“Roll, roll, roll in ze hay.” - Inga, Young Frankenstein

Riding in Cars with Strangers
by Sylvia Bond
Supernatural Episode Review, Season 2 - Episode 16
“Roadkill”

In a writer’s world, story is all, story is everything. Costumes and makeup don’t matter, set dressing doesn’t matter, and special effects matter even less than that. Every see a true storyteller surrounded by about 30 kids (and their parents lingering in the background), sitting still for over an hour just listening to a story being told? If you have, and I’m sure you have, then you’ll know why this particular ep, with it’s low-key special effects, sepia-toned look, and quintessential brotherness will have you sitting still and paying rapt attention. It’s damned fine storytelling being presented, an honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned ghost story. There’s no demon story arc, no “where’s the Colt” question being raised, and while I love both of those things, I didn’t miss them this time around, simply because I got sucked into the story so fast, I never realized they weren’t there.

Deceptively simple, the story starts out with a husband and wife on a road trip to Lake Tahoe, and I don’t think there’s a one among us who’s not aware of what happens to men on roadtrips: they refuse to ask for directions. It’s almost a cliché at this point, and ha ha, isn’t that funny. Only the husband and wife run over Farmer Greeley, go off the road, and run into a tree. The wife gets out, stumbles around looking for her Missing Husband, and stupidly goes into the lone hunting cabin where she encounters the grisly, ghastly remains of Farmer Greeley. 

The wife’s name is Molly, but I have this odd desire to call her Number Six, and was freaked out every time she showed up on screen on account of I expected her to find a baby and break its neck or something equally horrible. This is because the actress also plays a Cylon in the current Sci-Fi series “Battlestar Galactaca.” And because Farmer Greeley is so gross, Number Six runs, and because this is a Supernatural ep, she runs into Sam and Dean. Or rather they almost run into her. (Only Dean’s marvy driving skills allow him to break just in time on the icy road. Ice and snow and rain abound throughout, also, giving a chilly feeling to the storyline. Whenever I watch this ep, I just want to bundle up in as many blankets as I can find.) 

It quickly becomes obvious that this is her story, and we are offered the abounding joy of seeing the brothers from the outsider perspective, through which we get them at their ultimate selves, Uber Sam and Uber Dean. Sam, in this mode, is his uber polite, kind self, but unlike Tall Tales, where it was done for laughs, here it seems almost creepily intense, because he’s SO polite, and SO kind, and So, well, so Sam that it’s almost overkill. Dean, in his turn, is brusque and terse and all business, bordering on rude. He calls Number Six “lady” instead of Molly as Sam does, barely looks at her when talking to her, and has little patience for her tale of woe and her panic over her Missing Husband. 

There’s lots of looks and tips of the head, silent exchanges between the brothers as they try to convince Number Six to let them take her out of there. (There’s lots of flashing of flashlights, as well, in this ep, always sexy, and it starts in the first scene where the boys are looking for Number Six’s car. Which they can’t find.) Personally, I wouldn’t get into a stranger’s car on a BET, let alone with these two characters, because if I didn’t know them, I would be totally freaked to meet them on the road like this, and run very far, very fast in the opposite direction. It just adds to the creepiness of this ep that Number Six does not, no, instead she gets into the back seat of the black (totally AWESOME) and scary car with two guys well over the six foot limit, and allows herself to be driven off. 

Car scenes are always cool, and this one is no different. Number Six talks about how she and the Missing Husband only ever argue in the car, and when Sam chortles that he knows how that goes, Dean throws him a dirty look. (This particular exchange always makes me think that in Dean’s mind, if you don’t ever bring it up, then the problem will go away. Plus, I think he likes to think that he and Sam always get along like peaches and cream, and he certainly doesn’t like having anything to the contrary being announced to a perfect stranger. To him, what happens in the Impala, stays in the Impala.) 

Presently, the car radio picks its own music, the eerie “House of the Rising Sun,” which Number Six recognizes from the time of the accident. What bothers Dean most of all is the fact that Sammy might have overstepped his “shotgun” status and actually deigned to change the station without permission. But no! Not only would Sam never dare, it’s the ghost messing around, talking creepily through the radio, and then he’s in the road, and Dean puts on the gas and goes right through him. What’s worse is that then the Impala, hero of the road, traveler of a million miles, Dean’s well cared for best girl starts to sputter and stall and finally conks out. Now I know something’s not right and so do Sam and Dean. 

