John awoke with a start from the all too familiar and distinct sound of a gun being discharged in close proximity. Throwing the worn-out blanket aside he instantly jumped up from the sofa and was at the front door within seconds. He swung open the door hard and searched for the source of the gunfire. When his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness John was surprised to see his eldest son standing in the furthest part of Bobby's yard wielding a gun.

John was relieved as soon as he realized Dean was not in any immediate danger. It appeared that his son was simply involved in a late night session of target practice. But no matter how much relief John may have felt for Dean's safety, he still let his anger get the better of him. Making his way through the maze of broken down cars John began yelling at Dean.

For a split-second John thought to himself perhaps he should have approached the boy with a bit more caution considering Dean was in possession of a weapon after all. He knew it wasn't smart to possibly startle him, but John was angry and shouting just came too naturally for him.

"Damn it Dean! What are you doing? You scared the hell out of me! You know it's just you and me here tonight. I thought, I-I.." John's words drifted off into awkward silence, unable to finish his sentence. Too much emotion wasn't something John was ever comfortable sharing.

"Hey Dad. Sorry about that.. really."

"Well..what are you doing Dean?"

With a slight shrug of his shoulders Dean replied, "Couldn't sleep. Thought I should get in some practice before we head out tomorrow but…I'm not doing so hot."

John knew that he and Dean were starting a hunt first thing in the morning and if Dean felt he needed more practice then he was probably right. With a reluctant sigh John huffed, "Show me. I'll tell what you're doing wrong." Dean nodded his head then a shot rang loudly, hanging in the air for what seemed an eternity. John couldn't help but notice his son had missed the mark entirely.

"Damn it." Dean replied as he leaned forward in the darkness to assess the target. He kicked the soft, loose dirt with the toe of his boot and said, "I missed."

"Yeah, I see that. It's ok Dean. Let's try another technique. Come here and stand right in front me."

Dean obeyed without question or hesitation and stood in front of John. Standing directly behind his son John pressed his body firmly against Dean's back for stability then reached around and encompassed Dean's hands in his. Guiding the gun into a different position for Dean and feeling as if he'd repeated the instructions a hundred times before, John began almost methodically speaking.

"The aim is too high. You're doing what's called 'heeling the gun'. It's when you push the nose of the weapon up because you're anticipating a recoil. A steady hand and not pulling so hard on the trigger will fix it. Remember what I told you about the difference between squeezing the trigger and pulling on it? "

"Yeah, yeah I do. Let me try again." Dean replied.

"Sure. But I'm going to watch this time instead."

Looking around for something he could rest his aging and tired form against John decided the nearby Oak tree would do just fine. Wearing only jeans and his favorite, yet very thin and worn, USMC t-shirt, the early spring air proved to be cool against his unprotected skin. Shoving his hands deep into the recesses of his pockets for warmth he watched as Dean continued practicing.

xxXXxx

Looking down at his watch he decided that twenty minutes of practice was more than enough for the night. Feeling as if he was in an intense losing battle with himself John resigned to the fact that he was too damn tired to do this anymore. His need for more rest was struggling against his strong hunter instincts to ensure Dean was prepared to shoot anything or anyone without missing. But John knew he just couldn't keep it up much longer and still be alert enough for the hunt ahead of them in the morning.

Walking towards his son, John ran his hand through his coarse beard and said, "Look.. Dean, it's late. You'll be on your game better tomorrow if you get some sleep." John laid a heavy and weathered hand upon his son's shoulder attempting to guide him towards the house.

Feeling the reluctance to move in Dean's stance John was not surprised when heard him say, "Not just yet. I'll be there in a minute ok?"

"Ok, but get your butt inside soon. I mean it. I don't like you out here alone with your aim off."

When Dean did not answer right away John said in gruff, frustrated tone, "Well?"

"Yes Sir." Dean quickly replied with a nod of his head.

Satisfied with the response, John turned on his heel and disappeared from Dean's view as he entered the house.

Once Dean was sure his father couldn't see him he turned, took aim and fired three rounds. Each shot hit the bulls eye almost dead center. It wasn't that Dean didn't know what he was doing; moreover, it was the exact opposite. Yearning for a normal life he knew he would never have, Dean treasured every moment he could get with John.

Whether it was negative or positive attention-it didn't really matter-to Dean it was all the same. It was some form of attention and that's all that was important. More times than Dean could count he made sure his dad was present when he starting cleaning and oiling the guns without being told to do so. Or he would show off the newest way he had developed for pulling out a machete from inside his coat without it getting caught in the material.

To any outsider these things would seem unsafe, insane even for a young teenager to know but Dean knew better. This was his life now and if he wanted any of John's attention this was the way to get it.

It was far from a perfect parent-child relationship but Dean learned at an early age it's best to get what you can, when you can, otherwise it just may very well be taken from you in an instant…