Are you, are you, coming to the tree? Part 1/?
Title: Are you, are you, coming to the tree?
Author: homeistheimpala
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2000+
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Balthazar (Supernatural), Gabriel (Supernatural), Michael (Supernatural), Chuck Shurley, John Winchester
Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel
Warning/ Triggers: Oppression and Death [in later chapters]
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own anything nor am I making any money out of this. Please don't sue me.
Summery: Dean Winchester is a Career tribute, trained his whole life to take part in the Hunger Games. On the day of the Reaping, Dean volunteers because it is expected of him. Dean is the best fighter. Then he meets Castiel at the Capitol and Dean doesn't know what to make of the boy, apart from the fact that he won't leave his head.
It was the day of the Reaping. They had the day off from training, to prepare themselves. Dean Winchester stood at the garden outside his house. In an hour they would, they would make their way to the centre of the district, where one girl and boy would be expected to volunteer as tribute. In District 2, Dean Winchester would be expected to volunteer. Because Dean was John Winchester's son, because Dean had an instinct for survival. Because Dean was the best.
Dean heard the rustling of leaves and his body tensed. But it was only Sam. Dean's body relaxed, but not completely. But that was simple force of habit.
"Hey." Sam said quietly.
Sam was one of the reasons Dean would volunteer. As John Winchester's sons, one of them was expected to volunteer this year. And Sammy couldn't do it. The kid was squeamish about killing animals. He would die in there and both of them knew it. Which was why John Winchester had Dean trained from a young age. He was going to volunteer as tribute when the time came. He would do it for his brother, for John, for the district. And he would win.
Or die,Dean had thought bitterly. It had seemed unfair that his life was planned out for him, that he was expected to kill for... what? District pride? To be a reminder to the people of Panem?
The people of Capitol were dicks.
Not that Dean was allowed to say that. No, it was always the Capitol did this and the Capitol did that. Dean hated it. Hated that he could be so easily controlled. That someone else had control over his life. Dean couldn't understand why everyone loved the Capitol so much. Yes, they were particularly generous to them. They were often called the 'pets' of the Capitol from other districts. Dean did not take this as a compliment. The Capitol took their children from them. Nothing they could ever give would make Dean forgive them of that.
"Dean..." Sam started.
"Sammy, I know what you're going to say, so save it." Dean said gruffly, not wanting to have this talk again.
"Dean, you don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do! Jesus, Sammy, don't you get it?" Dean burst out, "I have to so do this. You're under some crazy impression that we have a fucking choice. If I don't do it, then you could be picked, or some poor sap who doesn't have my training, who would probably end up dead! This is what my whole life has been for, so I don't have a choice, Sam. There's more important things at stake here then my life."
"Like what?" Sam snapped back.
"Dad's reputation! District unity! You know they decide every year who gets to volunteer. Every family has a chance. This year, it's our turn and I've been picked. So do not expect me to let down my father and my district. When you think about it, it's fair. We get to pick a kid. We train them so they don't lose." Dean felt like his father, saying those words. It was not something he liked but he had to make Sam understand that he could do nothing about this. It was out of his control.
Sam had his bitch face on and Dean internally groaned. God, the kid was stubborn.
"Sounds about right." An older male voice came. Both boys whipped around. John Winchester stood before them, wearing an expensive suit. Sam looked furious but Dean quickly changed his expression to impassive and respectful.
"I hope you weren't trying to convince Dean to not volunteer." John said, knowing very well that was exactly what Sam was doing.
Sam opened his mouth but Dean squeezed his arm. Shut up, kid.
Sam snapped his mouth shut, shot his father a look that could kill and stalked back into the house. John looked at his son and Dean looked back without flinching. Satisfied, John smiled.
"Your brother just doesn't understand. Your suit is in your bedroom. You should start getting ready." John turned around and left and Dean stared after him silently, when all he wanted to do was scream,"I DON'T UNDERSTAND, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?"
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dean stood with his head held high during the Reaping. When the announcer asked for volunteers, Dean looked at John, who gave him an encouraging nod. Dean volunteered in a clear voice and everyone clapped and cheered.
I might be walking to my death, you bastards.