Everyone gets out and as Dean sensibly goes into the trunk of the Impala for weaponry, making no excuses for what he’s got to do, and Number Six finally gets a clue that these boys are not only tall and handsome, but also armed and potentially dangerous. (Duh!) She starts trying to make her getaway, which I thought she ought to have done way back when, but then Sam steps in and does his sweet-eyed, sweet-voiced number on her, convincing her that they mean to help. All the while, Dean is rolling his eyes, and completely without patience, tells her that they’ve come ghost hunting, and baldly spells it out all out. Allowing Sam to have the pleasure of saying, “Don’t sugar coat it for her or anything,” I line which I love hearing him say because it expresses his exasperation so very, very well. 

At any rate, the plot proceeds with Dean telling her about their hunt, and Sam telling her the details about Farmer Greeley. What makes the scene good is the tension that’s created for the viewer, in that while we know Sam and Dean are good, hard-working hunters, on the up and up, and honestly trying to help, Number Six has a hard time believing them, as she should do, as any of us would do. As they proceed to Farmer Greeley’s hunting cabin Sam tells her about salting and burning, and Number 6 gives that response that outsiders being brought in usually give, “Oh, sure…naturally.” Because all stories have their internal logic, and salting and burning is a cornerstone of this one. When Number Six wants confirmation that this is really what they do, Dean is brusque (again) and Sam is peeved (again). Sam, by the way, spends a lot of time during this ep with his mouth (adorably) working, open, but with no words coming out on account of he can’t come up with a way fast enough to counter Dean’s rude comments.

As they walk through the woods, Sam tells Number Six to stay close. Naturally she doesn’t. Naturally Dean arrives to save the day with his sawed-off aimed right at Farmer Greeley’s head. “Whoops,” says Dean, all businesslike as the Farmer goes up in a poof of black smoke. I like this about Dean; he’s unemotional himself, but he seems to understand that sometimes civilians go off the rails, and for all his bitching and moaning about it, he tends to be right there, when needed, to chase the bad men away. And I like it that Sam, when he arrives on the scene, asks DEAN if he’s okay, oddly, for the moment, not concerned with Number Six at all. 

Now, with Sam walking behind Number Six this time, they go up to the farmhouse (a monstrous 5 minutes walk from the hunting cabin, and why on earth is his hunting cabin SO close; aren’t these things usually tucked way far away from civilization? If I have any beef with the logic of this ep, it’s this point.), where Dean bitches about how just once he’d like to see a nice house. Well, he should know, surely he knows, that sometimes the nicest facades hide the worst horrors; I personally think he’s bitching just to bitch, keeping up appearances the way people do when they have an audience that they’re not used to having. Namely Number Six. Plus the farmhouse is the perfect old, abandoned building, complete with the old fridge, the outdated appliances, the scatterings of junk and crap all over the place, and everything’s coated with dust. You couldn’t get a more perfect setting for a ghost story than this. (Thumbs up to the set dressing guys, yeah, for all my schpeel about good stories not needing anything else, the grey on grey of the farmhouse really adds to the atmosphere.)

Inside the farmhouse, without looking at her, Dean sends Sam and Number Six upstairs, while he will poke around downstairs. I do not like the boys separating, no, but I do like the image the scene has left in my head, that of Sam amidst a sea of papers, flashlight shining in his hand, searching through ephemera with the ease of a kingfisher slicing through water. He’s in his element here, sitting on the bed next to Number Six and talking quietly about ghosts and (in a sexy deep voice) explaining how they (mostly) weren’t evil people, but have gotten confused and lost thinking that there’s something they needed to do before they cross over. 

Gentle Sam is contrasted once more by Brusque Dean, who comes in to announce that he doesn’t like ghosts, and he sure as hell ain’t making apologies for ‘em. Naturally, from his vantage point, Dean spots the secret door, and after a fairly humorous crook to his eyebrow when he can’t kick it open the first time (and Ackles can control his eyebrows better than even Leonard Nimoy), Dean manages to bang his way into an attic space where they find Mrs. Farmer Greeley’s body where she hung herself years earlier. It’s nasty and it’s sad, and naturally, Sam wants to take her down and give her a decent burial. “We can’t leave her like this,” he says, and I love this about Sam, his tenderness to even fifteen-year old bones. Also excellent is Dean’s response, he hangs his head as he gives up, giving in to little brother, for indeed there is nothing as powerful as Sam intent on doing the right thing. 

The brothers bury her, which makes my heart sing, for I love to see them digging in the dirt. I think it has to do with the idea of them, so businesslike and practical, sweating and shoveling and it makes me think, how many cemeteries? How many unmarked plots? How many bones, and salt, and matches? There’s much exchanging of silent, brotherly code between Sam and Dean, but Number Six, of course, only wants to know what happens after, what happens when you die? Dean tells her sharply, “Lady, that’s beyond our pay grade,” (like they actually get paid, which they don’t!) whereas Sam’s answer is more gentle. He tells her that they don’t know, really, looking rather woeful as he does this, because more than he would like to personally know, he would like to be able to tell her. Look up “empathy” in the dictionary and you will surely find Sam’s picture there, especially in this ep. (Plus, whoot, whoot, Sam actually talks about The Dad, and calls him “our Dad,” with total affection in his voice, which is nice to hear, since there was so much anger between them, so many bad feelings. I think Sam is on his way to letting them go, don’t you?)

