Chapter 1: aftermath
Ruby arrived in Wyoming at dawn, her mind racing with questions. She had felt the surge from miles away—a pulse of darkness cutting through the air like a knife. Her charms and wards, scattered in hidden places across the country, had blazed to life all at once, sensing an eruption of demonic energy unlike anything she’d ever felt. It was as if Hell itself had broken loose.
As she crested a small hill, her eyes fell on the Devil’s Gate in the valley below. It was quiet now, but the unnatural chill in the air told her everything she needed to know.
Keeping her pace quick and steady, she moved toward the tracks that ran parallel to the gate. As she approached, she paused, staring down at the old railway that bordered it, laid out in the shape of a devil’s trap. She crouched, running her hand over the rail, her fingers pausing when she reached a rough break in the iron—a sharp split, cutting through what was once a flawless trap.
“Damn it,” she muttered, eyes narrowing. Her mother had warned her about places like this—ancient seals that kept the worst of Hell’s creations contained. Ruby had grown up hearing horror stories of what would happen if one were ever breached. She could practically hear her mother’s voice now, warning her to stay far away from these places.
With a sigh, she straightened, looking over the track with a mixture of frustration and worry. She pulled a small notebook from her pocket, scribbling a note to come back and repair the devil’s trap later, once she had the right supplies. The last thing they needed was a broken line of defense.
Steeling herself, she moved on, skirting the broken railway as she approached the gate itself.
Ruby’s footsteps slowed as she neared the base of the Devil’s Gate, her eyes narrowing at the sight of two bodies sprawled on the ground. The Devil’s Gate loomed just behind them—a massive, ornate structure of iron and stone, embedded with symbols and etched with the marks of centuries-old magic. The heavy doors were locked tight now, but the surrounding ground was scorched, the air thick with a faint smell of sulfur and ash.
Her mother’s notes on the Devil’s Gate had been thorough, but they hadn’t prepared her for the reality of standing before it, seeing the aftermath of what must have been a struggle to close it. She wondered who had managed to pull off such a feat. This kind of power wasn’t something most hunters could handle. Whoever they were, she owed them her thanks.
Her stomach twisted as she moved closer, her instincts prickling.
The first body lay close to the gate—a young man, his clothes streaked with blood, his shirt punctured by multiple gunshot wounds. Ruby crouched down, examining the bloodstains that trailed across the ground where he’d fallen. Despite the violence of his wounds, his face was eerily calm, as though he’d died without ever understanding the forces he’d unleashed.
Ruby reached into her bag and withdrew a small amulet that flared to life in her hand, glowing softly—a ward she used to detect the presence of demonic energy. Even though the body was dead, the amulet pulsed, flaring like an alarm as she moved it over him.
She pulled back instinctively, heart pounding as she held the ward aloft, watching its light brighten with each pass. Her eyes flickered to the body, her mind racing. No demon was nearby; she’d made certain of that before approaching. And yet… something in him was still triggering the ward.
She leaned in, taking a closer look. His blood—dark, thick, and clinging to his skin—seemed to be the source of it. Human blood tainted by demonic energy , she thought, horror pooling in her gut. She’d heard of humans twisted by demonic influence before… It disturbed her more than she could admit. Her mother had once warned her of such possibilities: humans who, through dark rituals, could have their very essence corrupted by demons. But to see it firsthand…
Ruby swallowed hard, her gaze sharpening as she considered her options. The man was dead, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small charm—a binding ward. She muttered a quick incantation, pressing the charm onto the corpse’s chest, feeling it hum with a low, protective energy as it anchored itself in place.
“That should keep you put,” she muttered, barely concealing the unease in her voice. She’d burn the body later, just to be safe.
Ruby straightened, moving to the Gate. She pressed her hand against the iron doors, feeling the cold under her fingertips. She could still feel the lingering dark energy—powerful forces had passed through here, twisted those doors apart, allowing Hell’s darkness to flood through.
Ruby shivered. She could only imagine the kinds of things that had come through it…
But someone had closed it. Someone had been here and forced it shut again. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, murmuring a quiet, almost reverent, “Thank God.”
If this gate had stayed open… she didn’t want to think about the consequences. The surge of demons roaming freely now was bad enough, but this? This would have been Hell unleashed on Earth.
