Life With Dean

AU: John never had an older son named Dean, but maybe he needed one. This AU will go through Hellhouse, but nothing has been written beyond that so far.

Thanks to the many betas on this, LaceyM for shoving me in the right direction, charis-kalos for her mad editing skills (you rock!), and to Kanarah J for preventing me from being too repetitive and keeping Sam from becoming a girly-man (I and the Sam-girls thank you for that). I hope I didn't forget anyone!!

Warning: If Wincest is your thing, you won't find it here.

Chapter One: The Meeting

Jerry hunched over the engine he was working on, trying to concentrate. He was distracted by the burly man with a cherry '67 Impala talking to his boss. Usually people like that worked on their own cars, but Jerry hoped the guy could use an oil change or something. After what felt like endless minutes, his boss waved him over.

Trying not to look desperate, Jerry moved away from the piece-o-crap he had been attempting to fit a mismatched carburetor on for an idiot customer toward his boss and the burly man. Jerry was about six-foot-one and this guy had an inch or two on him, kind of scraggly dark beard flecked with some early gray, and messy dark hair. He had this presence, though, and when the guy smiled his boss introduced them.

"John Winchester," the burly man said, taking Jerry's hand in a firm handshake.

"Jerry," he replied simply, not bothering to use his meaningless legal last name. "What can I do for you?"

"Mister Winchester needs a tune-up, but he wants to watch while you do it. Okay?" His boss chewed on the end of a disposable ballpoint, nervous habit since his wife made him quit smoking.

Jerry grinned. He was getting his hands on that Impala after all. Jerry motioned to his bay for the guy – Winchester – to drive it in. As he worked, Winchester started talking. At first it was pretty innocent stuff, like how long Jerry'd lived here and if he followed the local ball clubs, stuff like that. After he finished changing the oil and moved on to the spark plugs, Winchester shifted gears. He started asking all kinds of personal questions about stuff that happened when he was a kid.

"You know," Jerry said, putting on the last plug wire, "usually when someone gets this personal I at least get dinner." He glared at Winchester.

At first he thought the man was going to get angry with him, but instead Winchester grinned, like he expected that comment. "No problem. What time do you get off?"

Jerry squinted at him, wondering how the hell that went so wrong. "Dude, no offense, but I really don't swing that way."

Winchester laughed. "Me either. But there's some information I need and I think you have it, whether you know it or not." When Jerry just kept staring, Winchester added, "And if I make a move on you, you can shoot me. Okay?"

Jerry shrugged, returning his attention to the car. It was sweet, he had to admit. Too bad such a creep drove it.

"Mind taking it for a spin?" Winchester asked, tossing him the keys. "Make sure everything sounds good?" He grinned again and Jerry felt himself caving.

He took the keys and started it up. It started a little rough, but that sounded more like the carb needed adjusting. Not too bad, really. Jerry pulled out carefully, because the guy could still see him. Once he was out on the road, however, he opened her up. Oh yeah! The timing might be slightly off, too, but nothing that couldn't be fixed. He made sure to take a cool down lap before taking it back in, just to be sure that guy wouldn't be too suspicious.

"Timing is a little off, and your carburetor needs adjusted," he said, tossing the keys back.

Winchester frowned. "Really? I didn't notice."

Jerry shrugged. "Most people don't in their daily drives. Starts to get off and they just get used to it."

Winchester caught his eye. "I also don't tend to race it." Jerry stared back, unflinching. Winchester grinned again, like they shared a secret or something. "See ya after work." He waved as he drove off.

Jerry had the distinct feeling he had a date after work, and it creeped him out. He dragged out his last job of the day as long as he could, trying to postpone the inevitable. There was that hope Winchester would either give up on him or forget, but somehow he doubted it, especially when he finally came out and found the shiny black Impala waiting out front.

Shaking his head, Jerry approached the car. "Man, I told you, I don't swing that way."

Winchester glared at him, no hint of any of the earlier mirth or good humor. "When you were about five, your parents took you camping; family vacation. Ten people died that week and you were the only survivor." The motor turned over. "I want to hear your side, and I don't care how crazy it sounds."

