"Couldn't get to it. The whole thing -- it was located in the middle of a devil's trap. Made out of iron and steel..."
He shakes his head, and for a moment both wonder and admiration are visible in his eyes.
"It was the railroad. Over a hundred years ago, the way they laid the railroad lines -- they used the tracks to make the seal. And that fucker couldn't cross it."
"Samuel Colt," Sam tells him. "And you're right -- the guy was a genius." Something tightens in his jaw, just for a moment, as he says, "Dad told us about him."
Beat.
"Colt made a gun, too. A special gun, unlike any other, with thirteen bullets along with it. The way the story goes, he made it for a particular hunter back in 1835, when Halley's Comet was overhead -- and they say it can be used to kill anything."
Another beat.
"He linked the gun to the gate; even if something got through the trap, it couldn't open the gate unless they got through the lock he set on it. And the gun was the key."
"And somehow Yellow-Eyes got his hands on it. And then he needed someone to carry it across the border of the devil's trap and use it to open the gate."
Sam's staring determinedly at the floor still, at a point somewhere near Andrew's foot.
"He'd been kidnapping us, the special kids, in groups of four or five at a time, and dropping them in this abandoned town. Cold Oak. It's like the most haunted, evil place there is."
A beat.
"I was in the last group. Me, and a girl named Lily, a guy named Jake Talley, another guy named Andy Gallagher -- I knew him from before, actually..."
He shakes his head, and for a moment both wonder and admiration are visible in his eyes.
"It was the railroad. Over a hundred years ago, the way they laid the railroad lines -- they used the tracks to make the seal. And that fucker couldn't cross it."
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Andrew's eyes widen, and he pushes a handful of hair up off his forehead; the admiration in Sam's eyes is echoed and redoubled in his own.
"That," he breathes, "that's frelling genius. Who did that?"
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Beat.
"Colt made a gun, too. A special gun, unlike any other, with thirteen bullets along with it. The way the story goes, he made it for a particular hunter back in 1835, when Halley's Comet was overhead -- and they say it can be used to kill anything."
Another beat.
"He linked the gun to the gate; even if something got through the trap, it couldn't open the gate unless they got through the lock he set on it. And the gun was the key."
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Guns aren't generally useful against supernatural creatures in his world, but a gun that would kill anything ...
"So Yellow-Eyes would've needed the gun, too," he says tentatively, after a moment.
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Sam glances down and away.
"It ... disappeared. When Dad died."
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"Oh."
A beat. His face goes sober again.
"And somehow Yellow-Eyes got his hands on it. And then he needed someone to carry it across the border of the devil's trap and use it to open the gate."
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Sam's staring determinedly at the floor still, at a point somewhere near Andrew's foot.
"He'd been kidnapping us, the special kids, in groups of four or five at a time, and dropping them in this abandoned town. Cold Oak. It's like the most haunted, evil place there is."
A beat.
"I was in the last group. Me, and a girl named Lily, a guy named Jake Talley, another guy named Andy Gallagher -- I knew him from before, actually..."
Sam looks up, finally, and meets Andrew's eyes.
"And Ava. She was there too."
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Andrew stares, his face going pale.
"Oh my god. Is she --"
(he said Sam knew what I did)
"-- is she okay? Did she come back with you?"
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Sam shakes his head, slowly.
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Andrew tries to swallow, but there's suddenly no moisture at all in his mouth and throat.
He leans forward, reaches out to grip Sam's wrist.
"Sam, tell me she's okay. Tell me she's not --"
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"She's dead, Andrew. I couldn't save her. I'm sorry."
It burns like acid in his throat, all the more because it's true.
Sam takes a breath and adds, steadily,
"There's more. And you're not gonna like it, but I need you to hear me out."
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His hand draws back from Sam's wrist at the word dead, fingers curling inward; it hangs there for a moment in midair, helplessly.
"I," he says, and "I just," and he has to stop and press his knuckles to his mouth.
And says around them, very low, very fast, "Give me a minute?"
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Quietly said.
("Jess! Jess, no!")
"Of course."
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There's a lot of things he meant to say.
(because I think maybe I --)
It's always too soon until all of a sudden it's too late.
Eventually he lowers his hand, and raises his head to look at Sam again.
"Okay." His throat feels thick; he tries to clear it. "Okay. Go on."
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"I think I know the real reason she didn't want you to tell me she was here."
"Maybe you'd think she'd got me fooled, is all."
"I think she didn't want me to know what she was doing. Until it was too late."
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Blankly: "What?"
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