A/N: Based on a prompt from chestertonsfence on tumblr, and my feeling that after the mid-season finale it was high time the group got a lesson in gun safety. Two notes: Mad Maggie was borrowed from her excellent ensemble fic, Straight and Narrow; and "rubber duck" is military slang for a fake M16 used in basic training.
All characters herein belong to Kirkman, Gimple, & Co.
Brass
noun, slang
High-ranking military official
Bullet casing
It started out as an unusually peaceful morning.
They'd been on their feet for days before they found the old trail shelter. Unable to syphon much fuel outside Atlanta, they'd been spit back onto the road with no better option than to turn once more into the woods. The shelter itself wasn't large enough to house them all, but the campsite was well-situated atop a hilly crest and protected on one side by a cold, rushing stream. Worn out and without direction, it was quickly agreed that they would camp there for a few days while they regrouped and figured out their next move.
Tyreese and Maggie had been up since before dawn and were in the last hour of their watch, but others were only just finishing their breakfasts. A low fire was crackling beneath a pot of boiling water; Fr. Gabriel was bent over a frayed book of psalms; Rick was trying to tempt Judith with bits of squirrel jerky a few feet from where Michonne was teaching Noah and Carl how to play a variant of Texas Hold'em with a faded deck of cards and an assortment of matches, floss, chewing gum, and batteries; and Rosita had marched up to where Abraham was sprawled out beside the fire and was standing over him with her hands on her hips.
"Eugene needs to learn how to shoot."
Abraham snorted. It had been a little over a week since the truth about Washington had come to light, and though Eugene had recovered with only a mild concussion, he'd been careful to steer clear of Abraham (and just about everyone but Tara and, on one brief occasion, Judith) since then for fear of risking more serious brain damage.
"So?"
"So, you need to teach him. Tara almost got herself killed yesterday trying to cover him, and now she's twisted her knee again."
"Not again," Tara said as she hobbled over to the picnic bench. "Still. Damn thing hasn't had a chance to heal properly yet."
"Then you teach him," he grunted. "Or shit, let him figure it out. He is a scientist after all!" His raised voice carried to where Eugene stood alone at the edge of the camp, throwing stones into the stream and pretending not to hear. Rosita rolled her eyes.
"I could teach him," Rick offered. "I've been thinking about giving those of us who are still unfamiliar with firearms a little target practice." Beside him, Carl and Michonne were unmistakably glowering in Fr. Gabriel's direction.
"We're low on ammo," Sasha interjected. She and Carol had spent the morning taking inventory of their supplies, and judging from the mismatched array spread across the picnic table, there hadn't been much to sort through. "At most we have a box and a half, maybe two boxes to spare."
"All the more reason to practice. We can't afford to be wasting bullets on account of poor aim."
"Better take him, too." Daryl jerked his head in Noah's direction and Noah, still unsure what to expect from him, started. "Kid emptied an entire clip back in Atlanta, didn't hit nothin' but air."
Tara raised her hand. "Yeah, actually, could I get in on that? I was only in my first week at the academy when everything happened, and I know how to point and shoot and all, but… I'm not reeeally sure what I'm supposed to be doing."
Rick nodded, chuckling, and both he and Rosita turned back to Abraham-who said nothing. Rick cleared his throat. "'Course, it's your call, but I could use another set of hands out there if we're talking about giving a group lesson." Still nothing. Rosita arched an eyebrow and kicked him hard on the upturned sole of his boot.
"Goddamnit, fine!"
With a heavy sigh, he rolled over and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He scraped the last of his breakfast into his mouth, stood, stretched, and dumped the empty bowl into the hot water wash pan before ambling over to the edge of the campsite.
"Hey! Shitbag!" he called. "It's the hour of reckoning. Time's come for you to pull your own useless weight. You too, Father," he added a little more kindly. From the distance, the others could see Eugene give a forlorn look at the stream before trudging back up towards the campfire.
About ten minutes later, breakfast had been cleared, the campfire stomped out, and the group's cumulative cache of weapons had been laid out on a blanket spread across the picnic table. Noah made his way over to where Carol was sorting through the ammunition and picked up a half empty box of bright red cartridges.
