Dean had driven them out to what looked like an abandoned barn for practice and Adam couldn't have been more excited. They had been working with knives for nearly two months and Dean had finally decided it was time to move on to firearms.
"You ready for this?" Dean asked, as he grabbed a duffel filled with ammo out of the trunk of the Impala.
"Yeah," Adam responded, having to stop himself from bouncing excitedly. He could hardly wait, he'd been thinking about shooting practice for weeks. In his dreams, he was emptying clips into the evil monster bastards that killed his mother. He just knew he was gonna be good at this. After what could be considered an epic fail with ropes, a pretty terrible run with the knives and generally messing up just about every other training technique Dean had tried to instill in him, Adam knew that his real talent had to be guns. He knew that'd he'd be able to out shoot his older brothers in no time and then Dad would really be impressed with him. He'd be able to go out on hunts with them and not get stuck in the motel rooms anymore. He could hunt down every ghoul in the world and make them pay for what they did to his mother. Yeah, he was ready for this.
Dean made short work of setting up a target for Adam, a simple chalk drawn bulls-eye on one of the barn doors. He walked back to his youngest brother, who was standing about 15 feet away with the duffel of ammo at his feet.
"OK, let's start with the handgun," Dean said, checking the clip and safety of his Colt and handing it to Adam.
Adam was briefly in awe. He knew how much Dean cherished this silver-plated gun; it was practically part of him. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't see the pearl handle sticking out of the back of Dean's jeans, hidden by his jacket.
Adam took the gun and felt the weight of it in his hand. It was slightly heavier than it had been all those times cleaning it, complements of a full chamber. He lifted it, right hand on the grip, finger next to the trigger with his left hand supporting his right, like Dean had taught him. He widened his stance slightly and relaxed his shoulders eyeing the target.
"Don't forget the kick," Dean said absently.
Adam moved his finger to the trigger and took a breath, pulling on the exhale like he'd been told. All in one instant he felt his wrists explode in pain as the gun recoiled and his eardrums shook from the deafening blast.
"Don't close your eyes kid!" Dean snapped.
Adam's eyes flew open. He hadn't even realized they had been squeezed shut, as if that could protect him from the loud blast of the gun. He stood still hands frozen on the weapon in mid-air.
"Did I hit it?" he asked hesitantly.
"You hit the door," Dean said flatly.
Adam couldn't help the rush of air that left him in disappointment. He was supposed to be good at this. This was the only thing left to be good at. He dropped his arms and let gun hang at his side.
"What are you waiting for?" Dean asked, now slightly annoyed, "Go again."
After three clips Adam was starting to improve, although he still had to remind himself not to close his eyes when he pulled the trigger.
"That was better, huh, Dean?" he asked after the last round.
Dean just grunted in return, crouching down to the duffel to grab another box of ammunition.
Adam knew that last one was better. He was hitting the target now, most of the time anyway, and he hadn't had a bullet go wild in this clip at all. Maybe he was gonna be the best shot in the family after all, he thought to himself. He eyed the barn door, staring down the bulls-eye and feeling pretty good about his chances of hitting it dead on in the next round. He absently began to twirl the handgun on his finger, feeling more and more like bad-ass. Shooting was kinda like it was in the old westerns, quick draw and all.
Suddenly the gun was yanked from his hand, twisting his wrist painfully and he got a hard cuff to the side of the head that made him briefly see stars.
"What the hell are you doing!?" Dean yelled suddenly angry.
Adam blinked hard and his eyes focused to find his angry older brother standing over him, ready to smack him again.
"Are you stupid?!" he shouted, "Every gun is loaded! You never play with a weapon!"
Adam rubbed his head gingerly and shrank back a little despite himself. He knew that. If Dean said it once, Dad must have said it a hundred times 'Always treat a gun like it's loaded. Never point a gun at anything you don't intend to shoot,' Adam felt the shame creep up and redden his face as he looked away from his brother.
"We're done here," Dean said forcefully. He checked the clip in the gun and clicked on the safety before tucking it back into the back of his jeans all in one well practiced motion that made Adam sick with jealousy.
"Get the bag," Dean said, striding away from Adam without a backwards glance.
Adam roughly grabbed the duffel of the ground and slung it over his shoulder and sulked back to the car behind his brother. 'Fuck,' he thought to himself. One small mistake and Dean called off practice. Adam was never gonna learn at this pace. How was he ever gonna be the best if he never got to train. Ugh. He kicked himself again as he threw the duffel in the trunk and climbed in the passenger side.
"Dumb-ass," Dean growled at him as he got in.
