When Sam leaves, I go back inside with Dean. "So, kid, what do you want to do?" he asks. I shrug. "How about I teach you how to defend yourself?" he suggests.
"You mean with weapons and stuff?" I ask him.
Dean shrugs. "Well, yeah. You should know how to fight, don't you think?" he asks me.
"You do know how dangerous that sounds, right?" I ask him, skeptically. Dean shrugs. "Are you crazy or something?" I ask. He uses his fingers to show a little, and I smile. "I like you, Dean," I say.
Dean leads me down to this giant weapon room with a bunch of practice areas. There are mats for wrestling, targets for shooting and knife throwing, basically anything a hunter needed. "Pick out a weapon, try not to kill yourself, and I'll teach you how to use it." I look around until I find what I want. I pick up a black bow with silver arrows. "Okay, I have no idea how to use that," Dean says.
I go over to a target with the bow and a couple arrows. I put on on the bow and I shoot it. I just miss my target-the heart. I am less than three inches away from where I wanted to be. "Wow, so you know," Dean says, impressed.
I shrug. "Once The Hunger Games came into theaters, I became obsessed with archery. I've gotten pretty good, I'd say."
"Yeah, with a little more practice, you could be lethal with that thing. But don't you think you'd rather use a gun?" he asks me.
"No," is my immediate response. Dean looks at me, confused, so I explain a little further. "With guns, you have no control over how fast it goes. A bullet goes one speed only. If you have no intention of killing, an arrow is better. Also, they can go just as fast. There's also the whole cost issue. In order to kill a werewolf, you need silver bullets. You know how expensive those are? If you have arrows, you can easily reuse the silver."
"I suppose that makes a little sense, but a bow and arrow are so much bulkier. You can't exactly hide a bow in your pocket," Dean says.
"Yes, that is true. But, people are always expecting you to have a gun. They always try to spot it on you. Pulling out a bow from your backpack or something might just stun a person enough that they will slow down a little bit. They also don't ever expect so much power from a bow," I say.
We spend the next ten minutes talking about bows versus guns. I had a very compelling case, but so did Dean. Eventually we decided that I would learn how to use a gun, but that I would be allowed to use the bow. Dean actually did want to learn how to use one, just in case of an emergency that he didn't have a gun and a bow was the only thing he did have. I taught him all I knew, and realized that he should stick to using a gun. Still, if he was trying to hit something ten feet to the left of his target, he would manage to survive.
I wasn't very good with a gun. My aim was a little far off, and I kept hitting myself in the stomach with the gun. After about ten times doing that, I put the weapon down. "You'll get better. It takes a little while to get used to the feeling," Dean says.
We walk over to the wrestling mats. "Okay, how about I teach you to fight?" Dean suggests. I look at him skeptically. I'm sizing him up, seeing how small my chance is of surviving a fight with him. I don't like my odds. "I'll go really easy on you," he promised. I'm still not liking my chances. I can see his muscles ripple whenever he walks. This dude is strong. "Come on. You can call it quits whenever you want."
I'm skeptical, but I agree anyway. I think to myself that there's no harm in learning, but I know that's not true. Looking at this guy, I know he could break my arm with a flick of his wrist. I don't really know what to do, so I stand at the ready. Dean tells me to attack him. I'm not quite sure how to do that, so I just run up and try to push him over. I am knocked flat on my back in less than five seconds.
I try over and over again to attack. Over and over again, I fall flat on my back. I keep trying different tactics, but none of them seem to work. "Do you want to stop?" I am asked several times. Every single time, I say no and I keep on going.
I am exhausted and pretty sore after about an hour of this. I'm also really frustrated. No matter what I try, I always seem to get nowhere but my face on the mat. Finally, I try a really simple maneuver, and I don't get knocked back immediately. Dean is so impressed that he stops. "Impressive. Do it again," he says.
I try again, and it works again. Over and over again I do this and every single time it works. Dean drills this maneuver into my mind until I can't think about anything but that particular move. I have almost mastered it by the time Dean forces me to stop. "Dean, I can keep going," I protest.
"No, you can't. I shouldn't have let you go on this long. You're going to be sorer than hell tomorrow. I'm cutting you off," he says.
"But," I protest. I repeat the word several times, with increasing sadness. "I can keep going," I say, a tragic note to my voice.
"I'm happy you want to do this, and that you're so excited. But I don't want you to come crying to me when you can't move tomorrow. The only way you're going to get any better is if we practice every day," he says. I look down at the ground, disappointed. "I'm not changing my mind, Skylar." I try to pull the sad puppy dog look, but he gives me a very firm look. "Go take a shower. If you can still fight tomorrow, I promise we will," he says.
I go take a shower in the bathroom in my room. I make it nice and long, just because I don't have any annoying parents to cut me off. My parents always got angry whenever I took a long time. Water wasn't very expensive where I lived (at least compared to how it was in California) but my parents hated spending any more money than they had to.
After my shower, I go through my drawers and try to find something that I want to wear to bed. I eventually settle on one of my t-shirts and a pair of shorts that I find in one of the bottom drawers. They are old fashioned, but very comfortable, so I don't mind wearing them. I head out to the kitchen, where Dean is making dinner. It's chili.
Dean tells me that dinner is going to be a few minutes, so I should just sit tight. I sit there, just thinking about the last couple hours. It was fun, I'll admit. I know I'll be sore the next morning, which is fine. At least it would take my mind off of all the crap that was going on-or what had gone on. I would be too focused on the pain of not being able to walk to even care about everything else.
"There's one question I never asked you yesterday. What's your middle name? Or do you even have one?" Dean asks me when he sits down with the chili. He even managed to get his hands on some cornbread.
"It's Jade," I reply.
Dean is already digging into his chili. "Skylar Jade. Pretty name," he says with his mouth half full.
"Thanks," I say, putting a spoonful of the food into my mouth. Dean is a really good cook, which I've already said. Still, I can't stress the fact enough that he really does know how to cook. I take a piece of cornbread and eat it with the chili.
"You know, I think it's really amazing that you can have so much energy and so much determination. You kept being pushed on the ground, but you kept getting right back up and starting over again," Dean says in between bites.
"Most people just say I'm stubborn," I say, shrugging.
"Determined, I think, is a better word for you. Being determined's a good thing. It means you have a drive to go forward and carry on, no matter what gets in your way. That's not a bad thing," Dean says. The compliment is interesting, and I appreciate it. It's nice to know that someone appreciates my stubbornness.