She walked around the gate, moving to the second body, which lay further from the gate and sprawled out on the dirt like some forgotten ragdoll. This one was easier to understand at first glance—everything pointed to demonic possession.
She knelt beside him, carefully studying the body. Her fingers traced over the wound on his chest, a neat, perfect hole. It didn’t take long for her to recognize what had killed him.
A bullet. One precise shot, delivered with a force that had expelled the demon from this world completely. Ruby felt a jolt of recognition, her mind flashing to old tales her mother used to tell—the legendary Colt, a weapon forged by Samuel Colt himself, one that could kill anything, demon or otherwise. But it had always been just that—a legend, a myth that had tantalized hunters for centuries, whispered about in stories but never confirmed.
Ruby shook her head, brushing a strand of hair back. “The Colt?” she muttered, half to herself. The absurdity of the idea made her laugh, but her gaze remained steady on the body, her mind grappling with the implications. She’d never seen evidence of it, never even considered it might truly exist. Her mother had searched for it endlessly, to no avail. Yet here was undeniable proof: a demon killed by something that had gone beyond exorcism, that had severed its connection to this world entirely.
Her pulse quickened, both in excitement and fear. If the Colt was real, if someone had it… that would explain how the gate had been closed. But that meant there was someone out there who had enough power and knowledge to have not only opened the Devil’s Gate but closed it, armed with the one weapon that might stand a chance against Hell’s most powerful forces.
Ruby rose slowly, her mind reeling with this new revelation. The Devil’s Gate, the tainted blood of a human twisted by demons, a legendary weapon that had always been out of reach—all of it pointed to forces far beyond anything she’d dealt with before.
A cold breeze swept through, and she wrapped her coat tighter around herself, glancing back down at her notes. Whoever had been here had saved the world from catastrophe, but they’d also left her with a mess that was spiraling out of control. Closing the gate hadn’t stopped the flood entirely; demons had still managed to escape, slipping through before it had been sealed again. The town nearby would be teeming with them. She could sense them out there now, waiting, lurking in the shadows.
Giving one last glance to the bodies, she pressed her lips into a thin line. She’d come back to burn them, but first, she had to start hunting. For now, she was on her own, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in for something far bigger than any hunt she’d taken on before.
With one last look at the Devil’s Gate, Ruby turned and began the trek back toward town, readying herself to confront whatever darkness awaited her.
+ + +
The door to the motel room swung open, and Sam stormed in, his jaw set and hands clenched at his sides, every line of his body radiating tension. Dean followed a few paces behind, his face still smeared with dirt and blood, a smirk on his face that Sam found infuriating.
“Hell of a fight, huh?” Dean said, letting the door click shut behind him. He tossed his duffel bag on the bed and wiped his face with the back of his hand, inspecting the blood on his knuckles with a strange satisfaction.
Sam’s gaze sharpened, watching Dean with a glare. “Are you kidding me right now? We barely made it out of there. You barely made it out of there.”
Dean shrugged, brushing off Sam’s concern with a laugh. “What can I say? I saw an opening, and I took it.”
“An opening?” Sam threw his hands up, disbelief coloring his voice. “Dean, that was reckless! There were five of them! And you went in alone without backup! Just because you’ve got a year doesn’t mean you can’t die before then.”
Dean’s smirk faded, replaced by a hint of irritation. “Relax, Sam. I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, barely .” Sam shook his head, his expression dark. “You keep acting like this deal gives you some kind of immunity. Like it’s a free pass to act like nothing can touch you. Well, guess what? You’re not invincible, Dean! That deal’s no guarantee of anything except a one-way ticket to Hell.”
Dean’s face hardened, his jaw clenched. “Look, I get it, alright? I know exactly where I’m going and when. So, yeah, maybe I’m gonna take some risks. Maybe I’m gonna go down swinging, doing something useful, instead of sitting around waiting for Hell to come knocking.”
Sam took a step forward, his voice dropping. “That’s not ‘going down swinging,’ Dean—that’s you throwing yourself into the fire because you’re too scared to admit you’re scared.”
Dean’s mouth opened, a retort ready to fire, but the words died on his lips. He looked away, his hand clenching by his side, knuckles whitening. “I’m not scared,” he muttered, but his tone lacked conviction.
