gavemea_45 | (no subject)

He's not listening --

"And we have to have a plan," he amplifies, a touch desperately.

"So we'll make one, okay?"

The headlights pick out the edge of an upright stone; Sam slows the car and pulls around at the side of the cemetery, then shifts into park and leaves the engine idling.

"There." He nods to the massive shape of a mausoleum, across the grass, with several graves between them and it.

"That's it."

He looks where Sam indicates, and nods.

"Okay." A breath. "I'll start setting up?"

Sam shuts off the engine and nods.

"Want to take a closer look first? Hard to see from here, but there's a lock where the Colt fits--"

He doesn't wait for an answer; he's already getting out of the car as he talks. The predawn darkness is slowly giving way to light in the east; enough that his silhouette is easily visible as he walks across the cowboy graveyard toward the tomb.

He opens his own car door, and hurries after him.

The faint glow in the east isn't quite enough light to study the gate by. Andrew plays the beam of a flashlight over the lock, examining its design.

"Thorned pentacle," he murmurs. "Or supposed to form one, anyway. Heavy stuff."

"Colt knew what he was doing."

Andrew's studying the lock; Sam's watching Andrew.

"Can you open it?"

"I think so." Low. "The gun is the key, so the question is whether it's the physical structure or the symbology ... "

He reaches out, very tentatively, to brush the very tip of one finger along the edge of the pentacle.

He stays silent, listening, practically holding his breath for fear of disturbing Andrew's thought process.

"If it's just the stuff carved on the gun," he says, a little louder, "then words might be able to do it. If not ... we might need to hit it with something harder. And I don't know if we'll be able to close it up again, if we do that."

From the look on his face, Andrew might as well have just punched him in the gut.

"... what do you mean, we might not be able to close it."

He's still studying the gate, but he can't miss the sound in Sam's voice.

"I mean -- if we break the lock. Instead of picking it."

He turns blindly away, reaching out with one hand as if to catch his balance or brace himself against something, but there's nothing but air.

Dean--

"We're just gonna have to find a way to pick it, then. That's all."

"We will." Andrew's straightened up, turning toward him with worry in his eyes. "We'll do it."

He nods, then nods again, steeling himself, and turns back around. Sam meets Andrew's gaze.

"Okay."

A beat.

"So what do you need from me?"

He breathes out, and unships his backpack to start rummaging in it.

"Check my work," he says, and draws out a heavy manila envelope containing several 8x10 photo prints.

Sam rifles through it, holding each up to the increasing sunlight to get a good look.

"You did these from the Colt, didn't you? From back when I brought it in so you could see it."

"Yeah. I blew up the pictures to get a better look, and I'm gonna try a spell schematic using those patterns."

Hope is dizzying, Sam discovers, and terrifying in its intensity.

He breathes out, trying to steady himself, and nods.

"That sounds good," he agrees. "Sounds logical."

"Okay."

He bites his lip, looking at Sam's face, then reaches into the bag again and pulls out a spool of silver wire before offering the bag to Sam.

"I'm gonna start setting up. Can you hand me stuff?"

"Just tell me what you need."

Sam takes the bag and moves to stand beside and a little behind Andrew, out of his way.

"Right," he says, and rummages briefly in a pocket.

"Hold this a sec?"

And he hands Sam one of the energy bars he picked up back at Milliways, the wrapper already opened and folded down.

He gives it a startled look and Andrew a dubious one, but takes it and holds it for him.

Andrew starts moving back toward the mausoleum door.

"Actually," trying for offhanded, "you could go ahead and eat that one, I've got more."

"I'm not hungry."

Andrew throws him a swift look.

"Think of it as fuel?"