Dean was your father. He wasn’t around for quite a while, until you were 5, and he quit hunting. He moved in with you and your mother, started playing golf, got a construction job, and you guys were happy. He was protective, and always taught you how to look out for yourself. You were a true daddy’s boy.

One day, you got curious. Dean had a really cool, old car sitting in the garage. A 1967 Chevy Impala. He didn’t drive it often, but he seemed to glance into the trunk at least once a week. You wanted to know what was inside.

Being 8 now, you managed to reach into the box where he kept the key, and unlock the trunk, opening it. You picked up one of the guns with awe, when a gruff voice suddenly called out. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”