Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters.

Hey guys! I wrote this because we're coming up on Hell Week at my school and I'm getting stressed out. So I figured that Sam and Dean must have had something like it when they were young. Please read and review!

Sam is ten, Dean is fourteen.

If there was one thing Dean hated, it was Hell Week.

That's what he was thinking as he ran the last mile of his ten-mile solo trek. His father had dropped him off about an hour ago, with instructions to keep running straight ahead. He had only a backpack with a single water bottle in it, and he felt like he was about to pass out. But when he reached the car, he knew that he would be allowed ten minutes of rest, before he started off again-this time with Sam in tow.

This ritual had began when he was five years old, and the one year anniversery of his mother's death had arrived. Instead of doing the normal thing-burying his emotions in a bottle-John Winchester had packed his sons up and hit the road. He'd taken Dean to a secluded forest, and they had trained. Of course, his first Hell Week had been a lot different than the ones he was expected to be able to do now. The first time he had experienced Hell Week, John had been by his side, with an eighteen month old Sammy in a carrier on his back. He'd only had to run two miles back then-of course, two miles was difficult for a five-year-old. Then, John had showed him how to set up his shelter, and he had been able to feel safe, knowing that his father was with him.

When Dean turned eight, John had decied that he was able to undergo Hell Week on his own. Of course, John was never far away-typically, he was just out of sight, but that was enough for Dean to feel alone. But Hell Week did it's job. Dean learned how to survive in the wilderness, and rely on himself.

Hell Week was made up of seven days of pure torture. They were never the same, never easy. Hell Week gave Dean nightmares, made him shiver at the very mention.

Sam hadn't really become a part of Hell Week until he turned six years old-up until he was three, John had carried him on his back, and when Sam turned four and five he was left at Bobby's or Pastor Jim's. When Sam startd Hell Week, John went easier on him. Dean would run his first few miles alone, because Sam was younger-and then, he would pick Sammy up and they would run together.

As Dean rounded the last corner, he caught a glimpse of the Impala. He sighed in relief and sprinted towards the car, thinking of a drink of cold water and a few minutes to rest in the air-conditioned vehicle.

"Fifty-four minutes and twenty one seconds," John announced as Dean passed the hood of the car. "That's good, Ace."

"Thanks...Dad," Dean gasped, reaching for the water bottle John was holding. He took a few sips and doubled over as he fought to catch his breath. He coughed a few times-he'd been doing that a lot lately. He was getting over a bad cold, and it was kicking his ass.

"Here, get in the car. You've got ten minutes to recover," John told his eldest, holding open the door. John considered letting his son out of Hell Week, but then he realized that demons wouldn't wait. If his sons were sick when some ghoul or ghost attacked, they couldn't call in sick. Innocents would die; they would die.

Dean needed to learn to push through his pain. He needed to learn that he was strong enough to fight, even when he wasn't at a hundred percent. This would help Dean in the end.

Dean slid into the car and closed his eyes. He knew that this would be his last chance to truly relax for a week.

"How was it, Dean?" Sammy asked his older brother. Sam was only ten, and had never known exactly how far Dean was expected to run or what he was expected to do-he just knew that Dean was required to do much more than he was.

"Not bad," Dean lied, opening his eyes and looking at his brother. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Sam sighed. "I have to run five miles this year."

Dean smiled; Sam didn't know how good he had it. Five miles was a piece of cake. Fifteen wasn't.

"Well, I've got your back out there," Dean promised his sibling. He was feeling a bit better-he knew that he would be able to make it to the camp, even if he passed out as soon as he arrived.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam grinned at his older brother. Dean always had his back; Dean was the only thing that helped him get through Hell Week.

"Okay, boys," John poked his head in the car. "Time to hit the road."

Dean and Sam got out of the car and stood at attention, waiting for their father's orders.

"You're going to run straight ahead for five miles before you hit the marker I left at camp. You'll make your own shelter-I left you a tarp, you decide how you want to use that. You guys take the night to rest and eat-I packed you some MREs."

John tossed each boy a backpack; Dean groaned. He hated MREs-they were disgusting, and when he ate them it felt like he was eating on top of that, his backpack was heavy. He knew his father had probably packed the majority of the MREs and weapons in his pack, because Sam was just a ten year old kid.

"I'd get going if I were you." John told his sons. "You've got about two hours until dark."

And Sam and Dean set off-one weary and one eager.