Post by Sam Winchester on Jan 19, 2017 22:40:29 GMT -5
The wooden door creaked as Sam laid a flat palm against it, nudging it open. The first room he came to was empty. Turning away briefly to stare at the front door in thought, Sam suddenly became aware of hastily approaching footsteps and by the time he turned back around it was too late…to save himself from being splashed in the face by cold holy water. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, not a demon” Sam promised, throwing up his hands in surrender. “Not a demon. Just a hunter.”
The elderly man studied him carefully for a moment. “You’re a what?” Ignoring the question, Sam fired back one of his own, anxious to get to his reason for visiting. “You Samuel Colt?” The man gave Sam a long once-over. “Who wants to know?” “My name is Sam Winchester” Sam introduced himself, keeping both hands up, palms out, to indicate he meant no harm. “I’m a hunter from the year 2011.” Colt narrowed his eyes. “Prove it.” It took a second for Sam to think this over, wondering how he could possibly do that, before an idea struck and he lowered both hands slowly, pulling his phone from a back pocket. “Here.” He offered the blackberry and Colt took it with a puzzled expression, jabbing at a few buttons. The home screen popped up and he jumped slightly before nodding and placing the phone on a bookshelf behind his desk. “Alright.” Sam blinked owlishly, caught off-guard. “A-alright” he stammered, perplexed. “That’s it??” If someone had told him they were from 150 years in the future, he wouldn’t have necessarily dismissed the idea but it probably would have taken a bit longer to come to terms with it.
“Well when you’ve been doing this job as long as I have…some giant from the future with a magic brick doesn’t exactly give you the vapors” Colt pointed out, picking up an empty glass and filling it with some whiskey from the bottle next to it. “Fair enough” Sam agreed, unable to really argue that point. “I need your help killing a phoenix” he added next, getting right to business. “A phoenix” Colt echoed, looking stunned. “They exist?” “Well you shoot one in about three hours” Sam informed him, checking his watch. Colt didn’t look impressed or convinced. “If you say so.” Taking a seat at his desk, he refilled the whiskey glass in his hand. “I don’t.” Sam reached into an inner jacket pocket, retrieved Samuel Colt’s journal from 2011 and dropped it directly on top of Samuel Colt’s current journal on the desk. “You do.”
Colt gaped at the pair of identical journals. “That’s…” Swallowing hard, he filled his glass the rest of the way. “I’m either too drunk or not drunk enough.” Running one hand over the cover of the topmost journal, he looked back up at Sam. “So what is it I’m about to exactly do again?” “Well the phoenix is in Sunrise” Sam explained, hooking one thumb towards the door. “So if we leave now, you can”- “I appreciate your situation but I’m not going to be able to help you” Colt interrupted, settling backwards in his chair comfortably. “I’m booked.” Sam glanced around the interior of the log cabin. There were no news clippings pinned to the wall. Nothing to suggest he was mid-case. Sam reached for the top journal. “But you say right here”- “Don’t believe everything you read” Colt interrupted again calmly. “YOU wrote it” Sam exclaimed in a far less calm demeanor. Colt shrugged. “Sorry kid.” “But you’re a hunter” Sam reminded him, confused. Colt took a sip of whiskey. “Retired.” This was a foreign concept to Sam who spluttered, “t-there’s no such thing.” Colt took a longer swig of his drink. “I’m out.” “There is no getting out” Sam insisted, basing this fact off of first-hand experience. Trying a different approach, he pressed, “for what it’s worth…in my time? You’re a hero.” Colt raised one eyebrow without moving. “Me?” “Yes sir” Sam promised, nodding vigorously. Rather than having the desired effect of rousing Colt from his chair, the “retired” hunter simply laughed. “Look, we need to kill this Phoenix” Sam insisted urgently. “Its ashes are the only thing that can kill the monster I’m hunting back in my time.” Sam gave a sharp exhale of annoyance. “So stow your crap for a few hours and let’s go.” Samuel didn’t move. Growing increasingly desperate and frustrated, Sam took an aggressive step towards the desk, one hand out. “We need to go now. So either you’re coming with me or I need the gun.” Colt straightened in his chair, looking as though he was trying to play clueless, though he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. “What gun?” Sam fixed him with a hard stare. “THE gun.”
