Ben Braeden had lived for years with this itch in the back of his head. He'd often ponder the nagging feeling that something wasn't right; that something was missing, but never said it out loud. How would people treat you if you said you were having dreams about a man named Dean Winchester who hunted monsters, and you were almost sure that they were real? Ben was twenty-one when Jesse Turner showed up at his door with a sawed off and a machete. Before Ben could contemplate what was going on, before he even introduced himself, Jesse touched Ben's forehead, allowing everything to pour back. Monsters are real. Jesse was one of them. Well, at least that's what Jesse called himself. Ben never thought that he was very monster-like, but Jesse always shrugged him off whenever he said that.
Ben had a Mustang, and Jesse equipment. They were the perfect match. Well, as perfect as one could be in the Hunting world. They would often bicker about stupid things, like diner or drive through, or AC/DC or Zeppelin, but, they worked well together. Jesse was the brains, and Ben the brawn. Of course, it wasn't all peaches and cream after Jesse restored Ben's memory. No. There was the obvious, "How did you find me?" and the begging, "Why me?" when things got too hard, but beside the questions, there were the injuries, the screw-ups. Ben watched a little girl bleed to death on the pavement because he shot too early. Jesse didn't seem to be too fazed by it, but Jesse didn't seem to be fazed by anything, except hustling pool. Ben wondered if that was what Jesse meant by him being a monster.
The answer to the first question had been easy. Ben was easier to find than a neon sign in a haystack. He had done a shit job of covering his tracks, mainly because he didn't know he had any tracks that needed to be covered. The second was a bit more difficult. Why him? Jesse had said it was because Ben had known before. Before an angel wiped his memory. He was the best choice, by default. That never sat too well with Ben, but it was better to have the itch answered than to let it grow. So, he put up with Jesse, and lived life on the road, hunting after monsters and sucking down cheap coffee and beer like air, just to keep himself from screwing up. He didn't think that he could take seeing another person die at his hands again.