First Hunt

Chapter 1

 He picked up the next gun, took out the clip, placed it on the table, checked the chamber, empty, field stripped the gun, picked up the swab and started to run it through the bore. The actions were reflexive, he could do them in his sleep. Once he finished swabbing the bore he scrubbed it, ran the patches through the barrel and oiled it. Once that was done he put it back together, put the clip in, set it down and started on the next. I was gone too long, they got dusty. Guess it's a good thing we decided to take some down time. He worked his way through all the guns on the wall to the right of his bed then picked up his favorite sawed off shotgun. God, I remember the first time I fired this at something other than milk cartons in the desert, I was covering Dad on our first hunt. It seems so long ago now. So much has changed, I've changed. The world has changed.

He started to pull the shotgun apart when a memory from his time with Crowley hit him causing his hands to shake so strongly that he had to put the gun back down. How could I care so little about what I was doing? What the hell? The people I killed, what I did. How do I live with that? How does Sam? He still doesn't really talk about when he was soulless before we hooked back up but seeing how I was without a soul, I've got an idea of what he did. At least he was hunting, trying to do the right thing. I couldn't even keep that straight. I should have been Lucifer's vessel, not Sam. I'm the one of that's evil. I broke in Hell, I didn't even bother to fight being a demon. I just left. He had no self respect left, no honor. Sam had cured the demon but everything else remained. How can I be so dead inside but still feel so much? Going through this, what I did with Gadreel, it makes it so much worse. I can't ever make the right choice.

Instinctively he reached for the beer that was on the table but he stopped himself. That won't help, it never does. I've got to try to do things differently somehow. How did everything get so twisted, so screwed up? Not that my life was ever normal but this? Think damn it, think! His thoughts drifted as he got lost looking at the light bouncing off the muzzle of the gun. Dad never gave up, never broke. Why am I so weak? As he stared without really looking at anything the memories came flooding back, that first hunt. I was what, eleven? No, had to be twelve. Yeah, I remember now, my thirteenth birthday was the next week. Dad told me it was time for me to be a man. Huh...such bullshit looking back at it now. I was so scared. What the hell is a twelve year old doing hunting ghosts? I hid it though, had to be tough, had to be a man, had to be a good soldier. He stopped analyzing the memory, just let the feelings and images wash over him.

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“Why can't I come?” Sam asked.

“You're still a kid, that's why,” he sneered “You can't even fire the shotgun without falling over.”

“Can too! Besides I can use the .22,” Sam countered, “I'm a better shot than you!

He rolled his eyes and walked across the room, “Whatever.” He shoved his shaking hands in his pockets before Sam noticed and said anything. “Look, Dad will be back with food soon. Just deal with it. Maybe once you can get the guts up to talk to a girl Dad will take you too.”

“Shut up!” Sam threw a book at him which he easily dodged. “Jerk!”

“Bitch!”

The door to the room opened. “Dean! Don't call your brother a bitch!” Their Dad walked in with pizza, set it on the table and glared at him. Sam took the opportunity to stick his tongue out at him while their Dad was focused on Dean, not him.

“Yes, sir,” He muttered. As soon as his Dad looked away he waved his fist at his brother, promising future retribution.

“Eat up boys,” Dad ordered, “We're heading out tonight. I'm dropping Sam off with Bobby first. You ready Dean?”