Samaritan

I am only one; but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. I will not refuse to do the something that I can do. ---Edward E. Hale

Dedicated to those who can, and do….

Disclaimer: The characters, incidents and vehicles of the WB series Supernatural are the property of Warner Bros.—Thanks for letting me play in your world. Also honorable mention to three great bands, Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Blue Oyster Cult and Motley Crew for some great background music…

An old rock-n-roll tune blared loud music in the silence of the horrendous crash about a bad moon rising to a Rock-A-Billy beat, and continued with an warning not to go out tonight to the unconscious victims of the accident. The black car had stayed upright from the impact of the collision, the square nose of the huge black Mac truck still rammed into the right side of the large black four-door car.

No one was moving; not even the truck driver whose dark eyes were smiling and his body still, with his hands gripped tightly on the wheel of the truck.

No one made a sound, but the music from the black Impala continued to wail into the night….

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Bobby was worried about the Winchester family. The boys had left Taos to rescue their father from the demons that held him in Jefferson City yesterday, but only a quick message left on his personal answering machine from Dean told him that the boys had been successful, and that they were heading to a safe house they knew of up toward Holts Summit to rest and recover. But his Hunter's instinct told him that something more was happening than just a search and rescue; the demon' child they had driven out was not a part of a demonic family that would take what the Winchester men had done to them,(and intended on doing to the father of their family) lying down. Without another moment's hesitation, Bobby had closed his shop and collected a few items he thought he might need in case of trouble. He threw everything into the front seat of his wrecker, and sped off toward the Winchester's safe house on Route J…

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The sound of a small car engine cut into the silence of the roadway, and came closer to the scene of the accident. Jessie Paxton was listening to the local oldies station softly singing" I get by with a little help from my friends" when the lights of the small blue Chevy Cavalier played over the end of the Mac truck as it sat nestled into the passenger side of the large black car. The smaller car slowed down upon the curve as it came upon the wreck vehicles. The car pulled over with a screeching of tires. As the Cavalier skidded to a halt, the driver set the brakes, and jumped out of the smaller car looking at the sight--the headlights illuminated the stillness of both the car and truck. The Cavalier driver paled for a second, thinking --Not good, Big Rig truck meets car; no, this is Not Good--then looked around and down the road for any possible help that could be flagged down. The young woman could see nothing--no other traffic could be heard on US 63 at this time of night. The driver then pulled out her ever-present cell phone, immediately dialing 911.

A moment or two later the Cavalier driver was cursing her cell phone, the cell phone maker, and the cell phone reception that was unnaturally bad in this section of the highway. The young woman move closer to the wreck as she redialed, checking on the motionless figures inside the large black car. Three bodies—all male; two in the front, one in the back, all not moving; the one in the front passenger's side was so still…In desperation she looked toward the cab of the Mac and thought, Maybe the truck has a Citizen's Band radio inside; most long hauler do…and then ran down toward the truck. She noted with surprise that the door was open. She didn't hesitate to scramble up into the cab of the now empty truck cabin. Checking the interior of the cab, the Cavalier driver reached next to the wheel of the big-rig and picked up the microphone of the Citizen's Band radio, noting the frequency it was set on-Channel 19. Good—maybe there would be people listening that could call for help… The young woman activated the CB mike and spoke.

"Breaker, breaker 1-9, this is an emergency-- I need someone to call 911 quick…there's been an bad accident outside of town on US 63 going toward Jefferson City, about 10 miles down on the left side involving a Big-Rig and three guys in a black Impala." The radio crackled on empty air then another voice replied "Break 1-9; this is Bobby out of Taos Salvage. Where's the accident at?" She had heard about a Bobby Something--an older man about her father's age; he ran one of the local salvage yards in Taos. What's he doing out tonight, looking for business? Well, he was about to get some….

