The great irony of Sam being a time traveler was that time no longer held any meaning to him. Days, months, years, it was all a blur. He had no idea how long he'd been leaping or to what end anymore. None, he supposed. Before, he had some hope that eventually there was a finish line, and the prize would be finally leaping home. But now that there was no possibility of that happening, now that he'd come to terms with the fact that he had no home now, he felt…aimless.
Of course he loved helping people. It was immensely rewarding to know that because of him, history had changed for the better. Or it would be, if he knew that it had. He no longer had any connection to the future, no one to tell him what there was to fix and what new history he'd created. For all he knew, he'd been failing every leap. He had only his intuition to guide him, and oh how wrong he'd been before. He didn't know what he was working towards, or who he was as this new Sam Beckett...without a tether to hold him.
Oh, Al. He missed the sound of a gravelly voice behind him. He missed the sight of cigar smoke and hearing lewd stories, the flashy outfits that gave him headaches. The corny jokes when he was feeling at his lousiest, the firm orders when he was putting his head up his you-know-what again. He missed a friendly connection to sanity, a reassurance that he was real and waited for and loved. His only constant, gone.
The last moments with Donna played on a loop in his mind. The look of anguish, then acceptance. Although she hadn't been aware of his intentions when he'd asked for her, it seemed she knew this was inevitable. After all, she'd never been able to hold onto him. And Sam, having done her a great wrong, was finally putting things right. It was better this way, he told himself.
Strange that he didn't miss her. He didn't remember enough to miss her, and that had been part of the problem all along.
He had to let them go. Leave his life behind. It was the right thing to do, and he always did the right thing in the end, or so he told himself. And his wounded heart bled and gaped in a way that would never quite heal.
How much time he'd spent leaping on his own now, he couldn't recall. He knew his hair had gotten long, if that was some measure. He hadn't felt the need to upkeep his own appearance; he was always hidden anyway. Not only had he lost track of time, he'd stopped counting near-misses and almost ends. Leaping unaided was precarious and wildly unpredictable, and he was surviving at best. And barely so on the last leap, he remembered, he'd fumbled so badly. What his matter of death would have been escaped him, but he could still taste the frigid panic of finality, the crushing feeling that this was his last day on earth. Alone.
He wasn't sure how long he could keep doing this. He wasn't sure how long he wanted to keep doing this.
But he pressed on. It was the right thing to do.
The blue haze dissolved, and Sam found himself behind the wheel and driving down a winding mountain road. And before he even had time to blink, the vehicle was about to crash into a railing! With a panicked shriek, he veered the car away, the squealing tires tracing his path before screeching to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road.
"Oh boy…" he breathed.
The calm was short lived, however, because that's when he saw a car racing toward his crookedly parked vehicle. He held his breath and shut his eyes, but only heard an angry horn blare into the distance. He was afraid to look out again. Another near-miss to add to his list.
"Hey!" a youthful voice yelled from behind, and he nearly leaped out of his seat. His nerves were shot. A blonde boy of about 9 or 10, in a striped shirt and baseball cap, emerged angrily from the back of...the RV? He was driving an RV. An old RV, with wood paneling. "What's going on up here?" the agitated boy asked, "I thought you said you could drive?"
"I did?" Sam questioned, then stuttered, "I-I mean, I did. I can. Drive."
"You can be such a dillweed sometimes!" the boy tutted and smacked him with a map, flopping down into the passenger's side.
Who was this, his son? Who let a kid talk to them like that? The boy seemed very much in charge. Sam was starting to feel like he'd leaped into an extremely dysfunctional relationship.
"Sorry," Sam muttered sheepishly, ducking his head. He eyed the desert terrain outside. "There was, uh…a tumbleweed."
Map unravelled on his lap, the boy seemed to accept this explanation without question. He traced a path with his finger. "Let's see, there's a town about 10 miles down the road where we can eat something…and that leaves 2,456 miles to the Grand Canyon!" He looked up with a big, buck-toothed grin, hitting Sam playfully with his hat.
Oh boy. Only 2,456 miles. Sam forced a smile and nodded.