Back at the farmhouse, Sam wants to tell her the truth, and Dean thinks they shouldn’t, on account of keeping her in the dark is for her own good. Which is an interesting flip, as usually it’s Sam who would prefer to not spill the beans when civilians are concerned, and Dean who feels that knowing all the facts will keep you safer. Show demonstrates perfectly its consideration of the continuity of these characters, without being obvious about it, or having stilted dialog. No, it comes out of a piece, naturally, easily. Sam’s all worked up and pacing and feeling bad, doing it the way that he does, being Uber Sam, spilling his those emotions all over the screen, being the Sammy Sam Sam that I have grown to love and adore, being totally himself. Dean, too, is Uber Dean, all business (both front and back), face barely moving, only getting worked up when he must enjoin Sam to stick to the plan. The plan is all, and Dean’s not the type to be swayed by something as minor as feelings, even if they are his brother’s. 

Naturally, Number Six (with her super Cylon hearing) overhears them and wants to know. Sam opens his mouth, and Dean barks, “Sam, don’t!” It’s interesting to watch Sam obey Dean here, and to consider how many years of conditioning have brought him to this state. Sam doesn’t always obey, of course, but I think Show does a terrific job of mixing it up; here, where Sam’s so emotional about everything, he allows Dean’s lack of emotion to rule the day. 

Naturally, “House of the Rising Sun” starts playing on a jukebox that isn’t actually plugged into a wall. Naturally, the wind blows and the frost grows, creepy messages appear, and naturally, Sam and Dean wander over to it, amazed, as if they’ve never actually seen or heard such a crazy thing in their lives. (There are some wonderful close-ups of Dean here, making me ask myself yet again how it is humanly possible to be THAT freaking beautiful!!) Naturally, Number Six gets grabbed by Farmer Greeley, and all the while I’m thinking, who actually owns something as cumbersome as a jukebox? (I get distracted easily, as you can see.) 

This allows Sam and Dean to go on a wild Number Six chase, open-mouthed and breathless and somewhat ineffectual, but hey, if there weren’t a chase scene, then it wouldn’t be Show, now would it. The cutest moment is when Sam realizes that a tree probably marks the spot where Farmer Greeley’s body is buried, and Dean goes, “You are a walking encyclopedia of weirdness!” To which Sam says, in an “oh, gee” voice, “Yeah, I am.” Sometimes you simply cannot deny your own true self, you know?

Farmer Greeley tortures Number Six; there’s blood, and bared stomachs, and ghostly madness. What’s odd is that, while knowing Dean doesn’t care for Number Six all that much, Sam sends Dean in there to protect her while he, Sam, finds, digs up, and sets the corpse on fire. I’m not sure why Show did this, normally it’s Dean who lights the fires and Sam who protects the innocents. But maybe this time around, as a treat, Show sent Dean in there so that Farmer Greeley could perform the Throwing of the Dean, and follow that up with a little Dean whumpage, which is always fun for fangirls. Dean suffers through it so well, as he always does, grunting and grimacing, and really, he’s up against it with Farmer Greeley having Jedi powers and the ability to bring knives into his hand with just a twitch. (There’s a terribly cute bit when Number Six says, “Oh, God!” as Dean first shoots Farmer Greeley, and Dean says, “You can call me Dean,” ever so causally, but you almost never hear Dean say his own name, so it was like a little piece of candy amidst all the torture.)

Meanwhile, Sam is huffing and digging and spreading salt and stuff, lighting the match just in time to send Farmer Greeley up in a screaming pillar of flame. So he’s dead and all, and that’s good, but the ep carries on like the plot’s not already been solved, and what was at the beginning a simple, old-fashioned ghost story is about to become something more sophisticated. Although, truth be told, I’m distracted by Dean walking back to the Impala and sometimes like to rewind this particular tidbit just to watch him stroke her gleaming, rain-dappled curves and call her “baby.” 

Sam offers to take Number Six to the Missing Husband, who, it turns out, is alive, even though Sam looks pained to tell her this. When they get into town and Number Six sees Missing Husband kissing another woman (in his bathrobe, no less!), she’s totally confused, and so am I. But it’s one of my favorite scenes because Show finally gave in and realized it was raining, and instead of shielding the actors from the rain, Show let it pelt on down on them, and let the realism in, letting Ackles and Padalecki get really wet and scraggly (and beautiful) the way the boys would be, truly, if they’d spent the entire night, running and jumping and leaping and digging in the dirt. 