“Yeah, well, you’re sure as hell acting like it,” Sam pressed, his tone softer but laced with frustration. “You’re acting like you’ve already lost, like it doesn’t matter what happens between now and then. Making sure you’re out first so I don’t have to watch you… go.”
Dean looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. “You think this is about you?”
“I think this is about you ,” Sam shot back.
Dean’s face tightened, his mask slipping, just for a second. He took a breath, turning his gaze to the floor. “This deal… it’s done, Sam. This is my life now. Just gotta live it how I can. You don’t have to like it, but you gotta deal with it.”
Sam shook his head, anger flashing in his eyes. “No, I don’t ! You made a deal to bring me back, and now you’re leaving me to pick up the pieces, fighting for you when you won’t even fight for yourself.”
Dean looked at him, really looked at him, and the frustration in Sam’s expression seemed to crack something in him. For a moment, he looked tired, the weight of the deal heavy on his shoulders. He took a step back, hands falling to his sides, his posture loosening just a bit.
“Sammy,” he began, voice lower, almost pleading. “It’s not that simple. I don’t want you wasting this year, wrecking yourself trying to find some magic loophole that isn’t there. I did this to save you, so you could live, alright?”
“Then let me live,” Sam replied, his tone steady but intense. “And let me try. I’m going to keep looking, whether you want to or not. But you’ve got to stop acting like your life doesn’t matter.”
Dean’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. He turned away, his hands running over his face, hiding the small, vulnerable look that passed over him, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll see.”
“No, we won’t see ,” Sam hissed, his voice sharp, cutting through the thick silence. He took a step closer, his gaze burning as he glared at Dean. “Because it fucking matters to me.”
Dean looked up, caught off guard by the intensity in Sam’s voice. For a moment, he seemed ready to brush it off, to throw up one of his usual defenses, but Sam’s words held him there, freezing him in place.
“You think I’m just going to sit back and watch you kill yourself?” Sam went on, his voice shaking with anger and something deeper—fear.
Dean swallowed hard, his mouth opening to respond, but nothing came out. He could see the raw desperation in Sam’s eyes, the rage simmering beneath the surface, and it threw him off balance. Dean’s gaze fell, his expression softening as he looked down, unable to meet Sam’s intense stare. The weight of his brother’s words settled heavily on him. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.
“Sammy…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…” His voice trailed off, thick with unspoken fears, the ones he’d been hiding behind his carefree front.
“Every other time, you’ve fought, Dean. You fought when Dad died, you fought through everything we’ve gone through. When you got electrocuted and we thought you were gonna die, you fought . But now… now you’re just throwing yourself at anything that might get you killed sooner, acting like you’re already gone. I don’t get it. I don’t get why this is any different.”
Dean ran a hand over his face, his shoulders tense, trying to hide the cracks in his defenses. “Sammy, it’s not the same. This isn’t just some… some freak accident or messed-up hunt. This is Hell. I’m done. There’s no cure, no magic bullet, nothing you or I can do that’s gonna stop it.”
“Just because demons and Hell exist doesn’t mean everything else stopped existing, Dean,” Sam went on, his voice thick with anger and a deeper, painful kind of concern.
Dean’s jaw clenched, his gaze skittering to the side, something vulnerable flashing across his face for just a second before he forced it down. “Sam… I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice rough. “It’s like there’s this… this countdown in the back of my mind, and I’m supposed to just pretend like I’m not terrified?”
“You don’t have to pretend,” Sam said, his voice tight, his expression lined with hurt and frustration. “And you don’t have to treat me like a stranger, Dean—like I haven’t seen you sad and scared and...”
Dean looked away, his face tightening, but Sam stepped closer, not giving him an inch to retreat.
“Who the hell is this whole show for?” Sam demanded, his eyes blazing. “You're acting like some hero who doesn’t feel anything— give me a break. ” Sam chuckled bitterly. “You used to make fun of people like that.”
Dean clenched his jaw, swallowing hard as he struggled to keep his composure. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, his voice almost a whisper. “I just… I’m used to dealing with things alone.”
Dean’s words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and Sam felt them sink deep, like a wound he hadn’t seen coming.