"What're you waiting for, Buck?" the boy asked, eyes motioning toward the road, "You wanna get caught? The fuzz spots us driving around and we're dead!"
"The police?" Sam translated with concern.
The kid looked at him like he was crazy. "Just drive, dummy!"
With a slight rise in urgency, Sam put the RV back into gear and started down the road. Just who had he leaped into this time? A criminal? Was he on the run? Did he kidnap this child? He couldn't be his son; he'd called him by his first name. Buck? Careful to avoid any more near accidents, he stole a glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
He was just a kid himself. No more than a few years older than the boy next to him, with shaggy blonde hair and similarly long teeth, and definitely not old enough to be driving.
Sam gulped.
Step 1 to leaping without a net: find out who he was. His name was Buck, Buck what to be determined, and a 12-year-old didn't keep a wallet handy. He had yet to find a name for his companion either, or determine what their relationship was. Brother maybe? They looked similar enough. That led to step 2: when. While sidling into a crummy diner, Sam peered inconspicuously at someone's newspaper. The date read July 20, 1975, which confirmed his suspicions after viewing patrons' outfits and listening to the music over the speakers. Which brought him to step 3: why. That was always, always the trickiest one. But he was willing to bet this road trip had something to do with his mission.
Two little boys had no business driving over 2,000 miles alone. Whoever Buck and this other child were, they were in trouble. Someone had to be looking for them, and if Sam was here…they were probably never found.
Picking noncommittally at his potatoes with his fork, Sam tried to bring it up casually into conversation. He shrugged and grinned playfully. "So, remind me why we're going to the Grand Canyon again?"
"You're hilarious," the kid said sarcastically, dipping his head down. He stuffed his sandwich into his face.
"What I mean is…I'm not quite sure we're ready to go to the Grand Canyon alone. Maybe we should go back home?" The boy raised a confused eyebrow as he chewed. Sam waited for a response.
The kid swallowed, and a dark shadow fell over him. "You know what Dad would do. Why would you even say that?" Then, leaning onto the table, "Hey, are you chickening out?"
So they were brothers, and there was some problem at home. Maybe they'd had a fight with their father and run away? Children often acted impulsively. As Sam was thinking of some way to dig deeper, they were interrupted by a man stopping at the table and they froze. Food hung forgotten off of their utensils.
It was a policeman, a heavyset black man with a beard. With a polite tip of his hat, he greeted them, "Hi there, boys."
Sam was the first to speak. "Hello, officer." Should he say anything? It might be that he could help them get back home.
"Enjoying your lunch?"
Joey nodded and ducked his head. Sam kept quiet for now.
"My name's Greg. What's yours?"
"J-Joey…" the boy answered nervously. At last, a name.
The officer looked toward Sam, and he realized he was waiting for him. "Buck," he quickly provided.
"Well, Joey and Buck, where are your parents? I noticed you've been sitting alone for a while."
Joey and Sam exchanged a look. Sam debated again whether he should tell the officer anything, but just as he opened his mouth, his new brother responded. "They're in the restroom, sir," he said, clapping his belly with a pained expression, "Stomach problems. They might be in there a while." Receiving a worried stare from Sam, he kicked him under the table. He held back a yelp before nodding affirmatively toward the officer.
The policeman peered at them suspiciously, carefully considering what they'd told him. The two boys didn't twitch. After what seemed like eternity, he smiled politely and nodded. "Alright. You two take care now, ya hear?" They nodded a bit too eagerly, and he left the restaurant.
Sam was developing stomach problems of his own. As was usual for him during leaps as of late, guilt and uncertainty nagged at him like a persistent fly buzzing around his head. He couldn't help but think he'd missed a window of opportunity by going with Joey's lie. So far, he hadn't changed anything on this leap, as far as he could tell. But how could he be certain?
Joey appeared to have a bit of a temper, which probably contributed in some way to their leaving home. Sam imagined some argument involving homework or strict rules, and a stubborn parent to butt heads with. As a child, he didn't always see eye to eye with his father either. At the same time, Joey acted as if he was already a grown up, like he knew everything, and Sam wondered why he'd had to grow up so fast. There must be a story there. Whatever the case was, if he could convince Joey to go home, he could try to resolve their issues. Then he'd leap into a new situation to solve. And then another. And another. And another…until god knows when.
