Reckless [Dean Winchester]

11. The Apprentice

11. The Apprentice

The whole "tag team" thing, I think, was more when I got around to handling a gun than the research, because it was Sam and I the day I signed up for Gun 101. Since I was more than eager to learn, nobody had any issues. Sam had pulled out every stop: from books to even YouTube videos which seemed to help me more. I'm more of a hands-on, visual learner.

After a few quizzes from Sam over the course of a few days, I had the gun anatomy down. Once I was deemed worthy to at least hold a gun, that's when Dean stepped into the ring along with his brother. Together, they watched me load and unload a gun to make sure I understood what I was doing. Once they both felt I was capable enough, we went off to the shooting range. Of course, the brothers had to show off their precise aim and skills. I couldn't deny it; I was jealous. I wanted to be good like them.

So that's what I did for a few days, under the Winchesters' supervision, until about a week later. A case had called their name, and I opted out. Cases were a Winchester thing, my thing was going to be my aim at the shooting range. So while duty called the hunting brothers, I kept down the bunker.

The boys ended up being gone for at least two days. They came back on the third, and, naturally, I asked what happened since I hadn't done much when in the bunker except practice. It's hard to do much when you don't have transportation. All I got out of the case was a spontaneously combusting Rabbi, something called a Golem, and this Nazi necromancers group called the Thule Society wanted some red ledger. It was hard to retain all the facts about the case; it was one of those things you had to live through to retell it properly and digest it.

So once the brothers returned home, my training resumed. Today is another training day, and I'm already up, pouring myself some bland, off-brand cereal. I've been getting better, but the brothers don't believe me since I told them. Today's the day that I want to prove myself. I want to show those two that this street girl can hold her own and not shoot herself in the process.

Without either of the brothers, I make my way to the shooting range. Along the way, I tie back my blonde hair into a high ponytail, feeling the slight breeze as it swishes with my steps. About three quarters of the way there, I hear the loud pops. I grimace. Somebody's beat me to it this morning.

The door's cracked slightly once I find it. I push it open slowly and slip in, careful to not spook the shooter in the range. Over the loud pops, I shut the door. He doesn't hear it. I keep my distance and watch his stance. It's almost like he's got the stance of a soldier, with how rigid he looks. The concentration on his face is very intense. Intensity is something I've seen on his face before.

He's only got one hand on the gun. His arm barely moves as he fires the rounds. I barely flinch now, as I've grown more accustomed to the noise. It's the fading echoes in the range that I don't like to hear.

Once the last shot is fired, he relaxes, the gun is placed on its table. I give him some sarcastic clapping, and immediately the green eyes find my approaching presence.

"Getting a little practice in?" I ask as I join Dean. I look at his target, letting out a low whistle. "Damn. We've got more of those somewhere, right?" The target is demolished in the dead center; a decent-sized hole replaces what used to be paper there.

"Should somewhere," he mutters. He looks to me expectantly. "Well, let's see how improved you say you are."

"What"-I walk over to the next area and pick up the weapon-"not gonna wait for Sam?"