Capitol if you wish; many of you have been invaluable in this fight, and I thank you.” She paused. “However, there is one last matter I would like to put before you. As there is no former president to execute and so many of his officials committed suicide before arrest, several of my advisors have been suggesting the Capitol citizens still need one last lesson before peace can truly be established. No one wants genocide, so they have suggested this: a final Hunger Games. Just one...with Capitol children.”

Everyone sat in shocked silence for a few moments, and she went on, “I am torn on this, but I agreed to consider it, on one condition. The remaining Victors, all of you in this room, must vote on whether to hold this final symbolic Games or not. None may abstain. I will respect your collective choice; you have my word.”

What the actual fuck.

Another stunned silence. Sparky Darren was the first to respond, his usual energy muted. With a snort, he said, “Not a good plan. I vote no.”

“Well, I vote yes,” Rowena said, an undercurrent of pure rage in her voice. “My son…” She hesitated, swallowed. “They deserve it.”

Crowley would have voted with his mom on this one.

“Do they deserve it?” Missouri shook her head. “Punishment, accountability, yes. More murdered children...No. I vote no.”

“I vote no as well,” Julia said. “No more dead children.”

“I would agree, but…” Lisa bit her lip. “Yes. They should know what it feels like.”

“I agree.” Asher didn’t look up from the tabletop. “Yes.”

He lost everyone in th e last Games...

Belphegor giggled. From what Dean knew of him, this was on brand. “Hell, why not? Yes from me. Gadreel?”

Two’s last surviving Victor said only one word. “Yes.”

“You’re being horrible,” Becky snapped, voice quivering. “No. We can’t.”

“I’m gonna have to go with Becky,” Donna said with no trace of her usual bubbly manner. “I say no.”

“Sorry to disagree, Donna, but I’m saying yes,” Jody said. “For Alex.”

Her niece died for nothing...

Bobby groaned. “Goddamn it, Jody...I’m saying no. Just...no.”

Sighing, Ellen spoke up. “I’m with Bobby. No.”

Amara looked expectantly at Castiel, who hesitated for a long moment before saying, “Yes. Just one more Games.”

All eyes turned to Dean. “You’re the tiebreaker, boy,” Bobby said.

I want to say yes.

Castiel had said yes, after all, and Dean was still so goddamn angry…

Why shouldn’t the Capitol know how it feels like? Why shouldn’t they…

Then he imagined Sam’s face when he found out about yet another Hunger Games, and the “yes” died before leaving his mouth. I can deal with Cas’s disappointment. Not Sam’s. Not this time. “No. No more Games. Find something else to punish the Capitol with.”

Amara nodded, looking a tiny bit...relieved. “Eight to seven. No more Hunger Games. Thank you all.”

They all went their separate ways then; Dean found his way to Sam’s room when Cas said that he need to take a walk alone. He found his little brother seated by the window, reading a book. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Sam looked up at him, concerned “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just...working through stuff.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean looked Sam in the eyes. “You know what?”

“What?”

I’ve had enough of...all this. It’s over. Finally. “Let’s go home, Sammy.”

Chapter Text

The summer sun shone in a clear blue sky. The green and gold grain fields of District Nine rippled in a gentle breeze. Birds fluttered among the trees lining the irrigation canals.

A large black car rumbled along the road between District Nine’s repaired, bustling main town center and what had once been Victor’s Village. The neighborhood had expanded since the end of the war; where twelve houses had once stood alone, a couple dozen more had gone up. It had become a fairly lively neighborhood, instead of a near-silent row of buildings backed up against the Tribute’s graveyard.

Th at graveyard itself still existed, surrounded by living families, and looked better than it used to; the one hundred and forty-six graves inside were well-tended by various volunteers.

No more bodies would be added to that graveyard. Ever.

Dean gripped Baby’s steering while with one hand while the other went instinctively to the small horned pendant hanging around his neck, giving it a quick rub. When he let it go, he reached to his right without looking, and the blue-eyed, dark-haired man in the passenger seat took his hand immediately.

The war had ended almost ten years ago, and Castiel had barely left Dean’s side since.

Sometimes Dean would wonder what he’d done to deserve someone like Cas, then would tell himself that it didn’t matter. They fit together, and that was what mattered.

They didn’t speak during the drive, but when they pulled into the circle in front of the oldest row of houses, Dean grinned and said, “Look’s like the party’s started without us, Cas!”

Bobby’s home had more cars parked in front of it than usual. And as Dean parked Baby in front of his own house next door , a red-haired figure exploded out of the older man’s place and came running to hug him...almost before he and Cas made it out of the car.

“Ow! Charlie, hey!” Dean laughed and hugged her back. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it!”

“Yeah, well, I had some vacation time saved up.” Charlie released him, grinning, and went to hug Cas next. She worked some high-up tech job in District One now, but visited when she could. Sometime during the war and after, she’d become a close friend, even part of the family.

Making their way over to Bobby’s, they found that Katie, Jody, and Eileen had taken over the kitchen. Dean and Cas accepted hugs from the two older women; they’d just seen Eileen that morning, after all.

“Dean, you’re covered in grease!” Jody scolded as she let him go. She didn’t live just down the street anymore; Nine held too many ghosts for her and she’d moved to District Ten soon after the war, joining Donna Hanscum in running a new law enforcement organization. “Make sure you wash before eating, young man!”

