Disclaimer: I do not own neither Harry Potter nor Supernatural otherwise I would be driving the Impala.
Author's note: I had an idea and just ran with it, it's gonna be a serie so...anyways, just tell me what you think! :)
It felt as if he had spent his entire life in Hell as if all he could remember was being tortured endlessly on the rack, hooks digging painfully in his shoulders surrounded by suffocating warm damp heat. For the first couple of months, minutes, days, years; he didn't really know, he clung to memories of his brother's puppy-dog hazel eyes, his mother's long blond hair, his father's leather encased broad shoulders… But after approximately ten years of being cut, sliced, torn open till' chunks of him were missing he started forgetting, memories going hazy, images that he couldn't grasp anymore even if he tried so damn hard and that was worst than any new ways of torturing him Alastair could come up with.
He hated himself for it but he began to consider the bastard's offer cause' why really? Why would he have to keep fighting even in death? He could hold off an eternity of suffering just by taking up a knife, didn't he deserve it? Maybe it would be a relief? Maybe it would be a bit like peace? Was saying "no" worth it?
He didn't know anymore, didn't know right from wrong anymore and that scared him more than he could admit.
That's when he came, "Harry", he called himself, "Just Harry".
The first time he saw him was after a torture session with Meg, the bitch was vicious and unfortunately knew him more than Alastair. She could consequently taunt him and hurt him psychologically way more than the white-eyed demon, not to mention, he killed her father. He made sure to mention that every time she was the one at his rack, smug, because even in Hell he couldn't keep his big mouth shut. He was bloody and broken left alone in the scathing hot room to "heal" just to begin another circle of pain all over again the next day. The doubt of his usual answer ("screw you, you son of a bitch!") creeping in on him once more, there, at the back of his head, the answer so small and simple: "Yes".
When he heard shuffling breaking him out of his thoughts, snapping his head up immediately on alert and well, stared. Two luminous green orbs gazed back at him from the shadows of his cell. That green was so unusual really impossible in a place like this, it was so human reminding him of the green leaves on trees in spring or the fields of grass around the highway roads of America. It was the scenery he used to see pass when he would glance out the window of his Impala.
It was cruel.
Because this was Hell and it would surely be a trick or the demon wearing those green green eyes was simply there to torture him sooner than he thought. The hope that had blossomed with only a glance was squashed down; you couldn't let yourself hope in Hell.
The demon, because what else could it possibly be?, stepped out cautiously and silently out of the darkness he had huddled himself in, eyes darting everywhere as if afraid he was being watched or heard. Dean followed his movement warily as a young, innocent-looking kid, he couldn't be more than seventeen tops, with messy long black hair and pale, so pale skin it stood out like a white canvas and broken, ridiculous glasses perched on the top of his nose, crossed the cell and made his way to him. The kid wore ragged ripped jeans, a too big dark shirt for his alarmingly thin frame and old and used-looking converse.
Overall, a normal kid that was obviously anything but.
"Are you Dean?" The thing asked politely and curiously in a surprising English accent.
Dean glared, too tired to really do much else. "Maybe, who's askin'?"
The other smiled genuinely at him with tinkling eyes, an expression that had no reason to be on anyone down in the pit. "Harry, my name is just Harry".
"Just Harry huh?" He mocked the younger boy's damn British accent that seemed strangely even more out of place down there than the boy himself. "What the fuck do you want from me?" His glare doubled and he made sure to be as rude as he could be.
Harry just hummed which annoyed him to no end; the green-eyed demon seemed unconcerned by his attitude. "Nothing."
He felt the wariness towards the pale boy standing in front of him turning quickly into hate, no one should be allowed that sort of look, especially not in here. The smile Harry bestowed upon him reminded him too much of what he lost, what he was losing. This was Hell for Christ's sakes, you shouldn't be perky. He suddenly had the urge to put the light in those gem-like eyes out, to spat at this angelic face, to make him suffer as much as he was.
So he lashed out.
"Well then, what are you still doing here?! Get the fuck out of my face!" He so spat at the face looking up at him trough thick and long eyelashes. He had the sick satisfaction of seeing the spark in those green eyes dimming and the boy nodded, head bowed and defeated. However he didn't leave and Dean was preparing himself, pushing down any guilt he may have had, to second that with an even harsher exclamation when Harry lifted a glowing white hand to his body that he tried to back away from without much success.
Warmth, encompassing warmth like a fire crackling in a hearth at home or, for him, the roof of his car during a bright sunny day, nothing like the stifling heat of Hell, traveled through him from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. He felt healed, completed and able to just breathe for the first time since he was put on the rack, no aching or cracking limbs and no pain. It left him breathless and he looked at the already retreating form of the strange kid with wonder.
