fic: We Will Be Victorious [spn/thg fusion]
title: We Will Be Victorious
fandoms: Supernatural/The Hunger Games
rating: PG-13
warnings: uh, child violence, offscreen character death
summary: "Let them have their show," Dean said to Sam, the night before the Games started. "You kill me, I kill you, it doesn't matter. They'll never have us," he whispered in Sam's ear.
notes: ~750 words, second and third person pov, intentional indentation. idek. I couldn't decide how I wanted to mesh Sam and Dean into THG so everything is intentionally vague as to avoid having to actually come up with a plot. I think my natural default when I get involved in new things is to figure out a way to cross them over with Supernatural. /shrug. Originally this was going to be longer, but I got tired of staring at it on my desktop, so. It is what it is. Unbetaed, title/cut text from Muse.
A field of green and a gentle breeze, the timer counting down angry red letters over the cournicopia.
Five, four, three, two...
~
Sam strains to see Dean, completely on the other side of the field. He's staring at the weapons, at the array of knives displayed like it's Christmas. Sam tries to get his attention, shakes his head, wants to yell, "remember what our mentor said," but he knows it's no use. He can't hear anything over the roaring in his ears; he doubts his brother can either.
"Don't step off early," his mentor told him. "It'll blow you sky high, take your legs off at the least."
"There won't be anything left for them to send home," his stylist said.
The only home Sam's ever had is standing across the field, and he's certain some thing as little as a land mine won't keep the two of them apart.
The timer reaches zero. He runs.
(You run and you run and you run, pack you barely managed to snag strapped to your shoulder, the girl from two hot on your trail, Sam hopefully somewhere safe in the distance running the other way. Your boots feel funny on your feet, not heavy enough, not broken-in enough, and you stumble, tumbling down a hill. Disorientation hits you when you try to stand, but the girl on your tail is gone. It's funny, you think, monsters and ghosts and everything in between and your final doom might be a normal teenage girl.)
~
The forest is a death trap for he and Dean, he knows this going in. Camping trips as children were few and far between, but Dad taught them the basics, taught them everything they needed to know really, how to make fire, find shelter, food, water.
It's not enough in an arena rigged to kill.
(The fire comes as you're sleeping, high up in your tree. Dad taught you to survive, it's true, camping trips Sam whined his whole way through, and you needed an escape, somewhere to go where your father wouldn't yell and Sam wouldn't yell back, somewhere where you didn't have to be the peacekeeper in every situation. Sam might have grown into gangly arms and legs, but you're the real monkey in the family.)
~
We only kill monsters, we only kill monsters. It's a mantra running in Sam's head as he watches the girl from two slice open the young boy from six and splatter his intestines all down her chest. She smiles and licks her lips, looks up at the sky as the cannon booms for his death.
She doesn't see Sam coming.
(You can't help the girl from one, her body contorted by venom before you even get to her. You find the girl from four a little later, a sad resemblance of what she used to be. they're just children, you have to keep telling yourself, reminding yourself that everything about this situation is wrong, that you shouldn't be here, that Sam shouldn't be here. All you can think about is getting back to Sam.)
~
"Let them have their show," Dean said to Sam, the night before the Games started. "You kill me, I kill you, it doesn't matter. They'll never have us," he whispered in Sam's ear.
(You could hear the Capitol people chanting in the city below you, endless sea of drones waiting for The Hunger Games in the city outside the window, the two of you trapped inside like panthers in a cage. You'd always been angry at the world but you'd never felt hatred towards anyone as much as you hated the President, his face a target in your dreams every night since your names were called.)
~
"It's you and me against the world," Dean says, last two standing in the arena. The blood of the boy from two is still dripping down his arm, and Sam can barely stand, his thigh sliced open by the same boy days before, but they stand, the only two left, together.
"You and me," Sam says.
(You knew from the start it always was a stupid plan, the idea that one of you could survive without the other, that fighting your way to each other and surviving until the end would make any difference. He wouldn't have been able to go on without you, anyway.)
~
A blue sky and a bright sun, the sound of mockinjays on the horizon.
