Disclaimer: I do not own neither Harry Potter nor Supernatural.
Author's note:I don't know if i'll stick to friendship between the two main characters or if i'll go slash or if i'll make a parental!Dean... So many possibilities! So tell me what you would like best! :)
Definitely protective and possessive!Dean though.
Episode: s04 ep1:Lazarus Rising.
Dean was choking, spitting, inhaling, exhaling and mostly panicking. He was covered in dirt, grime and things he didn't want to think about. He looked around him quickly, he was actually surrounded by it: a grave.
He was alive… Or was it just an elaborated trick.
Well, one way to find out.
He crawled out in a rush, moving his hands like claws, making them bloody and raw, scratching and pushing and punching the ground above like a wild beast until he saw light. He put himself up closing his eyes that were no longer used to the sunlight or any light at all. Years in shades of black and red made him feel unworthy of the sun that was shining down on him even as he basked in it for a few minutes, tilting his head up, craving it like a man thirsty for water. He opened his eyes after getting used to it and looked around, green was what he saw and that particular color seemed to scratch something at the back of his mind but he couldn't quite pinpoint it. His attention was however taken away, his grave was in the middle of what he could call a "ground zero"; it looked like a bomb went off all around it. Putting that out of his mind for the time being, he needed to move, figure out where he was, when he was, found some water his lungs burned like Hell (yes, pun intended), a phone and a car.
Putting one foot in front of the other, he walked away to memories of emeralds and a glowing voice.
On the other side of the pond, a similar situation was happening.
Harry, for his part, kept his eyes closed not wanting to know if it was all just some illusion either imagined by his fevered brain or created by some of his jailors to screw him up some more. He slowly, ever so slowly moved his right hand to his head than the other until he had both his hands on his face feeling and touching the unmarred skin with growing wonder.
He unfortunately still had the blasted scar.
He was lying on unforgiving cold stone, in fact the all room was cold, panic gripped his heart. The coldness was an all too familiar companion of those interminable years. He wrenched his eyes open and darkness enveloped him, the panic grew steadily stronger but he reined it in and turned in the limited space he was encased in.
That wasn't his personal room in the pit.
He looked upward and saw a block of stone blocking his vision…a tomb? His own tomb.
He was alive once again; Death didn't seem to stick to him on any level.
A certain claustrophobia made itself known and he began to push and punch the roof above his body with his fists and desperation spurring his actions. His magic reacted, as always when he needed it and blasted the all bloody thing right open.
The familiar grey morning sky of England was a sight he thought he would never see again.
He pulled himself up and away from his place of rest and looked around. That was, that was Godric's Hollow's cemetery but it was all leveled up like a storm passed through it. His grave was next to his parents with the engraving:
Harry Potter, a beloved friend and The Man Who Defeated The Dark Lord Voldemort
Died in battle after having given victory and peace to the Wizarding World.
All of us forever grateful, may he finally find rest.
He snorted, they had no idea what he really did for them but never mind that. He looked down into the grave and found his wand and his dad's invisibility cloak; the familiar feeling of the piece of holly and the silky softness in his hands calmed him enough to form a plan because that was what he needed, a plan.
First, he needed to check on Ron, Hermione and Teddy using the cloak because he had no interest in messing up their lives anymore than he already did. He also had no intentions of letting anyone know of his resurrection, let them think he was still dead. Good. He flicked his wand out and so cleaned all the mess around and in his grave with some well placed spells. That done he figured he had to go to the goblins and take some money to fare for himself, the bankers wouldn't dare rat him out. And found a country to go to, yes, moving abroad sounded great. America whispered a voice in his brains; he startled but figured he would follow his instincts, they never led him wrong before and if they were telling him to go to the USA then that's exactly where he would go.
He breathed in the morning air, sighed happily and smiled a genuine smile that pulled at his mouth and felt foreign on his features.
Turning around, he walked firmly away to memories of hazel-green eyes, a cocky smirk and a glowing voice.
Couldn't he catch a break for once in his life?! He just got out of Hell. Jesus. But no, apparently, no, first an absolutely awful sound destroyed the gas station he was in. Then Bobby hanged up on him with a nice curse…it's good to be back, really.
He was now with Bobby on their way to see his brother who apparently has been a bad little hunter when he was out for the count. Hunting non-stop to drown the sorrow was a particularly Winchester thing to do, he knew but it was more his way of dealing or their dad's even though Sam is more like John then he could ever hope to be. Sammy, he wants to sit down and talk bout feelings, out our issues to one another, cry a bit, hug it out.
And there he was, his dork of a brother with his ridiculous hair and even more ridiculous size and was it him or has he grown taller during his time under the ground. Sam gripped him tightly and hugged him for all he was worth and he fought against the automatic flinch he had the urge to let out.