They were low on money already, and definitely didn't have enough to get them 2,456 miles. After they paid their bill and made their way out of the restaurant, Sam hoped home was a bit closer. Next to a trash receptacle, he spied a Coke bottle thrown carelessly to the ground.
"Yuck! It's bad enough they aren't recycling, but they can't even throw that away? Some people. Do you realize it takes a glass bottle amillionyears to decompose, Sam?"
He could hear it in Al's voice like he was there. With the wistful ghost of a grin, he picked up the bottle and disposed of it best he could. Sorry about the recycling, Al,he thought. He'd had a lot of imaginary conversations lately. Sometimes it helped him to consider how to go about solving the leap. Other times, it was to relieve the racing of his heart caused by waking up, terrified that he'd start to forget those he loved if he didn't remind himself.
A hard grip around his arm startled him, bringing him back to reality. He whipped around to see an angry man with stern eyebrows and a beer gut staring at him. "Bet you thought I wouldn't find you, huh? You two are in so much trouble."
Joey looked like a deer in headlights at first, but then he looked furious again. "Leave us alone, Rick!"
Rick? "That's Dad to you, mister," Rick corrected him. So this was their father? He wasn't what Sam had pictured. He took Joey by the arm also. "And I'm not going to take any more lip from you! Now let's sit down!"
"Ugh! Let go!" Joey struggled as their father led them toward a nearby bench, but he kept them securely in his grasp. Sam went along with him, but his arm was being squeezed uncomfortably tight.
Rick forcefully sat them down on the bench, and they rubbed their arms. He definitely wasn't a gentle man, but Sam supposed he couldn't blame him. They hadstolen his RV, presumably his money, and taken off for Arizona. If it were his own children, Sam would be furious. Hmm. Did he have kids? It was best not to think about it. At least now they were with an adult. He hung his head and felt ashamed, as if he had been caught by his own father, possibly a byproduct of leaping into Buck.
Rick pointed a scolding finger at them. "I've searched high and low for you two. You're in a world of trouble."
There was something…disconcerting about him. A building sense of uneasiness snaked its way through Sam, something he couldn't pinpoint.
"You shouldn't have bothered," Joey spat heatedly, "You never cared about us before, so why start now?"
Without skipping a beat, Rick smacked him hard across the face. Joey cowered in terror, and Sam straightened up in shock.
"Don't you start, you little brat!"
"Hey!" Sam said with furious alarm, "Don't hit him like that!"
Rick turned his rage toward Sam now. He raised his hand threateningly. "You want to be taught a lesson too, Buck?"
Not one to bow down to threats by violent losers, and certainly too drained for patience with them now, Sam grabbed his arm as a challenge. He stared daggers at him, his mouth a hard line. "Don't you touch these kids ever again," he warned in a low voice.
It was an odd sentence for Buck to say, but Joey was too frightened and Rick was too angry. Now Sam understood why Joey didn't want to go back, and why returning home wasn't an option. No one should treat anyone like that, much less their children.
But Sam's orders weren't much of a deterrent. Rick yanked his arm away and hit him square in the eye. While he was momentarily stunned, Joey lunged at Rick. "You son of a bitch!"
"Knock it off!" Rick yelled as they began to grapple. Joey was no match for the larger, more vicious man, and he was being shaken around like a rag doll. Instantly, Sam was between the two of them. Pushing Rick forcefully away, he took Joey by the hand and bolted.
He'd figure out where later. For now, it was just away from this awful, pathetic man. Sam couldn't believe his actions. It was unfathomable that a father could be so cruel to his children.
Sam was quick, but his speed was significantly slowed down by towing Joey around. Behind them, he could hear Rick's curses getting closer and closer. Sam weighed his options. Should he stop and fight? Joey would question how his brother could overpower their father. Not to mention, they would attract more unwanted attention from the police. But then again, he might not have a choice. After knowing their father for just a minute, he already believed he could seriously injure them…or worse.
