Immediately following the conclusion of the reaping—which was mostly just Rowena expressing her excitement and then being shot down by the district's silence and unenthusiasm—Castiel and I are whisked away into the Justice Building. Neither of us has a chance to say anything to one another before we're split up and shoved into separate rooms, the places we have an hour to say our farewells to our loved ones in.
The door slams shut behind me, and I'm left alone in blissful silence. It's a rather fancy room, adorned with soft rugs and leather furniture and an ancient but beautiful chandelier. It's certainly more luxurious than my house and probably any place in District 9. There's a fuzzy blanket draped across one of the couches, too, and as I wait for that door to open again, I run my trembling fingers through it in a feeble attempt to calm myself down.
I know what I've gotten myself into, but that doesn't make it any easier to digest. I'm absolutely terrified of what's to come.
Sam is the first to barge into the quiet room, shortly followed by my parents. We're given a three minute warning, but I don't think anyone heard it. Sam, his face stained with tears and his chest heaving with frantic breaths, launches himself into my arms and squeezes me so tightly I can hardly breathe myself.
I can't cry. I just can't. I have to be strong for him. I have to be strong for the cameras that are bound to be swarming the train station in an hour.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I crouch down so I'm level with him, just like I always do at home. I tell him to not take any tesserae. It's not worth the risk. I tell him to try working in the fields in a few years, but never stop using Annie and Clementine's milk to make extra money. He's good with animals. Maybe he can make his living doing something like that.
But I don't think he's listening to me. He hasn't stopped crying since he came into the room. "You have to come back," he snivels in between distraught sobs. "You have to win."
He has to know there's a slim chance of that happening. All of the tributes are going to be boys. Boys who are a lot bigger and stronger than I am. Boys from wealthier districts who have been training their entire lives to participate in the Games. Boys who can throw a spear straight through your heart without even blinking or breaking a sweat. I've seen that happen. I'm not flimsy or weak in the slightest, but I know I won't even be able to compete with the rest of them. I'll just be one of their first targets, a small farm boy from District 9 who's never been in a fight in his life.
"You're really strong," my little brother goes on, tears spilling from his puffy eyes.
There's nothing I can do but indulge his hopes. I can't bear to see him cry any more. "Yes, I am," I say with the most encouraging smile I can put on. Every word hurts more than the last. "I bet I'll be the strongest one there."
He hugs me again, his arms wrapped around my neck, and I hold him close, relishing every single moment. I try not to think about how it could be the last time I see him.
"Please just try to win, Dean."
Even though I doubt my chances, I don't want to dampen Sam's spirits any more than they already are. I promise him I will, and I intend to try as hard as I possibly can. For him.
My mother is already crying long before I reach out and pull her into my arms. It takes all of my willpower to suppress my own tears as she trembles in my embrace, squeezes the life out of me, leans back to plant a kiss on my cheek. She holds my face, her touch soft and delicate and comforting, and presses her forehead against mine. She tells me she loves me, and I tell her I love her, too.
My father, always the tough guy in the family, manages to give me his hug without letting a tear fall. I've known him my whole life, though, and I don't think I've ever seen his expression so pained. He says he loves me, and I, of course, say it right back to him.
I have to try to win. I can't stand the thought of this being our final farewell. It's too heartbreaking.
Then the Peacekeepers are at the door, barking that the three minutes are up, and Sam is hugging me so tightly that it takes two of them to pry him off me and he's screaming again and I'm choking out desperate "I love you's" as my family is escorted out of the room for good. When the door slams shut, sealing me in silence once more, all I want to do is cry and shriek my throat raw.
This can't be happening. Why is this happening?
Charlie is the next person to enter the room. I don't think I've been more relieved to see her. She flings herself into my arms without saying a single word, and for a long while, that's how we remain. Locked in a desperate embrace, her quivering with suppressed sobs and me fighting to keep them all back. It hurts. It hurts so badly, but I can't cry. I can't. I might never stop if I do.
When she finally releases me and takes a step back, her tear-stained face is still alight with a heartening smile. "You've gotta be the coolest, bravest person I know, Winchester," she tells me, her voice soft and strained from crying.
Somehow, despite this horribly grim scenario we're in, we still manage to share a laugh together.
"You can do this," she goes on. "You've worked in the fields for years. You're strong, and you're smart, and you're quick. You have a good chance at winning this thing."
"Since when has intelligence saved anyone from someone who knows how to throw knives?"
"You can figure it out. Like I said, you're smart." She smiles at me again, but I can't ignore the torment glimmering in her eyes.
