WHO: Sam Winchester and a ghost. WHAT: Time for a talk. WHEN: Early evening. WHERE: L.A. streets. RATING: PG-13. STATUS: Narrative; complete.
The mall had been packed. Everywhere Sam turned, there were people trying to squeeze their way past each other, eagerly moving from one store to the other to find the perfect gifts for their loved ones. Sam had already accomplished most of his own shopping. He wasn't at the mall for gifts. No, the bundle of applications in his hands were what he was here for. Job hunting. He certainly didn't expect to land himself in the highest position of employment, but Sam did need to work. He had applied at a few stores, picked up a few extra applications, and then decided that he was done for the night. Of course, spotting a shoe store that seemed to be crawling with employees desperate to satisfy their customers made Sam stop on his way out. They looked sort of shorthanded. Perhaps if he applied now, they'd hire him right away? Sam began to move toward the entrance, awkwardly easing his way around some of the other people wandering by. He was a few steps short of the door when someone placed a hand on his shoulder and called his name out. Sam turned, finding no one. Just a mall littered with shoppers, all in a hurry to get what they needed before the holiday came crashing on their shoulders. Sam scanned the area again, looking for the one who had stopped him. There were no familiar faces. No one even bothered giving him a single glance as he stood there in confusion. With a frown, Sam ran a hand through his hair, shrugged, and moved into the store. Whoever it was, they were gone now. If it had been anyone at all.
Twenty minutes later, Sam was ducking into his truck. He carefully slid the applications - including the new one for the shoe store - into the backseat and began to rummage through his pockets in search for his keys. He was halfway through pulling the keyring out when he heard it again.
"Sam."
Looking up, Sam turned his attention to the passenger side of the car. He immediately jumped, nearly smacking his head against the window beside him. Instead of an empty seat, as it had been when Sam had climbed into the truck, he instead found a man calmly sitting. Light brown hair, dressed in a pair of jeans topped off with a button-up shirt partially hidden underneath a brown jacket. He was watching Sam intently, very much in that same manner Sam could recall him taking on all those years ago. Patient. Calm. Ready to listen. Then again, Sam supposed that's what most teachers were required to be.
"Hello." His former literature teacher smiled at him, a picture perfect image of the man Sam remembered. He was one of the few who actually took interest in Sam. He'd pulled him aside, talked to him, listened, and encouraged him to take on a future that he wanted rather than the one that he was being told to pursue. This man had been the beginning of a lot of things, including building that hope that Sam had always carried with him in relation to his dreams of a safe future away from monsters and negligence.
Fourteen. He had only been fourteen. Sam couldn't remember half his high school teachers. Yet this man, as he clasped his hands together and stared at Sam with that quiet air of understanding, he did remember. Not by name, no. Sam had been young and he and Dean had switched out of schools every two or three months. It was hard to keep track. But his face. The way that he watched him. It was hard to forget.
"...what...are you doing here?" Sam started out slowly. He knew that the man wasn't real. Everyone had been experiencing this ghost thing, it seemed, himself included. Yet it was difficult to avoid asking the question. Each ghost seemed to have a different purpose. What did he want?
"Ironically, I was going to ask you the same question," he responded, his gaze steady as ever. "What are you doing, Sam?"
Sam raised his brows, shoulders rising and falling into an uneven shrug in response. "I'm trying to get outta here. What's it look like I'm doing?" He pulled his keys out of his pocket, as if to prove his point. Sam half wondered if now would have been a good time to jump out to the back, where his weapons locker was buried away in the trunk. Rock salt or iron would be useful, especially around a spirit. But the ghost...whatever he was, didn't appear to be vicious. That didn't mean Sam wasn't allowed to be cautious about it.
"You're smart." His former teacher pushed. "What are you doing, applying at shoe stores and radio shack? What happened to following your dreams? What happened to college?"
Oh, damn. He really should have predicted this one. "That's the thing," Sam answered, shifting in his seat uncomfortably, "they were just dreams. You can't take a guy like me and make a lawyer, or a doctor, or a...a whatever. It doesn't work like that. If you're really some kind of crazy manifestation of whatever I've got on the inside, then you should know what I am. What I've done. Where I come from. A guy like me doesn't just get up and find a career after nearly ending the world."
The man smiled quietly, as if he knew something that Sam didn't. "Why not?"
Sam scowled. "Because it doesn't work that way. I don't -"
"- but you do. In fact, you already have. You've considered it more than once. If you want to be something, Sam, then be something. You've made a lot of mistakes and you've had a hard time, but there are people out there who have had it badly too. They've started from nothing. Take a look around you, kid. The world isn't going to stop and wait for you to get on. You've gotta start running. Get out of this pit of excuses that you've buried yourself in. Isn't it time for you to make a change?"
Breathing out heavily, Sam shook his head. "You don't understand. I can't. I've tried. How am I supposed to even..." He bowed his head down, biting onto his lip. "How do I do it? How do I change?"
"Like I said before: you're smart. You'll figure it out. You've got your head in the right place, Sam, you've just got to find yourself in order to get the rest of you there." There was a pause. "And Sam?"
Sam looked up at him uncertainly.
"Don't give up on the world so easily."
Another soft smile was offered before the man vanished into thin air. Sam didn't panic. He didn't move. Instead, he stared at the empty seat, a numb feeling washing over him. Had that really just happened? Was any of this real for anyone?
Did he really have a place in the world beyond being the guy who would potentially bring forth it's end?