"Woah, these are huge. They go to that?" he asked, gesturing to the M16 that was propped up against the edge of the table beside her.
"That's a rifle, genius," Daryl snapped, appearing at her shoulder before she could answer. Noah dropped the box and took a half step backwards.
"S-so?"
"So those are shotgun shells. Ya can't shoot shotgun shells out of a rifle any more than you can fire bullets out of a shotgun." Noah stared back at him with a blank expression and Daryl's eyes narrowed with a mixture of amusement and distaste. "The hell were you gonna do back there after ya ran outta ammo?"
Noah opened and closed his mouth searching for an answer until Carol stepped quietly between them and handed him Bob's old Glock 19 after releasing the empty magazine.
"Here, let me show you how to load this."
A few feet away, Eugene and Abraham were already arguing.
"Do I look like a complete asshole to you? This is a fully automatic assault rifle, not a goddamn rubber duck."
"I am well aware that I have limited experience with firearms," Eugene began, "but it takes time, practice, and coordination to hit a target with a pistol. Long guns have more points of contact on the body, greatly increasing accuracy while firing. Ergo, I should use the M16."
"Ergo, horse shit-we have a limited supply of ammo as it is, and I sure as hell ain't willing to let half a clip go to waste because your fat finger keeps hugging the trigger." Abraham slammed the magazine into his Army issue M9 and pulled back hard on the slide for emphasis. "And I'd have a much easier time buying that 'increased accuracy' bull if the last time you fired a weapon you hadn't ate up our transport."
"Although," Glenn muttered to Tara while carefully picking .45s out of the unsorted jumble on the picnic table, "I think we now know that he was probably trying to do that, so maybe it did 'increase his accuracy' or whatever."
Tara snorted into her fist, but as the silence stretched they both whipped their heads up to see Abraham wearing an expression that plainly said he was about to rip Eugene's head off. Tara leapt off the picnic bench onto her good leg and dragged Eugene aside by the arm.
"Hookay, let's go see if Rosita needs any help setting up the targets." Once they were out of earshot she whispered, "How do you even know all that stuff?" He shrugged.
"Video games."
Soon after, the others followed them leaving Carol and Sasha to pack away everything that remained. Having come full circle around the perimeter of their watch, Tyreese stopped to help Carol empty the dirty wash pan, and Maggie wandered over to where Daryl and Michonne stood watching Glenn jog behind Abraham as he marched down the hillside.
Scowling, she asked "What in the heck are they doing?"
"Target practice," Daryl answered flatly.
"Mhmm. And right now there's a better than fifty percent chance someone's gonna punch Eugene in the face again." Michonne turned to her with a deadpan expression. "Wanna watch?"
Down at the base of the hill, Rick was already showing an extremely wary Fr. Gabriel how to load and unload Michonne's snub nose S&W while Carl and Rosita set up empty soup cans along the trunk of an overturned pine tree at approximately 10, 15, and 20 yard intervals behind them. By the time Abraham strode into into view, Fr. Gabriel looked faintly sick, Carl, Noah, and Tara were loudly debating the merits of their favorite comic series, and Eugene was staring vacantly off into the distance with his hands hanging limply at his sides. Abraham took his place beside Rick and let out a loud, piercing whistle, snapping them all to attention.
"Well, ain't this a soup sandwich!" he belted.
Rick cocked his head to the side and turned to Rosita, who shrugged wearily.
"Alright men, Tara… Eugene. Today we're going to teach you how to handle your sidearms. And boy let me tell you, from here on out you better love that thing with all you got and I mean more than your own momma. 'Cause if you don't know how to defend yourself, well, you're putting the whole damn group at risk… Eugene."
Eugene had been watching a bird circling over head with his mouth hanging slightly open. Tara inched over to her right and elbowed him discreetly in the ribs.
"As you know," said Rick "we don't have a lot of ammo to spare, so first I want to make sure everyone has the basics down before we start firing. To start with, let's go over how to properly hold your weapon."
Abraham pulled his pistol out of the concealed holster tucked loosely inside his waistband to demonstrate as Rick went to assist Fr. Gabriel again.
