The road stretched endlessly beneath the headlights of the Impala.
Night surrounded the car like an ocean of darkness, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the faint glow of distant stars.
Dean kept one hand on the steering wheel.
The other rested near the radio.
Ben sat in the passenger seat, flipping through a worn leather notebook they had taken from Bobby's house.
The pages smelled of dust, ink… and old secrets.
Ben frowned as he read.
"You ever notice how every hunter writes like a serial killer?"
Dean smirked slightly.
"Comes with the job."
Ben turned another page.
Symbols.
Ritual notes.
Names of creatures.
And then something else.
A drawing of a revolver.
Ben stopped.
"Hey… Dean."
Dean glanced at him briefly.
"Yeah?"
Ben held up the page.
"You ever heard of something called the Colt?"
Dean raised an eyebrow.
The name sounded familiar.
Not from memory.
From stories.
Stories his father used to tell.
About hunters.
About monsters.
About a gun that could kill almost anything.
Dean shrugged slightly.
"Just a legend."
Ben tapped the page.
"Not according to this."
Dean sighed and pulled the car onto the side of the empty highway.
The Impala rolled to a stop beneath a flickering road sign.
He leaned closer.
The page showed a detailed drawing of a revolver.
Under it, a sentence written in messy handwriting.
The Colt. One of the few weapons capable of killing nearly anything supernatural.
Dean's expression changed.
Ben read the next line.
"Six bullets were made."
Dean crossed his arms.
"Yeah. Were."
Ben kept reading.
Then suddenly froze.
"…but the ritual to forge them still exists."
Silence filled the car.
Dean slowly looked at him.
Ben slowly looked back.
Then Dean said the only thing that made sense.
"Well…"
He started the engine again.
The Impala roared back to life.
"…guess we're making bullets."
Ben blinked.
"That's your plan?"
Dean pulled the car back onto the road.
"You got a better one?"
Ben flipped the page again.
More notes.
More warnings.
And one final line written at the bottom.
Older.
Different handwriting.
Ben read it quietly.
Then frowned.
"Dean…"
Dean didn't look away from the road.
"What?"
Ben swallowed.
"It says something escaped the Gate of Ash before it closed."
The Impala drove deeper into the night.
Dean's expression hardened.
"Yeah."
He tightened his grip on the wheel.
"I figured."
Far away…
Something moved in the darkness.
And it was hunting too.