It Takes One to Raise One

Sequel to the incredibly long titled No One Takes Down Hit Girl But Hit Girl. Welcome and thank you for reading and reviewing. Title courtesy of Makokam. I'll try to update this more often, really. Thanks to SuperCasshern for extensive assistance in choosing a gun for Dave.

Dave had decided to pack heat. And by that, I meant carry a gun, not whatever your filthy mind had thought of.

I'd spent the first hour or so after he decided singing "Davey's got a gun…" at unexpected moments. He just looked irritated when I did it so it stopped being fun pretty quick. Bethany did it for the rest of the day though and I eventually had to agree that it was annoying as fuck. I apologized and then we got down to business in choosing a gun.

Dave's first inclination was to just grab the closest gun off the wall but I quickly explained that some of them were collector's items or rare enough that I REALLY didn't want to have to destroy them and/or drill out the barrel to destroy the rifling so the cops couldn't ID it in a shooting if I wanted to keep it. So, we sat down at the table and started going over options. Something like my Sig P230 was not going to work for Dave at all. First of all, the grips were wrong. I can't exactly put it into words, but Dave's hands are a lot bigger than mine and they just didn't sit well for him. It was kind of a pity really, because I had around 15 extras new in box. So, we started looking at other options.

Now, when you choose a gun, or really any weapon, you really need to think about what you're going to use it for. The .380 cartridge in my pistols doesn't have a lot of stopping power, but I'm all about the close up headshot so it isn't important. It only holds 7 rounds, but as long as I'm not invading a building or warehouse, that's enough and, if necessary, I can reload them REALLY fast. They're reasonably light. Again, that was perfect for me. It wasn't too cumbersome to have two of them at my waist even when I was in full close combat mode. And, while I was getting stronger as I got older, I'd started using them when I couldn't handle anything with too much kick. Strength had just made me more accurate so the P230's were still perfect. I probably should upgrade now, but they were a part of me and I wasn't ready to go through the work to move to something new.

Dave was a blank canvas so we tried a bunch. We ruled out Glock's pretty quickly. He couldn't stand how the trigger pulled. Plus I'd rather a cop didn't think Dave had stolen his gun. And a LOT of cops seem to use them. I thought about some of the revolvers because they were so simple to operate, but you can't silence them and in my experience, they catch on everything. Plus, reloading sucks unless you've had a lot of practice.

Scratch that, reloading on a revolver just sucks period. Even if you have practiced.

After some more work, we figured out that his wrist could handle a lot of kick. So we started looking at something more powerful than a 9mm without moving to something silly like a .50 AE Desert Eagle. The choices were narrowing.

I'll admit that even I was getting a little tired of trying gun after gun, especially when I considered the fact that I'd have to clean all of them before I could put them away again. Bethany loved it though. But it was getting late so I asked Dave to tell me why wanted a gun, what he wanted it to do for him. He sat there quietly for a long time before he spoke.

"I want something that fits my hand. It needs to be safe enough that I won't accidentally shoot my foot off, especially if I fall off of something and land on it. And while I'm not going to go all 'Dirty Harry' .44 magnum, if I actually have to shoot someone with it, I want them to stay down. Mindy…"He trailed off.

"Yes?"

"I don't exactly want a gun. I don't want to shoot people. I wish it wasn't necessary. So, if… No, not if. When I need to shoot someone, I want make sure whatever I use gets the job done. We both know that things are going to get really serious when we try to erase The Motherfucker from existence. I figure that a couple of sticks isn't going to cut it anymore."

I gave him the respect of making him think that I had considered what he said for a long time, but I immediately knew what would work, at least for now. I understood what he was saying. So, after slowly counting to fifty, I walked over to the closet, opened it, and pulled out a very old cardboard box. The paper making it up was grease stained and it had US Military marking on it. I opened it, removed the gun from the wrapping, and placed it before him. "This is what you want." I said. "A Colt 1911A1 or Colt .45"

Dave stared at me in shock. "I don't know much about guns, but I think I've seen those in World War II movies. Isn't that kind of old school? Shouldn't I be using one of those shiny ones on the walls?"

"You'll start with this. I'll see about getting you a few made up custom with all the bells and whistles but these things have actually been around since World War I without all that many changes. The cartridge is powerful. The gun isn't too wide since they don't try to cram too many bullets in a single stack magazine. It's not tough to carry and even conceal, given its size, and they're surprisingly accurate. There's a regular safety and a grip safety, plus this one is old enough that you actually have to thumb the hammer back the first time you fire. Well, you do unless you decide to go around with the hammer already 'cocked' back. Which I would and you shouldn't. At least not yet… It'll be safe."