The cannon booms twice.
fandoms: Supernatural/The Hunger Games
rating: PG-13
warnings: uh, child violence, offscreen character death
summary: "Let them have their show," Dean said to Sam, the night before the Games started. "You kill me, I kill you, it doesn't matter. They'll never have us," he whispered in Sam's ear.
notes: ~750 words, second and third person pov, intentional indentation. idek. I couldn't decide how I wanted to mesh Sam and Dean into THG so everything is intentionally vague as to avoid having to actually come up with a plot. I think my natural default when I get involved in new things is to figure out a way to cross them over with Supernatural. /shrug. Originally this was going to be longer, but I got tired of staring at it on my desktop, so. It is what it is. Unbetaed, title/cut text from Muse.
A field of green and a gentle breeze, the timer counting down angry red letters over the cournicopia.
Five, four, three, two...
~
Sam strains to see Dean, completely on the other side of the field. He's staring at the weapons, at the array of knives displayed like it's Christmas. Sam tries to get his attention, shakes his head, wants to yell, "remember what our mentor said," but he knows it's no use. He can't hear anything over the roaring in his ears; he doubts his brother can either.
"Don't step off early," his mentor told him. "It'll blow you sky high, take your legs off at the least."
"There won't be anything left for them to send home," his stylist said.
The only home Sam's ever had is standing across the field, and he's certain some thing as little as a land mine won't keep the two of them apart.
The timer reaches zero. He runs.
(You run and you run and you run, pack you barely managed to snag strapped to your shoulder, the girl from two hot on your trail, Sam hopefully somewhere safe in the distance running the other way. Your boots feel funny on your feet, not heavy enough, not broken-in enough, and you stumble, tumbling down a hill. Disorientation hits you when you try to stand, but the girl on your tail is gone. It's funny, you think, monsters and ghosts and everything in between and your final doom might be a normal teenage girl.)
~
The forest is a death trap for he and Dean, he knows this going in. Camping trips as children were few and far between, but Dad taught them the basics, taught them everything they needed to know really, how to make fire, find shelter, food, water.
It's not enough in an arena rigged to kill.
(The fire comes as you're sleeping, high up in your tree. Dad taught you to survive, it's true, camping trips Sam whined his whole way through, and you needed an escape, somewhere to go where your father wouldn't yell and Sam wouldn't yell back, somewhere where you didn't have to be the peacekeeper in every situation. Sam might have grown into gangly arms and legs, but you're the real monkey in the family.)
~
We only kill monsters, we only kill monsters. It's a mantra running in Sam's head as he watches the girl from two slice open the young boy from six and splatter his intestines all down her chest. She smiles and licks her lips, looks up at the sky as the cannon booms for his death.
She doesn't see Sam coming.
(You can't help the girl from one, her body contorted by venom before you even get to her. You find the girl from four a little later, a sad resemblance of what she used to be. they're just children, you have to keep telling yourself, reminding yourself that everything about this situation is wrong, that you shouldn't be here, that Sam shouldn't be here. All you can think about is getting back to Sam.)
~
"Let them have their show," Dean said to Sam, the night before the Games started. "You kill me, I kill you, it doesn't matter. They'll never have us," he whispered in Sam's ear.
(You could hear the Capitol people chanting in the city below you, endless sea of drones waiting for The Hunger Games in the city outside the window, the two of you trapped inside like panthers in a cage. You'd always been angry at the world but you'd never felt hatred towards anyone as much as you hated the President, his face a target in your dreams every night since your names were called.)
~
"It's you and me against the world," Dean says, last two standing in the arena. The blood of the boy from two is still dripping down his arm, and Sam can barely stand, his thigh sliced open by the same boy days before, but they stand, the only two left, together.
"You and me," Sam says.
(You knew from the start it always was a stupid plan, the idea that one of you could survive without the other, that fighting your way to each other and surviving until the end would make any difference. He wouldn't have been able to go on without you, anyway.)
~
A blue sky and a bright sun, the sound of mockinjays on the horizon.
The cannon booms twice.