"Accident's just off US 63 outside of Jefferson City on the left hand side, Bobby," she replied; "maybe less than a fourth of mile into the woods—no mile marker in sight. The truck's back end is sticking out toward the road; you can't miss it." The radio cracked for a moment before Bobby's reply came back over the radio. "Alright, I'm on my way out there; I'll call for some help—anybody hurt?" The small car driver looked around the site from the height of the Mac's cabin. "Don't know about the driver of the Big-Rig; I'm calling from his truck—driver took off." The small car driver paused and looked around. " I saw three guys trapped in the black 4-door the truck rammed into. The guy in the back looks bad, the driver's hurt too, and the guy in the passenger side's not moving…" She heard a moan come from the outside; movement and shifting in the car caught the eyes of the Cavalier driver as the rock-a-billy song ended on a guitar strum. Jessie re-keyed the mike and spoke excitedly. "Hey Bobby, hang on—sounds like there's someone alive in the car down there; I'm gonna check it out--see if I can help. Call 911 for me, will ya? My cell phone's getting lousy reception out here for some reason…This is Jesse, I'm clear." Before Bobby on the CB could reply, the owner of the Cavalier hung up the CB mike and climbed out of the cab to see about the sounds that came in the car as the music started up again with another odd rock and roll tune. The small car driver never noticed the dark figure stand in the shadows, observing her with eyes that glistened with obsidian colored light….

All the significant battles are waged within the self.—Sheldon Koggs

The small car driver moved toward the black car while the music continued to play--a odd-sounding bass guitar run backed up by drums filled the night air as the small car driver peered through the damaged windows. Jessie went to the driver's side door of the damaged car and tried to pull it open to get to the black car's driver, a young man who looked to be in his early 20's while the music sang "Valentines have come" followed by another small guitar run. The door wouldn't budge. The small car driver muttered something under her breath, and let go of the car door handle. She scanned the damaged car quickly; the music has to be coming from somewhere, so the battery is still working, but luckily no signs of fire. Yet. The people inside were hurt, and they would need help and what little treatment the small car driver could offer to stay alive before the ambulance came. Offer First-aid…the first-aid kit in the back of the Cavalier. The small car driver turned and ran back toward the smaller car. If what she saw was any indication it would be a good thing to have on hand to help keep those people in the car alive, not to mentions the extinguisher…Jessie threw open the driver's side back door, dug under the back seat, grabbing the car's first-aid kit and car fire extinguisher and raced back toward the wreckage.

She saw movement next to the black car as she ran up; the passenger side car door had been forced open. Another man, who wore the well-traveled clothes of a truck driver, was dragging out the injured man from the back seat of the Impala. The first thought that crossed her mind was relief to see someone else there and trying to help with the injured man in the backseat, but he was going to do more injury to the person he was trying to save. Jesse shouted to him, "Hey! Stop doing that!" as the she came up to them. The Cavalier driver ordered the other man to leave the young man where he was and move aside in a calmer voice as she dropped the fire extinguisher down near the car. Jessie noted as she was kneeling down next to the injured man that the man lying on the ground in front of her was not bad looking in a rough way; short hair, and looked very, very hurt…She put the first aid kit on the ground next to him and opened it up. "Sir, this man is hurt bad; he may internal injuries that you're making worse by moving him." Jessie concentrated on the person lying on the ground as she rummaged through the various bandages and pads. She continued, talking as she worked, "I don't know who you are, but I'm glad you're here, Mister. While I'm doing what I can for this guy, why don't you…Urk!"

The words were cut off as Jessie dropped the bandages to the ground, the first aid kit scattered in the dirt as the young man's rescuer began to throttle her. She pulled at the rough and partially bloody hands, bloody from the man he had just dragged out of the back of the black Impala that squeezed in a deadly grip. Jessie struggled wildly against it the deadly grip, trying to loosen them for just a moment--a moment enough to catch enough air to stay alive. In her struggles she accidentally kicked the man on the ground, and heard a slight moan from him. Moments past like hours as she weakened, unable to break the Truck Driver's killing hold.

Sight began to fade in a shimmering curtain of darkness ….

Her head became too heavy to hold up…

The music from the car played in the background singing "Don't fear the Reaper…"

Thoughts and images flew through Jessie's mind –the man would kill the driver, then turn on the helpless men in the car, starting with the one on ground—can't let it happen—it's not fair!--the last one was Oh God, Please someone help me/help them…please... as her awareness faded to black….

Jessie groggily awoke next to the still form of the man lying on the ground while more loud music screamed "Shout! Shout! Shout at the devil!" in the stillness. She ached; therefore she was alive….She gratefully and painfully breathed in the cool night air. Eyes closed again for a moment, the driver whispering a silent prayer of thanks. She swore she had just closed her eyes for a moment when loud engines broke through the loud music; the sound of many voices coming closer, the smell of musk and cigarette smoke mixed with diesel oil. Footsteps came closer to them, names and noise following the body of the truck. "Hey Bobby, here's the wreck!" "Jesus Christ, what a mess—Help me get the car doors open. Sam—John! Dean! Where's Dean? Everybody spread out --see if you can find him…" The man she was lying next to; the one the murderous truck driver had been pulling away from the wreck; was he the Dean the others were looking for? The small car driver called out "Hey! Over here!", or tried to-- a loud squeaking sound formed the words she tried to speak.

