Post 5.02, probably AU from 5.03. One-shot, angst, Sam, OFCs, OMC
Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda, yadda
I've had the idea for awhile, but present circumstances in the show seemed to fit. Loosely based off of a song (I'll tell you which one at the end).
The Good Samaritan
The western sky had just faded from pink to gray as Sam reached the crest of the hill. He had been walking along the two-lane highway since his last ride had dropped him off around lunchtime. He had hoped that this latest rise in the road would reveal some hint of civilization on the other side, but there was not a down, house, or even a car in sight.
Sam sighed in frustration and continued walking, wondering if he would even make it to a hotel this night. He had tried hitching whenever a car approached, but all had passed him without even slowing down. A smart move on the drivers' parts, Sam thought darkly. His own brother didn't trust him, why should anyone else?
He had traveled about 100 yards past the hill top when he heard the familiar rumble of a classic V-8 engine. He spun around, almost hoping to see the sleek form of the Impala. The headlights of the car came into view, and for a brief moment Sam thought his wish had come true when he saw the broad expanse of grill between them, but those hopes were dashed when he got a better look. The car was a Cadillac, mid-1960's model, Sam guessed. The car started to slow down and came to stop next to him. The driver, a woman, leaned over and peered through the open passenger window.
"It's a long walk to civilization from here, son. Would you like a ride?"
Sam thought for a moment. His natural inclination was to refuse, but in reality he was exhausted. Still, it wouldn't hurt to be cautious.
"If it's not too much trouble," he replied.
"No trouble at all. Where ya headed?"
He learned closer so he could study her reaction. "Christo."
The woman blinked in confusion. "I don't believe I know that town. Is it in Texas?"
Sam let out a relieved chuckle. "Nah, that's OK. To the next town would be fine." He opened the door and climbed in, noting the pristine condition of the interior. The white leather of the bench seat looked almost new. "Nice car."
"Thanks. My husband left it to me." She appeared to notice Sam's surprise and continued. "He was killed in action."
"I'm sorry…"
"At least I know. MIA would be worse. Sorry, I'm not usually this morbid, I swear."
As she pulled the car back out onto the highway, she reached over and turned on the radio. Classic country music poured out the speakers, and Sam chuckled softly to himself. Quite a difference from what he was accustomed, that was for sure.
"Hope you don't mind?"
"Nah. You know, driver picks the music…" He stopped himself, wincing at the memory.
"Mighty polite of ya, son. Do you smoke?"
"No."
"Good. If you did I was gonna ask ya to keep the window open. You might want to roll it up. Gets a little chilly at night." Sam rolled up the window and leaned back, studying the woman out of the corner of his eye. She appeared to be in her mid to late 40's, average in appearance except for rather pale skin. Her dark hair was twisted into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder, and she was dressed in a fitted plaid blouse, jeans, and cowboy boots. She tapped a finger on the steering wheel in time to the music, and for a moment Sam was reminded of his brother's love of driving and classic rock. He felt a sharp pang of remorse.
He missed Dean.
It was his own fault he was alone. He realized that, he really did. He had been the one to suggest they split up until he got his head on straight. What he hadn't expected was for Dean to agree to it. That had hurt. That his brother would willingly leave him, not forced into by a deal, and not without a fight, was an idea that he had never entertained. That, more than anything, made him realize how far he had fallen, and at this point he wasn't even sure he would make it back. Maybe he should just give up…
"You're awfully quiet."
Startled, Sam quenched his thoughts and turned to the woman.
"Sorry. I've, uh, got a lot on my mind."
"No problem. Usually the people I meet along this road are uncomfortable with lulls in conversation. Some of them don't ever shut up. Usually I just let them talk, ya know?"
"Yeah." He winced at yet another memory, his brother's running commentary during their cross-country adventures.
"You OK? You looked kinda upset there for a moment."
"I'm…no, not really."
"You want to talk about it? That seems to help some people."
"I wouldn't even know where to begin."
"Well," she drawled, "let's start with why you're out here hitchin'. I'm guessing that has something to do with why you're upset."
"I…I was on the road, working…with my brother, but we had a…falling out, I guess. We decided to go our separate ways."
"Let me guess: over a girl?"
