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

-16-

I might not even be alive in twenty-four hours.

The first tear streams down my cheek, and that one little tear is enough to fracture the dam I worked so hard to build up since my arrival to the Capitol.

I never wanted to be seen as one of those tributes.  The ones who break down in public, beg for mercy, plead to be taken back home.  Those tributes are branded as weaklings, cowards, people who have no chance at gaining sponsors or winning the Games.  If you show weakness, the Careers target you.  Nobody sponsors you.  You might as well accept the fact that you're not going home.  No one likes to see a coward in the brutality of the Hunger Games.  That's not entertaining.

I think that's why I always fought to swallow my tears, stifle my terror, pretend like I wasn't afraid.  I wanted to show the Capitol that they couldn't scare me, that they couldn't turn me into an animal waiting for slaughter.  I wanted to convince them that I was prepared for this.  I wanted them to know that I volunteered to take my brother's place because I knew that I had a chance in this, and I wasn't going to back down in the face of the other tributes.

But deep down, I think I also wanted to convince myself.  I wanted to convince myself that I truly wasn't afraid of what might await me in that arena.  I wanted to believe I had a decent chance at winning.  I wanted to believe I had the confidence, the bravery, to stand up to the twenty-two other boys fighting to make it home, just like me.  I wanted to be strong and positive for Cas' sake because of his agonizing past.  I wanted him to believe we could survive, too.

But now the grim and morbid reality of what we're being forced into is catching up to me, and I can't keep up that facade anymore.

How am I supposed to do this?  I've never killed anyone.  I've hardly even hurt anyone.  How am I expected to keep the two of us alive and safe if the mere thought of taking another human's life is enough to make my throat sting with bile?  How am I supposed to fulfill the promise I so desperately want to keep if I don't play along with this sick and twisted game?

How am I going to bring Cas home to his family if I can't be the courageous fighter I wanted to portray myself as?

The sob slips past my lips before I can stop it.  It echoes around the silent bathroom, feeds the pounding migraine in my skull.  I can't do this.  I don't want to go to the arena.  I don't want to kill anyone.  I don't want to play a part in this ghastly excuse for entertainment.

I don't want to die.

My knees start to give out.  I grip the edges of the sink, watch as the flood of tears drips off my chin and down the drain.  I can't breathe.  My lungs are on fire.  I try to suppress another rising sob, a panicked cry, but I can't.  It's louder than the last, and it burns in my throbbing throat.

I don't want to die.  I don't want Cas to die.  I don't want to do this at all.  I just want to go home.

The knock on my door is what startles me out of my treacherous mind.  I snap up, a whole new wave of terror coursing through my veins when I hear the muffled voice on the other side.

"Dean?  Are you okay?"  Cas says.  He sounds concerned.

I can't answer.  I won't be able to without letting out another sob.  I still want to be strong for him, too, despite everything that's happening.  I'm supposed to be the one looking out for him.

He doesn't give up.  "I heard you through the walls.  Can I come in?"

I turn on the faucet, frantically splashing my flushed, tear-stained face with ice cold water.  I don't want him to see me like this.  I'll just start crying all over again, and I'm afraid I might never stop.