Strange Meeting
They were in some state that wasn't quite southern and wasn't quite midwest, probably northern Kentucky or southern West Virginia by this time, just passing through. But at the full-service gas station a toothless attendant had started telling Sam all about a meteorite crash and the poltergeist (he said "powddargahst," but by now Sam was an expert in translating yokel) that had taken up residence in the area. Apparently things had been just rising up and floating away for a week or more, and people who tried to follow the objects tended to forget what they were doing very quickly.
And so they were still here, two nights later, in a crappy little town in northern Kentucky (or southern West Virginia) with one barely decent bar. And Sam had decided that it was a good time to go powddargahst-hunting. Telekinesis reminded him of Max, of his own newfound skill at mentally rearranging the furniture. Maybe they'd find something of importance out here.
They headed out to inspect the meteor crash site. The woods were so quiet that birdsong echoed. Dean crept up next to Sam and informed him that if they heard so much as a note of "Dueling Banjos," he was going to kill him. Or just trip him and leave him for the rednecks.
They'd been walking for more than an hour when they came upon a long patch of downed trees; further ahead, it turned into a jumbled mess of trees and plowed earth, like a giant had been skipping stones over dry land. In a clearing to the right, there was a glimmer of firelight.
Sam nodded his head in the direction of the thickest underbrush and the two of them took cover behind it, guns held ready. They cut a wide circle through the woods, bringing them much closer to the firelight. They stopped in a crouch only a few yards away from what looked like a makeshift campsite. There was a dark shape sitting beside it, facing away from them.
And abruptly, the shape spoke. "Why don't you gentlemen come out?"
Sam and Dean exchanged surprised glances, then shrugged and stood up, guns aimed in the direction of the voice. The shape unfolded into a lanky figure, then turned around slowly.
He was completely human, wearing a black jumpsuit that looked kind of like a fighter-pilot outfit. Dean was pleased to note that he was himself a couple of inches taller than the guy in front of them. He was even more pleased to note that the guy appeared to be unarmed. "You the one controlling this poltergeist?" he demanded, shifting his aim.
"I beg your pardon?" He looked maddeningly relaxed, considering two larger men had two very well-cared-for guns pointed in his face.
"There's a poltergeist hanging around the town, making things move, knocking out lights. Is it you?" Sam asked.
The man flicked his eyes from one man to the other. "I don't know what a poltergeist is, but I'm not one, nor am I controlling one, and if you two don't get those pop-guns out of my face right now, you're going to find them in your mouths."
Dean cocked his shotgun; the noise rang loud in the silent clearing. "That's not really convincing."
Sam, ever the diplomat--he really would have made a good lawyer--took a less offensive stand. "So if it's not a poltergeist, what is it?" he asked. "Are you a telekinetic?"
"I'm a Jedi," he snapped.
Dean chuckled and adjusted his aim. "Yeah, right. 'S that a lightsaber in your pocket, or are you just happy to see--"
Suddenly their guns were yanked out of their hands. There was a crackling, hissing sound, and then there was a beam of purple light pointing at Dean's chin.
"Holy shit," Dean said.
Sam stood gaping, apparently stunned, but the guy--the Jedi--shot him a sharp glance. "Don't even think about it, Sammy," he said.
Sam started. "How did you--"
"Jedi," he repeated impatiently.
"Right, right."
Dean was still staring warily at the tip of the lightsaber blade. It was very close to his face, which made him go slightly cross-eyed. "Uh, hey, college boy? Why don't you give me a hand with some of that weaselly lawyer-speak you were learning. Defuse the situation? Get the lightsaber out of my face?"
"Yeah, um...dude? Jedi Master...sir? Please don't kill my brother. We're not...bounty hunters or Sith Lords or anything. We swear."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Thanks, man, that was brilliant."
The Jedi eyed them both one more time, then shut down the lightsaber and returned it to his belt. "If you were dangerous, I'd have sensed it. You're remarkably difficult to distract, though; I've been keeping the locals away for a week." He paused for a second, apparently sizing them up, then held out his hand. "Jedi Master Kyp Durron."
"Nice to meet you. We're--"
"Sam and Dean Winchester."
Dean rolled his eyes again. "Yeah," he sighed, but his handshake was more or less friendly. "So no offense, but what the hell are you doing here?"
"I crashed. Got winged by a gravitic anomaly and lost all my nav systems. I sent a message back to base and they've dispatched a cruiser to pick me up." He sighed. "Jaina's never going to let me live this down."
"So you've been stealing supplies using telek--using the Force," Sam finished. "Right?"
Kyp shrugged. "Man has to eat. I ran out of rations a few days ago, and had to turn to the, uh, kindness of strangers. My turn. What are you two doing out here?"
"We thought--" Sam began. "We thought you could help us. But I--we were expecting something else."
"Sorry, the guru-stuff is Skywalker's business. And I'm not looking for an apprentice."
Sam just stared at him at the mention of Skywalker--God, what a nerd--so Dean picked up the slack. "Hey, maybe you're a Jedi, Sammy," Dean smirked. "But if we find out that Hayden Christiansen is your dad, I'm totally killing you."
"If Hayden Christiansen is my father? I'll totally let you."
Dean turned back to Kyp. "Hey, speaking of killing people, can we have our guns back?"
"Will you keep them out of my face?"
"Yeah," Dean admitted grudgingly.
Kyp gestured with his hand, and the two guns floated gently off the ground and into their hands. They took them with a nod of thanks.
"Well," Dean said. "Sorry about the whole ambush thing. No hard feelings?"
"I'm not going to stab you when you turn your backs," Kyp promised with a lopsided grin. "That wouldn't be sporting."
Not quite reassured by this, they turned to go. It was getting cold, and a clammy fog was rolling up from the valley. Dean hesitated, then turned back. "It's damn cold out here. Want to go for a drink?"
Kyp grinned, dousing the fire with another sharp hand gesture. "Find us a nice, weak-minded barkeep and I'll keep us in drinks all night."
Dean grinned back and almost slung an arm over the Jedi Master's shoulder. "I think I know just the place."
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