Sam got back up and went to his bag, pulling out the wrapped cloth that had the guns in it, as well as the bullets.
"If we're hunting werewolves, there is only one thing that can stop them: silver bullet to the heart."
He tossed the box of bullets to Michael, then sat on the edge of the mattress beside him, the bundle in his lap.
"You've become a good hunter, son. I'm proud of you and what you've done these last few years, and I know you're going to get even better as time goes on. The one thing a hunter relies on beyond his head, though, is a good weapon on his hip."
He held the bundle out to his son. "These belonged to your uncle Dean... and I want you to have them now. They're good pistols, and I know you'll take good care of them, and they'll take care of you."
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Sam got back up and went to his bag, pulling out the wrapped cloth that had the guns in it, as well as the bullets.
"If we're hunting werewolves, there is only one thing that can stop them: silver bullet to the heart."
He tossed the box of bullets to Michael, then sat on the edge of the mattress beside him, the bundle in his lap.
"You've become a good hunter, son. I'm proud of you and what you've done these last few years, and I know you're going to get even better as time goes on. The one thing a hunter relies on beyond his head, though, is a good weapon on his hip."
He held the bundle out to his son. "These belonged to your uncle Dean... and I want you to have them now. They're good pistols, and I know you'll take good care of them, and they'll take care of you."