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“AGH-” John yelped as his back hit the tree he was practicing shooting infront of, with a rifle about half his entire size.
Atop a wall that ran through their current camp, John had arranged a few cans and bottles to shoot at as “self-defense practice.” He never really was good with shooting, he was just good at getting on peoples nerves and pickpocketing, fighting didn't often come into it. No adult with a good conscience is gonna fight a child.
He and Arthur had been left to their own devices by Dutch and Hosea, and Grimshaw was busy doing stuff around camp that the men refused to do. Cleaning and such. Arthur was supposed to go with them, but chose to stay put with John instead, not that he'd ever admit to wanting to stay and protect the boy.
The crash of John and a few branches made Arthur jump. “Shit.” He said under his breath.
He had zoned out a little bit, overly thinking as he often did. Immediately, though, he finished up his train of thought and ran over to where the noise was. Not really a run, more of a fast-paced walk.
“John!” He’d yell, not controlling his volume very well, then look down at the boy in the grass. “You alright?”
The way Arthur spoke sounded accusatory, like a parent knowing their child was guilty of something, but not knowing what. He always spoke to John that way. It was something along the lines of ‘Dutch and Hosea like him too much, don't discipline him enough.’ It was projecting, obviously, and maybe a hint of jealousy. John could get away with a lot worse than Arthur, purely due to being younger. He had only been in the gang for about a year, and already solidified his place as favourite.
John, picking up on that accusing tone, held the rifle closer to himself and tried to sit up properly. He awkwardly looked away and cleared his throat. “Yep, fine.” He mumbled, barely moving his lips to talk.
Arthur looked away, too, impatient with John's dishonesty. He sighed, “What you got there?” and crouched down beside John, who flinched. “What's the matter with you, boy? I ain't gonna do anything.”
The kid pouted, still refusing to look at the older man. Arthur was barely a man, only about 20, still a kid himself, but he was big enough and intimidating enough to be mistaken for a full adult.
Arthur looked John up and down, “That gun's too big for you.” He grumbled.
Finally, John looked at him again, suddenly getting defensive and hugging the gun to himself like a stuffed toy. “It's not, I'm just-” He scrunched his face, trying to get words out. “Just- Just-”
“...Stupid?”
“NO!” John would have stamped his foot if he were on his feet. “NOT STUPID!!! I JUST CAN'T SHOOT RIGHT, OKAY?!” He looked away again after his outburst finished, feeling guilty for yelling.
Arthur was taken aback by John's yelling, genuinely not expecting it. Usually he'd stomp off or pout when Arthur would pick at him. He must’ve touched a nerve or something. “Damn, alright.”
He sort of felt bad, and went to put his hand on John's shoulder, but he flinched again as Arthur got closer, so he didn't bother. He thought for a moment, looking down at the rifle again. “So, uh-” this was either gonna be taken as an undermining insult, or John would actually listen to him and take him up on his offer, “Would you like me to teach you?”
“I don’t-”
“Yeah, I know, I know.” Arthur cut off John's sentence, “You're too proud to take advice from anyone else. I get it.” He huffed, “Tell you what; if anyone asks, I'll tell ‘em you figured it out all on your own. How's that sound?”
John shrugged and grumbled, “...Sure, whatever.”
Arthur smiled, straightening up his stance and offering a hand down to John, to hold his rifle while he stood up, too. John, though, took this immediately as an offering to be helped up off the floor, and reached for Arthur's hand.
He rolled his eyes, “No! The gun. You can't put your whole body weight on a rifle, stupid. Try again.”
John growled as a response, “Yeah, okay.” He finally loosened his tight grip on the gun, then handed it up to Arthur, who put it over his shoulder by its strap.
“C'mere,” he held his hand down to John again, to help him up this time, but he pushed himself up off the ground himself and just scowled at Arthur instead. “..Okay.”
John stood himself up straight and patted himself down, brushing off the dust and dirt from his pants. Quickly after, he reached over to grab the rifle out of Arthur's hands.
“Ah-ah, no,” Arthur turned at the waist, pulling the gun away from the boy. “We've already seen the kinda trouble you get yourself in, shootin’ on your own.”
“I don't need no hand-holdin’, Arthur.” John pouted, stamping his foot atop the grass.
Arthur smirked, tempted to tease John once again by holding the rifle over his head. Not that he would, that's nasty, but… He was considering it. “Yeah, I know.” He walked around to John's right side, having been stood at his left this entire encounter. “But,” he continued, “I don't trust you to shoot this by yourself, not unless you wanna get recoiled into another tree.”
The kid growled, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to his left leg to stand more comfortably. His glare met Arthur's. “Whatever.”
“Mm.” Arthur hummed a response, then patted John's upper back as a ‘get a move on’ sort of gesture. “Go on then,” he said, sliding the gun's strap off his shoulder and placing it in John's small hands, “Show me.”
“Are you serious?” John's expression soured once more upon being handed back the rifle, “You just went on a,” he waved his hands about, “whole crusade on how I shouldn’t be shootin’ by myself, ‘n now you're just handin’ me the gun? For what? To embarrass myself? Huh?” He stamped again, “Huh?!”
Arthur sighed, “No! For god's sake, Marston! Calm down.” He pushed at John's back again, “I just wanted to see how you were goin’ about it so I could help.”
The two of them walked up the small hill that the wall with bottles was on, Arthur following behind John. “Look,” Arthur spoke again, getting to the spot he wanted to stay at, a little bit behind John, “I'm right here.” He pointed at the rifle, “That thing shoots you back, you'll hit into me instead of the,” he looked around, “lovely landscaping ‘round here.” Arthur’s tone was smug, as if he'd move right out of the way the next time John misjudged the recoil. Again, he wouldn't, but he considered it. Watching the youngster get mad always had a certain comedic value to it, unfortunately for him.
