I'm evil, I'm bad, I'm a terrible author, I'm sorry for the long wait Like I always say, I've just gotten buckets o' crazy when it comes to finishing fanfics lately. I like this chapter a whole lot. Always a sucker for the flashbacks. Hope ya'll like it. I'll try to do less angst from now on and more sweet Wee!moments...but there will be the occasional "-gasp- OMG!!" chapter as well. I'll try to keep it evened out though : )
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Chapter 5
Dean pulled a chair up next to his bed and displayed their entire gun collection out on the tacky, purple blanket. Sam had just disappeared into the bathroom with a fresh set of clothing saying that he was going to take a shower. Dean thought that he looked a bit down, but he simply nodded and let it go.
The sound of the shower turning on reached Dean's ears as he took up the gun closest to him and began disassembling it. It was a little habit of his Dean's; when he was bored and had nothing to do, he would clean the guns. He picked up an old cloth from the weapon's bag and used it to clean the individual parts of first gun. Once the steel shown with a brilliance that Dean approved of and the handle was rid of all grime and dirt (including something that most likely was dried blood) he put the gun expertly back together and placed it apart from the rest of the uncleaned weapons.
This process was repeated with a few more guns: taking apart, cleaning, reassembling, and placing it into the "cleaned" pile. Dean placed his favorite ivory-handled gun into the pile and looked over for his next subject of polishing. He paused for a moment before picking up one of the older guns that he had in his possession.
The carved wooden handle of the pistol was rough and splintering in places and the steel barrel was tarnished over. Neither he nor Sam used it very often; it showed. Dean ran his thumb over the engravings on the handle. He hadn't really used the gun in years. Hadn't seen it in years, but he could recognize it anywhere. It was the gun that John had appointed as "his". It was Dean's gun since the age of twelve and he would use it when John took him on a hunt. It was also the gun Dean had taught Sam to shoot with.
July 1991
"What am I supposed to do?"
Dean asked John as he watched his father swing a bag over his shoulder and open the front door. John was off on a last minute hunt. A haunted war bunker in western Montana.
"You really want something to do?"
John paused in the doorway and turned to look at his eldest. Dean nodded and crossed his arms.
"There's nothing to do in this busted up cabin."
John had rented out an old hunting-shack nestled deep in the woods after an incident that happened while he was on a hunt a few weeks ago. It had taken him longer than expected to finish the job and the nights rented at the hotel had expired. The hotel manager had gone to the room when John failed to check out that morning and he found two children all by themselves. The manager called child services shortly after. John managed to get both his boys and flee before the authorities had time to get there and remove them from his supervision. The cabin wasn't much, but it was secluded and it was safe.
John looked Dean over, seeing perfectly well how bored he was. He sighed.
"Teach Sammy how to shoot."
Dean laughed in disbelief.
"What? He's only eight years old."
"You were two years younger than him when you first learned. Just be careful and remember what I've taught you."
John turned out the door and left. Dean's stomach twisted and he swallowed hard. John was serious. He wanted him to teach Sam how to use a gun. Sam was so young and Dean himself was only twelve. John was supposed to be the one to teach Sam how to line up the perfect shot. Just like he had taught him. Dean thought it over a few minutes and took in a deep breath. He nodded confidently. He was a good shot, no...a great shot. The first time he had used a gun, he had bull's eyed every single target. He could do this.
Dean looked out the window. The sun was not set yet, there was still plenty of light for target practice. He turned and walked into the room he and Sam shared. Dean reached under his mattress and pulled out the gun his father had given him for his birthday five months earlier. Well...four months earlier. John had given him the present a little late. Dean carefully unfolded the white handkerchief wrapped around the precious object. He smiled at the mahogany handle and traced the designs going around it. He liked how shiny the steel was, he could see his own reflection almost perfectly.
He had only used the gun once or twice, but Dean had cleaned it many more times than necessary. He held it firmly in his hands and walked off to find Sam.
"Sam?" Dean called as he walked around the house. Not finding Sam in any of the rooms, he pushed open the screen door and walked out onto the back porch.
"Sammy? Ya out here?"
"Yeah." Came a reply from across the yard.
Dean looked over and saw Sam crouching by the small pond surrounded by large pines. He walked down the creaky, wooden steps and shuffled over to Sam. He looked down over his little brother's shoulder, looking at what had captured Sam's attention. A fat toad sat in the palm of Sam's small hand.
Sam grinned up at Dean, dimples blazing on his young face.
"Look what I found!"
He held the toad up to Dean. Dean made a face.
"Ugh, those suckers'll give you warts."
Sam frowned. "They will not!"
Dean shrugged. "Suit yourself." He looked up at the canopy of tree branches above him, smirking victoriously to himself when Sam dropped the toad back into the water and wiped his hands roughly over his jeans.
"What's with that?"