Layla Adams volunteered as the girl tribute. They shook hands and Dean knew that if it came down to it, they would kill each other.
They were marched off to a room, where Dean waited for his visitors.
The first person who walked through the door was Sam. Dean didn't know what he was expecting, but he didn't expect his brother to pin him against wall.
"Promise me you'll win." Sam growled.
"Jeez, Sammy-"
"Promise me you'll win."
"I promise." Dean choked out. Sam had the advantage of being taller then him and, well, being his brother.
Sam let him go and pulled him into a bear hug, crushing the breathe out of him.
Holy mother of Je-
Sam let go of Dean.
"You're coming back."
"Of course he is." John Winchester said, looking calm. His serenity angered Dean. But it was Sam who decided to do something about it.
"Fuck you. You just sent your son out to be killed," Sam's voice was deadly quiet, "I hope you're happy. But let me tell you something. If he doesn't come back, if he dies in that arena, his blood will be on your hands. I intend to kill my brother's murderer."
Sam walked out, leaving the threat hanging in the air. The threat on his life had shook John, because they knew Sam would do it. Because Sam cared for his brother more then anything else in the world.
"That boy needs anger management classes." John finally said. Dean nodded, maybe because he didn't now what to say or do. His father gave him a short hug and told him he would do fine. The next visitor was his trainer. They went over all the tactics and he was once again congratulated. The last guest was unexpected. Chuck Shurley came through the door, looking awkward and out of place. Dean just looked at him. Chuck extended his arm.
"Sam told me to give you this."
Dean took the amulet that hung from his hand. It looked ancient, but Sam had given it to him as a keeps-sake.
"It's supposed to keep people safe." Chuck said.
"No offence, buddy, but I don't think some necklace will help me much." Dean said, but he put it on anyway.
"Probably not. But if it counts for anything, I think you'll win either way." Chuck left.
It counted.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Capitol was huge. It was stunning in a futuristic way, leaving Dean overwhelmed. It had not taken long to get to the Capitol. When they arrived, Dean saw the citizens waving and cheering at them and it took all Dean had not to just flip them off. Their mentor, Bobby Singer, had explained to them the concept of sponsors. Dean felt sure he could do it. He was a charmer. He just didn't feel very... likeable at the moment.
They get off the train and are rushed to the remake centre. Dean was dreading this part of the day. He was ushered into a room and told that his stylist would be with him shortly. Dean hoped he wouldn't punch his stylist.
Dean had to wait about 10 minutes before a boy wandered in. About his age, maybe younger, with dark hair and startling blue eyes. On his cheekbone was a thin design in a blue that brought out the colour of his eyes. His head was tilted and he was just staring at Dean in a way that made him feel exposed.
"You lost?" Dean asked.
"No. I know this place very well." The boy's voice was deeper then Dean had expected and sent an unexpected shiver down him.
Dean waiting for him to continue but the boy just looked over him again.Was he checking him out?
"What're you doing in here?" The words came out harsher then Dean had expected.
"I am your stylist."
Dean waited for him to laugh, say he was joking, because he had to be kidding, right? Nothing came.
"Oh. Sorry. Aren't you a little on the young side to be a stylist?"
"I'm a child prodigy." the boy blinked.
"Wow, modest much?"
"Modesty has nothing to do with this. It's a fact."
"Right..." Dean trails off, unsure of what to make of the strange boy.
"The best stylist for the best tribute." the boy said it like it was something he had memorized.
"Alright, Best Stylist, do you have a name?"
"Castiel. Now strip."
Dean choked up.
"What?"
"Take off your clothes." Castiel said slowly.
"What, why?" Dean said the words more louder then he had wanted.
"I have to evaluate you, I can't do it if you're covered." Castiel tilted his head and looked at him as though he was already undressing him with his eyes. When Dean didn't move, Castiel sighed.
"You may keep your under garment if you wish."
"Gee, thanks." Dean said dryly but started taking off his clothes. When he was done, he folded them and kept them in a corner, leaving his boxers on. He stood still as Castiel circled him, taking in every part of him. He occasionally ran a finger along his shoulder or some other part of his body and it was only due to the extreme training that Dean had undergone that his body didn't react. Because, dammit, it should be illegal what Castiel's fingers were making him feel. Weren't they torturing him enough?