"But…" Dave looked over at the wall of shiny black pistols with longing.

"Dave, these things are still used by the Marines. And the Marine's don't fuck around when they choose a gun. They've got some custom ones they've had made in the last few years, but even with the originals, the design is tried and true. MEU(SOC) is what the Marine versions are called. Great gun, shitty name. But, hey, give it a try. Pick it up. Feel it."

He did and I swear it was like he was meeting an old friend. It was made for his hand. The action was a little sticky, but together we took it apart, cleaned up the old grease and gunk used to preserve it, and then he took it over to the range. He took slow deliberate shots with it and while he wasn't the marksman (markswoman?) that I am, the center mass of the target was pretty much shredded. We had a winner, well, at least until I could get some of those custom MEU(SOC) clones that the Marines had made up to fit him.

Well, it had been settled. I had a couple of contacts tracking down the good ones, but Dave was going out tonight with the tried and true one he'd been practicing with. It was just the gun for now, no extra magazines, fancy sights, flashlight attachments or anything else to cause confusion. I was desperately hoping that he could just get used to having it and not have to use it. I mentally resolved that if we ran into any situation that would require a gun, I would put a bullet in them before Dave even thought about drawing.

We packed up, dropped Bethany off at Miranda's, and hit the streets. We walked through a lot of alleys. Most of them had shadowed doorways, blind corners, and other junk which both made it easy for us to sneak and dangerous because someone else could be using those same shadows. Dave was, well, I guess steady is the right word. He wasn't keeping his hand on the gun every second, or even constantly checking it was there. That's what I'd done the first few times Daddy had taken me out like this. Of course, the 400 pushups that Daddy had threatened if I lost my gun probably contributed to my anxiety.

Eventually, I decided that my protectiveness was wrong. If something bad came up, I needed to let Dave go through the process of deciding to shoot, drawing the weapon, and actually pulling the trigger. And I needed to let it happen in a situation where, if he froze, I could still save our butts. Because the day just might come where I couldn't save us and the only thing between Bethany effectively being orphaned again and us surviving would be him pulling that trigger.

Yes, I know we had plans in place so that she'd never really be an 'orphan' again, but I loved her enough that I didn't want to put her through any more pain if I didn't have to. Plus, hey, living doesn't suck.

So, I did something that I probably should be ashamed of. Most people would be. But I wasn't. It was the right decision and I'd do it again if I had to.

I led us down yet another dark alley where I knew a lot of the meth and other truly mind fucking drugs were common. If there was an area where people still took PCP, I'd have chosen there instead because that stuff really fucks with your brain. In short, I guided us toward the most insane, paranoid cock suckers that I could think of.

Because I knew that if we confronted them, there would be a fight.

Because I knew that they wouldn't just have knives or baseball bats or chains.

They would have guns. And they'd be so fucked up that even when they saw us, they'd use them.

We came around yet another blind corner and hit the jackpot. Three total tweakers who almost looked like they were vibrating in place. One of them was even holding a small pistol that he was actually using to scratch his forehead with. Using the barrel to scratch with and with his finger actually on the trigger. It was perfect.

I charged in and split them up. I kept my moves as crazy and flashy as I could because I knew it would make them flip out even more. But I pulled my punches and didn't take them out. I separated the two normals from the one with the gun. Dave had hung back at first, I think a little shocked that I hadn't started with any playful banter or witticisms. I'd gone directly into battle mode. 'Gun Tweaker' started to recover a bit and raised his gun toward me. I thought I'd have to dodge a shot. I believed I'd have to give Dave time to reach the decision to shoot. I didn't.

Before the nut job even got the gun halfway up, I heard a shot. A solid boom that definitely didn't come from the pissant tweaker's gun. The guy was slammed back across the alley and into the wall, where he slowly slid down. Dead.

The other two tried to run but I finally got serious about killing them and finished them off with two quick swings of my staff. Then I cleaned my blades and without any other discussion, Dave and I continued into the night.

I expected Dave to fall apart at some point. To flip out, scream, or otherwise rebel against what he'd done. It didn't happen. Sometimes I don't give him credit for how strong he is.

I thought back to how all of this started. When I went out the first time, I was well trained, well armed, and prepared.

Dave went out in a full body condom with a couple of fucking sticks.

Daddy made sure that I got to progress at my own pace, that I had a backup if I made a mistake.

Dave almost died the first time. And then after he healed, he went back out again.

My first time was easy. And afterwards, I got cocoa. With pink marshmallows. And a bedtime story.

Maybe I'm not the one who really understands what it means to be brave.