Thank you for reading the first chapter! Special thanks to Ster1, tennischik09, lekelly, and laineyau for reviewing! Reviews are highly coveted and greatly appreciated, so if you can, please leave me a review! Thank you!!!
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sam and Dean, but I don't. Kripke, Warner Bros, etc are the rightful owners of all involved here. No profit is being made from this fic, it just helps me pass the time until Season 3 starts.
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Five churches. Colt had reinforced the Devil's Trap in Wyoming with churches. That was the first clue for Sam. It put him on a quest for understanding why Christian churches, Holy water, and Latin incantations of Biblical text could conjure, control, and ultimately kill evil.
He had gone over everything he could obtain on Colt and the gun Colt made for the hunter back in 1836, certain that if a 21 year old Samuel Colt could unveil the secrets of the unseen world, the 30 year old Samuel Winchester wouldn't be denied the same victory.
He had visited each of the churches surrounding the gate to hell, and gone over them with a fine tooth comb. In the end, it was the inscription on the revolver that told him everything he needed to know. "Non timebo mala", which means "I will fear no evil." Psalm 23:4.
Dean may not have been a believer in Heaven and it's acolytes, but any doubt Sam may have ever had was vanquished during the course of his research these past years. He may not have seen more angels than he saw unicorns shooting rainbows out of their asses, but he knew there was something at work. Something more powerful than any demon.
This was a fight for good versus evil. For good over evil. Evil would not triumph today.
The day that dawned May 2, 2013 seemed to know what was in store. It was the first sunny morning Sam had seen in what felt like years.
He rose early, packing his saddle bags with only the necessities required for the task at hand and headed out to his bike. Dean had left the Impala to him, but he had decided it was too empty with only one occupant, and had hidden it in a rented storage facility for over four years now. He couldn't bear the thought of selling her, she was really the only physical thing left of his family, but much like his relationship with Bobby, he felt it would be best preserved at a distance. He occasionally stopped in the small, back-woods town where she now resided to check on her and make sure nothing bad befell her, and to change out supplies. Her trunk still made the best place to store anything that he wasn't using at the time.
A motorcycle was a suitable mode of transit for one, now. Sam had never really been a 'motor head', but he had invested quite a bit of time and money into the vehicle that now conveyed him from one side of the country to the other. Because of his height, he had needed to have a special bike manufactured, chopped and lenthened to accomodate his tall frame. Luckily, he had also spent a significant amount of capital on the perfect seat and suspension for the beast, and was not disappointed; rarely was his body ever sore from his extensive travels. It rode with all the comfort of a 'geezer glide', but had the appearance of something akin to Ghost Rider's own bike.
The deep blue bike also had secrets of her own; several hidden compartments among the chrome mountings for the tools of Sam's trade to stow away. So well were they moulded into the form of the bike, if a person were not told of the compartments, even well experienced bikers would not know of their existence.
Before most people had awakened to the new day, Sam was well on his way, flying down Interstate 80 toward Wyoming. His time spent in New Jersey, the home of Samuel Colt, had been well worth the trip, and he had headed west as soon as he had the information he needed, spending last night in Des Moines, Iowa. He was close; close enough to make his whole body tingle with an excitement he was sure he hadn't felt in close to a decade. He chuckled bitterly to himself about that. A decade ago he was a man who thought he didn't need is family...how young and stupid he had been.
As ten o'clock presented itself, Sam pulled off the interstate and headed north. A few miles out of his way, but he needed to do this.
Soon, he pulled up to the rebuilt Harvelle's Roadhouse, in Middle-Of-Nowhere, Nebraska. Planting the kickstand for his chopper, he climbed off the bike and removed his sunglasses and the blood red bandana he wore to keep his hair down while riding, and looked at the building before him. It had been a tough five years for everyone, and the Harvelle's were no different.
Even after the war broke out, Jo stayed out on her own to fight the good fight, which left Ellen to rebuild her life here. She felt it was her responsibility to be the unofficial base of operations for the forces of good, and supplying them with copious amounts of alcohol. The Roadhouse was basically an extension of her own home now, since she had an apartment built above the bar when it was resurrected, and between her own charms and those of the hunters who frequented the place, powerful magic had been used to fortify the Roadhouse from any future attack the demons may wish to stage.
Sam hadn't crossed the threshold of the Roadhouse in several years, for the same reason he didn't stop by Bobby's anymore, but since this may be the last time he would ever see Ellen, and it was on his way, he knew he had to stop and pay his respects.
He brushed a hand quickly over his toussled hair, and pushed the door open.
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Author's Note: So?? What do you think??
I use wikipedia a lot...who knew the Colt had an inscription? Also, big fan of my Strong's Concordance/Vine's Dictionary of the Bible. Very handy in a theological pinch.
Let me know what you think of Sam's bike. Possible blasphemy for not driving the Impala?
"What's a 'geezer glide'," you say? That's what my dad's friend gets teased for riding from all his biker buddies (including my father). It's practically a couch on two wheels! Think 'goldwing'; all fiberglass and cheesy lookin', a bike for an old man (geezer).
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