A lonely breeze whispers through the clearing. I breathe in time with it, my muscles tense. Just as I make the decision to release the bow sting from my curled fingers, my prey stiffens. The scrawny deer barely has time to flinch before a deadly spear sinks deep into its throat. I lower my arrow as a tall, muscular man moves silently into the clearing. I see his green eyes flash above his strong jawline and recognize him instantly.

Dean Winchester.

I have known him my entire life. I grew up, like him, in the Seam of District Twelve. He is two years older than me and my best friend, Gale Hawthorn. Dean is also the only one as brave or as stupid as me and Gale. Dean, Gale, and I are the only ones who dare to venture beyond the electric fence surrounding our starving District to hunt. We all know that the consequence for it is death, but we all have mouths to feed—and we all know how to persuade the Peacekeepers with some fresh meat.

Gale and I work together, as we always have. I support my mother and my little sister, Prim, since my father died in the mine explosion a few years back. Gale's father also died in that explosion, so Gale was left to care for his mother, brothers, and sister. All Dean had to take care of was himself and his brother, Sam.

Dean and Sam's parents were the tragic scandal of District Twelve. Rumor had it that their mother, Mary Winchester, had fled one night, when Sam was only six months old. There was a terrible fire that night, burning down the Winchesters' house and everything they owned, which wasn't much. The Peacekeepers reassigned them another home, but that wasn't enough for John Winchester. John claimed that his wife had been taken. A few months later, John left. He packed a bag in the middle of the night, and left his sons behind. He went beyond the fence in search of his wife, and never came home.

Dean had been only four years old.

John had left him with as much food as he could, but it wasn't two days later when little Dean showed up at my mother's door, haphazardly holding a squirming baby Sam. My mother, the healer of the Seam, had taken them in. Dean and Sam continued to live in the house that they had been assigned so the Peacekeepers wouldn't send them to the horrific orphanage, but my parents, as well as Gale's, helped feed Dean and care for Sam until Dean got older.

Dean is very much like me, however, and he hates owing people. When my and Gale's fathers died, Dean fed our families for months before my hatred of favors propelled me to my father's old hunting gear. Now, Dean supports his family the way that Gale and I do: no handouts, no favors, just the forest and his own skill. Gale traps, I use my bow, and Dean uses his own handmade spears and knives.

We stay so much out of one another's way that I've never really spoken to him. Not at the schoolyard, where he and Sam have taken to studying alone together, not even at the Hob, where Dean charms Greasy Sae with a wink and a rare flash of a smile.

"Catnip."

My nickname jolts my from my thoughts. I blink myself back to reality, where Dean and the deer are long gone. Gale trudges up beside me, shaking mud from his boots and holding a fistful of traps, each one laden with a dead squirrel or raccoon.

"If you want to hunt any more, you'd better make it quick," Gale warns. "We shouldn't even be at the Hob today, so we have to go now."

I nod, gathering my small pile of birds and squirrels that I have already shot today. That deer would have made a great addition, rare as they are, but my mother and Prim won't be hungry for at least a couple of days.

I carry the game to the hollow, fallen tree where I hide my bow and arrows. Gale stuffs his traps beside my gear, and gathers his own game. We walk together in silence, both stuck in deep thought.

"Wait," Gale warns as we eventually approach the fence. "There are more Peacekeepers out, we have to be careful."

"Stupid reaping," I hiss back.

The reaping for the annual Hunger Games had the entire District in a frenzy. It was a day away, and everyone except the Peacekeepers was already inside for the evening, a good hour before the sun set. Gale and I stick to the outside of the Seam, hugging the fence and hiding our game as we make our way to the Hob.

"Katniss," Greasy Sae greets me. "Soup?"

"Please," I say. "Gale and I would love some."

Greasy Sae's soup was far from good, but it was a hot meal. Gale and I trade our game fairly quickly, and exchange a couple of coins each for the soup. I look around the Hob as I eat, trying to decide what to bring my family for dinner, and I spot him.

Dean Winchester.

His own bowl of soup lay, half neglected, as he pours over the same old journal that he and Sam study from at school. His cup, however, is far from empty. That's one thing about Dean that I can't understand, is how he can trade precious game or spend what little money he has on alcohol. Then again, I've always found the habit disgusting.

Dean's forest green eyes flit up to meet mine, as if he can feel me watching him. I swallow hard, but keep my gaze steady. The corner of his pink lips tugs up slightly, and he gives me a small nod. I jerk my head back a bit, acknowledging his greeting before returning to my soup.

"What' wrong?" Gale asks me. "Not hungry?"

I stare at his empty bowl before looking at my own soup, still steaming.

"Just waiting for it to cool down," I respond.

It's a lame excuse. I know what it is to be hungry, to not care if the food you're shoveling into your mouth is hot or cold or even on fire. So does Gale. But, thankfully, he says nothing more on the subject.

"Well hurry up," he says. "We should get home."

I nod, and drain my soup in a few quick gulps. I thank Greasy Sae, and follow Gale out onto the street. We walk together, again in silence, as we make our way across the Square and back home.

"Are you nervous for the reaping?" I finally ask.

"Not really."

"How many times is your name in this year?"

"Enough," Gale replies quietly. "Enough to feed my family."

Every child in every District has to put their names into the reaping from ages twelve to eighteen. Every year, one boy and one girl from each of the twelve Districts are chosen to be tributes. The tributes then fight against one another to the death in a televised event: the Hunger Games. The more times someone put their name in a reaping, the more rations of grain and oil they were able to receive, through tesserae. Gale and I put our names in as many times as possible, every single year.

