Dean walked back to the Impala, looking around in habit before throwing open the trunk. He passed the bags to Sam who curiously looked on as his brother emptied the trunk. Dean looked around one more time, the street was clear. He bent into the trunk, fiddling with something that Sam couldn't see. He straightened up, pulling the bottom of the trunk open as he did so.

Sam's eyes widened, his mouth gaping. "Dean. Why do you have so many guns?"

The trunk was full, shotguns strapped to the lid, handhelds compartmentalized by power and size, automatics on the right, ammunition sitting next to it's corresponding gun. Each was clean and in perfect condition, lovingly taken care of since the moment they were purchased, legally or not.

Dean smiled down on them, the affection shinning in his eyes. Sam had never seen that kind of affection in Dean's eyes before, something he hoped deep down that he would be on the receiving end one day. Picking up one of the guns, a silver handgun complete with a pearl handle, Dean tucked it into the back of his jeans. He flipped his shirt down over top of it before reaching for another, a simple black revolver that Sam wouldn't be able to name if his life depended on it. He held out to him, pushing it towards Sam when he didn't make a move to take it.

"No Dean, I can't. I don't know who to shoot a gun!" Sam tried to avoid the weapon that Dean was waving before his face, refusing to take it.

"Come on Sam, it's not that hard. Take the safety off; cock it, point and shoot. Easy." Dean walked around Sam and put the gun in the back of his jeans for him, ignoring the squeak that came out of him. "If it'll make you feel better we can practice, if you want." Dean leaned around Sam's shoulder, trying to see his face. When Sam didn't reply Dean threw the back of Sam's coat over the weapon, moving back to the Impala, "Good. It's settled then."

Dean closed the lid in the trunk, making sure it was locked before taking the bags from Sam's arms and throwing them back in the vehicle. He closed the trunk with a firm push, patting it once tenderly. He walked to the driver's seat, pausing before getting in. "Well? You coming?"

Sam walked to the passenger's side, sliding in with a little difficulty before he said, "Where are we going?"

"To the woods. Can't have you accidently shooting someone." Dean turned the key, turning over the engine with a loud rumble, the engine purring as he drove off.

It took several minutes to get to the outskirts of town, Dean pulling off to the side of the road far enough away that they couldn't cause any damage by a stray shot. Sam followed Dean, heading about half a mile into the forest to a clearing that would be perfect for target practice; it was about ten yards wide and twenty deep, some trees closer to fifty away, giving Sam a range of targets to try and hit.

Dean positioned Sam at the edge of the clearing, making him face one of the trees that was only twenty yards away, giving him one of the easy ones first.

"Alright," Dean had his hands on Sam's shoulder, moving him into the right position, "Feet staggered, it'll give you a better stance and make you harder to move. You'll be balanced so you won't take a step when the kick back hits you. Both hands on the gun, you'll need it for stability. It's your first time so you won't have complete control of the gun, it'll most likely move to much as you don't have experience with how much it'll buck in your hands. Don't lock your elbows either. It'll hurt like a mother when the recoil goes through your arm. Raise the gun to eye level so you can see where you are shooting and so you can also judge the corrections that you'll have to make later. Expect to hit what you are shooting at; it's psychological too. And remember to breathe, I don't want you passing out on me." Dean had been moving Sam as he spoke, correcting his stance and grip, making sure that he was ready.

Taking a step back Dean looked Sam over, nodding when he deemed him ready. Walking behind Sam, not wanting to be in his line of sight what so ever he said, "Okay. Now take the safety off, the little switch on the side of the gun. Pull back the top, that loads the gun, letting you shoot of multiple rounds one after the other without having to cock it every single time. Put your one hand on the base of the grip, this will give you better control. Finger on the trigger. This one isn't a hair trigger so you can squeeze it a bit without it going off right away. Now raise it to your sight line, aim for your target and shoot. Let your arm move with the gun, don't fight it; you'll just hurt yourself. And no matter what you do, don't touch the barrel after; it's going to be really hot."

Sam nodded, taking a deep breath before raising the gun, aiming at the tree that was directly before him, letting it go before he squeezed the trigger. The noise was deafening, making Sam startle just a bit. The kick back wasn't as bad as Dean made it out to be, his tips helping him stay away from wrenching his arm socket in the wrong direction. What surprised him more was the fact that he hit the tree, dead center too.

Dean let out a whistle, patting Sam on his shoulder, "Not bad Sammy. Must run in the family."

Sam lowered the gun, smiling a bit at his brothers praise, "It's Sam."

Dean shrugged, "Whatever. Now try for that tree." Dean pointed to one of the ones that were fifty yards away, Sam raising the gun, more confident in himself as he let another shot ring out through the glade. He didn't hit the tree dead center, but he did hit it.

Dean laughed a bit, "Well, I guess you don't need anymore help from me."

Sam just smiled.

The boys were heading back to the Impala when Sam stopped, bending over to pick up a decent sized branch that was lying on the forest floor. Taking in his hand he looked it over, deeming it a proper size.

Dean looked back at his brother, "Sam, what are you doing?"

Sam looked at Dean, feeling a little ridiculous, "I've got to make a spear."

Dean shook his head, looking down at the ground as he said, "Why didn't you just tell me Sammy?"

Sam shrugged, "Didn't think you'd have a spear lying around. But you probably do, don't you?" Sam didn't even try to act surprised any more. There was no point.

Dean grinned, obviously proud of the fact.

"Why do you have a spear Dean? No, wait, I don't want to know."

Dean turned and walked to the Impala, muttering, "Cause Dad's a psycho bastard."

Sam walked after him, "You got rope too? How about a bottle of red wine?"

Dean stopped at the driver door, throwing Sam a 'are you kidding me?' look. "Course I've got rope, but red wine? Dude, I'm not a fucking chick."

Sam chuckled, "Of course you're not."

Dean glared at him, "Bitch."

Sam smirked back, "Jerk."