It was too late to call him back, to do what exactly he didn't know: thank him? Question him?
Harry was gone as quickly as he had come and he had to wonder if he just finally snapped and it was all part of his imagination but the lingering feeling of earth told him otherwise.
-The want to say "yes" was also kept at bay-
And like clockwork, a routine began. Get tortured, say "no" to Alastair, get healed by Harry. They never really talked, sometimes he was too numb by the pain, too out of it, sometimes Harry was just gone in seconds but it carried on like that for years.
He didn't fool himself in thinking he wouldn't have said, "yes" already if the English kid wasn't there. It was probably around his twentieth years in the pit that he was fast enough to stop him before he disappeared.
"Hey", he croaked then coughed, "hey kid!" The other looked inquisitively back at him from the door with a blank face so at odds with the attitude from their first meeting that he winced. "I'm…so-I'm sorry okay. I, I, just… thank you"
And that did it; just like that the light came back into those eyes like it had never left in the first place, the kid straightened his back and turned fully "It's no problem Dean, you don't have to thank me". And on that note, he left.
The twisted feelings he got when he insulted the small male were nothing compared to the accomplishment he felt from just returning those eyes to the sparkling emeralds they were when they first met, the ones that gave him hope for just a fleeting moment back ten years ago. He felt like he had just done some great deed.
And maybe, just maybe he felt he could endure the onslaught of Hell's best torturers and refuse the deal over and over again, at least for the time being.
And he knew with certainty that he'd get out here, one way or another, he would.
Harry was now the only reprieve and the "highlight of his days", something that he had to look forward to. Weird thought to have in Hell but he wasn't going to complain. Something bothered him though so one day he decided to ask while Harry was doing his glowing thing.
"How did you end up here?" He asked with false nonchalance. Harry stopped what he was doing and looked up at him tentatively with emotions obviously warring in his eyes but responded nonetheless with the same tone he just used.
"I made a deal." Dean startled at that and backed the little he could away from the other to see him better but Harry was looking down, refusing to meet his eyes. He waited till' the tension was high enough and the British boy had to look up.
"For what exactly?" He asked with no emotions showing on his face.
"To save the people I knew" Harry stated with a sad smile and he could practically see the other's defenses rising.
"From whom or what?" He wasn't really that surprised, it seemed to fit the man perfectly but so young though…
"Whom. An evil man that had it in for my life and those of the people I cared about."
"Don't they all…" He replied grimly. The other looked at him amused with a small smile pulling the corner of his red lips, seeming to like that he didn't make a big deal out of the confession or asked more questions. Oh he was curious but he wouldn't pry after all he wasn't his little brother.
"You?" The other asked tentatively. Well, the least thing he could do was repaying the favor but-
"You don't know?" He thought all the demons knew about him and talked about his deal like it was gossip of the first order and said so. The other just laughed in response and he kinda basked in the sound of it, so pure and genuine.
"I'm not one for gossip" He chuckled.
"Didn't think you were, I, well, it's kinda like you actually, I made a deal." The younger took a few steps back at that stone faced and authoritative stance in place.
"For magic?" He asked tightly.
What the hell?
"No, no, God, no. I hate those rabbits killing freaks." He didn't notice how the man tensed at the words. "I made a one-year deal to save my brother."
The other relaxed after a beat at the answer "Sam, right?" He asked.
"Yeah, Sammy…"He trailed off softly, wondering how his brother was faring now that he left him all alone in the humans world up there then a thought hit him. "How do you know his name if you don't know about my deal?"
"I may not know about how you came into Alastair's care but I did know your name, Winchester. And it's difficult not knowing about your brother when he's practically a celebrity here!" The kid suddenly clamped his mouth shut like he shouldn't have said that. Damn right, he shouldn't have because Dean won't let that kind of information go, not when it's about his brother.
"What?" He growled.
"Dean, I'm not suppo-
"Tell me what you know," He ordered, enunciating every word carefully.
"I can't, Dean, I'm sorry but I really can't" No, no, no, the demons are plotting once again with his brother in mind and Dean's not here, can't be here for him and it's ripping him apart, it's agonizing.
"Please?" He asked pitifully and he saw the other's determination crumble a bit under his pitiful gaze.
"I shouldn't be saying that, I shouldn't even be talking to you at all…"The smaller man was biting his lower lip until it was bloody, eyes darting all over the room, hands wringing nervously together. "Ah, your brother, he's…He's special…" Then his eyes came to settle on the cell's door and he backed away quickly from Dean.
"What do you mean?" He asked frustrated by the cryptic answer that Azazel and the other demons he met used to use when talking about his little brother.
"I'm sorry Dean, I can't tell you more"
And he was gone.