"Your grip is the most important thing to get right," he began commandingly. "Too loose, and it'll fly right out of your hands on the recoil. If you're using a pistol, the next round could jam up on you, and that's the last thing you want to worry about when there are a couple dozen undead pricks headed your way. Grip it too tight, and you'll end up pulling to the right of everything you aim for. Got it?" They nodded. "Good. Now, with your right hand, I want you to grip the-Eugene, where in the hell is your weapon?"
"You didn't give me one."
A hot retort rose in the back of Abraham's throat, but Rosita reflexively smacked the back of her hand against his chest and he swallowed it.
"Here," said Carl, stepping forward. "You can use mine. It's pretty much the same as his, anyway." Eugene took the Beretta with an uneasy look at the one clutched tightly in Abraham's white-knuckled fist. Abraham cleared his throat pointedly.
"As I was saying, you want your right hand to cover as much of the weapon as possible. Choke up high on the grip-Eugene, so help me, take your finger off that trigger-forefinger should rest along the frame until you are locked and loaded and not one second earlier. That's it, Tara. Be careful not to let your thumb splay out too high on the other side, though!" he added cheerfully. "Those gases that are released when the bullet exits the chamber could melt your skin right down to the bone."
Noah's eyes grew wide and he anxiously tucked his thumb under the trigger guard. As Glenn stepped in to correct him, Abraham plowed ahead.
"Now! Even though your right hand is covering most of the weapon, you only want to be gripping it with about thirty percent of pressure. Most of the pressure is gonna be in your other hand hand. Stabilize the base with your left palm, and wrap your fingers tightly around the the grip below the trigger guard. Line up your thumbs beneath the slide-I said thumbs, Eugene, your thu-Jesus Christ!"
Rosita, Carl, and Glenn all dove out of the way as Eugene spun around wildly, the pistol still clutched in his outstretched hands.
"I AM lining them up!"
The others watched in tense silence as he and Abraham faced off against each other, seething.
"Okay," said Rick taking a cautious step towards Eugene from behind. "It's okay, this is your first lesson. But the most important thing to remember when handling firearms is to always, always point down range." He placed his hand over the pistol and gently turned it and Eugene around until they were both facing forward once more. "The last thing we need is another accident."
Everyone grew somber for a moment as Rick's words rippled through them. Abraham gave Eugene one final dark look before stalking off to help Noah adjust his stance.
"Square off against your target, shoulders-to-toes should be facing the same way-that's it-weight comes forward on your dominant leg…"
Meanwhile, Rosita was crawling around on the ground below Fr. Gabriel, who had somehow managed to press against on the cylinder release latch with the base of his thumb and spill half his bullets onto the forest floor.
"I-I'm so sorry, I told you I'm not very good at this kind of thing!"
She shrugged and dropped the unspent rounds into his trembling palm. "It's okay, you'll get the hang of it. Reload, and just watch out for that little lever there. Good. Now bring it up to eye-level... feet hip-width apart, there you go… see this ridge here? You want it to be visible between this little grove right here at the back. Close one eye if you need to. Now gently squeeze-"
BOOM
The poor priest nearly jumped out of his skin as Tara let out a whoop. "Fifteen yards, first try! Pay up, loser!" Carl grudgingly slapped a half pack of Big Red-the spoils of his earlier poker game-into her hand which Glenn followed up with a fist bump. Seconds later there was another deafening explosion as Noah just narrowly missed a can of fruit cocktail. Fr. Gabriel looked, if possible, even more uncomfortable than before as Abraham helped him take aim once more beside him.
"...find your target, then I want you to focus only on your front sight," he was saying, "let everything else fade into the background…"
"Just ignore it, Padre," said Rosita kindly. "Get into position, lean forward-there you go, you see what I mean?" He grimaced. "Okay, line up your sights, just breathe naturally, you're doing fine, and on your third exhale I want you to gently squeeze the trigger… that's it, gently...gen-"
BOOM
The kickback sent his arms flying into the air and knocked him back onto his heels. His mouth hung open in shock as he stared at the revolver (luckily, still gripped tightly in his hands) and Rosita shielded her eyes against the morning sunlight as she twisted around to follow the bullet's trajectory deep into the forest.
