I've been in a Hunger Games-like mood lately and rather than simply watch the movies or read the books, I've decided to write Supernatural fanfictions portraying what I think would happen if the Winchester boys - and their friends and family - were ever to be involved in such an apocalyptic world.

So anyways, I give you...THIS!

ENJOY!

It was the hundred year anniversary of the Hunger Games and Sam Winchester's last year for eligibility. Seeing as both his father and older brother forbade him of ever adding his name more than required in exchange for food, odds were that he wouldn't be chosen again. The only one in their family who had ever really been at risk of falling into the Games was Dean. By the time he had reached his eighteen years, his name had been entered in the reaping over seventy times but he had been lucky. Either way, Sam believed that if anyone could have won the Games in their district, it would have been Dean.

After their mother had passed away, there was no one keeping their father, John, from training them to fight with virtually anything they found. A twig was a deadly weapon in their hands. And though the training sessions had robbed both boys of their childhood, neither of them blamed John. He had only done what he thought was best for his sons and, in the end, there wasn't much of a childhood to have had in their state of extreme poverty.

Dean had particularly excelled in learning how to fight. His movements were swift and precise, putting to use only the necessary amount of energy to deliver a lethal blow. John had once joked about him being something akin to a Picasso with a razor. As for Sam, his skills resided in his intellect. In short, he was a strategist and knew how to use the environment to his advantage. He could read any and all of John's actions before he could make them thus enabling himself to modify his current stance and/or position as to effectively block or counter what was coming his way.

Nonetheless, regardless of their vigorous training, John had forbade both Sam and Dean to ever volunteer during the Reaping. "Whatever happens, happens." He told them. And so, on more than one occasion, the boys watched their friends march towards their death and were unable to save them. John also forbade either of his boys to add their names in exchange for essential goods, "We'll make do with what we have. Just let me worry about the technicalities of our condition." But, of course, Dean couldn't sit by forever and do nothing.

When it was first learned that Dean had added his name, he had provoked the worst of John's wrath. Sam had been sent off to bed before John had exploded but he had remained hidden, listening to what his father had to say to his brother. John had spent a good portion of the night yelling at him for how stupidly he had acted and breaking most of the furniture in their sloppy excuse of a home. However, by the end of his violent rant, he crumbled to his knees and sobbed.

"What am I going to do if they Reap you?" John had cried.

"Don't worry dad," and it had only been at that point that Sam realized Dean had also started crying, "I'll be okay if that ever happens."

Since then, John had modified his second and final rule so as Sam was the only one unable to sacrifice himself for the sake of the family. John nevertheless frowned upon Dean whenever he brought back extra rations but he never spoke against it. He knew all too well that his words wouldn't have an effect on his son.

However, as it was, Sam Winchester was now seventeen years old and getting ready for his last Reaping. There was a bit of a bounce in Dean's every step as they quickly gathered their clothes and cleaned himself. He was fairly confident that Sam wouldn't be chosen yet again whereas John was a bit more pessimistic and grim, readying himself for anything. This was the hundred year anniversary after all, and anything could happen.

Once they were ready to go, John stopped Sam before he could cross the door and embraced him. The contact was a bit strange and discomforting as John was never one to show much affection, especially now that his sons were adults. Nonetheless, Sam remembered the current moment as something he had also done to Dean on the eve of his last Reaping and thought of it merely as good luck. In the end, his name had only entered the poll seven times, the chances he would be chosen were insanely slim.

Dean patted Sam on the back once John released him and then they were on their way. They walked quietly to the designated area as to witness the Reaping ceremony and wave farewell to the current year's Hunger Games victims. Soon they joined the wave of desolated district members on the very same journey and lost themselves within the group. Sam found himself alone for most part of the walk until he found a few of his friends and stood by them when they were lined in place.