“Oh that gun” Colt acknowledged, bobbing his head. “I lost it in a game of stud.” Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re lying” he finally accused and Colt burst into a deep guffaw. “Am I?? Now that doesn’t sound like me.” The dry humor was actually very Dean-like and impressive but Sam didn’t have time to appreciate it. “You shot a couple of demons with it less than an hour ago” he challenged, crossing his arms stubbornly. Colt looked surprised. “How do you figure?” Sam really didn’t have time to play the “let’s show off how observant and good at hunting I am” game, but if that’s what Colt wanted, that’s what he’d get. Exhaling deeply, he pointed towards the front door to illustrate his point. “Two extra pairs of boot prints leading UP to the door only. And the cabin reeks of sulfur.” “Not bad.” Colt studied Sam with a new level of consideration, nodding and pulling back his jacket to reveal the colt’s handle sticking out of its holster. It may have been his imagination but Sam swore the hair on his arms even reacted at just the sight of it. He had never thought he could hold this much respect and revere for an inanimate object, but it was a powerful weapon. It was the gun responsible for ending the life of the demon that had killed his mother. You couldn’t get much bigger than that.
“You don’t want it believe me” Colt was saying in a heavy tone, releasing his jacket and covering the gun back up. “It’s a curse.” “Great, then let me take it off your hands.” Sam offered out one hand again. He certainly didn’t think the gun was a curse, but even if it was, he wasn’t scared of a little curse. His whole life had basically been one big curse so far.
Colt inclined his head towards the door, chuckling. “Why don’t you go put on a few more miles, then come back and we’ll talk.” “Believe me” Sam assured him through ground teeth. “I’ve got plenty of mileage.” Like 20 years of it. Samuel refilled his glass. “I’m doing you a favor. Trust me.” Sam was having a hard time processing this. “So what? You can really just sit there? Do nothing?!” Colt studied Sam wearily from over the top of his glass. “I’ve given my whole life to this” he finally remarked with an air of finality. “I’m done.” “So it doesn’t matter what happens next” Sam challenged, refusing to believe this could be the case. "Everything you've done...that all meant nothing??" He locked eyes with Samuel Colt, seeing the slightest flicker of something that may have been acknowledgement of Sam's side of the debate. He was losing resolve. It was time to end this. Sam held out his hand for a final time.
"Give me the gun."
The elderly man studied him carefully for a moment. “You’re a what?” Ignoring the question, Sam fired back one of his own, anxious to get to his reason for visiting. “You Samuel Colt?” The man gave Sam a long once-over. “Who wants to know?” “My name is Sam Winchester” Sam introduced himself, keeping both hands up, palms out, to indicate he meant no harm. “I’m a hunter from the year 2011.” Colt narrowed his eyes. “Prove it.” It took a second for Sam to think this over, wondering how he could possibly do that, before an idea struck and he lowered both hands slowly, pulling his phone from a back pocket. “Here.” He offered the blackberry and Colt took it with a puzzled expression, jabbing at a few buttons. The home screen popped up and he jumped slightly before nodding and placing the phone on a bookshelf behind his desk. “Alright.” Sam blinked owlishly, caught off-guard. “A-alright” he stammered, perplexed. “That’s it??” If someone had told him they were from 150 years in the future, he wouldn’t have necessarily dismissed the idea but it probably would have taken a bit longer to come to terms with it.
“Well when you’ve been doing this job as long as I have…some giant from the future with a magic brick doesn’t exactly give you the vapors” Colt pointed out, picking up an empty glass and filling it with some whiskey from the bottle next to it. “Fair enough” Sam agreed, unable to really argue that point. “I need your help killing a phoenix” he added next, getting right to business. “A phoenix” Colt echoed, looking stunned. “They exist?” “Well you shoot one in about three hours” Sam informed him, checking his watch. Colt didn’t look impressed or convinced. “If you say so.” Taking a seat at his desk, he refilled the whiskey glass in his hand. “I don’t.” Sam reached into an inner jacket pocket, retrieved Samuel Colt’s journal from 2011 and dropped it directly on top of Samuel Colt’s current journal on the desk. “You do.”
