Author's Note: Just a reminder that this isn't (yet) betad; all errors are mine, and I'd love for someone to point them out!

Just FYI, it was a really lovely review that inspired me to post this tonight. Reviews often mean quicker updates!

Chapter 5: In Which a Wanderer Becomes Reassured

Three days of hitchhiking with grimy truck drivers and I wasn't able to get a ride into town. Typical. My last ride had dropped me off in Butte, Montana, so I was trekking across the countryside next to the highway.

I decided to allow myself to fade in order to save energy. Unfortunately, that meant that I wasn't able to carry my address paper any more. I had memorized it a long time ago, but somehow I felt attached to the grubby little slip. It was my only real possession as a ghost. So instead of throwing it away, I summoned a light breeze to carry it along in front of me. All that any passerby would see would be a scrap of litter blowing across an empty field.

That's all that I saw for the three days that it took me to walk the rest of my journey. No humans, and no spirits, for that matter. I saw a total of three snakes, one rabbit, fifteen birds of various species, and an unknown number of ants and beetles. All but the insects ran away from me. The larger deer and even bears which I could sense out in the woods stayed away all together.

Finally, six days after I had set out from my home town, I stood in front of the charming old house on the edge of Missoula, Montana where Dean Winchester had directed me. The house itself was a deep peacock blue and the porch and trim were a pristine white. As I shuffled my invisible feet in the dust and resisted the urge to draw my news coat closer around myself, I wondered a little at how much I trusted those two brothers. I had never met them before, and here I was walking across miles of countryside at their advice. Of course, the unexpected friendship- if I could go so far as to call it that- seemed to go both ways. They had released me from that intersection with barely a second thought, and I wondered if they were examining their choices over again like I was.

"Are you going to come in, or are you going to stand there all day?" Startled out of my reverie, I jerked my head up to see a tall young man standing on the large porch. His slightly lilted British accent surprised me a little considering my surroundings, but I cautiously approached him all the same. As I drew closer and he stepped out of the shadow, I could see that he had shoulder-length blond hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His crisp black slacks and crimson sweater looked strange on him, as though he was used to an entirely different style of clothing.

I knew that he must be a spirit because he could see me, but I couldn't help but ask as I bent to pick up my piece of paper. "Are you Walker?"

"That depends on who is asking."

"My name is Andrea Fosters." I hesitated, completely unsure of the etiquette in this sort of situation. I highly doubted that there was any. "The Winchesters sent me."

Walker froze, completely silent. "How interesting," he finally recovered. He graciously stepped to the side and beckoned me into the house. "Do come in."

"Um, thanks." I drifted up the front steps and into the cool shadiness of the house's interior. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the normal house which now stood before me. It seemed much smaller on the inside, but the kitchen and miniscule living room seemed cozy enough. A rickety flight of stairs led to a second floor.

Walker followed me in and easily shut the door behind me. It didn't seem to cause him any effort at all. "All right then Ms. Fosters, you had better tell me your story. Beginning to end, if you please." He gestured to one of two chairs in the living room.

I followed his arm and sank into the chair, half expecting to go right through it and make a fool of myself. I jumped up with a yelp when something in it was… uncomfortable. It felt similar to sitting next to the salt-loaded gun.

"My apologies." Walker hurried to add two more cushions to the chair and I cautiously sat down again. "The seat contains a small quantity of iron. To make it easier to sit without going through, you see."

"Oh." I tried to look like I knew that iron repelled ghosts. Obviously I wasn't very convincing because Walker smiled gently at me as he took his own seat.

"Please don't feel uneasy. If the Winchesters did send you, I'm sure they have an excellent reason. I may be able to help you."

I nodded and began my whole story for the second time that week.

When I had finished, Walker was silent for a long time. When he finally did speak, it was softly and while gazing at a bookshelf somewhere behind my left ear. "Interesting." That was all he said for another several minutes.

"I… I was wondering…" I began, and he finally made eye contact with me. His piercing blue eyes were vaguely unsettling, but didn't frighten me so much as they should have. I knew that I was dead and had very little to fear. "Can you teach me to control my powers? I know I can move things, and affect some electronics… but not regularly, and it tires me out."

There was that smile again. If I wasn't already so tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally, I probably would have found it quite sweet. As it was, I merely filed the information away for later. "Allow me to show you the things that you might be able to do if you can control yourself." He stood up and so did I, feeling that I wanted to be ready for anything. "First let me show you what I usually look like."

Walker snapped his fingers and, while his face didn't really alter, the difference was astonishing. A black tricorner hat sat low over his ears and peaked in front of his forehead, and his crimson sweater transformed into a uniform with crisscrossing white strips. His neat black trousers remained the same but his shoes were replaced with the mere tatters of some black material. His eyes still sparkled but they were sunk back far behind his pale, prominent cheekbones. A musket and bayonet hung from his belt and, perhaps most disconcerting of all, blood welled from a gaping wound in his shoulder. The bright substance was smeared across his face and through his straw-colored hair, which was coming loose from its tie. I gasped and stepped backwards at the sight of what had become a frightening spirit.

Another snap of his fingers and the young soldier was back to normal. His eyes held a deep sadness. "Walker isn't my real name. I left that behind when I died, and long before, really, when I left my home and my family to be stationed in Lexington." He nodded me back to my seat and I sat, albeit a little heavily. "The Winchesters call me Walker because, before they met me, I just wandered the roads. But I never went insane, never became vengeful, because I didn't really blame anyone for my death."

"Then…" I hesitated but his kind expression urged me to continue. "Then why did you stay here? Why didn't you go to heaven?"

He barked out a short laugh. "Improper burial. Besides, I'm not sure there's any place in heaven for people who have killed as much as I."

I wanted to disagree, but I decided that it really wasn't the time. "So you can change your appearance?"

"It's easiest to switch between your natural appearance and one alternative. Maintaining too many versions of yourself very quickly becomes taxing." Walker snapped his fingers again and he wore a snappy 1940s style suit and long coat. Then he flickered to his uniform but without the blood and wear. "Fortunately, I've had over two centuries to practice."

Seeming to forget his earlier sadness, he allowed his smile to stretch to its full potential. I realized that this was probably because I was sitting there grinning like an idiot. To cover a little I added a round of applause, and Walker bowed neatly from the waist. "That was incredible!"

"That's just to help fit in. There's lots of fun to be had." As he offered me a hand and I used it to pull myself to my feet, I realized three things. First, I didn't need to focus to make contact with him. It was just like grasping someone's hand had been when I was alive. It was a refreshing change. Second, I had to resist the urge to pull him into a hug. This man was the first one to treat me totally normally since I had died, and while I felt that his 18th century values might disapprove, I wanted to cry and hold him and have a moment to deal. Third, I realized that I was already doing him as much good as he would do for me. It wasn't like there were lots of ghosts in the world who travelled around looking for tutors, or friends, for that matter. I suspected that he hadn't been able to show off his skills in decades. "What?"

I realized that I had frozen with a happy, relaxed smile spread across my face, our hands still together. I casually shrugged and dropped my arm back to my side. "It's good to know that being a ghost… I mean, you still have a life, or a death, I guess, here. You don't just hide behind doors and yell 'boo' at people."

The look I received was pleased, if a little strange. "And I'm glad that I'm not the only person to want that."

Note: OK, opinion needed: love interests for Andrea? Respond with what you think, and at the end of the next chapter I'll tell you what I'm thinking.