After a while, Castiel started taking measurements.
"So, Castiel, you gonna watch the Hunger Games?" Dean asked, half out of curiosity, half to distract himself from the fact that Castiel's hands were on his thigh.
"It is obligatory, is it not?"
"Huh."
"That doesn't mean I'll enjoy it."
"Why not?" Dean was under the impression that the Capitol liked the Hunger Games.
"Because it is cruel and evil of the Capitol to intimidate the country by taking their children. It's wrong." Castiel stated, leaving Dean staring at him.
"You can't just say stuff like that." Dean said, but started laughing. Castiel frowned.
"Why not?"
"Maybe so you don't get blown up to smithereens?"
"I don't understand that reference."
For some reason, Dean couldn't stop laughing. Because in front of him was this boy, who apparently had no filter in his brain, who was from the Capitol and yet did not agree with the Capitol.
"Oh, buddy. You really need to get a filter."
"A filter for what?"
That sent Dean into another round of laughter, which got him an "is he insane?" look from Castiel.
Then Castiel started talking about clothes and ideas and what did he think about some outlandish idea of an outfit? Dean stopped listening to him after a while, just watching his graceful movements and the confidence in which he carried himself. For some reason, this boy whom he met not an hour ago fascinated him. His momentary peace was broken when a man perhaps of 25 came striding in.
"That girl is a nuisance!" he had a clipped accent, nothing like the ones Dean had heard in his life.
"Balthazar, just make her look pretty." Castiel said absently, not wavering his attention from Dean.
"Make her look pretty! Well, Cassy, I would but she is so bloody annoying."
"Dean, meet my partner, Balthazar. He's working on the girl from your district." Castiel said when it became evident that Balthazar wasn't going to leave until he finished his rant.
"You got the boy. You're so lucky. He's a looker."
"I'm right here." Dean said.
"And I'm complimenting you, you twat. A thank you would be nice." Balthazar snapped and walked out of the room.
"Did I do something...?"
"Balthazar doesn't like people who tell him what to do." Castiel took a step back and ran an eye over him again. Then he gave him the smallest of smiles.
Next part
Author: homeistheimpala
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2000+
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Balthazar (Supernatural), Gabriel (Supernatural), Michael (Supernatural), Chuck Shurley, John Winchester
Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel
Warning/ Triggers: Oppression and Death [in later chapters]
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own anything nor am I making any money out of this. Please don't sue me.
Summery: Dean Winchester is a Career tribute, trained his whole life to take part in the Hunger Games. On the day of the Reaping, Dean volunteers because it is expected of him. Dean is the best fighter. Then he meets Castiel at the Capitol and Dean doesn't know what to make of the boy, apart from the fact that he won't leave his head.
It was the day of the Reaping. They had the day off from training, to prepare themselves. Dean Winchester stood at the garden outside his house. In an hour they would, they would make their way to the centre of the district, where one girl and boy would be expected to volunteer as tribute. In District 2, Dean Winchester would be expected to volunteer. Because Dean was John Winchester's son, because Dean had an instinct for survival. Because Dean was the best.
Dean heard the rustling of leaves and his body tensed. But it was only Sam. Dean's body relaxed, but not completely. But that was simple force of habit.
"Hey." Sam said quietly.
Sam was one of the reasons Dean would volunteer. As John Winchester's sons, one of them was expected to volunteer this year. And Sammy couldn't do it. The kid was squeamish about killing animals. He would die in there and both of them knew it. Which was why John Winchester had Dean trained from a young age. He was going to volunteer as tribute when the time came. He would do it for his brother, for John, for the district. And he would win.
Or die,Dean had thought bitterly. It had seemed unfair that his life was planned out for him, that he was expected to kill for... what? District pride? To be a reminder to the people of Panem?
The people of Capitol were dicks.
Not that Dean was allowed to say that. No, it was always the Capitol did this and the Capitol did that. Dean hated it. Hated that he could be so easily controlled. That someone else had control over his life. Dean couldn't understand why everyone loved the Capitol so much. Yes, they were particularly generous to them. They were often called the 'pets' of the Capitol from other districts. Dean did not take this as a compliment. The Capitol took their children from them. Nothing they could ever give would make Dean forgive them of that.