Sam snorted. "I guess you could say that. I, uh, decided to listen to her. I should have known better…I did know better, but she…I guess she was just really convincing. It was my choice to listen to her, to do what I did, and I've…got to pay the consequences for that. I really screwed up and…something terrible happened. Something I don't think I can fix. And now my brother doesn't trust me. Hell, I don't trust me." He glanced at the woman, expecting to see fear, mistrust, all the things he deserved. Instead she wore a thoughtful expression.
"So everything went sideways, and now you're running away?"
Sam felt a flash of anger. "I'm not running away. I know that doesn't work. I just…I don't know what to do…"
"Were you close to your brother? You know, before all this happened?"
"Yeah. He always looked out for me. Half the time I didn't even realize it, but he…he gave up everything. For me. And now…I've let him down."
"You know, there's one nice thing about family. Even if you screw up, if you disappoint them seven ways from Sunday, deep down they still love you. That doesn't change. Where you are now, it might seem like everything is shot to heck, but it's been my experience that if you really try, more often than not you can still find something that will help you make good. There's always something good to be had, somewhere."
"Sorry, but I find that hard to believe."
"Son, I've been there. I found myself in a real bad situation." A dark look flashed across her face before she continued. "I thought that nothing could make that pain go away. But you know what I found helped? Making things better for others. Helping people whenever I could. Like I'm doing now."
"Picking up hitchhikers? Seems more like away to get yourself hurt more."
She was silent for a moment, and Sam feared he had said too much. He was about to stutter an apology when she spoke again.
"Sometimes. But I figure, everyone needs a lift now and again." She lapsed back into silence. Sam turned his attention to the passing landscape, and it was several minutes before the woman spoke again.
"So, after Christo, where ya headed?"
"I don't really know."
"A drifter, huh?"
"I guess."
"Maybe you should become a musician. You'd fit in better." Sam glanced at her and she winked. He laughed in spite of himself.
"Ah, now that's better. Best medicine, and all that."
Sam nodded. It had been awhile since he'd even felt like laughing, and suddenly he realized how much he missed it. Before he could respond, he noticed the lights of the town on the horizon. He saw a MOTEL sign in the distance and sighed with relief as he realized how truly tired he was.
They were about 500 hard from the motel when the woman slowed and made a U-turn before bringing the car to a halt.
"Here ya go: civilization. I gotta head back. Are you going to be OK, son?"
Sam was touched by the fact this woman had gone out her way to help. As he climbed out of the car, he turned to her with a smile.
"My name's Sam, by the way. Thanks for the ride, ma'am." She laughed.
"Ah, you don't have to call me ma'am, it makes me feel old. My name's Henrietta, but everyone calls me Hank."
"Thank you so much, Hank."
"You're quite welcome. Good luck, Sam."
He watched her drive off into the night, then turned and walked to the motel. The desk clerk looked up in surprise as he walked in.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you drive up. How may I help you?"
"I need a room for the night. A single."
"No problem. Just fill out this card. Cash or credit?" Sam glanced at her nametag, which said "Maggie".
"Cash." He filled in the card with the name "Sam Williams" and a fake address, leaving the boxes for "make/model of car" and "license plate" blank. Maggie looked at the card and frowned. "I need you to fill out the whole thing, son." At that moment, a door behind her opened and an older man stepped through. He wore a nametag bearing the name "Tim".
"I'm sorry, I don't have a car." The couple exchanged a glance. "I do have cash though. I can pay for the room."
"It's not that. How did you get to town? Did you, uh, hitch a ride?"
"Yeah…" The couple exchanged another look. "Is that a problem?"
"Who picked you up?" Tim asked, ignoring a dark look from his wife.
"A woman in a classic Cadillac. She said her name was Henrietta…Hank. What's going on?" The couple exchanged looks again.
"Well," said Tim. "That all depends. Do you believe in ghosts?"
Sam stared at them for a moment. "Ghosts?" He could tell by their expressions that they were dead serious, and also expecting disbelief or even scorn. "Well…yeah. I do."
The couple visibly relaxed and Maggie started the story.
"Back in the early seventies, there was a woman in town who everyone called 'The Good Samaritan'. A widow named Henrietta 'Hank' Wallner. She had lost her husband in Vietnam. After that she said helping people out made eased her grief, and she was always willing to help. She was well known for it, for always giving little 'pep talks', particularly to hitchhikers. She never seemed to worry about the danger, though. Until one night, back in '73, she was found on the side of that highway, dead. They found her car wrecked and abandoned on the other side of town." She glanced at her husband, and he picked up the tale.
