Disclaimer: X-Men and the characters of Sam "Cannonball" Guthrie belong to Marvel Comics and its related creators etc. Supernatural and the characters of Sam and Dean Winchester are the creations of Erick Kripke and the WB television network; they are not mine. The story references events from the comic verse and the first two seasons of Supernatural. The title came from a Metallica song by the same name.

"Wherever I May Roam" by Karen

Dean pushed the Impala as fast it would go trying to reach the far edge of the fire with one his favorite Metallica songs blasting away from the radio, its insistent rhythms, heavy on the bass serving as a counterpoint to the beating of his heart. In the passenger seat beside his brother, Sam's expression was something between exhilaration and looking as if he were about to have deja vu with his lunch.

While most people not involved in national park upkeep would likely have run as far as fast as possible in the opposite direction; not the Winchester boys. If there was any of the many lessons driven into their thick skulls by their father: one was to always stick by each no matter, another was to never back down from a challenge; and another was 'where there was smoke there was fire.'

**
Sam "Cannonball" Guthrie rolled over onto his side sputtering and coughing from the smoke that he took into his mouth and nose with every in held and exhaled breath but pushed onwards. Lord only knows that as bad as this wildfire had become he had been through a hell of a lot worse. The passenger jet had gone done approximately 30 yard from his present position and he had been tracking for almost the entirety of that length. The radioed call for assistance by the pilot had come through from the control tower at the San Francisco airport.

Sam who had been cooling his heels at the X-Men's new headquarters on the West Coast had spent some time monitoring police and emergency band radio frequencies. Quickly donning his uniform Sam had flown out to help. What he had found was alarming to put it mildly. As much as he pushed outward using his blast field to keep himself and the plane in the air;
it appeared that another force was pushing against him, as if there were a consciousness that wished to prevent him from coming anywhere near the aircraft. It was weird and unsettling; but then weirdness is as weirdness does.

The plane had been on fire from nose to tail and whatever had disabled the air craft had knocked out most of its electronic systems, leaving the craft all but crippled; except for the radio. Assessing the damage from all possible angles Sam had eventually locked on to the best way to bring the plane and its passenger to a safe landing, angling away his blast field and the cushioning the nose of the plane just prior to impact with the crowd.

Now, what felt like hours later but was more likely at the most forty five minute, Sam was lying prone on the scorched but thankfully solid ground bit bruised and banged up but otherwise unharmed when he discovered that someone was holding the business end of a barreled rifle in his face while another stood to his left and a few steps back with a loaded pistol primed and ready.

"You got a hell of a lotta explaining to do, pal," growled the shorter of the two men, the one with the rifle.

"What the hell do you want?" demanded Sam as he maneuvered away without making it appear so obvious. If any of his friends saw him like this he would never be able to live it down. Shot by some local hick in a burning national park after saving a 747 commercial aircraft full of passenger; it was ludicrous or it should have been. Sam Guthrie had been around long enough to know a proverbial fox from a hole in the ground and he could size up a potential opponent when he saw one. Sam recognized the look in eyes of these two; they had not chosen this particular stretch of the park system on a whim.

Whatever their story was, and it Sam would lay odds it was doozy; Sam wanted to do conduct matters on his own two feet and quickly scrambled upright once more.

"So," Sam Guthrie ventured. "What the blazes," he stopped and glanced around the dry brittle and charred clearing in which the three of them stood and then darted a quick apprising glance in all directions wondering how soon the wind would shift the wildfire in this direction. "Uh, under the circumstances that's a poor choice of words. What are you? And what in tarnation do ya'll want?"

"I'm Dean and this Sam. Winchester. Now, who in hell are you?"

"Come off it! This is no time for messing around!" the taller man muttered under his breath.

"Do you have a name?" added Dean in a more mollified tone of voice, "Or are you gonna settle for 'hey you?"

"Sam Guthrie."

"Sam?" Dean asked as he considered the matter as well as the fact that either Guthrie was looking for a way out or assessing how soon the blaze would reach this part of the par. Dean almost immediately place the other man's accent;
that southern drawl was unmistakable. "No frickin' way!" exclaimed Dean as he lay the rifle across his shoulders. "Look I don't know who the hell you think you are and I don't care, but you're right in thinking we should get outta here.
Sammy, bring our 'new friend' along. Will you?"

Sam Winchester walked over to where Sam Guthrie stood all the while keeping his gun in plain sight. "Come on. It's best not to argue with Dean when he gets like this. Flying and especially crash and burns make him, well,..." he said and then trailed off before adding. "Edgy," he lamely tacked on.

"Ya'all get no argument from me," Guthrie added. "However, I'd recommend that either of ya have a radio handy I'd call the fire and the sheriff's department.
What happened here was no accident and I think the plane that crashed here was the work of sabotage."

"When Singer called and tipped us off about a possible, uh, incursion, " replied Dean as he casually adjusted the angle of his weapon to deal with the change in position from prone on the ground to other man's now standing position. "When Bobby added that he had seen an unidentified flying object, I thought he was either lying or drunk, or both."

"Flying! Come on Dean, I think you're suffering from a hangover from the drunken binge last night."

Sam Guthrie winced and wondered if he'd best err on the side of caution and not reveal anything about his mutant abilities of flight, or whoever this Bobby Singer if he was merely a civilian who kept tabs on the X-Men or if were somehow connected to other more dangerous sorts.

In the meantime, Sam Guthrie sprinted away from the clearing and then came to a stop by an asphalt parking lot where a black Impala had been parked. The car was mint but had obviously seen quite a bit of wear and tear if the dents in its hood were any indication.

From Sam Guthrie's viewpoint it appeared as if someone had taken a crow bar to it some time in the recent past. Given Dean's temperament and from the comments that Sam Winchester had let drop it was probably a good idea not to inquire too closely about what happened to the car.

As it was the only car in the lot was then that Sam Guthrie decided, after due consideration, that he would let the Winchester brothers, for that was obviously what they were, make their own decisions on the matter of the 'unidentified flying object. No sense in borrowing any more trouble than I've already got myself into," thought Sam and then shoved the thought into a back corner of his mind.