Sam peered over the many heads surrounding him, searching in the far back for his father and brother, smiling upon seeing them standing together. He wanted to wave, seeing as Dean was searching for him, but the microphone screeched, signaling the arrival of their district's escort. The man standing tall and proud on the stage bore a devious smile. His name was Azazel and it was no secret that he enjoyed the pain the Reaping and the Games brought upon the districts of Panem.

He cleared his throats just as the cameras recording the event projected his image on the two large screens bordering each side of the stage as to permit the people standing in the back to see. His yellow eyes flickered with joy and excitement as he raised his arms and began his speech:

"Ladies and gentle of district 7, you are now present at the Reaping ceremony of the hundredth Hunger Games! Before we begin selecting this year's tributes, here is obligatory national presentation of the tournament."

Azazel's face left the large screens and was instead replaced with the two minute long mandatory explanation of the Hunger Games' purpose. Sam rolled his eyes at the entire presentation, the Capitol desperately tried to make something barbaric seem justified but failed miserably. The video, really, only inspired dread and hate. However, it was soon over and Azazel was back on the screens, eagerly presenting the new, special twist on the Games in order to celebrate its hundredth year anniversary.

"Now that the formalities are out of the way," he said as two ceremony volunteers pushed the globes containing the names of all eligible boys and girls of the district on stage, "Time to get at the fun part! Now here, in Panem, we seek to make the Hunger Games a family event. In the end, its sole existence is to protect our loved ones. And so, in celebration of a century of Hunger Games, all chosen contestants will bring their sibling into the arena with them! There will thus be two victors this year provided both siblings do make it out alive."

The declaration rattled Sam for a bit. He was afraid of being selected and forcing Dean to come into the Games with him but then shrugged it away. Dean was no longer eligible for participation and so another person would have to be chosen in their stead of they were to be the unlucky victims. Sam also reassured himself that the countless other participants had probably entered their name more than he had and so would most likely not be chosen anyway. He took in a deep breath and stared intently at Azazel as he made his way to the globe containing the name of female contestants.

Azazel's hand dove deep into the bowl, mixing the names around before snatching one and pulling it out. He opened it and read the name, pausing with a wicked smile on his face as he looked at each of the girls. Most of them were on the verge of tears if not already crying. Finally, he opened his mouth and said: "Joanna Beth Harvelle, come on up!"

All of the girls turned to face a rather short and thin blonde girl who seemed utterly terrified. Unlike the rest of them, she hadn't yet shed a single tear but seemed well on her way of joining them as she was shoved onto the stage. She looked at the crowd with wide eyes, her features paled by fear, and trembled so badly it was painfully obvious from where Sam stood. His heart quaked for the girl he barely knew. All the information he had on Joanna Beth Harvelle was that she helped her mother, Ellen, maintain a bar.

Azazel opened his arms and embraced Joanna tightly, relishing in her tangible terror. "Joanna, or can I call you Jo?" he said with a grin, "How old are you, lovely girl?"

Joanna was quiet for a long moment, her lips moving but no audible sound crossing them. Finally, after a brief tap on the back courtesy of Azazel, she spat out: "S-sixteen."

"Sixteen, wow!" Azazel said with faked enthusiasm. "Not our youngest participant nor our oldest, but you were so close to making it out."

The latter declaration was what finally pushed Joanna over the edge, having her spill wrecked sobs in front of thousands of people. Azazel brushed it off absently. "Now Joanna, do you have a brother or sister?" he asked.

Joanna's eyes left the stage on which she stood and looked directly at the back of crowd where those ineligible stood. "Ash—" she said with a gasp, "B-but he's twenty-six, he's not—"

"Don't worry, lovely girl!" Azazel interrupted with a laugh, "We don't discriminate based on age this year!" He turned his attention to the crowd, "Ash Harvelle, come on up!"

After a few motionless seconds, the Peacekeepers attending the ceremony began pushing through the crowds in search for Ash and eventually pulled him away from Ellen's grasp. She released a sharp shriek of horror at the sight of her son being dragged to the stage and to stand by her daughter. As the odds would have them, she would most likely never see either of them again.