"GET BACK HERE! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"
Sam was just making up his mind to turn around and fight when suddenly, a motorcycle was skidding to a stop in front of them. What the-? Dirt spit into their faces and he nearly fell over as he jolted to a stop, Joey colliding into the back of him.
The helmeted rider jerked his head behind him. "Hop on."
Sam and Joey glanced behind them at their father closing in. Within a fraction of a second, there was a simultaneous agreement that this stranger was a safer alternative. Joey placed himself on the back of the seat and hitched his arms around the stranger's waist.
Which left Sam with the side car. With an embarrassed sigh, he jumped inside. His butt was barely in the seat before the bike thrust forward, his head flew back, and he held on for dear life.
"Oh booooyyyyyy!"
Once Rick was left safely in the dust, the motorcycle came to a stop. Joey hopped off of the bike immediately, and a slower Sam groaned and peeled his long limbs out of the tiny side car. It wasn't the smoothest ride he'd ever taken—his backside was sore from hitting every single bump along the way—but he was grateful for the quick escape.
Stranger and stranger. Sam hadn't seen himself being saved by a mysterious motorcyclist.
Their rescuer removed his helmet, revealing a head of red curls. He was older than them, but not by much. Around 17, if Sam could hazard a guess. He still had acne dotted around his freckles, and a pair of sideburns framed a long face with a dimpled chin. It was an odd face, and not what Sam had imagined when they first met. It was obvious he'd been driving some distance; dirt dusted his leather jacket and smudged his face where his helmet had left his skin exposed. "You kids alright?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, "Thanks to you. You really saved us back there."
The motorcyclist silently waved the thanks away.
"Your bike is so cool!" Joey said with awe, leaning sideways to eye the machine, "Can you teach me how to drive it?" Well, he bounced back quickly, thank god. It was nice to see him distracted. He seemed immediately enamored with this heroic stranger.
"Uh, maybe in a few years, kid," the teen chuckled a bit uncomfortably. He leaned onto the handlebars of his bike. "Hey, what's your name?"
"Joey Hudson," Joey answered quickly. He jabbed his thumb at Sam. "This is my brother Buck."
"Nice to meet you two. My name's Davey Malone. Is there somewhere I can take you guys?"
They'd parked the RV in a lot a block down from the diner, so that's where Davey drove them. Sam noticed how cautious he was, eyeing the passerby protectively to make sure none of them were the man he'd seen chasing the boys. It might've passed by Joey, who was simply enjoying the ride, but it didn't escape a thankful Sam. At least someone else was looking out for these kids. Perhaps he had a little brother of his own.
When they pulled to a stop, Joey's eyes widened and he pulled Davey and Sam behind a corner. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Sam asked.
"Officer Greg!" Joey whispered in distress, smacking his hand over his eyes. Sam peered around the corner carefully, and sure enough, the policeman from the diner was filling out a ticket for another car parked in the lot. He shut his eyes and groaned too.
"You know him?" Davey asked.
"We, um, had sort of a run in with him at the diner…" Sam explained nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, "If he sees us without our parents again, he's going to be suspicious."
"You mean you two are driving alone?" Davey asked, narrowing one eye suspiciously at Sam, "How old are you?"
Before Sam could stumble for an answer, Joey impatiently asked, "You want us to go back to our dad?"
Davey frowned. "You mean that guy back there was…?" He trailed off as he put things together, and his face softened sympathetically. "Aw jeez…"
Then, Sam was struck with an idea. He smirked and rubbed his chin. "We wouldn't get in trouble if, say…our big brother was with us."
Davey blinked, then raised up his palms and backed up. "Oh no no no no, don't get me involved with this any more than I already am! I've got enough problems!"
It was too late for him. Sam and Joey aimed their saddest puppy dog looks at him, and he was done for.
"Afternoon," Officer Greg greeted affably as the three of them approached, Davey leading his bike alongside them. Then he squinted dubiously at Sam and Joey. "Hey, didn't I see the two of you at Lindy's back there?"
"Yes, sir," Sam answered.
"I thought so. How're your parents feeling? Still having stomach problems?"