Dean brought the car to life with a roar and they sped down the dirt country road back to the crappy motel of the week. Adam silently looked out the window, angry with himself and becoming even angrier that Dean would call off training just like that. One little mistake and it wasn't even like the gun was loaded.
"That was fast. How'd it go?" Sam asked when they returned to the motel.
"Ask John Wayne," Dean said, scowling at Adam.
Adam rolled his eyes and went to sit with Sam at the tiny motel table where his brother was studying.
"Dean called it quits, cause I messed up one time," Adam said, imploring his older brother to understand. Sam was always the most sympathetic person in the family and Adam knew he could count on Sam to take his side to convince Dean that he was overreacting.
"Messed up?!" Dean shouted from across the room "You were slinging the damn gun around like it was high noon!"
Adam turned around to glare at his older brother "It wasn't even loaded!" he shouted back, "We spent all the rounds!"
Adam turned back around to Sam expecting to find sympathy, but instead found a hard frown on his brother's face.
"Guns aren't toys Adam." Sam said seriously. "You know that. Always treat them like they're loaded."
Adam groaned and rolled his eyes again. "Ugh! I know!" he said, "I messed up! But it wasn't that big of a deal! We didn't have to come back!"
Adam watched as Sam looked over his head at Dean and he felt them exchange looks.
"Get up." Dean said coming to stand at the table where his two brothers sat.
Adam just looked at him, confused. Then over at Sam who was watching quietly.
"What?" Adam asked.
"Get up." Dean repeated, grabbing Adam's upper arm and hefting him out of the chair "You're going on a run."
"What? Why? I already ran today!" Adam protested.
"You fucked up and now you're gonna run so you can remember not to do it again." Dean said lightly shoving Adam toward his own duffel on the motel bed "And not to be such a little dick about it."
Adam glared at his older brother and huffed. All this over one little daydream.
"Get changed Adam. Let's go." Dean said with finality.
Adam looked over at Sam for help, waiting for his brother to step in and tell Dean off. But Sam didn't move; only watched expectantly for Adam to follow Dean's orders. And Adam knew he had to follow orders. Dad had made it clear that Dean was commanding officer when he wasn't around and there would be hell to pay if Sam and Adam didn't fall into line.
Adam huffed again, grabbing his bag and storming into the tiny motel bathroom to get changed.
A few moments later he was changed and slamming the door of the motel room on his way out to run the three miles that Dean demanded. He knew he was gonna be exhausted when he was finished, his punishment making it a total of six miles for the day, which he'd never done before.
He managed to spend the entire run seething about the afternoon and by the time he got back he was even more angry and more exhausted than he thought possible. Dean was gone when he returned to the room and Sam had moved from the tiny table over to one of the motel room beds to spread out his research and books.
Adam flopped down on the corner of the motel bed Sam was occupying, the only spot not covered in open books and random papers.
"Dude, go shower. You stink." he said, barely looking up from his work.
Adam huffed "Yeah well you would too if you ran six miles today."
Sam just grinned and shook his head in response, "Please, you got off easy. You're lucky it was Dean, Dad would have whipped your ass for that stunt."
That shut Adam up damn quick. He hadn't even considered that, he'd never gotten a whipping before and really didn't want to consider it to be a possibility. Instead he pushed himself off the bed and grabbed his bag to get a shower, determined that whenever Dean returned for the evening Adam was gonna ignore him.
The next week with Dean was spent studying knives again, but at least it was throwing knives and it took another week after that before Dean relented and took Adam back out to the shooting range to practice again. Adam was determined this time however and kept his focus, being mindful of the position of the gun, the bullets in the chamber and the position of the safety lock.
It took time but Adam's aim did improve, so much so that Dean even mentioned it to their father when he and John took on a hunt a few weeks later.
"Adam," John said, causing his youngest to look up from the book of lore Sam had set him on "Grab your coat, let's get in some shooting practice."
"Just me?" Adam asked hopefully. He very rarely got to spend any time alone with his father, except on long car rides and almost never got to train alone with him. He was eager to show off how good he had gotten.
"Yeah." John said simply, grabbing his own coat off the back of the kitchenette chair.
Dean threw Adam a nod of approval and Sam gave him an encouraging half smile as he ran by, hot on his father's heels.
Adam couldn't wait to show his dad how good his aim had gotten. Before coming to live with him, Adam have never even touched a gun and now he could hit the bulls-eye on a target 15 feet away 9 out of 10 times, and Dean was gradually moving the target further and further away as well as changing up the firearm he gave Adam to shoot with.