He figured you didn't pass years only expecting pain without lingering reflexes.
He started remembering when he slept on the drive there. It's like; when you're in Hell, you forget the few good memories you have, when you're out, you remember all the bad you made when you were there. It's an all too different torture and the worst of it is that he only saw his first years in the nightmare so he had the anxious feeling that he was going to have those flashbacks for a long time to cover all his time downstairs… It was a terrible realization.
"So…what do you remember?" His brother asked, thank you Sam, right for the jugular, the little shit.
"Nothin'" He responded not missing a beat.
"Nothing?" The taller hunter gazed at him skeptically.
"Nothing" He confirmed nodding, "just a big black ball of nothing from the hellhounds to when I woke up this mornin'"
The other man looked at him weirdly for a moment or two, he kept eye contact.
He was such a liar.
Ron and Hermione married and were now living in Ottery St Catchpole with two kids under the belt, looking through the window he felt happy for them but also sort of disconnected. He actually felt that way towards all things that pertained to f his old life. Even seeing Teddy, now eleven years old, happily playing in Andromeda Tonks' house didn't really do anything to him; he was strangely passive in front of their lives. Oh, there was some sort of longing; he knew that much but it just felt like he was gazing through a looking glass.
Well, he suppose, the dead were outsiders.
He apparated away.
The goblins were quite surprised but hid it quickly and informed him that everybody though he had been torn apart by werewolves after accomplishing his deed. Werewolves…what a joke, the wizards don't even know Hellhounds wounds when they see them. He took a pouch designed like the one Hermione used to have and filled it quickly with money, clothes and everything else he felt he would need like a gun and some knives he found in the Black's vault. He requested a fake ID from the goblins because, well, Harry Potter was legally and officially dead, he couldn't very well buy a plane ticket with that name. His name was now Orion White. He bought a plane ticket leaving that same night for Chicago, it was the first he could find. He transported himself a little away from Heathrow and just as he put his two feet on the pavement, he heard a horrible wail that pounded on his eardrums and was apparently loud enough to make all the windows around him explode.
The sound passed.
He had this feeling he heard it before but not exactly the same. He put the experience behind him fast because weird is his middle name and if he was startled at half the thing that happened to him or could happen to him, he would be in a constant state of shock.
Getting on the plane and putting England behind him, he relaxed for the first time since he crawled out of his hole and finally slept.
He shouldn't have.
Dean hated being right especially when it meant a woman going blind. This Castiel guy who saved him, he didn't know if he was a demon or whatever but it was definitely too much of a powerful monster to tangle with. He wanted to know but he wasn't really sure about the summoning thing, he was still going to give the son of a bitch a piece of his mind if it worked though.
And where the hell was Sam when you needed him?!
"I was the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."
"I am an Angel of The Lord."
"You don't think you deserve to be saved."
The blue-eyed bastard and an Angel as it turned out didn't stay long, long enough to spew off sentences after sentences filled with "apocalypse" and "God's work" and he couldn't care less, his mind still filled with flashes of blood and dark and green. He had been to Hell, seen things nobody should ever see, and he didn't give a shit anymore. He just wanted Bobby to wake up and find Sam again. And really…
…What. The. Hell.
An Angel, seriously?! He didn't really believe the dude wearing the trench coat, more like refused to believe. The guy was just another piece of shit who blinded a woman and wore a meat-suit. Saying he was an angel just proved he was a delusional one. A cruel delusional monster.
He went to sleep that night with the mark on his left shoulder burning like hell-fire.
And he remembered.
Torture, ice cold, burning heat, torn, cut, sliced, emerald orbs, healed, "no you fucker", "yes", the cooling touch of a knife in his grip, "Come on Dean, don't be shy, they deserve to be in Hell, they deserve what you can do to them", and he sliced and burned and cut deep through hundreds of sinners…
A glowing voice.
Green eyes looking up at him pleadingly, begging him to just go and leave him, "No".
"Harry!" He gasped sitting up in bed.
A knock sounded downstairs.
He couldn't wake up, just flashes after flashes, memories after memories, just a never-ending nightmare made of blood and hell-coldness that gripped his entire being and he was frozen, back in the pit surrounded by taunts and screams and whimpers and shouted prayers… "Get the fuck out of my face!" muddy green eyes, tan skin and a cocky smile. But he was suddenly back on the altar again, spiked chains digging into his flesh like it was made of butter, black eyes, red eyes, white eyes regarding him with cruel amusement in their pupil-less orbs.
The ground of his cell shook, the reality of his damnation going blurry around the edges.
He forcefully opened his eyes and woke up gasping and breathing harshly.
"Excuse me sir, we've arrived at our destination."