"Uh, yes, officer," Davey quickly cut in, "In fact, they decided to rest awhile until they felt better, so they told us to go ahead and they'd meet us at the hotel."
The officer gave a confused frown. "And, um, you are…?"
"Davey M—Hudson, sir. I'm their older brother." Davey gave a big, forced smile that didn't fit his face. Sam and Joey copied him on either side.
An interminable pause. Sam wondered nervously if they'd blown it.
But good old Officer Greg smiled and tipped his hat. "Alright then. I hope your folks feel better."
Two boys and one displaced quantum physicist simultaneously deflated with relief as he left. That worked better than Sam could've hoped. Thank god for small towns. As Davey was rolling his bike toward the back to hitch it, Sam leaned in and whispered, "Thanks. I owe you one."
"The next state," Davey said sternly, waving his hand with finality, "That's as far as I can get you, kid. After that, you two are on your own."
He ventured further ahead, and Sam smiled knowingly. Surprising, those were few and far between for him these days.
Sam liked Davey. To look at him you wouldn't find him particularly intriguing, but there was something cool and detached about how he acted. He seemed experienced beyond his years. Perhaps it was because when he looked at Sam he saw a 12-year-old boy, making him the responsible adult in the situation, but he seemed to genuinely care about their well-being in a paternal way.
Joey loved him. He sat up front and incessantly asked questions, like where'd he get his jacket and what did the patches mean, mostly receiving brief, noncommittal answers. To him Davey was a rebel, a hero, an (almost) grownup who hadn't failed him. He needed someone to look up to where his father had failed, and this mysterious motorcyclist had been just the person he was looking for. As Sam watched Joey's eyes light up as he inspected Davey's motorcycle-shaped keychain, he thought of how great it was to see him acting like a kid for once.
"Where'd you get your bike? Did you steal it? Where are you from? Is that where you got this keychain?"
Davey licked his lips, flickering his eyes briefly from the road and shifting awkwardly at the barrage of questions. Gently taking the keychain back and stuffing it into his pocket, he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So where are you two going anyway?"
"The Grand Canyon," Joey beamed.
Another shift of the eyes. "The Grand Canyon? That's kinda far, don't you think?"
"I know," Joey said, "But it's important."
Davey raised an eyebrow, and Sam pretended he knew exactly what he was talking about, casually leaning in and listening for the answer himself. Standing up to get to it, Joey reached behind his sun visor and pulled out a postcard. It was worn and slightly faded, creasing in the middle of the picture on the back: the Grand Canyon.
"This was our mom's," Joey explained to Davey, "It's from when she was a kid. She kept it until she…well, the doctor said it was a heart condition." He paused as he was briefly brought back to a painful memory, and Sam's heart broke. Their mother had died. It was hard to pretend like this didn't freshly affect him. Gosh, that must've been tough. No wonder Joey and Buck had had to grow up fast.
Joey returned to the postcard. "Anyway, I'll read it to you: 'Dear Franny. You once told me this was the greatest place on earth. It's hard to believe such a vast and beautiful landscape was once our back yard. I know how sad you were to leave it, so I'm giving you this to remember us. Please don't be a stranger. We love you. –Lonnie.'"
Scratching his ear nonchalantly, Sam stealth-read the address on the front; the postcard was sent to a Francine Taylor, which must've been her maiden name. He wondered who Lonnie was. Her lover? No, he mentioned 'we,' as in plural. A relative?
Joey set the card down and peered at Davey intently. "That was the last place our mom was truly happy. So you see, we've gotta go there." He said it with such earnestness, Sam could almost believe the Grand Canyon really was some magic answer to their problems.
Now Sam and Davey both studied Joey with a new, compassionate understanding. Suddenly he seemed much older, a little more world-weary, and Sam wondered just how he was going to help him. He hoped he could.
Night fell and pretty soon Joey was passed out on the tiny bed in the back. Sam watched him pensively for a few minutes, debating what he should do for this leap.
What do you think, Al? What does Ziggy say I'm here for?
He had no guarantees anymore. Either he correctly guessed the right course of action, or took the wrong fork in the road and risked not leaping at all. All he could do was trust his gut instinct, and that was telling him he needed to get these kids to the Grand Canyon.
