A knock came at the door, and all four of them looked up at once—Dean's hand moving first, gun already out and held low but ready; Bobby didn't get visitors, not the kind that knocked.
Bobby stepped toward the door, slow and careful, and leaned just enough to look through the peephole.
He paused.
His expression shifted—something between confusion and disbelief.
He glanced back at the others, then unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Ellen stood there.
Bobby stared at her for a second. "Ellen… you're alive?"
Dean pushed off the table, surprise clear on his face. "We thought you went down with the Roadhouse."
Ellen gave him a look, already stepping inside like she owned the place. "Yeah, well, I'm tougher than I look," she said, brushing past Bobby. "Now move, I need a drink before I start explaining anything."
She walked straight in, scanning the room, eyes landing on Dean and Sam.
"Good," she said, nodding once. "Looks like you found your brother. About time."
Then her gaze flicked briefly to Henry, taking him in without comment.
Bobby didn't relax.
As soon as the door shut, he reached for the flask on the table, unscrewed it, and turned back toward her.
Ellen noticed the movement immediately.
"Oh, come on, Bobby," she said, already annoyed. "Really?"
"Humor me," Bobby replied, stepping closer, holding the holy water ready.
Ellen sighed, then stood still. "Fine. Get it over with."
Bobby flicked a small splash toward her.
Nothing happened.
Ellen wiped her sleeve where a few drops hit, unimpressed. "Happy now?"
Bobby studied her for a second longer, then lowered the flask.
"Alright," Bobby said, lowering the flask. "Start talking."
Ellen let out a breath and rubbed her face. "I need a beer first," she said. "After everything that happened, I'm not doing this dry."
Bobby didn't argue. He grabbed one and handed it over. Ellen took a long drink, then sat down properly, shoulders easing a little.
Dean didn't wait long. "What happened at the Roadhouse?" he asked. "We saw what was left of it."
Ellen's expression shifted, the humor fading. "I wasn't there when it went up,"
"I'd gone out for supplies. Ash called me—told me to check the safe."
Bobby frowned. "Safe? What for?"
"He didn't say," Ellen replied, taking another sip before setting the bottle down. "Just said it mattered."
Bobby leaned forward, not wasting time. "So… did you get what was in the safe?"
Ellen nodded and reached into her jacket. "Yeah, I got it."
She pulled out a folded map and placed it on the table, opening it in one smooth motion—Wyoming.
Bobby's gaze fixed on it, posture tightening as the pieces clicked into place, and in the silence that followed, all four of them understood the same thing at once: whatever was in Wyoming—the demons wanted it.
After about an hour, the map didn't look the same anymore. Bobby had gone over every mark, cross-checking locations, then started connecting them with careful lines.
"These points," he said, tapping one of them with his pen, "they're all the same kind of place. Abandoned frontier churches."
Dean leaned over the table, studying it. "Churches?"
"Built by one man," Bobby added. "Samuel Colt."
Dean straightened slightly, the name clicking. "You mean the same Samuel Colt who made the gun?"
Bobby nodded once. "Yeah. Same one."
He continued drawing, linking each location with straight lines, following old routes that weren't obvious at first glance. When he finished, he set the pen down and stepped back just enough for all of them to see the full shape.
Dean looked at it, then exhaled. "That's a devil's trap," he said, more certain now. "And not a small one."
Bobby tapped along the lines. "Old private railway tracks. Iron rails connecting each church. Demons can't cross iron, not without serious effort."
Sam moved closer, his attention shifting toward the center of the pattern. "What's in the middle?"
Bobby pointed at the marked spot. "Old cowboy cemetery. Been there a long time."
Sam frowned, thinking it through. "So Colt built all of this to protect whatever's there."
Dean shook his head slightly, still looking at the layout. "Or to keep something locked in."
That idea stayed in the air longer.
Sam looked back at Bobby, more focused now. "Can demons get inside something like this?"
Bobby didn't hesitate. "Not full-blood demons. The trap holds them out."
Sam nodded slowly as it came together, his eyes still on the map. "That's why," he said, voice steady but tight. "That's why they needed the special kids. The demon can get anywhere in that area, but he can't cross into the trap. So he uses someone who can."
Dean's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt this time. He just watched Sam, reading the parts that weren't being said.
Henry leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "But that plan's done, right?" he said. "You said all the other special kids are dead. That leaves just you."
Bobby shook his head, not fully convinced. "We can't assume that," he said, tapping the map once. "We don't know how many there were to begin with. It's not like anyone had a list. Could be more out there we never saw."
That hung there for a moment.
Henry didn't say what crossed his mind. In the version of events he knew, most of them were already gone—but this wasn't something he could treat like a script anymore. Things had already shifted once.
'Azazel's not sloppy,' he thought, eyes lowering briefly. 'He doesn't build something like this and leave gaps. If one path closes, he'll find another.'
The Colt was still out there with him.
That was the real problem.
As long as Azazel had it, the Devil's Gate wasn't just a theory—it was a countdown.
Henry exhaled quietly, his expression settling into something more focused.
'First chance I get… I'm taking that gun off him,' he thought. 'End him before he gets anywhere near that gate.'
*****
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