But it’s now that the reveal is revealed, look away if you don’t want to be spoiled. Sam tells her that not only is Farmer Greeley a ghost, but she is too, that she died in that accident 15 years ago, and the struggle between her and Farmer Greeley has been going on ever since. As Number Six remembers, the montage of flashbacks starts, and although it’s short, it’s very good. We get bits and pieces of the boys, dithering over the case. Some of the scenes provide an alternate perspective of what we’ve already seen, for example, as Dean puts on the brakes just in time to not run over Number Six, Sam observes that she doesn’t realize she’s dead. We also get new scenes, like the boys in the library figuring out that there might be two ghosts on Highway 41 (the microfiche machine is a hoot!), but it’s not arduous like some flashback montages are. It clips along, hitting the important bits, showing us what we need to know about the conundrum facing the brothers: at what point do we tell her she’s dead? 

It also explains the Uberness of Sam and Dean, which all along felt out of sorts and almost not quite right. Of course, now, now that I know she’s a ghost, Sam’s gentleness and quiet voice every time he spoke to her has even more significance, for only Sam would take the time to sit by a ghost, and, in a round about way, try to explain to her why she was still on Earth. Remember the mattress scene? Yeah, Sam showed no fear, only empathy. But then in comes Dean, stomping his boots, and curling his lip with derision. A little above and beyond even for Dean, but easier to understand now, once you know she’s a ghost. To Dean, ghosts aren’t people, they’re just supernatural things that need to be dealt with. He’s not being rude, he’s just saving people and hunting things like he always does. 

It gets a little bit darker at this point, as Number Six realizes (and the boys don’t refute her) that in order to draw out Farmer Greeley that they used her as bait. The idea of using someone as bait has come up in Show before, but normally the person being bait a) knows that they’re bait, and b) is alive. It’s true to the Winchester’s training that they will use whatever materials are to hand, even if that means using an a) unwitting and b) dead civilian. That is the hardness of their lives, that sometimes they have to be cruel to be kind, and I like it that Show does not shy away from this. 

Sam convinces Number Six to give herself up to fate, and this she does, reminding me instantly of that scene in the Star Trek ep “Who Mourns for Adonis?” where Adonis spreads his arms and allows the wind to take him. There’s something powerful about the way Number Six gives herself up like this, and something sad too, certainly more beautiful than Farmer Greeley’s screeching and clawing at the air as the flames swallowed him up. Only one question remains, if Number Six had been cremated (as Missing Husband tells the boys during the montage), how on earth was she able to stick around? The answer, although unspoken, is schmoop abounding: Number Six needed to stick around to make sure Missing Husband was okay. That was her unfinished business.

Sam and Dean watch her go into the light (Carol Ann) and then follow up with meaningful brotherly exchanges, signaling not only the end of the ep but also establishing their current position on small issues like life after death and the ambiguity present in the question as to whether they have the right or the duty to kill something that’s supernatural but which might not be evil. Sam, with Samhair twitching around his face like witchweed, looks at Dean, and Dean, with his manly scar grazing his manly cheek, looks back, and then gives Sam several brotherly slams on the shoulder. They’re going to hit the road now, as they do, as they always do, with Sam angsting all over the place, and Dean concentrating, as he does, on the road and the next place he should stop to give his baby some fuel. 

Overall, this was a terrific ep, with a great story, and all the little pieces parts that make a great story even better, stuff you don’t really need, but are like icing on the cake, like the rain, and lots of flashlight action, boys digging in the dirt and being their uber selves. Plus it was a tight, intimate ghost story, not with a cast of thousands, but really, only a handful of characters, lots of good close-ups, and dialog that felt right and true. This ep doesn’t get a lot of fanpress, you don’t hear fangirls going “Oh, watch this one!” simply because, I think, there’s not a lot of flash and dash, it’s all steak and very little sizzle. There’s no nekked nudity, no overt sexy hubba hubba-ness. Just ghosts and two brothers doing their job. And some days, that’s all you need, really.

Sylvia Bond is a ten-year technical writing veteran with too many degrees under her belt to count. She lives in Colorado, but does not ski, preferring instead to spend her money and time at the annual Great American Beer Festival, taking road trips across the United States, and reading historical fiction from the comfort of her fluffy green arm chair. She has been involved in fandom since 1993 and been writing fanfic since approximately 1993. What she finds most amazing about fandom (besides the open heartedness of fans and the sheer amount of creativity) is how visible fandom has become. “In my day,” she says, “we had to hide behind P.O. boxes to get fanfic. But nowadays, people wear t-shirts that shout their affiliation and share their shiny toys on the internet.” It’s a wonderful world.

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