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?"

"You just need one pair of eyes to prove to, right?"

I shrug. "I guess so." I get into my position, and immediately I feel Dean's hovering presence. "All right, chief, what am I doing wrong? I haven't even shot yet!"

"I've seen this stance before. Makes you limited to move around when you need to. You don't need to look like the bad guy in a movie. Straighten up a bit." I feel Dean's foot nudge my leg so I'm not so spread out. He keeps scooting me until my legs are almost together. "If by some God forsaken chance you got to run, you gotta be able to go without issues."

"What was wrong with how I was?" I frown.

"Knowing you, you'd pull something."

I roll my eyes. "Anything else, or am I free to go?"

"How've you been holding the gun?"

I clear my throat. "Two hands."

"Let's try one. Two's a piece of cake."

"Don't you mean a piece of pie?" I joke.

Dean groans. "It must kill you to not make a comment, huh, Maxipad?"

"It must kill you to not use that nickname every time we talk," I grunt. I do as Dean asks and choose my right hand as the sole possessor of the gun. "Good to go?"

"Show me what you got."

Apparently I do wrong in my first shot, because Dean's got my left wrist in his calloused grip. I half-turn to give him an accusatory look.

"You need to learn to shoot with one hand. Got to get you independent," he says. "Did you try one-handed while we were gone?"

"No."

"Good, because that's what you'll be working on from this point on. You got the basics down."

"You gonna give me my wrist back?"

"No, because I'll end up grabbing it again in five seconds."

I turn my attention back to my target. "Whatever." I fire a second shot. Like the first, it's lower than the bullseye, but it's still a hit. Not a fatal hit, but could be if the person bled out. I tilt my head. I feel the resistance Dean gives me as my left hand tries to place itself on the gun.

I toss my head and fire a third shot. Same general area, not technically a miss. I breathe evenly through my nose as I take my time finishing the rounds. Overall, not a bad performance, not unless you count the itch in my left hand that wants to hold the gun.

"It's gonna take some time for your muscles to remember," Dean tells me. I place the down on the table. "Once a day should help with that."

I wrinkle my nose and still feel the calloused grip. "Mind letting go now?"

"We'll have to train you up a bit it other areas too, if you want."

"What else could there be?"

"Hunting doesn't automatically equal just guns."

"Does it include knife-throwing?" I half turn, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

"It can, but it's not exactly our natural reflex."

"Then I guess I'll tack that onto my training soon." I smile faintly. "Wonder if there's a training room we haven't discovered yet..."

"Go crazy and try to find out, Maxipad."

I'm very tempted to throw the gun at Dean's head as he's walking away, but knowing him, he'd sense it and avoid it, or catch it.

He has too much fun with that damn nickname.

* * *

I try (and hope) to find a training room. Unfortunately, I don't find one, which is a bit disheartening. We have to suffice with the shooting range. That's not bad, I guess. We can always make our own training area somewhere in this place.

I almost walk past Dean's room mindlessly, but the fact that I see him in there, for some reason, makes me stop and peek in. He's completely unaware. Since my exploration (and definitely since the time I snuck in to try and find some weapons), he's put more things in his room. The guns alone on the walls made the room his.

I see some albums plastic-wrapped on a wire rack. To my left I see a desk with an ancient tape dispenser and a manual typewriter. I tilt my head. I can't see what the photo is exactly that's stuck between the two objects.

"Wow," comes Sam's voice, making me scoot over a bit in the doorway. At his brother's voice, Dean spins around. "Not bad."

"Not bad?" Dean says lightly. "I haven't had my own room-ever. I'm making this awesome. I got my kickass vinyl, I've got this killer mattress." I'm instantly jealous the moment I see the bed sink under him. "Memory foam-it remembers me."

"I want that mattress," I half joke.

"What, you don't have one in your room?"

"Mine's not springy, but mine doesn't cave that easily. It's sometimes a bit of a rock." I rub my back.

"And it's clean too." Dean gestures to the entire room. "There's no funky smell. There's no creepy motel stains."

"Well, at least I'll know if you two ever decide to house a corpse in here from the smell alone."

From the corner of my eye, I see a small, wadded gum wrapper fly towards the waste basket. I watch as it misses the target.

"Really?" Dean deadpans.

I see Sam's got his hands up. "Sorry."

"I'm gonna go fix us some grub."

"Wait a sec, you don't mean something easy like cereal, do you?" I ask, trailing Dean as he heads for the kitchen.