"Eh… we'll get there."
After a little while, everyone had gone through at least five to ten rounds each and, with a few adjustments here and there, soon Tara and Noah were hitting nearly everything they aimed for. Still reeling from his first shot, Fr. Gabriel kept anticipating the kickback and jerking upwards at the last second. But when he finally managed to hit the side of a can of creamed corn at five yards, it boosted his confidence just enough to get him to stop shaking long enough to reload without assistance. Carl had asked to borrow Glenn's Colt MK and was now trying to sucker Tara into betting her yo-yo that he couldn't put a hole straight through the 'You are here' marker on the sign at the base of the trail some fifty yards away. Only Eugene had yet to hit his target, and Glenn hung back with his hands on his hips, watching closely as Rick struggled to coax him into a correct forward facing stance.
"How's it going?"
Glenn turned to see Maggie and Sasha standing at his elbow, and shrugged. "Not bad. Could be better, but not bad."
"Aren't you worried about drawing walkers with all this noise?" Maggie asked.
"Nah. All these hills make it pretty hard to tell where exactly the sound is coming from, and if it does-well, that's why we're practicing down here and not up in camp. All done?"
"I think I've kicked enough butt for one day," called Tara smugly as she holstered her weapon and shuffled towards them.
"That is such crap," Carl whined, "you said you weren't any good at this!"
"I said I could use a few pointers, not that I was a shitty shot. Can't out-shark a shark, kiddo. But hey, how 'bout a rematch after we pull up stakes again?" Carl grumbled, but said nothing.
A moment later, Glenn winced as Eugene missed his can of pumpkin puree by a foot causing the bullet to ricochet sharply off a patch of granite outcropping in the distance. "Too bad there's not more to spare. Some of us could use more than a few pointers."
"Why don't you have everyone pick up their spent rounds when they're done," Sasha suggested, indicating the ground around them now littered with glittering brass. "The whole state may be out of bullets by now, but I'm willing to bet we could find a gun store in one of these little backwoods towns with the kind of setup needed to make our own."
"Well here, you can have this one for starters," Tara said, fishing an empty shell casing out of her shirt pocket and passing it to Sasha. "These things have been hitting me in the face all day. I had to dig one out of my bra earlier that burned like hell." She tucked her chin and peered awkwardly down the front of her shirt. "Yep-already left a mark."
Just then, the sound of raised voices drew their attention back to the firing line. Rosita was still working with Fr. Gabriel, but Noah and Carl had abandoned the cans and dived back into their earlier conversation about comic books. With no one left to coach, Abraham had turned his attention back to Eugene, and in one fell swoop managed to undo all of Rick's efforts to put him at ease.
"...not like that, pinbrain, I said grip it with your left hand-your other left hand!"
"I was gripping it with my left hand!"
"Okay, Mr. Scientist, then explain to me why you keep yanking right every time you pull the trigger?"
"Look, I've got this," Rick said, stepping between them, just as Eugene mumbled something under his breath. Abraham's head snapped to the left.
"You wanna say that to my face?".
"Alright, that's enough-" Rick held out an arm to block Abraham's path, but that didn't deter him.
"I've spent the last few months of my life letting you boss me around while I carted your worthless ass across this country because I thought you meant something! But you listen here-it don't matter who the hell you used to be, 'cause now you ain't nothin' but some brokedick shitbird. From here on out I'm brass, do you copy?!"
Rick flinched as flecks of spit hit him in the face while Eugene stared at the ground as though wishing it would open up and swallow him whole. Then Maggie made a sound like an angry cat, and shoved her rifle forcefully into Sasha's arms before stomping towards them.
"Oh, would you shut up, the both of you!" she said, angrily pushing herself between Rick and Abraham. "Look, none of this is helping, so either get over it and quit your damn yelling, or back up. I said, back up!"
The others looked on in silence, waiting to see what would happen next. If Abraham's temper was mostly to blame, it wasn't exactly clear how Maggie-who'd been in a hellish mood since they'd left Atlanta and hadn't been shy about taking it out on the rest of them-would be much of an improvement. Still, Eugene seemed willing enough to face her ire over Abraham's and when Abraham looked from her to Rick, Rick merely raised his hands in surrender and they both took two steps backwards.