Jerry stared at the man in the black car, all conscious thought frozen in the light of the words assaulting his ears. He slid into the passenger seat, stared out the front windshield. Giving the man a short nod while taking care not to look directly at Winchester, Jerry pulled the door closed.

They drove in relative silence, only the hum of the big Chevy motor filling the void, until Winchester pulled into a restaurant parking lot. "You okay, kid?" he asked, one arm dangling across the steering wheel.

Jerry shook himself from his stupor. "Uh, yeah. I guess." He forced a small grin. "It's just when you expect everyone to be after your body, and then you find out it's your past, it's kind of unnerving." He shook his head.

Winchester barked a short laugh. "Kid, you're something else. Come on, let me buy you a beer."

Jerry looked down at himself. His clothes were covered in oil and grease and he could smell the stale sweat. "I usually clean up first."

"What for? It's not like you're on a date." Winchester hopped out of the car. With a shrug Jerry followed, hoping all the waitresses were homely tonight because he would not be making a good impression.

After taking a booth in the far corner and receiving their beers, Winchester tapped the table. "So, You wanna tell me about it?"

Jerry shook his head. "Not particularly."

"Come on, kid." He blew out a sigh. "I'm even buying you dinner."

"I have a name, and it isn't kid," Jerry said, setting his beer back down. "It's Jerry, think you can remember that?"

Winchester shook his head. "Fine. Jerry. Please tell me what happened."

He concentrated on the black gunk around his thumbnail. "We were camping." Jerry took a deep breath. "A noise woke me up, like wind outside the tent." He scraped at the black gunk on his nail.

"But it wasn't wind, was it?" Winchester's voice was softer now, like they were sharing a secret.

Jerry shook his head. "It came right through the side of the tent. At first I thought it was a bear, because my dad told me all about bears before we went. It, ah, ripped our tent." That black gunk was tough. He used more pressure, desperately scraping at it with an uneven nail.

"Your parents?" Winchester asked and he sounded almost sympathetic.

Jerry shook his head. "I don't remember. I'm pretty sure it got them."

"How did you get away?" Winchester asked, breathless.

Jerry looked up, meeting Winchester's eyes for the first time since approaching the car after work. "I didn't."

Winchester frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jerry looked around, unsure why he was doing this. No one seemed to be looking their way. He unbuttoned his shirt to expose his left shoulder. Thick scars crossed his chest, but were most prominent on his shoulder. Movement from the corner of his eye made him yank his shirt back in place. As the waitress brought their order, he buttoned his shirt.

"I see what you mean," Winchester motioned with his fork over his rather thin steak. "How did you survive? I mean, you were the only one."

Jerry shook his head. "No idea. I woke up in a hospital all by myself."

Winchester reached down, plunked a file Jerry hadn't noticed on the table. "According to the papers, and a couple who stopped to check on a boy by the roadside, you walked at least four miles trying to find help." He flipped the folder open, pointed out a computer printed article. "I already interviewed the couple. It checks out." A thin grin snaked across Winchester's face. "You're really something, kid."

They ate in silence. When he finished, Winchester shoved his plate away. "Ever think about going after the thing that killed them?"

"What?" Jerry looked up again. He had been trying to remember walking from the campsite, but it was all a blank. "What do you mean?"

Winchester threw some bills down on the table. "It's called a Wendigo. They start out as human, more or less, then they acquire a taste for cannibalism. It gives them strength, speed, cunning, damn near perfect hunters. Only way to kill them is with fire."

One side of Jerry's mouth drew up. "Sounds like what the flare gun was made for."

"Now that's an idea." Winchester chuckled again. "So what do you say? Want to go?"

"Seriously?" Jerry leaned back, his burger only half eaten. "You're some kind of nutcase, aren't you?"

The man just grinned. "What does that make you? The guy flashing his shoulder at nutcases?" He shrugged. "Besides, I thought you might want to take a crack at getting the Impala running, you know, just right."

"I do have some vacation time saved up," Jerry mused. "When you planning to leave?"

"When can you go?"