A/N: hello, my friends. Yeah, I'm doing a Supernatural/Hunger Games crossover. Yay, Fanfiction Green Eyes and Angel Boy falling for each other during a gruesome bloodbath between kids who can't even drink yet for the entertainment of the apparently generous Capitol! In other news, I finally got to reading that Twist and Shout (I Can Dig Elvis) fic, and it's the most adorable thing I've ever read. But then again, I'm only on chapter 2 part 1, so it'll probably take a pretty bad turn, huh? No spoilers, please. Don't be that jerk.Warnings: killing ((obviously)), language, graphic violence, slash AKA manly guy love. May add more later, I really only have a vague idea of where this is going to end up at the moment.

Prologue: the Reaping

"Castiel Novak?"

Those words. Those two fucking words. That was enough to knock the breath right out of poor Castiel, feeling himself freeze to the spot as any colour he had in the first place drained from his face. His friends stared at him with sympathy, their eyes saying that they'll miss him, his family glanced briefly at him before looking back to the front, unable to process the fact that their son and brother had been picked. Why him, out of everyone else in District Twelve? Why him, when without the added names, it was almost mathematically impossible to pick his? He was dreaming, right? All of this was just some crazy nightmare, and he wouldn't be thrown into an arena with twenty-three other bloodthirsty tributes and expected to kill. Cas would wake up and resume his life in the same everyday mundane routine he wanted so much right now. It wasn't supposed to be like this... It just wasn't fair.

"Castiel? Where are you, dear?"

Those around Cas pushed him forward, no one wanting to deal with authorities trying to scope the guy out right now. Swallowing thickly, his throat burned as he did so, but not from illness or dehydration; from cold, cruel fear.

"Ah, there you are!" The lady at the front chimed, smiling brightly at the terrified boy who was quite literally shaking with fear. Ironic, isn't it? How those at the top of the social hierarchy believe themselves generous whilst robbing the lives of those they consider beneath them. "C'mon, dear! Don't be shy."

Castiel took a long, shaky breath and ran a shuddering hand through his mop of black hair before stepping up onto the stage, looking out upon the hundreds of familiar faces of his District. He'd have to come to terms with the fact that he'd never see any of these people again, and that thought was the one that scared the sixteen year-old most. Being the youngest in a family of he didn't even know how much anymore, Castiel was usually treated as such, but at the same time his brothers would always tell him to seize the opportunities that youth provides and get the hell out of District Twelve. "Run away and end up in the Capitol or something, live a happy life," his brother Michael, the oldest, would say. I guess he got half his wish… Cas thought as he glanced at the female tribute from his District; some girl named Meg. He knew her from around town, but they didn't exactly see eye-to-eye.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, the prestige District 1 was staging it's reaping ceremony. Dean was confident enough in the odds that at least Sam wouldn't get picked, but even if he did, he'd gladly volunteer to save his kid brother, even if it meant he was the one getting his throat ripped out. It seemed that even growing up in a luxurious area of the former United States of America couldn't keep one from having a pretty shitty life. His mother had died in a house fire when Dean was a mere four-year-old, leaving him and Sam to basically fend for themselves with a neglectful drunk of a "father."

Green gaze focused on his shoes, absently kicking at a few pebbles with his torn-up runners, Dean half-listened to the lady reading out the name of the male tribute, really only paying attention to whether or not she said "Sam Winchester." The high-pitched sing-song of her voice reached his ear drums, and he breathed a long sigh of relief. He didn't know what the hell she said, but it wasn't Sam's name, so he merely grinned to himself, still focused on the apparent fascination the dirt at his feet carried. Glancing briefly at his brother, who was looking up at him with what looked like shocked fear, Dean furrowed his brow and nudged his shoulder lightly. "Hey, you weren't called, what are you lookin' so worried about, Sammy?" He asked quietly so only he could hear.

"Dean Winchester?" The woman at the front repeated in a questioning tone; one could almost hear the curious eyebrow raise in her voice.

Dean's head shot up instantly, his jaw clenching and eyes blowing huge in a flash of panic. No. No, no, no, no. He wouldn't care if he'd have volunteered for Sam, but even though he didn't have to, it seemed fate wanted to be especially cruel to him. His line of sight shot in all directions, just willing someone, anyone, to volunteer. Well, anyone except his brother. After nearly a minute of silence, no one daring speak up, the authorities simply grasped him by the arms and quite literally dragged him up to the stage. This was District 1, why in the seventh level of hell wasn't anyone volunteering? As he was lifted to his feet, one of the men draping Dean's arm around his shoulder so he didn't fall backwards due to the hollow numbness he felt soaking into his very soul, he looked at the crowd with dull, glazed eyes. Well, looked through the crowd would be a better description, really. He didn't even catch who the female tribute was before he just passed out entirely, waking with a start a few hours later on a speeding train, his head against the glass.