Chapter Two: On The Road

Wendigo hunting was not nearly as much fun as it sounded, and it sounded just stupid. Jerry stumbled into their motel room. John had checked them in as father and son so they had separate beds. At least the guy hadn't turned out to be some kind of pervert after all. John practically carried him to the bed.

"Easy, son, easy. Just let me take a look at it." John cut away his shirt and jacket.

"Damn it," he muttered.

"Am I hurting you?" John asked, freezing.

"Nah. Just really liked that jacket." Jerry shook his head sadly.

John chuckled. "You know, son, you're starting to grow on me. Tell you what, next credit card I get, I'll buy you a new jacket. How's that sound?" He peeled back the fabric, hissing through his teeth.

"You just get credit cards often?" Jerry asked, anticipating the sting as John applied alcohol directly onto his wounds. John poured it on as Jerry gritted his teeth. He had a really high pain tolerance, probably because he had already felt so much worse.

"Well, this job isn't a paying gig, son. Sometimes there are things I gotta do, that aren't exactly legal, to get by." He used towels from the bathroom to clean him up, finally settling down to closing up those nasty gashes. "How about next time I put two names down? Harold and his doting son, Oliver?"

Jerry forced a chuckle through clenched teeth. When John finally finished and got the bleeding stopped, or at least contained, he allowed himself to relax into the bed.

"Uh-uh," John admonished. "You're sleeping on the clean bed. Come on." He lifted Jerry like a child, moving him the three feet to the other bed.

"Damn, you're strong," Jerry muttered as exhaustion tugged at his eyelids. "Doting son, huh? So what do I call you? Pops?"

"Try Dad." The words filtered through the blackness that overcame him, driving him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Jerry woke daylight streamed into the crappy motel room, striking the far wall. He could not even guess if it was morning or afternoon. The clock by his beside said it was six, but not am or pm, so he was still lost. The door opened. Jerry would have liked to leap to his feet, but he'd like to have wings and fly, too.

"Hey, sleepyhead! You're awake. I was starting to think I'd have to entertain myself all evening. Here, catch." John tossed something his way. Jerry plucked it out of the air.

"Cards?" he asked, turning it over in his hands.

"Yep. Sounded like more fun than checkers." John motioned to him. "You're going to need to rest up for a while. That Wendigo got you pretty good."

"Why, uh, didn't you just take me to the hospital?" Jerry asked, attempting to sit up.

John crossed the room, shoved him back down. "Couldn't. Didn't have a fake insurance card or ID for you. Now be still or you're going to undo all my hard work."

His mind swam. "Why would I need that? I have insurance. Okay, it's crappy insurance, but it's insurance."

John looked startled. "Oh. Right." He frowned. "I didn't think of that." He shrugged. "Well, I saved you an ER copay, right? Hey!" he shouted, pointing a finger at Jerry who was trying to sit up. "Stay! That's an order."

Even though John turned his back, Jerry did not move. For some strange reason, he liked that, being told what to do. It gave him a freedom that he never had before – the freedom from worry and responsibility. If John wanted that burden, he was welcome to it. Besides, John treated him like he imagined a dad, a real dad and not some half-drunk jackass posing as a foster parent, would. All his life Jerry wanted a family, a real family. Why did he think 'Dad' every time he looked at John now? It was weird, but in a warm, safe kind of way. Funny thing to think with Wendigo slashes through your side.

"So, uh," John? Dad? Cripes, what was he supposed to call the man now? "Where do you get your fake IDs and stuff?"

John grinned. "I make them. When you're better I'll show you how." Jerry nodded at that. It did sound interesting. "You gonna deal or what?" Jerry ripped open the pack of cards.

The next day, he woke to find John staring at him. "What? Was I drooling?" Jerry swiped at his cheek.

"You like the name Jerry?" John asked softly, those dark eyes boring into him.

Jerry shrugged. "I guess. Why?" He smirked at John. "Got any better ideas?"

"My wife," John paused, pain rippling across his face, "she really liked the name Dean. Our first was stillborn, but," now that cocky grin returned, "I kind of think he'd be like you."

Jerry just stared until John squirmed uncomfortably. Finally John thrust something at him. "Here. If you wanted to."

Jerry looked down at the item in his hand. It was his driver's license photo, but the name on the license was Dean Winchester and the address was someplace in Kansas. He fingered it, unsure what he was supposed to do or say now. "Thanks," he whispered. Somehow, it did not seem enough. Was it weird to acquire a family when you were over twenty?

He kept taking the license out and studying it, rubbing his fingers along the edge. Someone wanted him, as a son. It was like his best birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. The miles rolled under their wheels as John… Dad, drove north. They had a referral about a poltergeist. He thought Dad said the guy worked at an airport or something.

"You said your first child," he said suddenly, his own voice a surprise. "You have more children?"

Dad cleared his throat. "Just Sammy. He's at school."

He nodded, watching the scenery flash past.

"Full ride to Stanford. Wants to be a lawyer," Dad continued, as if he had asked.

"We should go by there," he said, his words again a complete mystery. "Check up on him."

Dad's hands clenched the wheel, his knuckles turning white. "Maybe we should." He cleared his throat. "After the poltergeist."

The poltergeist was a nasty bugger, but Dad was amazing. Okay, he couldn't help too much since his side was still healing up from the Wendigo, but Dad really didn't need much help. He distracted the thing a couple of times, got hit by a few flying objects, all in a day's work.

"How bad did it get you?" Dad demanded when they were safely behind a closed motel room door.

"Not bad," he insisted, pulling off his boots.

"Right." Dad snorted. "You said that last time, too. Come on, shirt off. I want to see how you're healing."

He rolled his eyes, but took off his new leather jacket and the shirt. Dad poked and prodded a few times before standing up straight with a satisfied grunt. "Not bad."

He grinned. "You kidding? I thought I looked magnificent."

Dad rolled his eyes.

"So, when are we heading out to see Sammy?" he asked. "I always wanted a kid brother."

"Yeah," Dad said slowly, his brow creasing, "about that. Ah, Sammy isn't, well, we aren't exactly…"

Dean nodded, he knew that look all too well. "You're not speaking, right?" He sighed. "No wonder you made that ID for me. I'm a replacement."

"No!" Dad leaned right down into his face, eyes blazing. Dean swallowed hard, anticipating a blow that never came. "Don't you ever think that way, you hear me? Ever."

Dean wondered as Dad walked away to calm down if that line from his English class might apply, 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much.' Dad was too angry for Dean not to have struck a nerve with that. Well, he could learn from his mistakes. He would not mention it again. Better to be taken in as a replacement and have a family than to be out on his own again.