The sounds of heavy footsteps crushing the dried leaves crushed beneath them frightened her for a moment, but the talk of the men moving away from the wreck floating in the night was very welcome after what had happened. Jesse heard the men coming and closed her eyes in relief. While they were close she heard them called out again, saying they had found Dean and someone else outside the car. More footsteps and Jessie felt herself lifted up into someone's arm and nestled against a warm, soft cotton shirt. Strong hands carried her away from the wreck and the still form lying on the ground-up toward a familiar sight—her own small whole car parked safely above the wreck. The man carrying her settled her against the car for a moment, standing quietly but shakily while the older man checked the small car thoroughly as if looking for something hidden inside. After a couple of moments he grunted in approval then opened the driver's side car door and gently helped her into the driver's seat. He told Jessie in a firm voice to stay there for a second; he'd be right back. She wasn't about to argue with him. She stayed right there in the driver's seat, not moving; her eyes slowly readjusting to seeing, her body aching, her throat feeling tender and abused. She watched the man in the soft cotton shirt-a plaid flannel, the small car driver now saw- return, carrying the first-aid kit she had brought from the car. He was also carrying a small water bottle that he gave to Jessie to drink, watching her with great interest as the water was slowly but carefully drank in small sips. While the water bottle was gradually being emptied, another man came up from the accident to speak with the man in the plaid flannel shirt. They exchanged looks, and moved away together for a moment of soft conversation. The small car driver heard bits of the exchange; the second person wanted to make sure that the small car driver had no problem drinking the water (why, Jessie wondered, is it poisoned, or something?) and that "they needed him down there to help with the Impala." With a grim look the first man moved away and back down toward the wrecked vehicles. She uneasily watched him go back toward the others working on the damaged vehicle, clutching the water bottle. The second man, a scruffy looking man dressed in coveralls

moved in front of her blocking her sight of the wreck and the injured men, then spoke. "I'm Bobby. You the one I talked to--called in the emergency on the CB?" Jessie turned her face up to look at him; the weathered face wrapped around with worry and strain and nodded slowly, the neck muscles still sore. Strange, his voice was different than the one on the CB; the man with the plaid flannel shirt sounded more like him… The man that called himself Bobby looked at the small car driver for a moment then asked if she could tell him what happened before he and his friends came. The small car driver looked down over his shoulder to the work going on behind him, nodded and mouthed, I'll try, to him.

It hadn't been easy for her getting the words out to describe what had happen. Jessie's throat was still aching from the death hold the crazed Truck

Driver had on her. After a couple of half-coughed words reducing Jessie's voice to a slight whisper, Bobby seemed to understand the difficulty. He pulled a silver flask and handed it to the small car driver, gesturing for the driver to take a swallow or two. With the hope that it would help her aching throat, she did, and coughed quite a bit afterwards—Lord, that stuff must've been homemade Moonshine!-but the mixture brought her voice back. She answered Bobby's questions—the wreck; the murderous Truck Driver…where was the Truck Driver, anyway? The small car driver started looking around nervously in the dark wooded roadway as if checking to make sure the crazed Truck Driver was not stalking the people working in the area of the wreck. The small car driver paused for a moment. Something glittered and caught the eye of the Cavalier driver. Looking over the site of the wreaked vehicles, the driver saw that the group of men with Bobby had not been idle while the two of them had been talking. Some of the small group of men had disappeared in the nearby woods—searching for the lost Truck Driver, Bobby had told her-while another man seemed to be huddled over the unconscious man on the ground near the damaged car. He was gesturing in the air in what looked like some sort of prayer or blessing before Bobby got the small driver's attention back again with more questions about the missing Truck Driver. Others had been working on trying to pry the driver's side door open to help the injured men inside, with a few inside the car trying to treat the men trapped inside. Tears shimmered in Jessie's eyes for a moment as she kept answering Bobby's questions. The thought rose inside her mind and echoed in her heart…I hope that they're alive….Then the sound of sirens began to be heard in the distance, coming closer. She and Bobby watched from their vantage point above the accident as the police, fire engine and ambulance drove down the road as if their lives depended on it toward the scene of the accident.

