The Colt was unlike anything Qui-Gon had ever seen. It was shaped like a blaster, but it was far heavier, smaller than any weapon he's ever held. The intricate carvings on the weapon were also fascinating to study, and Qui-Gon was in disbelief by how old the weapon must be.

"Why do you want the Jedi to have it?" He asked the Elder as he placed it back in his withered hands.

"The Colt must be protected," The Elder wheezed, each word taking a great deal of energy. "It cannot fall into enemy hands."

"I am sorry, your Highness," Qui-Gon bowed his head respectfully. "But that is not a good enough reason for the Jedi to keep it in our protection."

The Elder said nothing as he positioned the Colt in his hands. He cocked back the hammer and aimed it at the large animal drinking at the nearby watering hole. Qui-Gon flinched when the Colt gave off a loud bang and watched as the projectile struck the animal in the leg.

Something happened, and Qui-Gon had no idea how to describe it.

The animal simply died. It gave off a small grunt before it keeled over, its furry mass picking up dust as it slumped to the ground. Qui-Gon had seen these animals take dozens of blaster shots before slowing down. This one died with one shot. In the leg.

Needless to say, Qui-Gon was stunned.

"It is rumored that the Colt can kill anything," the Elder rasped, placing the weapon back into Qui-Gon's hands. "For the past two thousand years, my people have protected this weapon from being used as an instrument of war. But now I feel it is time to allow another to keep watch."

Qui-Gon felt himself shiver. He was not sure what it meant. "Who gave this to you?"

"My ancestors called him… Gabriel."

()

It was just one revelation too many. Obi-Wan himself was surprised it took him this long to get to this point; but now he was here, he wondered how Dean ever survived all those years.

His headache spiked and his stomach rebelled and Obi-Wan had to tear himself away from Qui-Gon before the spew of vomit splattered all over his Master's boots.

It took a long while for Obi-Wan to get control of his stomach, even with the cooling touch of his Master at the back of his neck. "Are you certain he said Gabriel?" Castiel asked from the side.

"Yes," Qui-Gon was not looking at him, his full attention on Obi-Wan. "I've no further information other than what the Elder told me."

"Bastard," Obi-Wan said mostly to himself. He wished he had some water to rinse his mouth. He tried to think past his sudden reaction but his headache refused to let him and he doubled over again in sickness.

"You are dehydrated," Qui-Gon insisted. "and exhausted. You need to sleep."

Obi-Wan gasped out, "Krin-"

Qui-Gon had to try very hard to cover the sudden flash of anger from Obi-Wan. He tried to dispel it but it festered and stretched inside of him. He'd never felt so angry in his life.

How did it come to this? Less than a couple of hours ago, they were both Jedi, protectors of the Republic. Now his Padawan was on the run from the Council itself, forced to become some kind of warrior for a war Qui-Gon barely understood. He could see it in Obi-Wan's eyes, the weight this war brought. If Castiel was right and all of this was just a hint of things to come…

The thought was too frightening, too big to think of.

Qui-Gon's attention immediately snapped back to Obi-Wan when he suddenly breathed, "Sam…" and slumped over. Qui-Gon curved a hand around Obi-Wan's forehead. "He's running a fever." He looked to Castiel. "Can you help him?"

The angel shook his head. "My powers are not what they used to be."

"I can't take him back to the Temple, they'll be looking for him."

"We need to take this opportunity. While the Jedi are still distracted by Rakghoul outbreak, you get the Colt. Be careful, they'll be looking for you, too."

Now that was like a kick to the groin: talking about the Jedi as if they were the enemy. In essence, Qui-Gon thought grimly, they were. Until he could get the ear of Yoda and the rest of the Council, he had to run.

"I can take him," Castiel bent down, gently shifting Obi-Wan's into his arms. "There is a hotel on the other side of the planet called, Neon Blue. Meet us there." And as if Qui-Gon didn't understand, he added quickly, "And bring the Colt."

Then he was gone.

()

There are no coincidences. Qui-Gon wished that wasn't true.

While he was a believer in destinies, he was also a firm believer that destiny is what you make of it. He did not want to believe that the road Obi-Wan was leading down to may mean placing the lives of fifty billion onto his shoulders.

The Temple was still relatively empty and according to one young Padawan, most of the Jedi were still at the quarantine, cleaning up the aftermath. It seemed Castiel was right; the Rakghoul plague was curbed, though the official death toll was still pending.

Four hundred lives and counting.

Qui-Gon made his way to the security vault, occasionally dodging questions from others. "Master Jinn, didn't you go to the quarantine?"

Despite his every nerve was on high alert, Qui-Gon kept the mask of serenity. It was not a good idea to be walking into a highly restrictive area while looking suspicious. Especially since he knew his every action was being recorded.

After he signed his name at the front, a rather bored Padawan instructed him how much time he was allowed in the vault, and let him pass. It was almost too easy to get to this point and it left an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He had to resist picking up the pace of his steps.

It took him a few minutes to correctly locate the holding area of the Colt; the vault had grown three times its size since the weapon was placed in there. That was nearly twenty years ago.

Qui-Gon did his research. He tried to find the person who held the name Gabriel, tried to figure out how he was connected to the Colt and why. Everything Qui-Gon had came up with was shrouded in mystery, were either of half-truths or whole lies. All Qui-Gon learned was that the Colt was extremely old, it was claimed it could kill anything with one shot, and only humans had ever owned it.

The Colt was still as beautiful as the first time he saw it, seventeen years ago. He picked it up, felt the weight of it, placed it back down, and took out his lightsaber. Turned it on.

He took the barrel off in one swift cut.

()

A/N: I apologize for the ridiculously short chapters I keep putting out, but I've found it works for me. Having things sit there, waiting for me to add on frustrates the heck out of me. And given this type of fic (I have no idea where it's leading) doing short chapters helps me keep things in line.

Or maybe I'm making things worse for myself. But do not fret! I have the ending in my sights… I just don't know how I'll get there.

Anyhoo, R/R!