They stopped in another far away field and Adam watched as his father set some empty cans on a wide fence about 20 feet away. He eyed the cans nervously. They seemed to be much smaller targets than the big bulls-eye Dean had given him to practice on for the last few weeks, and they were further away too. Adam shook his head, clearing away the intrusive thoughts and set his jaw in determination. He reminded himself just how well he'd been doing yesterday with Dean and how proud he felt when he hit the target dead center. Dad was gonna be proud too, just wait.
Adam watched as his Dad checked the clip and the safety of his handgun in the exact same way he had watched Dean do it, before he handed the gun over to Adam.
Adam took the gun from his father and fought to stamp down the butterflies that had appeared in his stomach. His heart thudded behind his chest and he had to take a deep breath to relax himself enough to focus on the cans Dad had placed on the fence.
Carefully aiming and preparing himself for the recoil Adam popped off three shots rapid fire, nailing all three of the cans on the fence.
"Yes!" he shouted, jumping into the air pointing the gun skyward. "Oh yeah!" he sang excitedly, taking the gun and blowing off the barrel like he'd seen in the movies, before twirling it by the trigger and tucking in his invisible holster.
Adam couldn't believe his luck- skill that is. He was completely ecstatic that he had hit all the cans on the first try and in front of his father!
He turned around ready to find a wide grin and some big congratulations from his dad, but instead found the gun unceremoniously yanked from his hand and a deep scowl etched on his father's face.
"Are you stupid?!" His father asked, grabbing Adam's upper arm and shaking him.
"I ... uh..." Adam was shocked and unprepared for his father's response.
"This is a loaded weapon!" John said, motioning to the safety on the gun with his thumb.
Adam felt the bottom drop out of his stomach at the realization of what he had done. It was one thing to make the mistake of playing with the gun in front of Dean, but it was quite another to make it in front of Dad. Adam knew how seriously his father took weapons training. No part of this lifestyle was a game for him and he expected his sons to treat it with the same amount of respect.
His father's grip on his arm tightened and Adam found himself being dragged back to his father's truck. He was soon shoved up against the lowered tailgate. Adam watched as his father quickly began taking off his belt, unbuckling it and pulling the leather through the loops of his jeans. Adam felt himself break out in a cold sweat as his stomach clenched in fear. He'd heard Sam get a whipping from their father, but he'd never felt the leather on his own backside. His mother had never even spanked him as a little kid and now at almost 13 he was gonna get it for the first time with his dad's belt. Adam's breath began to hitch even before his father touched him.
He watched as his dad folded the belt over, tucking the buckle into his fist before grabbing Adam's shoulder to turn him around and bend him over the tailgate. The moment his face his hit the metal of the truck he heard the sound he didn't know he never wanted to hear: the whistle of leather through the air and the subsequent crack of it as it slammed into his backside.
Adam gasped and choked as pain bloomed red hot. He involuntarily bucked and fought to get away, but his father's hand on the middle of his back pushed him down hard against the truck. The sound of the belt screeched again and Adam hissed and sobbed as the leather came down upon him. He arched again, wildly moving his hands to try to cover himself and soothe the white-hot pain. He heard his dad grunt angrily and felt both his wrists being yanked into his father's strong grip and pushed tightly against the small of his back. By the fifth blow Adam was begging his father to stop, tears streaming down his face. By the tenth blow he was sobbing so hard he couldn't breathe, let alone get any words out. At the twelfth strike the beating stopped abruptly and Adam felt his father release his hands from his back. Adam collapsed onto the dirt, his ears ringing, choking on sobs. He looked up and watched his father put back on his belt, slowly sliding the leather back through the loops of his jeans, while taking deep ragged breaths.
"I don't ever wanna see you treat a weapon like that," he said staring down at Adam, "You understand me?"
Adam could only nod in response, his breath hitching, tears still uncontrollably running down his face.
"Do you understand me?" his father repeated.
"Ye-Yes sir," Adam choked out.
"Get up. Get in the truck."
Adam fought to get a deep breath, rubbing the back of his hand under his nose and wiping his eyes. His entire backside was on fire. He wasn't sure he could walk, but the dangerous look he found in his father's eyes told him he better find a way. Adam weakly stood up and hobbled his way to the cab of the truck, feeling like his backside and legs had been shredded by the leather of the belt. He gingerly climbed into the cab, still trying to get his breathing under control and not let anything touch him.