"Dean..." Sam started.
"Sammy, I know what you're going to say, so save it." Dean said gruffly, not wanting to have this talk again.
"Dean, you don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do! Jesus, Sammy, don't you get it?" Dean burst out, "I have to so do this. You're under some crazy impression that we have a fucking choice. If I don't do it, then you could be picked, or some poor sap who doesn't have my training, who would probably end up dead! This is what my whole life has been for, so I don't have a choice, Sam. There's more important things at stake here then my life."
"Like what?" Sam snapped back.
"Dad's reputation! District unity! You know they decide every year who gets to volunteer. Every family has a chance. This year, it's our turn and I've been picked. So do not expect me to let down my father and my district. When you think about it, it's fair. We get to pick a kid. We train them so they don't lose." Dean felt like his father, saying those words. It was not something he liked but he had to make Sam understand that he could do nothing about this. It was out of his control.
Sam had his bitch face on and Dean internally groaned. God, the kid was stubborn.
"Sounds about right." An older male voice came. Both boys whipped around. John Winchester stood before them, wearing an expensive suit. Sam looked furious but Dean quickly changed his expression to impassive and respectful.
"I hope you weren't trying to convince Dean to not volunteer." John said, knowing very well that was exactly what Sam was doing.
Sam opened his mouth but Dean squeezed his arm. Shut up, kid.
Sam snapped his mouth shut, shot his father a look that could kill and stalked back into the house. John looked at his son and Dean looked back without flinching. Satisfied, John smiled.
"Your brother just doesn't understand. Your suit is in your bedroom. You should start getting ready." John turned around and left and Dean stared after him silently, when all he wanted to do was scream,"I DON'T UNDERSTAND, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?"
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Dean stood with his head held high during the Reaping. When the announcer asked for volunteers, Dean looked at John, who gave him an encouraging nod. Dean volunteered in a clear voice and everyone clapped and cheered.
I might be walking to my death, you bastards.
Layla Adams volunteered as the girl tribute. They shook hands and Dean knew that if it came down to it, they would kill each other.
They were marched off to a room, where Dean waited for his visitors.
The first person who walked through the door was Sam. Dean didn't know what he was expecting, but he didn't expect his brother to pin him against wall.
"Promise me you'll win." Sam growled.
"Jeez, Sammy-"
"Promise me you'll win."
"I promise." Dean choked out. Sam had the advantage of being taller then him and, well, being his brother.
Sam let him go and pulled him into a bear hug, crushing the breathe out of him.
Holy mother of Je-
Sam let go of Dean.
"You're coming back."
"Of course he is." John Winchester said, looking calm. His serenity angered Dean. But it was Sam who decided to do something about it.
"Fuck you. You just sent your son out to be killed," Sam's voice was deadly quiet, "I hope you're happy. But let me tell you something. If he doesn't come back, if he dies in that arena, his blood will be on your hands. I intend to kill my brother's murderer."
Sam walked out, leaving the threat hanging in the air. The threat on his life had shook John, because they knew Sam would do it. Because Sam cared for his brother more then anything else in the world.
"That boy needs anger management classes." John finally said. Dean nodded, maybe because he didn't now what to say or do. His father gave him a short hug and told him he would do fine. The next visitor was his trainer. They went over all the tactics and he was once again congratulated. The last guest was unexpected. Chuck Shurley came through the door, looking awkward and out of place. Dean just looked at him. Chuck extended his arm.
"Sam told me to give you this."
Dean took the amulet that hung from his hand. It looked ancient, but Sam had given it to him as a keeps-sake.
"It's supposed to keep people safe." Chuck said.
"No offence, buddy, but I don't think some necklace will help me much." Dean said, but he put it on anyway.
"Probably not. But if it counts for anything, I think you'll win either way." Chuck left.
It counted.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Capitol was huge. It was stunning in a futuristic way, leaving Dean overwhelmed. It had not taken long to get to the Capitol. When they arrived, Dean saw the citizens waving and cheering at them and it took all Dean had not to just flip them off. Their mentor, Bobby Singer, had explained to them the concept of sponsors. Dean felt sure he could do it. He was a charmer. He just didn't feel very... likeable at the moment.