Colt gaped at the pair of identical journals. “That’s…” Swallowing hard, he filled his glass the rest of the way. “I’m either too drunk or not drunk enough.” Running one hand over the cover of the topmost journal, he looked back up at Sam. “So what is it I’m about to exactly do again?” “Well the phoenix is in Sunrise” Sam explained, hooking one thumb towards the door. “So if we leave now, you can”- “I appreciate your situation but I’m not going to be able to help you” Colt interrupted, settling backwards in his chair comfortably. “I’m booked.” Sam glanced around the interior of the log cabin. There were no news clippings pinned to the wall. Nothing to suggest he was mid-case. Sam reached for the top journal. “But you say right here”- “Don’t believe everything you read” Colt interrupted again calmly. “YOU wrote it” Sam exclaimed in a far less calm demeanor. Colt shrugged. “Sorry kid.” “But you’re a hunter” Sam reminded him, confused. Colt took a sip of whiskey. “Retired.” This was a foreign concept to Sam who spluttered, “t-there’s no such thing.” Colt took a longer swig of his drink. “I’m out.” “There is no getting out” Sam insisted, basing this fact off of first-hand experience. Trying a different approach, he pressed, “for what it’s worth…in my time? You’re a hero.” Colt raised one eyebrow without moving. “Me?” “Yes sir” Sam promised, nodding vigorously. Rather than having the desired effect of rousing Colt from his chair, the “retired” hunter simply laughed. “Look, we need to kill this Phoenix” Sam insisted urgently. “Its ashes are the only thing that can kill the monster I’m hunting back in my time.” Sam gave a sharp exhale of annoyance. “So stow your crap for a few hours and let’s go.” Samuel didn’t move. Growing increasingly desperate and frustrated, Sam took an aggressive step towards the desk, one hand out. “We need to go now. So either you’re coming with me or I need the gun.” Colt straightened in his chair, looking as though he was trying to play clueless, though he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. “What gun?” Sam fixed him with a hard stare. “THE gun.”
“Oh that gun” Colt acknowledged, bobbing his head. “I lost it in a game of stud.” Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re lying” he finally accused and Colt burst into a deep guffaw. “Am I?? Now that doesn’t sound like me.” The dry humor was actually very Dean-like and impressive but Sam didn’t have time to appreciate it. “You shot a couple of demons with it less than an hour ago” he challenged, crossing his arms stubbornly. Colt looked surprised. “How do you figure?” Sam really didn’t have time to play the “let’s show off how observant and good at hunting I am” game, but if that’s what Colt wanted, that’s what he’d get. Exhaling deeply, he pointed towards the front door to illustrate his point. “Two extra pairs of boot prints leading UP to the door only. And the cabin reeks of sulfur.” “Not bad.” Colt studied Sam with a new level of consideration, nodding and pulling back his jacket to reveal the colt’s handle sticking out of its holster. It may have been his imagination but Sam swore the hair on his arms even reacted at just the sight of it. He had never thought he could hold this much respect and revere for an inanimate object, but it was a powerful weapon. It was the gun responsible for ending the life of the demon that had killed his mother. You couldn’t get much bigger than that.
“You don’t want it believe me” Colt was saying in a heavy tone, releasing his jacket and covering the gun back up. “It’s a curse.” “Great, then let me take it off your hands.” Sam offered out one hand again. He certainly didn’t think the gun was a curse, but even if it was, he wasn’t scared of a little curse. His whole life had basically been one big curse so far.
Colt inclined his head towards the door, chuckling. “Why don’t you go put on a few more miles, then come back and we’ll talk.” “Believe me” Sam assured him through ground teeth. “I’ve got plenty of mileage.” Like 20 years of it. Samuel refilled his glass. “I’m doing you a favor. Trust me.” Sam was having a hard time processing this. “So what? You can really just sit there? Do nothing?!” Colt studied Sam wearily from over the top of his glass. “I’ve given my whole life to this” he finally remarked with an air of finality. “I’m done.” “So it doesn’t matter what happens next” Sam challenged, refusing to believe this could be the case. "Everything you've done...that all meant nothing??" He locked eyes with Samuel Colt, seeing the slightest flicker of something that may have been acknowledgement of Sam's side of the debate. He was losing resolve. It was time to end this. Sam held out his hand for a final time.
"Give me the gun."
