Author's Note: So, this was a random idea that sort of ran away a bit... It's based on the idea that Jack and Gibbs both found and made use of the fountain of youth, so I guess it sort of AU for the 4th movie, but oh well, 'tis only a bit of fun :) For those of you who haven't seen all of season 7 of Supernatural: There be spoilers ahead, mates, ye be warned.

It's also a possible answer to the question that's been bugging many a supernatural fan: What actually happened to Frank?

Oh, and one more thing, there's a reference in here to Jennifer Lynn Weston's brilliant fic 'Jack to the Future', I might have pilfered an idea or two from there... I blame Jack, he's a bad influence :P If there is actually anyone out there reading, I strongly suggest you check it out, it's totally worth it.

Oh yeah, and insert witty disclaimer lamenting lack of ownership of Jack or Dean here...

ANYWAY, here goes...

Joshamee Gibbs (or Frank Deveraux, as he was currently known) knew it as soon as he clapped eyes on the Winchesters that he was going to rue the day he ever helped them. Both he and Jack had an unwritten code. If there's trouble brewing, stay the hell out of it. It had served them both well over the centuries, and they were able to carry on with their immortal lives.

He fervently wished he'd stuck to that code now, and he could be far away on some beach, toasting to his longevity with Jack, and thoroughly pickling his brains in rum. Instead here he was, about to charge into the lion's den and smother himself in BBQ sauce. Jack, true to form, had scarpered to one of the more remote islands at the first sign of trouble. The pair of them had quietly but keenly observed worldwide events, knowing that falling behind the times would make them vulnerable. He had himself discovered an unexpected talent for computing. Jack had a theory that their visits to the fountain had other benefits apart from extending lifespan. It would explain how the younger man had suddenly revealed a singing talent that had been notably absent when he would scamper about the deck of the Pearl, singing that bloody song Miss Elizabeth had taught him.

Getting involved with two men who left bodies in their wake like a trail of breadcrumbs made by Hansel and Gretel had never seemed appealing, but he had still gone and done it. Maybe it was because they reminded him of a certain young blacksmith. Especially the tall one. Both of those lads had been dealt the worst hand in life, yet neither ever questioned why they were fighting, he had some respect for that. Or maybe it was because he really was grateful to that grumpy old coot Singer. Now that was a good man, and no mistake. Even if he had threatened to sew Jack's mouth shut if he didn't stop talking.

His first encounter with the truly evil supernatural beings that walked on this planet had in fact been in Port Huron a few years back. He had been helping Jack with some shady business deal, which he knew little about. His Captain and friend still played things close to the vest, even with him. The creature that had attacked him made Davy Jones look like a girl scout in comparison. He truly thought he was done for when he'd awoken in a stinking cabin, chained up so tight he couldn't move. Bobby Singer really had saved his bacon when he charged in and soaked the creature in gasoline before lighting it on fire. Even now he still had nightmares about it. Jack had been waiting outside, handcuffed to Singer's beaten-up truck, and not looking particularly pleased. He and Singer hadn't parted on good terms, although the ex-pirate still sent him a bottle of rum every other Christmas or so. They'd shared a solemn toast at the news of his passing. And Gibbs had known then that he would stand his ground as long as he could.

"You look horrific. When was the last time you really slept the night?"

He could remember having similar exchanges with Jack, back in the days when he'd first retrieved the Black Pearl, and would refuse to leave the helm for days on end, not daring to trust any of his new crew. It had been a long and hard road to convince him that mutiny was the furthest thing from any of their minds. His paranoia has served him well though, both of them were well versed in deception and covering their own hides. The brooding Winchester was starting to grate on his nerves though, especially since he was unwittingly evoking emotions that Gibbs had been dutifully repressing for several hundred years.

"Ok then, fine, do what I did."

"What? Go native? Stock up on sea rations?"

He was strangely on the mark, there, Gibbs thought wryly.

"No, cupcake. What I did when I was 26 and found my wife and two kids, gutted on the floor. Decide to be fine til the end of the week. Make yourself smile, because you're alive and that's your job. Then do it again the next week."

He had been away when raiders had pillaged the small coastal village where he lived. He was one of the first to discover the carnage they had left in their wake. God knew what horrors his family had endured before they'd been granted the mercy of death. That was what had prompted him to join the navy, wishing to bring justice to the rotters who preyed on the innocent for such a small gain. And he'd ended up joining their ranks. The world was strange like that.

"So, fake it?"

"I call it being professional. Do it right, with a smile, or don't do it."

That was how he'd got by for the last few centuries. Even Jack had never been given the full account of his families loss. He doubted he ever would share it. The memories were buried too deep. Gibbs thought that he'd best stop dwelling and focussed on the task at hand. Jack hadn't dropped as far off the radar as it appeared apparently, which was how he'd managed to warn Gibbs that Roman and his cronies were closing in. A few carefully placed blood spatters, and some strategic smashing ensured that it would take only the most determined hacker to retrieve any of his files. And even then he'd rigged a clever little set-up to ensure they didn't fall into the wrong hands. He'd even spread a little sulphur about the place, just to make it that much more convincing. He truly regretting leaving those boys to it, but he was sure they could handle it. They'd bested the devil himself, literally, after all.

When he saw the news report of Roman's mysterious disappearance, on a small, grimy television set behind a bar in Puerto Rico, he gave a silent salute to the young lads, hoping that they hadn't paid too high a price for their victory, and drank in their honour.