Sam pointed to the gun in Dean's hand as he stood up from his crouched position. Dean looked down and lifted his hand to look at the pistol. He smiled at Sam.
"I'm gonna teach you how to shoot."
Sam's eyes widened.
"What? But-I."
"Here."
Dean took Sam's hand and wrapped his fingers around the handle.
"Keep the muzzle-that's this-..." Dean tapped the tip of the gun in indication. "...Pointed towards the ground. Don't point it at me or Dad ever, ok?"
Sam nodded vigorously, staring down at the gun with awe. Dean collected a few rusted cans that were lying under the steps of the porch and walked over to a tree thirty feet from where Sam stood. He placed the cans on the lowest branches of the tree and walked back over to Sam.
"Ok, now try to knock one of those down."
Dean raised Sam's arms and helped him position his grasp on the gun.
"That hold feel comfortable?"
Sam only nodded in response. His hands shook slightly from nervousness and under the weight of the weapon.
"Don't pull the trigger, squeeze it back gently after you've got your aim."
"Ok." Sam said in a quiet voice.
Dean looked down at Sam's nervous face.
"Hey..." He gave Sam's shoulder a gentle nudge. "...You can do this, you've got it."
Sam smiled a little and looked back at his targets. He squinted his right eye shut and leveled the gun on his selected aim. After a moment, Sam squeezed the trigger back. He jumped at the loud bang and the bullet went under one of the branches holding a can.
"Good, good. That wasn't bad for a first try."
Dean assured as he helped Sam raise his arms again. He held his little brother's hands steady.
"Ok, I'll hold up your aim this time, alright? But you have to keep your arms up as if I wasn't."
Sam nodded, looking more confident this time.
"On Three. One...Two...Three."
Dean took his hand away right before Sam pulled the trigger. The bullet made a tinging sound as it hit a can and sent it flying off the limb. Sam's face lit up and he looked up at Dean.
"Didya see it? I hit it! I hit the can!"
Dean grinned down at him. "Yeah, I saw. Good job, Sammy. Now, try the other two."
Sam nodded and raised the gun, still beaming with the success of his first bull's-eyed target. Cicadas began buzzing as the sun began its decent below the horizon. Sam's eye scrunched up as he held the gun at ready. Dean watched the next target intently, anticipating its removal from the branch. Sam pulled the trigger and the can plinked off the tree. Before Dean could say anything, another shot sounded and the third can flew off as well.
He stared wide-eyed at the tree where all targets had fallen then looked down at Sam. The younger child grinned up at Dean, seeming to be waiting for something.
"Alright, Sammy!"
Dean chuckled with disbelief and pride. He ruffled Sam's wind-teased hair.
"You're a natural. You'll be hunting werewolves and black dogs before you know it."
The moment he said the words, Dean felt a small stab of regret. A part of him had been reluctant when John asked him to teach Sam. Dean knew it was too late for himself, he had grown up at the age of four, but he wanted Sam to have a childhood. Dean wanted him to learn how to assemble a puzzle instead of a shotgun. He wanted Sam to fear the monsters under his bed instead of learning how to kill them. Dean wished Sam could call John "Daddy" instead of "Sir."
Dean sighed as he looked over at the tree, deep in thought.
"Dean?"
He felt Sam tug at his sleeve.
"Can we do that again?"
Dean thought about saying "no" until his gaze dropped back down to his little brother. Sam's eyes shown hopefully up at him. Dean sighed and smiled. He placed his hand on top of Sam's head and spoke in a quiet voice.
"Sure, whatever you want, Sam."
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Dean felt the gun lift from his grasp. He blinked as he blankly watched it disappear from his line of vision.
"Dean?"
Dean looked up at the sound of Sam's voice.
"Huh?" Dean mumbled, seemingly startled.
Sam looked at him, worry flickering across his features.
"What're you uh...doing?"
Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?"
Sam glanced down at the gun then back at Dean. "You ok?"
Realization of how he must have looked, staring intently down at a gun, dawned on Dean. He laughed a little.
"Oh, n-n-no. It's just uh..." He stood up and took the gun from Sam's reluctant grasp. "...This is the gun I taught you to shoot with, remember?
Sam nodded slowly and a slow smile melted away the concern on his face.
"Yeah, I remember."
Dean smiled again at the memory.
"Yeah."
He looked back down at the gun again. God, it seemed like it was only yesterday. He looked back up at Sam and clapped him gently on the shoulder.
"You're a good shot, Sammy."
Sam smiled, eyes mirroring the same admiration for Dean that he had when he was young.
"Yeah...well, you taught me how to be."
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Okie dokie artichokie. There it is. Hope ya'll likied and hope the ending wasn't too cheesy; I was sort of concerned about it. PLEASE let me know. Good reviews, bad reviews, constructive criticism, just hit me with it!
Reviews are like...they're like...yeah, I've got nothing. Reviews are good, ok? I enjoy them; )
'-'-'-Lil-'-'-'