There's not much else to say. She promises to look after Sam and my family, if I promise her that I'll do everything in my power to win and come home. Her side of the deal is much more attainable.
We spend our remaining time together in silence, holding one another close, savoring each possible second that we can, because far too soon, the door opens again and the Peacekeepers are dragging her out of the room.
"Don't forget that I love you, Dean!" she calls out after me. Just before the door shuts, I hear her voice one last time, exclaiming, "Platonically!"
Her absence already leaves a burning hole in my aching chest.
For a while, no one else comes into the room, and I'm thinking I might have a few fleeting moments to let out the tears that have been stinging in my eyes for what feels like an eon. I barely have the chance to let one slip down my cheek before the door creaks open, and a young boy—old enough to be eligible for the reaping but definitely not my age—sheepishly shuffles into the room. I don't quite recognize him.
He must notice the confused expression on my face. He gives a faint smile, so feeble and weak that it's hardly there, and approaches me with silent, timid footsteps. "You probably don't know me," he murmurs, struggling to lift his head and meet my eyes. "My name's Gabriel. I'm Castiel's brother."
Why is he visiting me then, I wonder? I'm sure he already spoke with his brother, my fellow tribute in this awful ordeal, but why me?
"I don't wanna take up too much of your time, but I just wanted to tell you something," little Gabriel continues. He draws a deep breath, and I find myself rather concerned about what he could possibly have to say to me. "When I was a lot younger, my oldest brother was reaped. He didn't come home, and it messed me up for years. I still don't think I've gotten over it. Not completely, at least."
I can't help but wonder why he's telling me all this. I feel terrible about his family's loss—I can't even imagine what it must've been like for him as a child—but if there's some hidden message in his words, I'm struggling to find it.
"Look, I know this is a lot to ask, and you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but..." Gabriel pauses to swallow, the color draining from his face and his hands beginning to shake at his sides. "I already lost one brother to the Games. I don't wanna lose another."
I'm not entirely sure why, but I reach out and pull him into my arms. Maybe it's because I'm a brother too, and I would do anything to keep Sam safe, hence why I'm standing in this room. I don't know what it's like to have already lost one, thankfully, but I can't say the same for Gabriel. How awful for their family, to have one person reaped and then another a few years later. I can't imagine what they're going through right now. The thought of it alone is enough to add to the aching in my heart, the stiffness in my tense muscles.
It's that exact thought, though, that makes me realize why Gabriel Novak, the little brother of my fellow tribute Castiel, is in this room with me, his own arms wrapped around me and crushing my bones with his deathlike grip. He wants me to protect Castiel, to keep him alive, to bring him home safe and sound, unlike their older brother years ago.
Without even hesitating, I promise him I'll get his sibling home safely. I don't want him to experience another traumatizing loss like that. Not ever again.
Somehow, as Gabriel Novak is escorted out of the room and I'm left alone for the third time, I'm more confident in my abilities to survive, to outsmart the Games. Maybe it's because of my promise to Sam and my parents, my promise that I'll try to win and come back. Maybe it's because of the idea that I'll get to see Charlie again and listen to her snarky but incredibly lighthearted jokes. Maybe it's because of little Gabriel, begging me to keep his brother safe so he doesn't have to lose another to the horrible Games. Whatever it is, it's fueling my determination, and I don't want it to stop.
We may be simple farm boys from District 9, but there has to be a way for Castiel and me to make it out of the arena alive. We'll just have to find it before someone else does.
* * * * *
The train station, as I expected, is swarming with cameras trying to get a glimpse of the tributes from District 9 before we board the sleek train and speed away toward the waiting Capitol. Much to my relief, my face is not red or blotchy or stained with tears, so no one will get the impression that I'm afraid of what's to come. On the other hand, it's evident that Castiel has been crying. His bright blue eyes are still brimming with tears as Rowena instructs us to stand in the doorway of the train for a few moments, just to give the cameras an extra minute to broadcast our images to the people of Panem. He's not shaking like before, just silently letting the tears stream down his flushed cheeks.
I wonder if he's thinking about this same exact thing happening to his older brother years prior. The thought of it makes me ill, and it only solidifies my promise to Gabriel, and myself, for that matter.
The boy from the fields is coming home if it's the last thing I do.
Finally, we're released from the spotlight and allowed to board the train. The door slides closed behind us, effortlessly clicking into place, and seals us in blissful silence. There's no more chatter, no more cameras, just the three of us and a beautifully elegant train that shoots out of the station like a bullet. I can definitely tell this belongs to the Capitol. It's fancier than the room in the Justice Building.