Sam’s throat tightened, his chest burning as he tried to steady his breath. The years they’d spent side by side, through hunts, nightmares, hospital rooms, and back roads, flashed through his mind. They’d always been together, always had each other’s backs. And hearing Dean say those words, like their bond was something he could just switch off, like being alone was something he’d learned to rely on more than he’d ever relied on Sam—it cut deeper than any blade.
Dean noticed Sam’s expression change, his guarded stance giving way to something raw, something that made Sam’s voice shake as he finally spoke. “You’re used to being alone?” Sam asked, a hitch in his voice he couldn’t quite hold back.
Dean’s face softened, but he didn’t answer. He just looked at Sam, his own defenses starting to crack, yet unsure how to respond.
Sam took a shaky breath, struggling to keep his composure. “We’ve been together our whole lives. I looked up to you, I trusted you with everything , and no matter what happened, you were always there. And I thought… I thought I was there for you, too.”
He looked down, blinking hard against the tears threatening to spill. “What… what am I then? Wasn’t I there?”
Dean’s face fell, a flicker of regret crossing his features as he took a step forward. “Sammy… that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean—” He broke off, searching for words as he watched Sam struggle to hold himself together.
“That's what you said,” Sam said, his voice quiet, raw. “Apparently, you don’t see me standing here.”
The silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by Sam’s shaky breaths as he fought to stay steady. Dean’s expression softened, guilt and understanding mingling in his gaze.
“I do see you,” Dean said softly, his voice breaking under the weight of his words. He looked up, his face raw and exposed, years of unspoken feelings swimming in his eyes. “I did this for you , Sammy. How can you say I don’t see or care about you?”
Sam felt his own walls crack, but he forced himself to hold Dean’s gaze, his expression hardened with frustration and hurt. “It’s hard to believe that when you won’t even listen to me.”
The words felt harsh, hypocritical, even, after everything Dean had done to bring him back. But Sam couldn’t hold them back. He knew Dean had sacrificed everything for him, and he loved him for it. But watching Dean throw himself away, seeing him shut down and act like it didn’t matter whether he lived or died—it made Sam feel like he was losing him right now, not a year from now, piece by piece.
Dean’s eyes fell, his jaw tightening, but Sam could tell the words had struck a nerve. For a long moment, Dean just stood there, staring at the ground, a million emotions crossing his face. Sam waited, watching him, almost holding his breath.
Then, finally, Dean spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “It wasn’t just for you,” he admitted, a tremor in his words. There was another reason. One that he didn’t want to admit, not to Sam or himself…
Sam’s brow furrowed as he took in Dean’s expression—something hollow, ashamed, in the way his brother looked away. Dean’s voice shook as he continued, his tone edged with guilt.
“I didn’t just make the deal to save you,” he said, his voice thick. “I… I couldn’t stand the thought of being here without you… I was scared, Sam…”
Sam’s breath caught, the full weight of Dean’s confession settling over him. He’d always known his brother’s love for him ran deep, but hearing it spoken out loud like this, the vulnerability laid bare, stripped away any anger he still held. All he could see was Dean—his stubborn, self-sacrificing brother, whose worst fear was being left behind, stranded in a world without his family.
“Dean…” Sam started, his voice soft, but Dean held up a hand, stopping him.
“I didn’t want to admit that,” Dean said, a tear slipping down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away, clearing his throat. “You think I don’t see you, don’t listen to you, but Sam, I’m trying. I don’t know how to do this without trying to make sure you’re safe. Without making sure I…”
Sam’s anger faded, replaced by something gentler, understanding. He reached out, gripping Dean’s shoulder. “You already saved me, Dean. And now—throwing yourself at every fight like you’re not afraid of anything—it’s not gonna help either of us.”
Dean looked at him, his expression softening, a glimmer of regret in his eyes. “I don’t know how else to do this,” he admitted. “I’m used to putting myself in the way to keep you safe…”
Sam nodded, a sad smile pulling at his lips. “I get that. But you don’t have to carry all of it, Dean. We’re in this together, alright? No more trying to go it alone. We both stick around. And… I’m here, too. I’m not going anywhere.”
Dean took a steadying breath, his shoulders easing as Sam’s words sunk in, his brother’s presence grounding him. He nodded slowly, meeting Sam’s eyes with a tentative, vulnerable look, one he rarely allowed himself to show.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Together.”
And for the first time since making the deal, Dean felt something close to hope.