The ride back to the motel was the most uncomfortable 20 minutes of Adam's entire life. Not only had his father not spoken a single word to him, but Adam was forced to sit on the worst pain he'd endured in his life so far. Adam wanted to be mad at his father but he was too upset, too shocked at where the day had taken them. He felt he was still wrapping his mind around the fact that his father had laid him out in the middle of a field and beaten him to what felt like an inch of his life.
Back at the motel, Adam once again climbed gingerly out of the truck, his father waiting for him at the door. Adam felt hard fingers grip the back of his neck as he was pushed into the room.
"Hey..." Dean started as he saw them come in, but the words died on his tongue when he saw Adam's face.
"Adam, go get cleaned up son." his father said, gently pushing Adam toward to the tiny motel bathroom.
"Dean." His father called, "Front and center."
Adam watched from his peripheral as Dean jumped up and went to stand in front of their father.
"Have you been doing weapons safety training with your brother?"
"Yes sir," Dean replied immediately.
"Not enough apparently. Boy seems to think he's in a movie, tossing his weapon around like he thinks he's damn action hero,"
Adam could practically feel Dean's anger rise from across the room, and hung his head in shame.
"I'm sorry sir..." Dean started
"Adam's training is your responsibility Dean. As much as I want to be here all the time to teach him I can't be. I need to know that I can rely on you." Dad said seriously, cutting off Dean's apology. "Respect for firearms is part of that training. Something I assumed you'd know by now." He added with disapproval.
"Of course, Dad. I do. Like I said we've been…"
"You let your brothers get away with too much Dean. Hunting is serious business. Life or Death" Dad said cutting Dean off again. "Not only that but Adam is surrounded by firearms even in this motel room. If he doesn't know how to act around them safely he could kill himself or you or Sam! Is that what you want Dean?"
"No sir." Adam could hear Dean reply through gritted teeth.
"You'll do safety training with him every day, twice a day, for the next two weeks, understood?"
"Yes sir."
"And Dean, if he does it again I'm taking it out of your ass," his father threatened.
"Yes sir," Dean replied again a little quieter than before.
Dad then turned his attention to Sam calling out for the latest update on his research with the potential case in Springdale. Adam had drug himself to the bathroom and just as he was about to close the door behind him, a hand caught the door roughly and Dean slipped in, quietly closing them both in the tiny room.
"What the hell!?" Dean questioned in a barely contained growl of a whisper, leaning down into his younger brother.
Adam couldn't bring himself to look Dean in the eye. He was so ashamed and so disappointed. Dad didn't even care that Adam had hit all the targets straight off, his one careless move overshadowed all the work he had put in.
"Nothing? You got nothing to say?" Dean whispered fiercely.
Adam couldn't hold in the quiver of his bottom lip, and squeezed his eyes closed tightly, "Just leave me alone." he said, his voice thick and uneven.
"You're an idiot! You know that?" Dean whispered hotly in Adam's face before slipping out of the bathroom.
Finally alone, Adam let himself relax, sinking down to the dingy motel bathroom floor and trying to keep his sobs as quiet as possible. It seemed every day since his mom's death had been miserable, but this one was the worst so far.
When Adam came out of the bathroom sometime later both Dad and Sam were gone and Dean was slouched on the motel room couch flipping channels on the crappy tv.
"Where's Dad and Sam?" Adam asked quietly.
"Library," came the gruff reply.
Of course. More research.
"You didn't have to stay," Adam said to Dean's back, annoyed that his older brother was so mad at him
"Didn't have a choice," Dean said without taking his eyes off the screen.
"Oh."
Adam looked around the small room, he wasn't sure what to do with himself now. The last thing he wanted to do was sit and watch tv with Dean, but there was no food in the room and really nothing else to do.
He walked over to the door deciding finally to at least sit outside and get some fresh air and get away from Dean's anger.
As soon as his hand touched the doorknob he heard a stern "No." from the other side of the room.
Dean had still not looked away from the television, but Adam knew he was watching his younger brother, waiting to see how far Adam might push him.
"I'm just going outside." Adam said trying to keep the pleading from his voice
"No. You're not." Came the quick reply.
Adam huffed. He turned back into the room and went and to lie on Sam's bed, sliding the still open books over as he lay down on his stomach. He was sore, tired, embarrassed and miserable. He buried his face in Sam's pillow, biting his lip to keep fresh tears from falling. Before long Adam fell asleep, comforting himself with the memory of the cans bouncing off the fence as each bullet nailed them dead center and an imagined look of pride on his father's face.
A/N- Don't own Supernatural!
Also another thank you to luna for the beta read! What did you guys think of John in this one? He's a tough character to nail down.