"How many times, Gale?" I ask quietly.

"Forty-two," he responds. "You?"

"Twenty," I whisper. "Are you scared you'll be chosen?"

"Maybe," he responds.

I wait for him to elaborate, but before he can, a pair of bright green eyes looms down on us from underneath a mop of shaggy, brown hair. Sam Winchester materializes out of thin air, like a ghost in the rapidly darkening twilight.

"Hey," he says. "Have you guys seen Dean?"

Sam is two years younger than me, but over a foot taller. His face still holds its childlike roundness, but he grows like a weed. Dean treats him like a child, but Sam is already taller than Dean, and almost as strong. Dean never takes Sam hunting, or to the Hob. From the whispered arguments I've overheard between them over the years, Dean refuses to put Sam in danger by allowing him to do anything even remotely illegal. Sam, however, has always hated that Dean treats him like a child. I sympathize with Sam, but thinking of my own sister, I understand Dean's reasoning perfectly.

"No," I say. "Sorry, Sam. Go wait for him at home, he'll be there soon."

"He always comes home," Gale adds.

We all know what it's like to have a parent not come home, so this comment lingers for a moment before Sam shakes his head.

"Thanks, Gale, but it's not that," he says. "I think Dean took a book of mine."

"Oh, the journal," I say without thinking.

Sam's intelligent green eyes snap onto my face, focusing on my own eyes with unsettling intensity. His eyebrows knit together as he considers me.

"Yeah, the journal," he affirms. "It's old, brown, we study it at school all the time. Have you seen it? Does he have it?"

"Sam," Gale sighs, "go home. Dean will be home soon. He doesn't want anything to happen to you. I'm sure he just borrowed the journal to do some schoolwork."

"I know he wants me to wait at home," Sam said, frustrated. "It's just…that was my dad's journal, and I found it."

I am stunned at Sam sharing such personal information with me and Gale, especially in such a public place, but Sam has always been much more willing to share favors and information than Dean.

"Your dad's journal?" Gale asks, frowning in concentration.

"Yeah, we've been studying it for the past couple of months," Sam says, starting to get worked up. "I found it. Dean was out hunting one day, and I was just sitting at home like always when I heard a window slam shut and I found it on the kitchen table."

"What?" Gale asks, confused.

"I know it sounds odd," Sam says, running his fingers through his long hair. "But when I looked out the window, I swear I saw a man walking away. He turned at the end of the street so I ran out after him, but I lost him in the crowd at the Square. He was wearing all black, too."

"Are you sure you didn't just imagine it?" Gale asks, in a brotherly tone that manages not to be condescending.

"Well that's what I thought too," Sam says with a sigh, "but then I started reading the journal."

Gale and I wait for Sam to elaborate, but all he does is stare at us for an uncomfortable amount of time. Just as I am about to drag him back to his house, myself, Sam decides to continue, in a hushed tone.

"I know what happened to my mom," he whispers. "My dad was right. She didn't run away. She didn't set the fire. She was taken."

"By who?" I ask.

"Not who," Sam says. "What."

"By what, then?" Gale asks, obviously annoyed.

"By the same thing my dad left to go hunt," Sam says, "by a d-"

Before Sam can finish, a pair of fists grabs the front of his jacket roughly. Gale and I react instinctively, both of us reaching out to protect the other. After a moment, we recognize the assailant by his low, gruff voice.

"What are you doing, Sam?" He demands.

Dean. The stench of alcohol hits me, and even though I can't see his face in the darkness, I know it's him.

"You left me," Sam protests, trying to pry Dean's hands from his jacket. "And you took Dad's journal."

"I was studying it, Sam," Dean retorts. "And even so, it's none of your business. I told you to stay at home. You stay home and wait for me, that's the rule. You stay home, you stay out of trouble, and you wait for me."

"It's my responsibility, Dean," Sam nearly shouts. "I found it. Dad gave it to me!"

"Quiet down," Dean says in a deadly quiet tone. "Dad didn't give this to you. Dad's gone, all right? He didn't just sneak back into the District to leave you a journal of his."

"It's full of dates and stories and information, since the day that Mom was taken up until—"

"Mom left," Dean interrupts. "Mom left, burned our shit down, and then, Dad left. It's just you and me, Sam. It's always been you and me, and it always will be. Dad didn't leave you the journal."

"Then how did it get there?" Sam demands.

"You know what Sam?" Dean releases Sam, who nearly falls back into Gale with the sudden movement. "What if Dad did leave it there? Huh? What if he did? He just left again. He doesn't want you, or me, okay? He left us. So we are not going to go out beyond the fence, illegally, and get ourselves killed or worse, searching for this man who left us in the first place."

I wince at Dean's voice. His voice has risen to a shout, and Gale and I are now effectively caught in the middle of a very sensitive family argument. As if following my thought pattern, Dean lets out a long sigh before turning to Sam with a different approach.

"Look," Dean says evenly. "It's late, we've forced way too much of our personal shit on these nice people—sorry, by the way—"

"No need to apologize," Gale says quickly. "We just want to be getting home. Come on, Katniss."

Gale grabs my elbow in exactly the way that Dean grabs Sam's. Sam and I lock eyes for a moment as we are ushered away in different directions.

"Sorry, Katniss," Sam murmurs.

The Winchesters disappear into the night beside me, their whispered bickering fading rapidly as Gale pulls me onto our street, and walks me to my front door.