They get off the train and are rushed to the remake centre. Dean was dreading this part of the day. He was ushered into a room and told that his stylist would be with him shortly. Dean hoped he wouldn't punch his stylist.
Dean had to wait about 10 minutes before a boy wandered in. About his age, maybe younger, with dark hair and startling blue eyes. On his cheekbone was a thin design in a blue that brought out the colour of his eyes. His head was tilted and he was just staring at Dean in a way that made him feel exposed.
"You lost?" Dean asked.
"No. I know this place very well." The boy's voice was deeper then Dean had expected and sent an unexpected shiver down him.
Dean waiting for him to continue but the boy just looked over him again.Was he checking him out?
"What're you doing in here?" The words came out harsher then Dean had expected.
"I am your stylist."
Dean waited for him to laugh, say he was joking, because he had to be kidding, right? Nothing came.
"Oh. Sorry. Aren't you a little on the young side to be a stylist?"
"I'm a child prodigy." the boy blinked.
"Wow, modest much?"
"Modesty has nothing to do with this. It's a fact."
"Right..." Dean trails off, unsure of what to make of the strange boy.
"The best stylist for the best tribute." the boy said it like it was something he had memorized.
"Alright, Best Stylist, do you have a name?"
"Castiel. Now strip."
Dean choked up.
"What?"
"Take off your clothes." Castiel said slowly.
"What, why?" Dean said the words more louder then he had wanted.
"I have to evaluate you, I can't do it if you're covered." Castiel tilted his head and looked at him as though he was already undressing him with his eyes. When Dean didn't move, Castiel sighed.
"You may keep your under garment if you wish."
"Gee, thanks." Dean said dryly but started taking off his clothes. When he was done, he folded them and kept them in a corner, leaving his boxers on. He stood still as Castiel circled him, taking in every part of him. He occasionally ran a finger along his shoulder or some other part of his body and it was only due to the extreme training that Dean had undergone that his body didn't react. Because, dammit, it should be illegal what Castiel's fingers were making him feel. Weren't they torturing him enough?
After a while, Castiel started taking measurements.
"So, Castiel, you gonna watch the Hunger Games?" Dean asked, half out of curiosity, half to distract himself from the fact that Castiel's hands were on his thigh.
"It is obligatory, is it not?"
"Huh."
"That doesn't mean I'll enjoy it."
"Why not?" Dean was under the impression that the Capitol liked the Hunger Games.
"Because it is cruel and evil of the Capitol to intimidate the country by taking their children. It's wrong." Castiel stated, leaving Dean staring at him.
"You can't just say stuff like that." Dean said, but started laughing. Castiel frowned.
"Why not?"
"Maybe so you don't get blown up to smithereens?"
"I don't understand that reference."
For some reason, Dean couldn't stop laughing. Because in front of him was this boy, who apparently had no filter in his brain, who was from the Capitol and yet did not agree with the Capitol.
"Oh, buddy. You really need to get a filter."
"A filter for what?"
That sent Dean into another round of laughter, which got him an "is he insane?" look from Castiel.
Then Castiel started talking about clothes and ideas and what did he think about some outlandish idea of an outfit? Dean stopped listening to him after a while, just watching his graceful movements and the confidence in which he carried himself. For some reason, this boy whom he met not an hour ago fascinated him. His momentary peace was broken when a man perhaps of 25 came striding in.
"That girl is a nuisance!" he had a clipped accent, nothing like the ones Dean had heard in his life.
"Balthazar, just make her look pretty." Castiel said absently, not wavering his attention from Dean.
"Make her look pretty! Well, Cassy, I would but she is so bloody annoying."
"Dean, meet my partner, Balthazar. He's working on the girl from your district." Castiel said when it became evident that Balthazar wasn't going to leave until he finished his rant.
"You got the boy. You're so lucky. He's a looker."
"I'm right here." Dean said.
"And I'm complimenting you, you twat. A thank you would be nice." Balthazar snapped and walked out of the room.
"Did I do something...?"
"Balthazar doesn't like people who tell him what to do." Castiel took a step back and ran an eye over him again. Then he gave him the smallest of smiles.
Next part