Appendix E

Section A

Alex, Age 18

Preparing for the Worst, Hoping for the Best

Alex struck the mats with a noisy grunt.

Dean released her and stood. "Again!"

Alex struggled to her feet. "Dad, really? Haven't we done enough?"

"Again!"

Alex growled.

They were both panting heavily and drenched in sweat. Nonetheless, Dean settled into a fighting stance and lifted his fists to guard his face. Alex mirrored him, her expression showing a fury that battled her exhaustion.

They engaged. First a flurry of blows were exchanged, but none of them landed as they both dodged every attempted strike. Then Alex grappled with her father, entangling his limbs, but he quickly escaped the holds. Then he took his chance to snare her himself, and she in turn broke free of his grip.

As they sparred, Sam appeared in the doorway. His expression turned to disbelief.

"Are you two seriously still training? It's been like an hour and a half!" he said. "You've got to stop; you're going to get hurt."

"Hang on!" Alex screeched at her uncle.

Her frustration had reached a fever pitch. At that moment, she spotted just the right moment in the fight. She secured a grip around her father's arms and shoulders to gain leverage at the top of his torso, at the same time tripping him backwards. With a vicious, wordless bellow, she used these physics, the power of her entire body, and a great deal of rage to smash him into the mats so hard it knocked the wind out of him. Immediately, Dean's lungs seared with pain and he gasped to try and refill them, with not much success.

"Holy shit," Sam commented, impressed and a little surprised. Alex was a strong and effective fighter—she could hold her own against just about anything they'd come up against so far—but rarely was she belligerent.

Raking her hair away from her face, Alex straightened, working hard to catch her breath.

"Can we be done?" she said, looming over Dean.

"Yeah, fine," he relented, his voice tight and his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to breathe.

"Good." Alex turned and stalked out of the room, exhausted. "I'm going to shower."

Looking down and away slightly, Sam murmured as she walked past, "Nice move."

"Thanks," she mumbled back.

Once she had left, Sam wandered over to where Dean was still lying on his back. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah," Dean grunted. "Just… tryin' to get some air."

"She got you good," said Sam, laughing a little.

"That's my girl," Dean replied. Then he finally relaxed as he took an actual deep breath, the pain starting to seep out of his chest. "Help me up, would yah'?"

"Sure." Sam offered a hand, still grinning, and pulled Dean to his feet. Once upright, Dean ambled to the side of the mats and picked up a towel to mop his face and underarms.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Sam poked.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" returned Dean. "I'm sweaty."

"I mean what are you doing with Alex?" Sam elaborated.

"Again; what does it look like I'm doing? Training."

"For an hour and a half? Dean, that's ridiculous. No one spars for that long: it's far too tiring and that's when injuries happen," said Sam.

"She needs the practice," said Dean.

"I don't think she does," Sam argued. "She just beat your ass. And you've been pushing her this whole last week, in the range and on the mats and with the lore. What on Earth does she need that much practice for?"

"We've got to fit in as much as possible. She needs to be ready," said Dean. "We've only got three days left."

"Three days 'til what?" asked Sam.

"'Til we drop her off," said Dean.

Sam looked surprised. "Drop her off… at college?"

"Yeah," Dean said as if it was the simplest and most obvious answer.

"Dude, it's college. It's perfectly safe."

"No, it's not," retorted Dean. "'Cause she's going to be all on her own. We won't be there to have her back if shit hits the fan. Something comes after her, she's going to have to take care of it all by herself. She needs to be prepared."

"She's going to be fine. Safest I've ever been was at Stanford."

"Yeah, well, you're a gigantic, tough-looking guy," Dean came back. "It's not just the crap we're usually dealing with. She's a young woman in a new place, all by herself for the first time, and there's drugs and alcohol and a bunch of stupid, meathead jocks who are just looking to score with a freshman—honestly, the whole college environment can be really rape-y, I don't know…," Dean cringed and tossed aside his towel.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, okay, there's drugs and alcohol, but what about vampire blood and hex bags? You're worried about meathead jocks? Yeah, they're dangerous and they suck, but what about the demons she's dealt with that were trying to get lucky? She's been up against incredibly powerful opponents, even with her faculties compromised, and won. College is small potatoes compared to hunting. I mean, you're a big guy and an experienced fighter and did you see what she just did to you?"

"Actually all I saw was hair and then the ceiling," said Dean, sounding distant, as if the memory was slightly disturbing. Then he snapped back to the present. "But you're forgetting again, Sam. Vampires and hex bags and demons; we were there to back her up with that crap. She's going to be alone."

"But she's not alone, Dean," Sam insisted. "I had incredible friends in college. We always had each other's backs. I'm sure she'll find some great people who will be there for her when she needs help."

"Oh, and these friends can recite an exorcism incantation, can they?"

"They don't have to have that memorized; she already does," said Sam. "She's capable of taking care of herself. She doesn't need any more training. And if you keep working her this hard, she's not going to want to come home on breaks."

"Don't threaten me with that, Sam," Dean growled. "It's not going to be like that."

"Dude, if you're going to act like Dad, she's going to leave like I did," said Sam.

This silenced Dean. His face twitched irritably and he looked away into empty space. His eyes flicked back and forth over the wall, not focusing on anything in particular as he considered his brother's point. Finally he shook his head, relenting.

"Maybe I have been pushing her a little too much lately," he said. "I'm just… worried, is all."

"I know," said Sam, finally dropping the harsh edge in his tone. "And I'll admit, I'm a little worried, too. We just have to have faith in her."

"Yeah…," Dean drifted into thought.

While his brother ruminated, Sam couldn't help but think about how much more than "a little worried" he was. Even though he knew Alex would be fine, that she was strong and independent and clever, he also knew that all it took was a split second of a bad situation for none of her skills to matter.

He felt his skin crawl where the knife had gone through his spine over twenty years ago.

And for a moment he wanted to train Alex just as intensely as Dean had. Screw staying on her good side. But Sam hid all of these thoughts and feelings from his brother, because if he didn't want Alex to collapse halfway up the stairs to her first class because her legs were too sore from sparring, he'd have to convince Dean—and himself—that she was perfectly safe.

He turned his attention back to his surroundings just in time to hear Dean ask; "I haven't been like Dad this whole time with her, have I?"

Sam gave a tiny laugh. "God, no. You were doing better than Dad long before Alex was around.

"But this last week you've been a dick."

Dean rolled his eyes and contemplated the wall again.

"Dean." Sam pulled his brother's attention. "She's going to be okay. More than that, she'll probably have a lot of fun."

"I know," said Dean, sighing. "I just hope she remembers to clean her gun regularly."

"Students aren't allowed to have weapons on campus."

"What?!"