“I’m not that young anymore, Jody!” Dean protested, turning to give Katie a warm but slightly less familial hug. She and John had stayed in the Capitol and now lived there with Adam; though things were friendly between them all, there was still some distance Dean didn’t know they’d ever be able to cross all the way. Sam tended to do better than Dean on that front.

John was outside in the back, drinking beer on the porch with Bobby and Adam. The two older men had formed and maintained a cordial relationship; John still worked for the government, and Bobby...did whatever he felt like doing, whether that was helping Dean work on cars at Winchester Automotive (Cas had suggested that name, obviously) or spending his entire day drinking.

Meanwhile, Adad , after years of slow recovery from unimaginable torture , was a student at a Capitol university, considering majoring in medicine , and was mostly stable.

As stable as anyone who was ever in the Hunger Games can be, at least.

Out in the backyard, Claire and Magda were engaged in some sort of wrestling match; Charlie immediately abandoned the boys to cheer them on . Claire, almost twenty, attended college in Ten, while Magda trained to be a doctor in Two, her parents’ district. Both girls had ended up living with Jody after the war, as their Outsider family had become somewhat broken up and no one else even remotely close to them had been able to offer them a stable home .

Hell, it took years for Cas and I to manage a single sleep without nightmares.

Ash had returned to Seven to live his life contentedly surrounded by booze and computers. Jesse and Cesar had joined Panem’s new united military for a time, helping to hunt down the scattered fragments of Capitol loyal i s ts ; after about two years, they’d returned to Eileen’s farm. With connections to the “Inside,” Outsider settlements thrived. The farm was no exception.

Eileen had become a kind of ambassador for the Outsiders, helping solidify those connections. Eventually, when things settled, she’d started helping to teach the fair number of deaf children Old Panem had left behind, which had morphed into her becoming a traveling teacher for countless kids of all sorts. Just a year ago, she’d finally settled in District Nine, with Sam.

She’d visited often enough that her moving in with him next door to Dean and Cas hadn’t been a surprise at all, in the end.

Dean accepted a beer from his dad and took a sip, scanning the area for his brother. He wasn’t in the yard or on the porch. In the house, maybe?

In fact, he was in the graveyard, leaning against a tree, half of whose branches reached over Bobby’s yard.

Dean winced. He knew who was buried under that tree.

He put down his drink and walked across the grass, vaulting easily over the low board fence between the Victor’s backyard and the graveyard. “Hey, Sammy.”

“Hey.” Sam glanced at him, then looked back down at the gravestone in front of him.

Alex’s gravestone.

“Her dying wasn’t your fault, Sam,” Dean said, for approximately the millionth time.

“I know, Dean. I’m just...paying my respects. Jody was out here earlier.”

Nodding, Dean looked away. Sam had struggled so much after the war. He’d insisted on moving out on his own and had taken the house next door, but there had been too many instances of Dean finding his little brother curled up in a corner sobbing, slumped over in the rain outside, screaming and thrashing helplessly as he fought with things that weren’t there.

Guess he and Adam have that sort of thing in common.

However, bit by bit, Sam had healed. Not completely, because that would be impossible, for all of them. But he was better now. More often than not, he seemed happy.

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s been ten years since she died. Exactly ten.”

Dean took a breath, let it out slowly. That was why they were all gathering this sunny summer afternoon...not just because a get-together was overdue, but because ten years ago to the day, the last Hunger Games had begun.

“Yeah.” Looking at Sam, Dean said quietly, “Things are better now. She’d be glad. They all would be.”

All those we lost…

Turning to him, Sam smiled faintly. “I know.”

“Are you two idjits going to join us for dinner, or do you need another minute?” Bobby shouted across the yard.

“On our way!” Dean yelled back. Then, quieter, “You ready to listen to way too much gossip over steaks, Sammy?”

“Do I have a choice?” Another faint smile. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

The rest of the day went well, with lots of great food, good company, and tons of conversation. A fair amount of the talk revolved around the other remaining Victors.

Ellen had unfortunately been too busy to make it to the party, but she and Jo were both living and doing well in District Seven. Asher Gallagher and Missouri Moseley had returned home as well, both to help rebuild their districts. Asher had actually become District Twelve’s first elected mayor since the Dark Days.

Sparky Darren was still alive and still Panem’s head technology expert. “Apparently the dude’s ageless,” was Dean’s input on that.

Rowena had vanished, more or less, those she occasionally turned up without warning, either to lend a helping hand to old friends or to lounge around making sarcastic comments, or both. Gadreel had disappeared as well, though he never resurfaced. No one cared much about him, or Belphegor Rapt, who had managed to get himself eaten by a herd of rogue muttations in the Outsider lands mere months after the war’s end.

Julia Wright and Lisa Braeden both found purpose and happiness far away from the crowded centers of their districts and out of the public eye. Within ten years, Lisa married and had two daughters. Julia vowed to never have another child after Jesse, but she was a darling aunt to all her friends’ children. And, after at last receiving the treatment she needed for her bipolar disorder, Becky Rosen found a life in the Capitol, publishing her first novel six years after the end of the war.

So, all in all, happy endings for the good guys. Well, happy-ish.

For all the survivors of the war, scars did remain. Dean’s nightmares never went away altogether. Castiel would sometimes halt mid-movement, stiff and unresponsive as he experienced a flashback. Every so often, Sam had entire days overtaken by crippling migraines and terrifying hallucinations.

But they all had work to do, friends and family to keep in touch with, and good moments to live and enjoy in a world without the Hunger Games .

And that was enough.