"The cops found fingerprints that weren't hers, but they didn't manage to match them to anyone. No witnesses, either. A few months later a drifter passing through mentioned that he had been given a ride by a woman in an old Cadillac, and his description matched Hank. We all just figured that she was still helping people out. We'd hear about her every once and a while. Someone would talk about the 'cool chick in the Caddy' who gave them a ride. A few years later, a man just showed up at the sheriff's office. They found him outside, thought he was drunk, and booked him. Turns out his prints matched the ones in her car. The guy couldn't remember how he wound up at the sheriff's office." "We all agreed: it was Hank. We thought she'd be at rest after that, but she's still out there. Sometimes we still get people that show up at the jail, and usually they have a record, are wanted for murder. For murdering people who picked them up while they were hitchin'."
"Hank keeps are highway safe, and we know if you make it through the ride, you're OK," Tim explained.
"That's quite a story." Sam waded through a tide of conflicting emotions. Didn't this woman deserve peace? True, she wasn't hurting anyone, except those who deserved it, and even then she didn't kill them. He could reason with her. He could help her now, help her like he told Dean he had been wanting to help people. Finally he made a decision.
"You know, tales like these are kind of a hobby of mine. I collect them. In fact, I'd like to learn more. And I guess I owe 'Hank' a thank you. Could you tell me where she's buried? I'd like to leave some flowers."
"Sorry, son. She wasn't buried. She was cremated. But the library should have copies of her obituary if you want to learn more about her for your story collection."
"Thanks. One more thing?"
"Yes?"
"Is there a place in town where I can rent a car?"
Sam found the spot where he had been picked up without too much trouble, pulled the rental car off the side of the road, and killed the engine. As he unfolded himself from the driver's seat, he grabbed the folder of newspaper clippings he had obtained from the local library. He would use this information, Hank's obituary included, to help her move on. It was the right thing to do.
He leaned against the car to wait, and it wasn't long before he heard the rumble of a powerful engine. The car soon crested the hill and slowed as it neared him, bringing with it the memory of the previous night. The car stopped beside him, but this time the woman opened her door and stepped out, gazing at him across the roof of the Caddy.
"Sam. How nice to see you again. Car trouble?"
"I needed to talk to you."
"I see."
"I know you think you need to help people. You were very good at it, but…"
"Now that I'm dead I should find a new hobby?"
Sam stared at her in surprise. "You know? But--?"
"Why haven't I moved on? Ya know, I had a conversation like this before with a nice little girl named Tessa. I'll tell you the same thing I told her: I simply don't want to."
"But you deserve peace…"
"Peace? I'm not sure I even know what that is, and I would probably find it boring." She grinned. "I know, supposedly I'll go mad, become dangerous, but that hasn't happened. I'm not…angry. I've accepted what happened, and I'm trying to make the best out of a bad situation, just like I've always done. Besides, without me, you'd still be walking to town."
"Yes, I know, but…don't you want to see your husband again?"
A shadow of doubt flickered across her face before she shook her head.
"From what I gather, I have all the time in the world. But right now, people still need me. I still have work to do. Just like you."
"Me? I don't--."
"You need to help your brother trust you again. Without that, you, son, will never be at peace. Am I right?"
After a few moments, Sam nodded.
"Right then. Get too it. And Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"If you ever need another lift, you know where to find me." She winked, climbed into her car, and drove off. Sam watched the taillights disappeared into the darkness before climbing into the rental car. He sat silent for a moment, lost in thought, before pulling out his cell phone and hitting a number on speed dial. The phone rang twice before a rough voice answered.
"Dean? Yeah, I'm fine. I was…just checking in, wanted to see if…to find out how you are. What? No, I'm…I'm OK… Yeah, you too. Thanks, I will…'bye Dean."
Sam closed the phone with a snap. Just checking in. Letting Dean know he still cared.
It was a start.
He turned the key, put the car in gear, and headed back to town.
The End
A/N: The first part of the story was inspired by The Ride. Not really a fan of the artist, but I liked the song because it is, after all, a ghost story ;)