"Curl your finger around the trigger," John instructed. "Pull gently now, don't jerk it back."

Dean stood unmoving at his father's side as nine-year old Sammy took the gun in his hand for his first training session.

A rush of sadness spiked through him at the sight. Sam appeared so small and slight compared to his father's bulk, the gun bigger than the hands holding it.

:

How Dean wished he could turn back the clock and keep his baby brother innocent of the horrors he'd now be facing, but he didn't possess that power, all he could do was to watch over Sam, keep him safe.

"Dean. Look. I hit some of the cans, " Sam said excitedly, turning to smile at his brother.

An image came to him of Sam's face and body mauled by some random monster. Dean swallowed down the urge to puke, slapped an answering smile on his face, and ruffled his baby brother's mop of hair.

"Buffalo Bill's got nothing on you, kiddo."