Despite my disdain and hatred for the people of the Capitol, I can't deny that their tools and materials are extremely breathtaking. I feel like I'm too poor and dirty to even be looking at the diner car we're standing in.
As the train speeds down the tracks, taking us away from the comfort of our home in the rolling hills of District 9, Rowena is more excited than ever. She tells us we have our own bedrooms, our own private bathrooms, our own wardrobes that are filled with clothes we can wear. Basically, almost everything on this train belongs to us. Even the mountain of baked sweets I spot sitting in the corner of the car. She must see me ogling at it, though, because she warns me to not spoil my appetite. We're eating lunch in an hour.
I wonder if that's when we'll meet our mentor, a previous victor who's set to instruct us on how to best survive the Games. I haven't seen them all day, and if I'm being honest, I'm not even sure if I know who it is. It's been so long since District 9 has had a victor. Maybe I wasn't even born when they won.
Regardless, Rowena dismisses us to do whatever we please, just as long as we're back in this car in time to eat. It's rather overwhelming, being left to wander this massive, sophisticated train, but hopefully it won't be too tricky to navigate. We'll reach the Capitol by nightfall according to our overly cheery escort, anyway, so I'm not too concerned with memorizing its layout.
Castiel hasn't said a word all throughout our journey from the Justice Building to the train. I think the last—and first—time I heard him speak was back in the square, when he'd told me his name was only in the ball five times. He still has the composure of a frightened deer, a startled mouse, and even when I give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as I pass him to find my temporary bedroom, he only draws an unsteady breath.
The room I'm given is at least triple the size of my room back home. A large bed sits up against the back wall, silky sheets neatly tucked underneath the foam mattress and pillows that look as soft as clouds lining the headboard. Above it, a thin window lets bright sunlight stream in and illuminate the room, and I see the hills of our district speeding by as the train roars through the countryside. A pang of longing shoots through my chest when I realize it's an expansive stretch of peaceful wheat fields.
I miss home already.
I won't be coming back any time soon, though—if at all, but I try not to think about that—so instead, I focus my racing mind on cleaning myself up. There's a hot shower with my name on it.
We don't usually have the privilege of hot water in District 9. At first the scalding temperature startles me, makes my skin flare up, but after I get used to it, it feels divine. I'm not sure how long I stand underneath the rain of hot water, my eyes closed as the sweat pours down the drain, but I know that when I step out, my muscles feel like liquid. It's incredible.
Rowena was certainly right about one thing. The wardrobe in the corner of my massive room is teeming with clean clothes. They're not too Capitol-esque, thankfully, but they're definitely a step up from what we wear back home. I slip on a pair of black pants that are a bit too tight for my liking and a simple button-up shirt. Already, I feel ten times better than I did when I first stepped onto this train. Whatever works to ease the stress, right?
I still have some time before we eat, so seeing as we won't be sleeping here tonight, I take advantage of the bed that's fit for a king and lie down to relax. Or at least try to.
I quickly realize that relaxing is futile. Not even the gentle chugging of the high-speed train or the softness of the sheets beneath me can calm my nerves. My mind is plagued with thoughts of the Capitol, what we're going to do when we get there, the Games themselves, and no matter how hard I try to push them away, they always come back with a vengeance.
I've never been outside my own district, let alone to the Capitol. What's it going to be like? People like Rowena, clad in gaudy clothes and too much makeup, are bound to be everywhere we turn. But what else awaits us in this faraway place? Where will we be staying until the Games begin? Where will we train, get interviewed, be forced to dress up like dolls so the Capitol can observe us like lab experiments and then bet on our odds of winning? There are so many questions still unanswered, and I'll admit I'm afraid to know them.
I don't dare explore my worries about the actual Games yet. The Gamemakers always keep the exact details obscure, like what biome the arena is going to be, what weapons they're going to lay out for the tributes. It's impossible to predict anything—they love to keep people guessing—and that means it's impossible to formulate a rough survival plan for Castiel and me. I suppose we'll just have to play it by ear for the time being.
I must've been trapped in my mess of a mind longer than I thought. Rowena is knocking on my door, telling me to get up and join everyone in the diner car for lunch, and she sounds giddy. Is this woman ever not animated?
Maybe we'll finally get to meet our mentor. Maybe that's why she's so enthusiastic. I can't lie and say I'm not eager to meet them, anyway. They're going to be our only lifeline throughout this catastrophe, the one who will give us tips on how to survive and set up sponsors for us when we're stuck in the arena. Hopefully whoever they are, they'll help me figure out how to get Castiel and me home safely. I have no idea where to even begin with that.
With a deep breath to prepare myself for a while of socialization, I leave the serenity of my room and make my way to the diner car.