July 24, 2006

"Oh come on…" Dean craned his neck as he glanced at Yoga and You: A Guide to Inner Peace. "Okay, so now we have to bend our left legs out and…" He squinted, "Touch our right hand to our left feet?" He and Sam were set up in the living room of Bobby's. Dean had managed to clear a spot of the constant litter of papers and books and set up two mats he'd brought from home (Granted, they're what I use for sparring, but same difference). Sam was relatively limber, despite not being overly athletic, while Dean's bulkier build led to some difficulty with the more intricate poses.

Sam followed Dean's instructions, glancing at the open book between them to see if his body matched the picture. It had been a few weeks and the yoga had been going well enough, even if Sam still didn't really understand how to tap into his secondary powers. Between training exercises and lessons from Bobby the brothers had been focusing on developing Sam's ability to meditate, figuring that it was the best way to eventually link his conscious mind and subconscious powers. At the moment there were occasional spurts of control, but it was rare and Sam usually had a nosebleed afterward from the stress. "Alright, I'm about as stretchy as I want to be for today." Sam cracked his back as he stood up, "Besides, it's time to start dinner." He gestured to the clock hanging on the wall-it was nearly four.

"Alright, I'll get this stuff cleaned up if you go and find Bobby." Dean started folding up the pads, If you can manage to drag him out of his office. Bobby had been researching as much as he could about Azazel, and so far had no specifics on his plan aside from the brief folktale he'd already told the brothers. Sure, there was speculation by a few different demonologists-and one or two of his contacts had claimed that it was supposed to be a battle between heaven and hell, but Bobby doubted that. Despite the brother's beliefs, Bobby said that there wasn't any evidence for any sort of God or positive force to counteract the evil of hell, let alone angels-which Dean had suggested as a potential solution to how the big battle would commence. Regardless, at the moment the three were behind the ball-Azazel had a plan (a big one) and they had no idea what they could do to stop it.

As Sam pulled Bobby out of his office and into the kitchen Dean finished putting the mats away and looked at his phone. Mom had already checked in for the day, As usual, but Dean smiled when he was greeted with a text. He flipped open the phone and quickly replied, agreeing to a meet-up soon.

**SPN**

Dean joined in making dinner, with the three men shuffling around each other in the small kitchen to get the food prepared. Sam and Dean had grown accustomed to staying with Bobby, and felt it right that they pitch in-they weren't moochers after all-which led to them eventually forcing Bobby to allow them to use his kitchen. Tonight was salmon, mashed potatoes, and broccoli.

After dinner Bobby usually returned to his study and the brothers continued with their training, with Sam quizzing Dean on the massive stack of index cards he's written about various supernatural creatures.

"Weaknesses of a wendigo?" Dean read, flipping over the card to check Sam's written answer against his brother's reply.

"Fire and Anasazi symbols?" Sam replied.

"And what do Ana-Anasa-" Dean frowned, "Those symbols look like?"

Sam pulled out a sheet of paper and quickly sketched a handful of different symbols.

"Correct, showoff." Dean smirked as Sam grinned and grabbed a card to add to his correct pile.

Sam picked the next card off the pile, "Ways to deter or contain demons?"

Dean furrowed his brow as he thought, "Well, salt, iron, holy water, and… crisco?"

"Not quite, it's 'Christo'-Latin for Christ. But the others were right." Sam put the card back in the stack.

"Man do I wish we could kill those fucking things. I mean, imagine if you could just walk up to that yellow-eyed bastard and light him up. Sucks that demons are basically unkillable." Dean lamented.

Bobby poked his head into the living room. "Dean, what did you just say?"

Dean blinked, glancing at Sam before repeating, "I said I wish we could kill demons."

"That's it!" Bobby quickly left his chair and walked over to a shelf on the wall above his television. "Where is that thing?"

"Bobby, what's going on?" Sam watched as the hunter excitedly pulled a book off the shelf.

"This is." Bobby held up a book-Legends of the Old West.

"What, a book about the second-worst time in US history to be alive?" Dean stated, folding his arms.

Bobby sighed, "No, look." He flipped the book open to a page close to the middle.

"Samuel Colt, father of the Colt's Manufacturing Company, is rumored to have created an especially unique Patterson model. The Colt Patterson was a revolver style handgun capable of firing six rounds, typically .36 ammunition, and was known as a gun favored by both the authorities and outlaws alike. Legend holds that on November 30, 1835 as Haley's Comet was overhead he created a prototype (as the Patterson model did not enter regular production until the year following) and blessed the gun that it might be used as a weapon against all forces of evil. He bestowed the gun to an unknown man who is said to have used it six times to kill six different ancient evils, including demons and evil spirits. The man who used the gun disappeared and with it so did the most powerful firearm ever created, according to legends surrounding the mysterious weapon." Dean read the passage aloud.

"What, some cowboy pistol is going to take down the devil's right hand guy?" Dean glanced at Bobby in disbelief.

"That's how the story goes."

"So, what, in addition to trying to figure out how to have Sammy get control over his powers we also have to look for a single antique handgun in a country with so many guns we have more than the ten beneath us?" Dean was incredulous.

"Yes."

"Assuming it is real and not some cowboy legend." Sam noted, looking at the worn pages of the book boasting a number of even more incredible legends.

"Yup." Bobby nodded.

Dean sighed, Sometimes I swear my life is like some messed up TV show, "Okay, sure, why not. You try and track down the colt, Sammy and I'll keep doing yoga and deep breathing exercises."