Chapter 2: Physical Training

It was a little past 0400, and Sam was setting a rigorous pace for us on our five-mile run. I wasn't sure if he was overzealous to get back in dad's good graces or if he was just angry at the whole circumstances. More than Dean or I, Sam felt that dad's methods were antiquated and unjust. He regularly harassed Dean for always being "a good little soldier" and "not thinking for himself." Dean would always respond with, "It's called being a good son", but I could tell that deep down he felt humiliated by Sam's comments. I knew that Sam would not run off and leave Dean and me, but I was afraid that if he kept running at this pace, I wouldn't have the strength to complete the other PT that Dad had planned for us when we returned home. I knew that we were in for numerous push-ups, sit-ups, and jumping jacks, and I was sure that Dad would find several other exercises that would help us remember how important it was to follow his orders.

As I continued to run, my thoughts kept returning to my conversation with dad last night. He was very frustrated with all three of us, but he was extremely upset with Sam and me. He knew that Dean would not have disobeyed his direct order to never set foot in Carol's Diner if he had not been persuaded by us. Sam and I knew we weren't supposed to go there, but we were so thirsty. We didn't think that it would hurt to just get a coke and quickly leave, and of course, dad would never need to know. Unfortunately for us, dad just happened to drive-by as we were coming out of the diner. He quickly slammed on his brakes and made a sharp U-turn. The look that he leveled at us as he emerged from the car caused us to wither where we stood. We had been given a direct order by our father, and we had directly disobeyed that standing order. There was no greater grievance in the house of John Winchester.

We all knew the consequences for disobeying dad's orders, and so our fate was sealed. There was no arguing, begging, or crying that would change dad's mind; in fact, those shenanigans usually resulted in a worse punishment. We had known that this was a possibility when we decided to go into that place of ill repute, and there was no excuse that would persuade my father that we had a legitimate reason for being there. Even though Dean had only gone inside to keep an eye on Sam and me, and he had refused to even take a swallow of the coke that we had purchased, Dean knew that in dad's eyes, he was guilty as well. He never even offered up a reason for his disobedience or tried to place the blame on me or Sam. He just shamefacedly admitted that he had heard dad's orders, and that he had willfully gone inside the forbidden place of business.

I was beginning to get very winded, and I wasn't sure if I could go much further, when I heard Dean say, "Sammy, I think we need a breather. Let's take a five minute rest under this tree over here." I sent Dean an appreciative smile as we all flopped onto the ground. It felt so good to just lie there in the soft grass and breathe in the fresh air. Once again I was reminded of how truly special our family was. How many other families spent most of their time travelling in a car together, staying in cheap motels at least eight or nine times a month, or hunting mostly unheard of deadly supernatural creatures? I know that by most people's standards, we would be considered a dysfunctional family, but in reality, we were probably the most functional family alive. We followed orders; well, most of the time, showed absolute respect to our father and most adults, maintained an exercise regimen for health and fitness, all while maintaining the appearance of the typical American family.

As all this was sweeping through my thoughts, I heard Dean say, "Sammy, what's up? You trying to beat a personal record or something?"

"Why?" Sam asked sullenly.

"The pace, Dude. I thought you were heading to fight a fire or something. Don't forget, this is not our only PT today. You might want to slow down a little. You don't want to have a heart attack. Besides, Sis is really struggling to keep up."

"Hey! Speak for yourself!" I proclaimed slapping his arm, even though I knew that it was true.

"You don't have to tell me. I'm quite familiar with dad's overactive imagination when it comes to cruel and unusual punishment. He really needs to get a grip!"

"Don't even start it, Sam", said Dean in his most authoritative voice.

"What? I guess you think this is fair! You didn't even do anything except follow his other order to always keep an eye on Kellie and Sammy. You were in trouble either way. How is that fair?"

"It doesn't matter, Sam. Just let it go."

I quickly interrupted the conversation before it became a full-blown, heated argument, "Come on boys. We better get going. I've rested enough."

We returned to our run, but at a more comfortable pace for which I was very thankful. I knew that Dean could have easily passed me and matched stride with Sam, but he always kept himself just a step or two behind me to watch for any dangers that may be coming up from our rear. It was very comforting to know that Dean was always there to protect me and Sammy. I understood why Sam got mad when Dean didn't defend himself. It just didn't seem fair that he got in the same trouble that we did, even when he was just being the protector that he had been trained to be since he was four years old. However, he and Dad didn't see it that way, and so Dean willingly accepted whatever consequences that dad deemed appropriate. I would never understand why dad was so hard-core Marine when it came to Dean, but I supposed he had his reasons; he just didn't care to share them with us.

We were nearing the end of our run when I tripped over an exposed root from a large tree. Unfortunately, Dean could not stop in time, and so he ended up head-over-heels on top of me. We looked quite a site, I'm sure, with arms and legs intertwined as we rolled ungracefully to a sudden stop. The breath was knocked clean out of me for a few seconds, but eventually I was able to breathe again. Then I saw Dean's pale, shocked face as I heard him say, "Kellie, Kellie, are you ok? I'm so sorry. Kellie, Don't move. Please forgive me." I started to give him a rough shove and tell him to get off of me, when I saw it—my arm was a mangled mass of blood.