Once Ash stumbled on the stage, Joanna ran to him, hugging him as he cried and he returned the touch with just as much grief. They held each other for a moment and cried as Azazel motioned the others witnessing the heartbreaking event to clap in forced celebration. Finally, he moved back to the siblings and began asking him a few questions.

"Your sister mentioned you were twenty-six, is that correct?" he asked before shoving the microphone in his face.

He nodded frantically and swallowed before saying: "Yeah."

"It must be something to be dragged back into the game after being safe for so long." Azazel mocked before moving back to the center of the stage. "Anyways, back to selecting the final two contestants of district 7."

Azazel approached the globe filled with all of the boys' names. Sam strangely felt calm and confident unlike every other year. He didn't think his name would be chosen, it was near impossible. It would definitely be someone else, there was just no way it could be him. And then Azazel said:

"The boys' tribute is… Sam Winchester."

Sam's name echoed in his ears for what felt like forever. He was numb, lost in his mind. When he stopped staring at the ground and looked around him, he saw that everyone was staring at him with wide eyes. His friends were muttering things but Sam couldn't hear. He was consumed by disbelief and a loud ringing in his hear inhibited him from hearing remotely anything. His eyes darted to the stage where he noticed Azazel waving at him brightly to join him and the others on the stage but Sam found himself unable to respond.

Before he could think about reacting or moving in the slightest, two Peacekeepers grabbed either of his arms and dragged him on the stage, pushing him towards Azazel. He stumbled forward, looking back at the huge crowd and noticing a scuffle in the back. He could see his father wrestling four soldiers on his own. John was most likely shouting but, as it was, Sam was too consumed by shock to hear any of his words until Azazel hooked an arm around his shoulder.

"Sam Winchester," he said, his voice blaring in Sam's ear and snapping him out of his trance, "I assume that was your dad back there."

Sam looked again in direction of his father and noticed the guards the dragging him away, blood trickling down the side of his face. They had knocked him out before pulling him away from the ceremony.

"So Sammy," Azazel continued with a laugh rolling behind his words, "How old are you? You seem like you're seventeen or eighteen, am I right?"

"Seven…seventeen…" Sam corrected absently.

"You look a tad older." Azazel commented, amused, "Nonetheless, if you would have been eighteen, then you wouldn't have been able to participate! Do you have a brother or a sister, Sam?"

Sam didn't answer, he was looking through the crowd for Dean, and so Azazel was forced to repeat his question three times before receiving an answer. "His…" Sam finally responded, "Dean…"

"Dean Winchester, eh?" Azazel asked with a wide grin before turning to the audience, "Well come on up and join your brother!"

Unlike Ash, Dean didn't need an escort to the stage. He pushed through everyone else and climbed onto it in haste before enveloping Sam in his arms and holding onto him tightly. It was only when he felt the wet fabric of Dean's shirt against his face that Sam realised he was crying. He held on to Dean tighter and buried his face in his shoulder, ignoring Azazel as he continued to speak.

"It's okay, Sammy…" Dean whispered to him, his grip tightening, "We're going to be okay…"

"Dean-o!" Azazel said with a laugh, "I can call you that, right?"

"No." Dean responded dryly.

Azazel dismissed the answer quickly, "Anyways," he said, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two." Dean said.

"And just when you thought you were out of the bag, am I right?" Azazel laughed jokingly before moving away from the brothers. He stood on the edge of the stage and opened his arms in glee as he finally concluded: "Well there you have it ladies and gentlemen of district 7! This year's tributes are Joanna Beth and Ash Harvelle representing the women, and Sam and Dean Winchester for the men!"

The crowd applauded timidly, mourning the loss of the sibling tributes quietly as they were redirected off the stage. "May the odds ever be in your favour or some nonsense like that." Azazel said before retreating as well.

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