Sometimes Dean was goddamned flaky.
Other times, when it counted, Dean was a freaking savant.
"Your turn." Dean said.
*THUNK*
A little off center of the painted target, a nail sunk deeply into the wooden pallet. His brother must have amped up the psi considerably; they were standing pretty far out.
Sam handed the pneumatic gun back to his brother.
"Not bad, Sammy." Dean looked more than a little impressed. "The sight almost there?"
"Almost. So, tell me again how you're going to make this work with pure iron nails?"
"I'll figure it out."
It was Dean. Yeah, he would.