"You forget already, Maxipad?"

"You need to stop with that damn nickname!" Just for that, I run alongside him and nudge him hard in the ribs. "It's not like I insult you, asshole."

"You just did."

I roll my eyes. "It was intentional." We turn a corner.

"You know what? Just for that, you're stuck on kitchen duty with me."

I shrug. "That's a punishment? I thought you'd shackle me upside in a spare room or something."

"If we had the space or the perfect room, trust me, I would."

We enter the kitchen. "All right, since I'm 'punished' with kitchen duty, what am I doing?"

"You get me whatever I ask you to."

"Yes, sir," I mock him. "You got to tell me what we're making, though."

"You mean what I'm making."

"You do realize you're not the only one capable of making food around here, right?"

"Toast doesn't count."

I stick my tongue out at him. "I mean real food, moron."

After some more bickering, Dean gives me a list of what he needs, and I (without his help) find all the things he asks for. It's a hunt for some of the things, and Dean watches with sheer amusement at how lost and frustrated I get. However, he does let me occupy myself while he takes care of other things. The scents overwhelm my nose, bringing me back to cookouts my family used to have the moment the temperatures were warm enough to withstand.

I can't help but watch Dean with interest. He's relaxed as he watches the burgers sizzle on the pan. My eyes narrow in curiosity.

"You go to culinary school?" I have to ask.

"Hm?" He juts his head towards me. "Nah. I seriously can't believe you just asked that question."

"Why?" I'm cleaning up the excess lettuce and searching for a Ziplock bag to store it in.

He takes his eyes off the burgers for a second. "If you didn't pick up on it by now, this is all I've been doing since I was able to."

"So...no school?"

"Oh, yeah, Sam and I went to school. Went to a lot of them, actually. We didn't stick around somewhere for long. Our dad travelled a lot."

I nod. "He got you into it."

Dean flips a burger. "It's all we've done: eat, breathe, and sleep hunting. Always called it 'the family business.'"

"I can imagine." I grab a bag and scoop the lettuce into it. I toss it into the fridge before shuffling around to find some buns.

"How 'bout you get the onions ready?"

"Do you trust me with such a task?" I taunt him.

"If I gave you your knife back, what does that tell you?"

Right. Although I'm in the bunker, the safest place I've been in for a while other than home, I still keep my shank on me. It's been with me since I became homeless. It's an extra limb. A part of me goes missing if it goes missing.

I only chop up enough so we can put a few on each of the burgers. Add that, some lettuce, tomato, and a few other things, and you've got yourself some pretty awesome-looking burgers. I salivate just picturing their final outcome.

I bite my lip in debate. Dean seemed to shut down my prying into his life quickly. Is it worth trying to bring up again? Probably not for the best. He'll just shut you down again.

When it's time to build up the beauties, we build them in silence. I know I'm only doing my own since Dean has two plates near him and I've got just the one for myself.

"Must be a buffet for you, huh?" Dean breaks the silence.

I surprisingly don't take offense. "It's more than I've eaten in a while. I think I've gained some weight since I've been here with you and Sam."

"That's a good thing. No more dizzy spells?"

"No more dizzy spells."

"Good."

"If you think I'm ungrateful for this place, I'm not."

"What makes you say that?"

"I never said 'thank you.'" I shrug, frowning slightly as my onions aren't sitting properly on my burger. I begin to readjust them. "You and Sam have already done way more than I ever expected."

"Don't make this sappy, Maxipad."

"I'm not, I'm being honest," I snap lightly. "I do appreciate the shelter and everything."

"You have any thoughts of leaving us?"

I give him a strange look out of the corner of my eye. "Why would I?"

"Well, it's just, the time we met I threatened to gank you, you nearly got left alone in a room with a Knight of Hell-"

"The good beats the bad, Dean. You two brought me along for the ride and saved my ass. You gave me things that I haven't had in years."

"But don't you want to go back to Normal? I know you've got to have family around there, or somewhere at least."

I sigh through my nose. "My family's complicated, hence where I was when we met." I squish the bun on top of everything else. "That's one hell of a burger."

"Least we're not betting money on who's looks the best." I observe Dean's two plates. "Because I'd easily win."

I purse my lips. "Yeah, okay, how about we let Sam judge that, huh?"

**Max and Dean are gonna have a lot of...moments. Love me some sprinkle of Dax :)**