The few men working around the damaged Impala paused for a moment, and then signaled the men inside the wreck to come out. The collection of tired and worn men moved away from the wreck as the sirens and lights came closer. The man that had been kneeling next to the body on the ground rose, and standing, shifted his weight as if he had summoned the ambulance and police and was merely waiting for the to arrive. The men that had been inside paused by him for a moment, exchanging a few words. The rest of the group trudged toward their vehicles. The men who had been searching in the woods suddenly reappeared behind them and joined the other men at their cars. The police, fire engine and ambulance arrived with a screech of wheels and a final wail from the ambulance close to the place where Jessie and Bobby sat talking. The men shifted restlessly as the EMTs took charge of the fallen man, and watched as they worked on opening the damaged car with the Jaws of Life to remove the injured men from the wreck. Jessie had forgotten Bobby as they watched the activity going on. She hadn't paid

attention when the man that had waited with the injured man came up to join them. He and Bobby spoke quietly for a moment. Bobby then moved down toward the wrecked car and the injured men. He called to one of the policemen and Jessie watched him walk away as they began talking. Jessie watched him as he left. She was exhausted, but strangely content to watch the drama unfolding before her as the black car was loaded onto the wrecker platform, the still forms of the three men placed in the ambulance to be sent sirens screaming to the hospital in Jefferson City…She felt the light touch of a hand on her shoulders and a soft warmth seemed to cover her from head to foot. Wrapped in comfortable warmth she bemusedly listened to the man's soft voice telling her to get into the passenger side, he would drive her home. Jessie obediently rose and got into her car, docility handing her car keys to him as he got into the driver's seat.

She noted dreamily that another car followed them as they pulled away from the accident. When the man suggested that she looked tired, she snuggled down into the comfortable warm and went to sleep. Jessie vaguely remembered feeling the car parking, the door opening and being carried upstairs still wrapped in the warmth to her own bed….

Epilog

No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted. ---Aesop

Later she would remember only bits and pieces, with odd, strange feelings that returned in nightmares that gave her some sleepless nights afterward. She would wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and huddle under the covers like a child with the memory of what had happened stark in her mind. It started with a feeling of stillness in the blackness of her mind after she had been choked unconscious. After a moment she felt the invasion of something not-welcome, not human; something that glowed sickly green and dark and evil oozing into the area of the small car driver's existence in the blackness. Her soul recoiled from the invading illness, and cried out in fear at the invasion; memories of childhood prayers echoing in the blackness-Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep... Prayers that parents listened to when said at bedtime, to defend against the darkness and fears of the night. The sickly green glow increased at the cry of fear, then dimmed as the voices of the childhood prayers spread throughout the blackness before it. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take… The sickly green glow hesitated before them. As the echoes of the prayers faded away, the sickly green glow seemed to gather strength and then began to flow through the stillness toward her. She always felt despair then; deep and paralyzing as she though she knew the unstoppable flow was going to overwhelm her, smoother her soul and allow that illness to take her place. And there was nothing she could do…Then something, or someone else was there with them. A word echoed loudly in Jesse's mind and soul—NO. Where the voice came from she would never be able to say; only that it was defiant, masculine and flavored with an indomitable will. With that word the Self that was Jesse found the strength within to fight and drive the invading force away… Jesse's mind always relaxed after the final memory passed in her half-asleep state. Her heart would stop racing, and she would fall back asleep until morning.

Life continued for Jessie, but not as normal as it once had been. She began to see things, places a little bit differently, a little more darkly. She never found out what happened to the injured men in the black Impala, but occasionally saw Bobby or what she thought was Bobby's wrecker driving up and around the roadways. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of the man who had driven her home, usually speaking with others. During those times she felt she was being watched, and strangely enough, watched over. When odd things happened she felt it was better to stay close to home than to go out…One evening she even thought she had seen the Black Impala hurling across the crossroads--- she had to hit the breaks suddenly as it appeared suddenly in front of her. Screeching to a halt she watched until she couldn't see the red taillights of the car anymore, she said a prayer for the people in the Black Impala, then carefully drove across the road and continued home.

This is the first story that I have wrote for the folk of Supernatural, so any comments would be most welcome—Thanks!