A/N: Okay, I worked hard on this one!! Had this in mind since I saw the re-make of The Hitcher the day after it came out, and I just had to let it out. It had been rotting long enough in there!! I hope I did John Ryder justice, in the film you could sort of feel for him in some ways. At the very beginning at least, LOL!! In here you feel nothing but pure hatred for the man, and I give a very small look into what started his killings. (it seems a little comical when you read it, but hey...) This is a crossover of Supernatural/Hitcher (the original, forgot to mention that right?? hehe)...which makes it all the more exciting. It takes place shortly after 'Playthings', so there will be spoilers for that eppy and past shows. Beware, you have been warned!! There will be severe angst, drama, and suspense. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural (Kripke is King!) nor do I own the Hitcher (That belongs to another Eric, and he should be commended for making a killer movie, sorry for the pun!) The plot is mine, save for one small idea I borrowed from "Where Angels Fall" By Faye Dartmouth. Hope that wasn't wrong. Don't come after me or anything!!
Dean tossed the Big Mac and salad into the back seat. It had been weeks since they had a job, and they had been reduced to playing poker and watching scrambled porn on a cracked 19 inch television set. He was about ready to break, needed something constructive to do, getting out of the motel room to get Sammy his goddamned salad was just not enough. Secretly he prayed he would choke on a radish. The too close quarters were getting to him, giving him cabin fever. Normally, seeing his brother day in and day out was not a problem, but lately he was becoming a whiney, sniveling baby.
After Sam's little drunken escapade, things had been strained between the two of them, so much so that when Dean would try to talk to him, he would glare heavily and pretend to do research on his laptop. Dean wished that Sam hadn't made him promise him that . . . promise to kill his baby brother. It was just too much weight for him to carry, on top of every thing else he had to deal with. "Damn you dad you son of a bitch. You had to make me deal my brother the death card, whether I wanted to or not." He opened his window and spit into the rain, the taste of the words gritty and salty on his tongue. It was blasphemous to speak ill of the dead, he knew that, but . . .
As he looked out the window, he noticed someone up ahead. He was wearing a long black duster, dark jeans, and a plaid shirt. His medium length blonde hair was partially stuck to the left side of his face. He had his thumb out, and looked eager for someone to give him a lift. Dean swallowed, not sure what he should do. He was used to dealing with daemons and vampires and ghosts, but humans were way off his radar. Socially he was a bit distant, zero for . . . whatever the hell he was, and always put up a facade which no one could see through, except Sammy. Squinting hard, he gripped the steering wheel. This was not the best weather for this, but as long as the guy did not have to go far, it would be okay. Pulling from the McDonald's lot, he sighed, hoping to God he wasn't making a huge mistake.
John smiled as he saw the Chevy inch its way out of the fast food joint. He could tell by the careful way the driver edged his way toward him, he was unsure of what he was doing. It was obviously his first time picking up some strange guy on the side of the road, and this made John smile even wider. He lifted his bag over his shoulder, and waited. This would be a hell of a ride. The kid had no idea what he was getting himself in to. He just hoped he was worth the trip.
Dean slowed down beside the man, and it was evident that he was soaked to his very marrow. The man looked to be in his early forties, and looked, as his dad would have put it: "Rode hard and put away wet." Dean could tell this man had been through something recently, but what was not obvious at this point and time. The man leaned into Dean's view and knocked on the window, making him jump. Dean unlocked the door and the man took a seat beside him. He had a large satchel with him, and instead of just tossing it into the back, he set it at his feet. Dean eyed this suspiciously, but said nothing. The man lowered his collar, then thrust his hand toward Dean.
"I hope my sudden intrusion isn't a burden on your journey or anything." He smiled lightly, and Dean had to smile back. His first thoughts of this guy were wiped away, and he took the guy's hand. It was rough like leather. Callouses from years of hard work Dean assumed.
"The name's John, John Ryder. Been walking for a while now, the weather just sort of snuck up on me." He chuckled, then watched Dean closely. He laughed with him, feeling semi-safe with this man, but not sure why.
"I'm Dean Winchester. Yeah it did come out of nowhere." He let go of John's hand and leaned on the steering wheel, steeling a glance at the bag on the passenger side floor. John caught this and sort of half laughed.
"The bag? Oh that's just my most important property is all. Nothing to worry about son."
He patted the bag, then leaned back. Dean nodded in acknowledgment. He was well aware of private stashes and things. If this guy saw the shit he was carrying in the trunk, he'd probably flip his wig.
"So where ya headed?" Dean turned back to the windshield. The rain came down like cats and dogs now, blocking his view of the highway. John sighed, flapping his coat, sending small drops of wetness in Dean's direction. Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye. John was looking in his coat for something, then finding it, he patted the spot vehemently.
"I need to only go so far up the road here. I'll tell you when we get there." Then he closed his eyes and shifted in his seat. He was asleep in a matter of seconds. Dean watched him a moment more, then drove forward, unsure of how a sleeping man could possibly tell him anything, but he ignored it.