Maggie gave them a curt nod, then spun around to face Eugene with a hard look in her eyes.
"Alright. Quit wasting everybody's time, and show me what the problem is." With a look of silent resignation, Eugene lifted Carl's Beretta and held it out in front of him. Maggie tsked. "Well, that's just all wrong. Don't dip your head down to look through the sights, bring it up to eye level. And what is going on with your feet? You want them facing forward, not East/West. Everything needs to be in line with your target. Now show me how you-no, don't look down at your feet, look up! What's the matter with you?"
"I'm fairly confident I'd be able to figure this out much quicker if was allowed to practice on my own without anyone breathing down my neck."
"Well, that's just stupid, you'd probably shoot yourself in the foot. Okay, line up your sights, now squeeze-no, wait! Stop. There's your problem. You don't need your whole finger to pull back on the trigger."
Just a few feet behind her, Abraham scoffed. Maggie shot him a dirty look over her shoulder before turning back to Eugene.
"Here, like this," she said, forcing his fingers into position. "For the most control over your movement, only the very tip of your finger should be making contact with the trigger." Eugene raised the Beretta once more to eye-level. "No, that's still too much-"
"It's too stiff!"
"No it's not, you're just not doing it right!" Abraham snorted once again, and began to pace as Maggie's fuse ran shorter and shorter. "Oh, for-give me that!" she snapped, and snatched the pistol out of his hands. "Watch!" With one fluid motion, she found her target, lined up her sights, let out a long, steady breath, and fired.
She didn't hit a single one of the cans. Instead, something inside her seemed to have snapped and she sunk round after round in the same tight grouping at the dead center of the trail map. Noah, Rosita, Sasha, Tara, and Glenn all stared at her with their mouths hanging open. Rosita was the first one to speak up.
"Wow. So, Maggie's…"
"Yeah," Glenn said horsely. He cleared his throat. "Uh, something about 'growing up country', I think. Whatever it is, it's pretty-"
"Hot," finished Tara, nodding enthusiastically. Noah blinked and glanced sideways at Tara with newfound appreciation.
All of the sudden there was a howl that, for a split second, had them half expecting to see an enraged bear charging out of the forest. Instead it was Abraham who was inexplicably hopping from foot to foot and grabbing at his crotch.
"Sweet shit on a shingle, that burns! Oh holy mother-"
"What? What happened?!"
Abraham didn't answer. Instead he frantically tore off his belt buckle and dropped trou right there in front of God, the priest, and everyone. Rick, Sasha, Maggie, and Fr. Gabriel quickly averted their eyes as Rosita rushed towards him.
"What is wrong with you?" she hissed.
At first, he said nothing. Still wincing, he bent over, covering his crotch with his hand, and fishing for something in the crumpled mess of clothes around his ankles. Then he straightened up, bare assed and holding something small and shiny between his fingers. It was a .9mm shell casing, still warm to the touch from having just been expended from the Beretta.
"Little fucker musta slipped through my holster," he muttered bitterly, ducking low once more to pull his pants back up. Maggie snuck a glance at the shell casing Rosita was now holding and sunk her face into her hands with a groan as both Rick and Rosita fought to suppress a grin. Behind them, Glenn, Sasha, Noah, Tara, and Carl exploded into fits of laughter. Abraham ignored them as he straightened up, choosing instead to glare long and hard first at Rosita, then at Eugene, until finally landing on Maggie.
After a moment, he turned to Rick and said, "Seems like you've got things buttoned down here pretty tight. Think I'll head back up to camp… rub some burn cream on my giblets."
Unable to control herself any longer, Rosita fell into fresh peels of laughter with the others as he stalked past, his chest thrust out proudly.
Still mortified, Maggie hardly noticed when Eugene plucked the Beretta out of her hand and took aim at a can of baked beans about ten yards away. Everyone jumped when he fired and hit it square on, knocking it back several feet into the air. Rick and Maggie stared at him with their mouths open as he blew theatrically over the smoking barrel and handed it back to her.
"Told you I could do it if you people just left me alone."