AN: Here's the first chapter. I should probably post a chapter once every week or week and a half, so don't say I didn't warn you! I do plan on keeping up with this one though, so check back next week for more. Enjoy, and remember to drop a comment if you want.

-GNS-

Chapter 1:

Dean woke up to a sharp rap on the passenger side of the Impala. Sunlight spilled into the car from the windshield and Dean shut his eyes against its sear. His neck ached and his lower back hurt like a mother—"I'm getting to old for this shit, remind me why I didn't crash inside the motel last night?" Dean mumbled.

"Wild night huh?"

Dean grasped blindly with one arm toward Sam for the coffee he smelled wafting through the window. The other he used to massage some of the tension between his shoulders.

"It's too early for your bullshit, Samantha," Dean quipped back, sucking down on the thick black java lifeline before him.

"Ha ha very funny—Sam's never brought you your hangover coffee before in your life. Hell, he's not even here yet—always late. S'posed to be here like ten minutes ago…" the man trialed off.

Dean's eyes snapped open, sitting up so fast the hot coffee spilled over his front half.
"Shit, damnit," he cursed, pulling the scalding stained shirt away from his torso.

"Woah, easy Dean… what's up?"

Dean turned his head slowly toward the voice at the window. A pair of familiar green eyes stared back at him from a very unfamiliar face.

"Who the fuck are you?" Dean hissed, reaching for his gun.

"What's up with you?" The guy asked, opening the passenger door and sliding in. Apparently brushing off Dean's question.

Dean cocked his pistol, the ivory handle cool against his palm.

"Woah woah shit, Dean. It's me—Henry?" He said, sliding back against the door, "your brother?" His hands were up and open, looking so much like Sam for a second. His brow furrowed and full on baby brother puppy dog eyes at the ready. The kid looked hurt.

"Trouble in paradise?" Dean heard from behind him. Sam. Relief spread through him, melting through his veins and the tension spilled from his shoulders. "Why ya got a gun on Henry, man?" Sam asked, bent so he could see better through the window, head cocked.

"Who?" Now Dean was really confused.

"Henry? Your youngest brother? The light of your life? The apple of your eye?" Sam deadpanned. It looked like Sam, at least. Whoever this cocky son of a bitch was, was most certainly not the brother he knew.

"Look I don't know what kind of sick joke this is—" Dean began, "if you're trying to get back at me for making you come get me last night, this is all sorts of elaborate…"

"Look," Sam interrupted, "I don't know what shit you two are pulling this morning, but I'm really not in the mood for tweedle dee and tweedle dipshit's antics, alright? Can we just get this show on the road? I have things I'd like to do within the next decade." His voice was hard and his eyes cold. Dean was taken aback by his rigidity. He didn't know what the hell was happening, but he thought, for the moment at least, Sam was not the beast to bother. Dean studied Sam's face for a moment—the set of his jaw, the line of his mouth. It was Sam, that much he knew. Hell, he had a lifetime spent knowing that face—but there was something military about the way he held himself. Something a lot like their father.

"Are we good?" Henry asked quietly, inquisitive eyes boring into the side of Dean's head. It was weird, completely weird. Henry looked a lot like him, he supposed. They could definitely be related. He was shorter, sure, and younger, probably in his late twenties, with a mess of John's dark waves of hair on his head and Mary's sharp chin. Dean wasn't sure what kind of drunken gin, or djinn filled dream he had landed himself in, but he was going to figure out.

"Yeah, yeah we're good. Sorry," Dean mumbled, straightening himself out behind the wheel, "Where are we headed?"

Sam scoffed from the window, shaking his head "Whatever shit you were on last night, cue me in next time will ya, I'd like to be invited. I'll lead the way." Dean watched as Sam strolled over to some old beater, shoulders set back. The engine rumbled to life with a sputter. Dean turned the key of the Impala and was comforted for a moment by the familiar purr of his baby. This, whatever the hell this was, was going to be a wild ride.