"Oh, thank you" He whispered at the flying attendant.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes" he croaked, "I mean yes I'm fine thanks" he repeated getting a hold of himself.
He got out of the airport and just breathed, enjoying the cool air of the late summer nights. A polluted air so different from England that he couldn't help but stop in the middle of the sidewalk, looking up at the skyscrapers and smiling stupidly at nothing. He was taking a right into an alley; he didn't have the time to make even two steps in it when he heard a strange fluttering feather-like sound. He gripped his wand and turn around quickly.
"Hello Harry Potter. It appears Dean Winchester needs you."
He didn't have the time to ask the tax accountant what the bloody hell he meant when the prick approached him in two forceful steps and put two fingers on his forehead swiftly and he was suddenly in…
…In the middle of cars? Yes, piles of banged up machines were all around him, it kind of reminded him of the Burrow he thought to himself fondly. And how in Merlin's name did he get there? Who was that man?
The stranger said something about the tortured man he met in Hell. Dean must be here then. Reminded of how Dean used to talk about his car, he thought, looking around, that this place fitted the older man. And maybe, hopefully the American man had answers on what was going on in their crazy lives now.
Determination in his eyes, he walked up the porch of the house and knocked.
Bobby was at the door when he tore down the stairs and jumped in front of him shouting "I've got it!" before the older man could turn his hand that was already on the doorknob.
"Okay… Alright there Dean?" Bobby asked looking at him incredulously.
"I'm perfectly fine Bobby, I don't know what you're talkin' about…I just have a feeling this is for me" He explained trailing off lamely.
He saw Sam getting out the living room "What's going on?" his tall brother mumbled out sleepily; oh he's there now is he?
He couldn't help but call out to him, "Where were you sleeping beauty? Shit has gone down in the barn!"
"What happened?!" Sam asked urgently and instantly on alert.
Dean shook his head instead of answering and put his back to them taking a deep breath he opened the door like it was a bandage he had to rip off.
Like déjà vu luminous emerald gazed back at him in surprised wonder. He was suddenly hit by a new wave of memories (a light laugh that radiated goodness in the middle of the horrors of Hell, green now meant hope in his mind, white light and relief, where the hell was he? Worry and fear gripping and twisting his heart and mind, white pale skin painted in red: "Oh that's right you know him Dean" and a cruel laugh, features marred by years of torture, his fault, his fault…) and the world righted itself back.
"Harry…"He whispered reverently, he put himself into action and gripped the smaller man to him by the shoulders into a bone-crushing hug.
"Dean." He heard the accented voice muffle in his shirt with such relief in it he practically felt it too. Some of the tension that had accumulated since he got out left his body and he could feel the other's shoulders relaxing in the embrace he had tensed in at first.
It was gonna be okay.
He repeated the sentence like a mantra in his head like if he thought it hard enough it would, but shit didn't work out like this for people like him or Harry. Murphy's Law fitted them like a glove.
They'll get through this. He knew they would.
They had to.
He was looking around when the door opened harshly and forcefully. He looked up into green-hazel eyes framed by laugh wrinkles gazing down at him and he received an onslaught of visions of the rack (the new one: Winchester they call him, famous and hated within the ranks of abominations, he was curious, he got out of his room quietly, after he didn't even know how many years anymore Alastair let him out of his chains from time to time, it was one of those time. He observed the American man for a long time, months on end and he didn't really understand why he was proposed a deal, they never proposed one to him, but he admired the stubbornness of the new soul, he found he didn't want him to break so when he saw the resolve crumbling he made himself known. Jade-eyes, a smirk, a rough voice that could tell jokes even with his guts hanging out, a hero like nobody could make anymore made for protection and good deeds, he could feel it. He healed, he healed and healed and talked and talked and talked too much…Well, they always said his gentle nature would get him into trouble. The hunter broke, he felt it in his bones, in the sudden chill that course through his spine. "I'm so, God, I'm so sorry" in a rough tortured voice, a glowing voice, "you take me, you take him.")
And the world came into focus again when he was startled into a desperate hug that had him tensing, expecting pain for centuries didn't do anything for his fear of human contact. But he slowly returned it hearing the other murmuring his name under his breath. He pressed himself in the much bigger male's body that smelled of gun oil and leather like he could hide there from the rest of the world. Overwhelming relief filled him "Dean."
He heard the other whispering in his hair over and over "It's gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay, promise, oka-…"
Of course they would, he'll make bloody sure they would.
Even as he knew that it was only the beginning. That he knew it was going to be much worst before it would get better. And that worse was going to be soon, very soon.
But for now, surrounded by Dean's strong embrace he fooled himself into forgetting it.
Just for a little while.
The only reprieve he would have in a long time.