[AU] two worlds, a lot of demons, and a new set of problems

[gavemea_45]

It's still hard to believe it's over; that the yellow-eyed demonic bastard they'd spent their whole lives hunting is finally dead.

Sam figures it'll sink in eventually. Given everything else -- right now he's still pretty numb.

He's also desperately tired, but that doesn't matter. There's something he needs to do, and he can't afford to delay.

He waits until they've settled in for the night, and then waits still longer. Once Dean's been asleep for half an hour, Sam picks up his messenger bag -- already stuffed with books and his computer -- and heads straight for the bar.

He orders black coffee and snags a table with a good view of both doors and the stairs, then pulls out the first of the old texts and starts to search through it.

There's work to do.

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[pacificator]

"Was that so hard?"

Her tone is angelic, though her glance is thoughtful. She takes another swallow of the whiskey and swings off her seat, reaching down in the same motion for Peacemaker's polished ivory grip. She draws the 12-inch barrel from her boot and lifts the gun for his inspection, balanced in her hands, as she strolls towards him. "The Colt Buntline Special," she says, her steps slow. She turns the gun in her hands, the nose of the barrel against her fingers, and watches his reaction carefully.

"Five of them were commissioned in 1876. Presented by Ned Buntline to five lawmen. As thanks for helping to give a little color and realism to his books."

A beat. "Allegedly."

[gavemea_45]

“Allegedly, huh?” He keeps his tone light, although his gaze is searching. The way she’s holding it, he can’t see if there’s a familiar engraving on the grip, but he has to wonder.

“Samuel Colt was a genius, back where I’m from.” Among other things.

[pacificator]

"He made good guns, I'll give him that."

Either he doesn't know the apocrypha of Wyatt Earp and the Buntline Special, or he's keeping it to himself. Wynonna nocks a hip against his table and idly glances down at the books and papers there. "So, these people who made deals. What kind of mess it turn into?"

[gavemea_45]

“That’s not all he made.” Sam holds out a hand. “May I?”

[pacificator]

Her smile flickers, short. "Why not?"

No one can shoot Peacemaker but her, and it might tell her something she needs to know. She sets the gun on top of the open book, the long barrel underlining the title that had so piqued her interest.

[gavemea_45]

Sam lets out a low whistle as he takes in the quality of the weapon. The barrel’s longer than their Colt, which makes sense since it’s a Buntline instead of a Paterson.

Carefully, admiring the ivory grip, he picks it up to sight along the barrel to the floor - and yelps as it suddenly flares and sears his hand with fiery pain. Sam’s unable to hold it, dropping it back to the book in front of him.

“What the hell?!”

[pacificator]

Quick as a snake, she snatches the gun back, her thumb moving instinctively to cock it, before she grimaces and pauses, halting the smooth swing up to aim it at his forehead.

No business in the bar. For some reason, she hears it in Dolls' voice.

Though maybe she shouldn't be surprised. The guy loves his rules. "I don't know how you got here," she says, low and dangerous. "But why don't we take this outside, and you can tell me just exactly what the hell you are. Or I can make a mess of this bar and get tossed in the slammer for a few days."

Her eyes are hard as she watches him. "Your choice, Stretch."

[gavemea_45]

“It’s Sam,” he bites out. The gun’s pointed at his leg, which would be more reassuring if it hadn’t just burned the hell out of him and if he hadn’t seen what a leg shot from their Colt could do. “Winchester. Not Stretch.”

He raises his hands a little, slow and careful, watching her like a hawk. “Take it easy. I don’t know what the hell just happened, but I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m guessing you’re a hunter back where you’re from?”

[pacificator]

"Do I look like I give a crap what your name is?"

He's stalling for time, and her grip tightens a little on the gun. "I don't know what you mean by 'hunter.' I'm the goddamned Heir, and it's my job to send demon scum back to Hell on the Peacemaker express."

Her jaw's tight as she watches him. "Peacemaker burned you. So you're a demon, or a revenant, or both."

Or some other kind of supernatural piece of shit. Honestly, it's getting hard to keep track of them all. "Which is it?"

[gavemea_45]

“I’m not a demon!” He can almost hear Yellow-Eyes laughing, telling him all about his plans, and wishes they could shoot him again. Reluctantly, he admits, “…but I was …marked… by one. Maybe that’s why. But that son of a bitch is dead now. For good.”

[pacificator]

"You have any idea how many demons try to tell me that?"

Her lips thin, and her frown flickers. "Fine. One question: Have you ever been to the Ghost River Triangle?"

[gavemea_45]

“Yeah, and demons lie, I know that,” he snaps back at her. “But I’m not a goddamn demon. Where I’m from, we’re the ones with Colt’s gun. And I’ve never heard of your Ghost River Triangle.”

[pacificator]

She frowns again, hard. "You have Peacemaker?"

Slowly, reluctantly, she lowers the gun until it's pointed at the floor. "But you aren't an Earp."

[gavemea_45]

“No, I’m a Winchester. And the gun we have is older. Colt made it in 1835, with Halley’s Comet overhead. It can kill anything. Demons especially included.”

He eyes her. “Earp. As in Wyatt?”

[pacificator]

"Yes, obviously as in Wyatt."

Exasperated, she shoves Peacemaker back into her boot. "And Peacemaker can kill anything, too. As long as I'm wielding it."

[gavemea_45]

“Right, you said you were some kind of heir.” He’s thinking frantically. Maybe there’s a way—

“So how’d you solve the bullet problem?”

[pacificator]

Her expression very clearly says: what the fuck?

"By having bullets? I don't know, what do you mean, bullet problem?"

[gavemea_45]

“Are you telling me you don’t need special bullets for that gun to work?” Sam demands.

[pacificator]

"Special bullets? No – "

She pulls Peacemaker back out again and gestures loosely with it. "Special gun, remember? How dumb would it be to have to have a special gun and special bullets? What happens when you use them up, you just chuck the revolver at the bad guys and hope for the best?"

[gavemea_45]

"You have to make more, that's what." Never mind that they haven't figured out how to do that yet. Bobby will, Sam's sure, it'll just take some time.

Sam glares at her. "How dumb do you think it is to have a demon-killing weapon only one person can use? What if you're not there, Earp?"

[pacificator]

"Well, I am there."

Bluster and bravado, two of her favorite b-words. Maybe she was never meant to be the Heir, but she's doing the best she can. "I'm there, putting down every revenant in the Ghost River Triangle."

And she'll be the one to break this goddamned curse.

[gavemea_45]

"Yeah, you mentioned that. Where's this triangle of yours?" A thought strikes him. "And just to make it clear, I'm not a damn revenant, either." Resurrection notwithstanding. "They're more like zombies, you know."

[pacificator]

"'More like zombies, you know,'" she mocks, then drops the tone. "No, they're not. Mine aren't. They look and act like humans. Mostly," she amends, thinking of their burning red eyes, the way their demonic nature can appear out of nowhere. "And it's in Alberta. With a little bit in Montana."

There's the faint edge of a smirk to her lips. "Just the tip."

[gavemea_45]

"Mostly. That's the point. Why, don't your zombies do that too?"

Canada'd at least explain why he hasn't heard of it, but that doesn't make sense. Sam stares at her. "What the - Earp wasn't Canadian."

[pacificator]

She has two choices here: admit she hasn't seen any zombies yet – no – or bluster her way through it.

Scratch that: three choices. She can just ignore it. "No, but he didn't combust when he crossed a border, either," she points out. "He came to Purgatory for a while. Put down some roots."

And a whole lot of bad people.