#jameson is ONE HELL OF A SHOT

[hearthown]

Jameson - One Hell of A Shot

[requested by @aria-1105] - the ff begins during the time Jamie skipped school to find the next clue in the game (TIG) and before finding the clue on the Winchester rifle (it's kinda like an AU).

The Black Wood.

Jameson inhaled the scent of the forest - the fresh air, the wood, the metal tang of the grass. He knew that he should’ve been searching for clues, clues from the latest game his grandfather had left them.

He didn’t know why he had ended up here, out of all places. Ground targets surrounded him, half of them punched with holes, the other half brand new. He couldn’t remember when he last stood here, rifle in hand. Maybe he didn’t want to remember.

Then, his gaze moved to the many trees that surrounded the clearing. He had always known that trees were a representation of knowledge. Of memories. And it was memories that he was seeing in front of his eyes now.

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[Okay, let’s pretend that TTH taught Grayson and Jameson shooting on Jameson’s 12th birthday, as one of his “schemes” to get them to compete]

Jameson's 12th Birthday

“Alright, boys,” Tobias Hawthorne began. “The first thing you need to know about shooting is that you always treat a rifle as if it is loaded, even if it isn’t.”

Jameson watched as his grandfather started loading his own rifle. It was his 12th birthday and he had expected this. Well, not the fact that he’d have to learn shooting on the morning of his birthday, but the fact that Tobias Hawthorne loved making him and Grayson compete. On one day every year, he and Grayson were the same age, and his grandfather pulled out all the stops. Last year, they had to fight each other using the martial arts skills they had cultivated. Grayson had won. Today, Jameson was determined not to let history repeat itself.

He was determined to WIN. Just like any other Hawthorne, he loved to win. But today, he had to be better. He had to beat Grayson. And he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

As his grandfather took up position and showed them the different stances that would affect the accuracy of their shots, Jameson had eyes for nothing else in the world. He was always known to have laser focus. Once his attention was latched on to you, it would take a lot for it to be snatched away.

“You lose focus, you lose the game.” His grandfather’s words echoed in his head.

Tobias Hawthorne continued his lesson, now moving on to aiming techniques. “Make sure that you have proper sight alignment. A good shooter must not only have a good arm, but he must also be able to use his eyes.”

Jameson wiped sweat off his brow. If Grayson thought he had a chance of winning today, he was wrong.

BAM! His thoughts were cut off by an ear-splitting sound.

He looked at the target and… BULLSEYE. His grandfather had made the perfect shot. Tobias Hawthorne was as Hawthorne as the rest of them. Jameson might even go on to say that he was THE Hawthorne. Hawthorne values had been made by him. His lessons were ingrained in their minds, his blood their blood. It was no shock that everything he did was perfect.

Before he knew it, his grandfather had walked them through the whole process again, several times, one-on-one. It was time to compete.

Five ground targets were prepared. In order to win, they had to get the most number of bullseyes. As always, their grandfather expected perfection. Nothing less, but there was always room for more.

Grayson was up first. Every inch the heir apparent, he got into his shooting stance, his rifle raised to eye level. His first three targets were all bullseyes. Jameson clenched his hands into fists. On the fourth one, Grayson fumbled, and the shot went a little way off. He watched as Grayson noticed his mistake, as his muscles tensed. He must’ve pulled himself together before shooting the final time because that was a bullseye too.

“Now your turn, Jameson,” his grandfather patted him on the shoulder. Tobias Hawthorne might as well have been asking him to have his turn at the merry-go-round at the funfair. Hawthornes didn’t go to funfairs for leisure or fun. This was fun at Hawthorne House.

Jameson positioned himself in front of the first target and tightened his grip on the rifle. As he brought it up to his gaze, he noticed a word carved on the rifle’s stock. WINCHESTER. His middle name.

Electricity surged in Jameson’s body. This was meant for him, he knew it. He was going to prove to his grandfather that he could do this.

He closed his eyes, all of his five senses somehow sharpened. When he opened them, he fired his first shot.

BAM! Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye.

At the final target, he set his jaw. This was it. He lined up his shot one last time and… BULLSEYE.

He had done it. He had won.

He barely had time to process what had just happened when his grandfather appeared behind him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Very good, Jamie, very good.”

Jameson basked in the praise. Tobias Hawthorne was stingy with his compliments, to say the least. He didn’t exactly give them out like candy.

“I’ve never seen a shot like that before, especially one from a 12-year-old. You’re ahead of your time, Jamie. Keep this up and I’ll see to it that the rifle collection is passed on to you.”

Jameson’s eyes widened. He knew how much that rifle collection meant to his grandfather, how much time his grandfather had spent finding collector pieces all around the world.

“Happy Birthday, Jameson.” Tobias Hawthorne beamed.

Jameson grinned, and then turned back to find Grayson, offering him a rare smile although he knew that deep down, Grayson was disappointed of his loss.

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Present Day

“WINCHESTER.” Jameson repeated to himself. Within the next moment, he sprinted into the House and entered the armory.

He knew exactly where the next clue lied.