He slipped into the bathroom and slid the thin door shut, inspecting Buck's reflection. A bruise had started to form underneath his eye where his father had struck him. This was no life for two little boys. It wasn't fair that their childhood had been stripped away and replaced with grief and fear. They needed someone to take care of them, to love them, just like they deserved. The world was a scary place, and Sam was being reminded of that more and more every day. He couldn't mess this one up.
But he was so exhausted. Staring closely at the reflection, he imagined the face behind Buck, lined and weary. He wished he had answers, but his journey seemed hopeless when he felt so lost. He folded his hands and bowed his head. It was a shot in the dark, but he so badly required guidance.
If you're out there,he prayed to Whoever or Whatever was listening, please let me do the best thing for these children. I've always tried to do right by you, but I'm so tired of carrying this by myself. I...I need some help. So if by some chance you're listening, send me a sign. Anything. Just something so I know I'm not doing this alone.
"Hey kid, you okay in there?"
Then again, he was reminded there were some people who cared in the world, even if it wasn't who he expected.
He looked up and smirked. Thanks.
The door slid carefully open and Sam peeked his head out to address Davey in front. "I'm fine. You need a break from driving?"
"You kiddin' me? I'm not letting you drive this thing while I'm in here. Don't even know how you reach the pedals."
Sam lowered his head and hid a grin. If only he knew. He didn't feel like sleeping, so he made his way over and eased himself into the passenger's seat. As he was sitting down, he realized they'd spent the entire day with Davey and knew nothing about him but his name and mode of transportation. Sam was intrigued by his seeming unwillingness to involve himself with other people, but at the same time put himself on the line for two strangers.
"So you haven't told us your story."
The teen glanced over at him questioningly. "What story?"
"I don't know, anything." Sam shrugged. "Where are you from?"
Again, Davey seemed strangely evasive. He frowned exaggeratedly and lifted a single shoulder. "Y'know, lots of places."
"Like where?" Sam politely insisted.
"Uh, listen, kid," Davey shifted in his seat and wiped his nose, "I don't like to talk about myself, okay? Let's leave it at that. 'Sides, you got a lot more to worry about than where I'm from. You just get some sleep, huh?" He nodded toward the back, and the conversation was over as quickly as it began.
Davey was running from something, Sam could tell. What, he didn't know yet, but he hoped it didn't catch up to him. There was something familiar he saw in him, maybe the fact he seemed to be searching for answers too.
Sam yawned. Maybe he wanted some rest after all.
No sooner had the RV pulled to a stop than the door was blasting open and Joey was skipping outside to the nearest restroom. The RV's tiny bathroom was functional, but he'd take any other option when he could get it.
With the slower speed of an adult who'd spent the night on an RV couch, Sam came lumbering out shortly after, stretching his aching limbs in the morning sun. They'd made it to the next state, but all of the terrain had started to blend together. Patches of brown, dry grass stretched into the distance from the empty rest stop.
With a groan, Davey made his way out of the RV as well. He stared distastefully up at the sun before rounding toward the back of the vehicle to unhitch his bike. Once he had it loose, he rubbed the back of his neck, casting an almost regretful glance toward Sam. "Well, I guess this is where we part ways."
"I guess so," Sam said with some dissatisfaction. His business with Davey felt unfinished, but at the same time he had a responsibility to Joey. They were parting all too soon.
A pause. Davey stared at the handlebars in his hands, then back at Sam. "I, uh…I hope everything works out for you two."
"Thanks," Sam said sincerely and thought the same. He wished there were some way to help Davey, if only he knew what the problem was. He extended his hand. Tentatively, Davey accepted it.
And electricity sparked through them. The two of them were reshaped, and they both stared in shock.
Sam was no longer Buck, and Davey was no longer Davey, but a scruffy older man dressed in Davey's clothes and eyes bugging out wildly. But not just any man. The most important person in Sam's life, and who he never thought he'd see again.
It was Al.
Sam's expression mirrored his. He gasped his name disbelievingly. "Al?"
And Al screamed and bolted, letting the bike fall and leaving Sam in bewilderment.