John let out a sigh, “Alright. Sure.”
He held up the gun, positioning himself at a half-turn of his hips so both hands could easily reach, one on the barrel and one on the trigger. John aimed up at a bottle, took a breath, fired, lost his grip a tad bit, and got shot back again, this time right against Arthur's torso.
The pair both exclaimed. John let out another, “SHIT!” while Arthur yelled out, “JESUS, JOHN!” upon being hit. Arthur instinctively grabbed John's upper arms, to try and keep the pressure from hitting him more and to stop him falling down.
John went red in the face, both angry and upset. “UUGGGGHHHHH!!!!!” He grumbled, pushing himself away from Arthur and sulking on the floor again.
“Hey, hey, hey, what are you doin’?” Arthur panicked a little, crouching down behind John.
“I CAN'T DO IT, ARTHUR. I TOLD YOU. I,” he buried his face against his knees, having put his legs up against himself, “I TOLD YOU.” He stamped while he yelled. You'd think, at his age, that this sort of thing would be below him, but he felt like he couldn't help but throw a fit about it all. It was more the fact that he wouldn't be able to protect himself that was getting him riled up. He'd always need saving, no matter what he did. His dumb, fidgety hands and his knack for getting into trouble. He cried, getting the knees of his pants wet, but trying not to let Arthur see his tears.
Awkwardly, Arthur put his hand on John's shoulder, rubbing his shoulder with his thumb as an attempt at a comforting motion. “Ssh, give yourself a moment, okay?” He wasn't too sure how to help the child, so he went on what he'd seen Hosea do when John would act like this. Usually, the other gang members would just leave him to get on with it and calm down by himself, but, sometimes, he needed the extra support to coax him into calming down. “Deep breaths, John. We can try again in a minute.”
“Mmmn…” John whined, looking at Arthur's hand without turning his head.
After a few minutes of being sat on the ground, Arthur tried again. “You wanna give shootin’ another go, Marston?”
John nodded, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve, then brought himself back up onto his feet.
Arthur followed, getting up and standing behind John once more. The tall man took a few steps ahead of John, lifting the rifle off the dirt and handing it to him.
“Alright, this time, let me help you.”
John bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making some snarky comment about not needing the help, despite him clearly needing it. He nodded once more.
Arthur went back to where he was, stood behind the boy, his hands firmly planted on his shoulders. “Can you hold the gun up the way you did last time?”
John did as he was told, holding the rifle once again, with a hand gripped under the barrel, and one over the trigger.
“Mkay,” Arthur shifted over a little, placing his hand over John's on the gun barrel, “Move your hand up a little, you'll be more secure that way.”
“Uh huh,” John looked down to their hands and slid his up the barrel, not close enough to the gun’s muzzle for it to be dangerous, but enough for him to have a proper grip on the weapon.
“Now,” Arthur continued, “if you wanna shoot a bit more precise, you're gonna want to,” he gently lifted the gun a little, so the barrel would line up with John's sight, “there ya go. You gonna aim by yourself?”
“I can do that much, yeah.” John growled, finally being a tiny bit disobedient, and adjusted his aim up to that stubborn bottle he tried to shoot before.
Arthur softly felt along the boy's shoulders with one hand, “You're tense, loosen up a little. It's more likely to shoot ya backwards, or miss, if you're not relaxed.”
Again, he did as he was told, letting out a tight breath and staring ahead.
Arthur tried to match where John was looking, “Last time you shot, you did it holdin’ your breath, yeah?”
“Mmhm. Was I not supposed to?”
“Nah, watch.” Arthur pulled away and slid his revolver out of the holster on his thigh, to make an example. He lined himself up with a can beside the bottle John was after.
“It's a bit different but I don't have a rifle on me, aside from the one you've got. But, look,” he held his breath and fired, immediately missing the shot, the bullet hitting a further-up-part of the wall everything was balanced on.
“You hold your breath and you’ll lose control of your shot. You've gotta,” He took another deep breath, let it out, and fired at another bottle along the wall, perfectly shattering the glass. “shoot on empty lungs.”
John watched attentively, almost hypnotized by how well Arthur could shoot. He wasn’t their camp guard for nothing, that's for sure. He could probably take out 3 men with his eyes closed if he wanted.
Arthur flipped the pistol by its trigger guard, a little show-offy gun trick, then slid it back into its holster. He then went back behind John, and reformed his stance, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the rifle's barrel.
Instinctively, John lifted the gun again, lining it up with his sight.
“You gonna try it now, cowboy?”
“Mhm,” He aimed, let out a breath, and-
PSSHK!
The bottle he shot exploded into shards of glass and scattered throughout the grass. John had closed his eyes after making the shot, so he didn't actually see it hit his target. He opened his eyes to a wink.
Arthur let go of John when the shot went through, then jumped up a tad when he actually hit the bottle. “YEEAAAHH!!! THAT'S IT!”
John's own excitement mirrored Arthur's, holding the gun up to himself and stamping his feet. “I DID IT!!!!!! I DID IT. SEE!!! LOOK!!!” He ran over to the wall where the bottle once stood, only replaced with those shimmering shards of green-stained glass. “THE!!! THE GLASS AND!!”
“I KNOW!!!” Arthur grinned, “Told you you could do it, didn't I?!”
John rolled his eyes, “Nuh-uh, no you didn't. And I did it anyways!”
The taller boy smiled again, this time softer than the pearly grin he had a moment ago. He walked over to John, ruffling his wild hair affectionately. “You still don't want me to tell Dutch ‘n Hosea that I taught you? I think they'd be real proud of us…”
“Don't you dare.”