Dean let out a roar of helplessness and slumped on the metallic cross, drained, defeated and angry at everything and everyone.
Months passed then years, it must have been around thirty years since he was strapped down and still Harry didn't show up again and worry for his brother turned into deep-seated worry for the emerald-eyed teen. He was still tortured of course and the son of a bitch's deal was still being proposed to him. And once again he began to forget, between his cries and the other's souls screams. Hell was Hell again without the color green grounding him; with his memories taken away bit by bit once more he was feeling himself drown and he knew it won't be a long time till' he said "yes".
Harry only pushed the inevitable temporarily. And without him now…
It's been ten years more or less since he was brought down from the wrenching despair of the rack, took up that knife and was presented his first soul. Loosing himself in its cries for mercy that he never gave. He already tortured hundreds of them, all of them blurring together in a continued long pitch wail. At first he was horrified to see he was good at it, "Alastair's best student", they say… He hated it but after five years he reveled in it, in the relief and outlet it gave him for all the shit life had thrown at him since he was born.
A vengeance in blood and gore.
Sometimes he puts his own face in the place of his victims, it's the only thing that keeps him human, for now.
He still hadn't seen Harry.
Then one day Alastair brought him in an unusually ice cold cell. It was pitch dark but when the demon clicked his fingers, the room came into focus and there he was in the middle of the room, on some sort of altar that wasn't like the usual racks…Harry. Or really what was left of the normally smiling pale skin male he remembered much more of, now. His hair, usually all over the place was a limp thing on his head, his eyes dull and vacant, and his already pale skin now sickly white. Dean didn't whimper but it was a close thing. He however couldn't stop himself from choking out the name of his once, healer? Friend? Savior? He just knew he was something.
"Harry…"He was no demon after all nor angel, just a human (well, with hoodoo healing abilities) who used to have hope and shared it with him when he needed it the most, God…
Behind him Alastair laughed "Oh that's right, you know him already. You know it's because he told you about Sammy-boy all those years ago that he got the worst of the torture Hell can produce for the last ten years or so. Funny thing isn't it?"
He wanted to puke; guilt churned his insides like rarely ever before and he approached the barely conscious man slowly. Observing and cataloguing all the injuries on the bound man so that he doesn't hurt him more than he already he's. Because he knows, he goddamn knows, he'll have to torture him and he's not sure he'll be able to but Alastair is here, a shadow on his shoulder and he doesn't have a choice. It's the first time in five years that he truly regrets his decision as much as he did when he first started his fall.
"Oh, isn't that cute? Now you know what comes next, student." Alastair snorted at the name to show exactly what he thought of it, he was aware he was more of a pet then a student to the asshole. "He is beautiful though don't you think, he never screams, you know that? Never did actually, and probably never will. He's like a white canvas begging to be painted on. All this pale skin, those diamonds that he calls eyes and those lips the color of blood. Oh you should have seen him when he first arrived so young and terrified, he's my favorite you know, well, with you and your father coming in close."
Dean couldn't take that taunting voice oozing about Harry like that anymore and started advancing on him, "Shut up! Just shut up!" throwing a knife towards Alastair for good measure.
"Oh, the jealous type huh? I didn't know that about you Dean…Don't worry I like you too." Dean stopped and recognized the futility of the action. Pulling the rage back into him for future use on another unfortunate soul, not this particular one though.
He quickly took up a scalpel and went up the closest he could to Harry with Alastair still in the room "Harry, Harry, can you hear me? If you do, I-I'm, God, I'm so sorry…"
He heard a soft whisper and trained his hear. "Not your fault" Harry told him in an exhale.
It didn't really convince him when he started to put the scalpel closer to his paper-like skin on the thin stomach where he could see ribs sticking out.
He was about to start, he had been stalling and he knew the demon watching wouldn't take anymore of it. When suddenly the ground shook, the chains keeping Harry pinned began rattling and he heard Alastair leaving the room slamming the door behind, a high pitched sound made itself known in the cell. "What's going on?!"He screamed frantic but his voice was swallowed by the wail and a blanket of white light enveloped the space. He closed the distance between him and Harry quickly putting himself protectively in front of him.
A somewhat glowing voice that apparently belonged to what was entering Hell said solemnly "Dean Winchester, I am here to get you out of perdition."
Not questioning the voice and white light for now seeing the power he could feel behind it as maybe the only thing that could get him out, he screamed "Not without Harry"
The voice stopped startled, he repeated just to be sure "I said you won't take me anywhere without Harry"
"Dean…" He heard a tortured voice behind him, "Just go…"
"No, and I can be a stubborn son of a bitch, you take me, you take him!"
After a beat of silence the glowing voice came again.
"I will then save the both of you."