Disclaimer: I do not own neither Harry Potter nor Surpernatural.

Author's note: So this part of the serie will be done in three chapters, that will cover all of the fourth season, so be patient please. I will try to update as quickly as I can :) The first chapter will be from Season 4 Episode 2: "Are you there, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester." to Episode 8: "Wishful Thinking."

Warning: For now, strong T but the rating may change along the way

So there we go...

Is There Anybody Up There?

Dean noticing the ringing silence behind him and realizing that Bobby and Sam were still there, probably looking at them with their mouths hanging open, slowly stepped out of the desperate embrace disentangling the surprisingly strong grip Harry had on him. Harry seemed to come into himself again looking up at him smiling the familiar little smile, always with a sad edge to it. He quirked the corners of his lips in response.

"Alright?" He murmured softly. The smaller man nodded hesitantly in answer with a self-depreciative twist of his mouth that he understood all too well. After all he saw it in the mirror no later than this morning.

He turned back around marching into the house; purposefully ignoring the incredulous looks the other two were shooting them. He felt the gruff hunter and his little brother stepping into the living room but not the one he wanted to have in with him the most. Going backwards in the hall, he saw the green-eyed man hovering uncertainly at the doorway, he felt his features softening automatically, "Okay." He whispered to himself.

"Well, come on in kiddo." He said warmly and casually out loud.

The teen's head snapped up and locked on his face shock painted all over his expression and God he forgot how the kid's eyes were so intense. The younger man poked his upper body past the door and cautiously stepped inside his eyes darting all over the place.

"Dean get your ass in here and explain." He heard Bobby's drawling accent sharply shouting from his desk and laughed lowly when he saw the startled motion Harry made at that. Who then looked up at him annoyed, he lifted his hands innocently. Still chuckling when he walked back in the only living space in Bobby's shackle house, this time hearing light footsteps following him.

"Care to share Dean?" His brother asked with a bitch face firmly in place.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the thin form of Harry glancing in awe at the books crawling all around the old house. "Harry." He called careful to keep his voice soft having seen the boy's reaction mere seconds ago. Harry came and placed himself at his right in a defensive stance.

"First drink this boy." Dean caught the flinch at the term used and narrowed his eyes.

"You think I'm going to drink that shot of Merlin knows what, given to me by a stranger? No you first." He heard the incredulous reply and firm command. He smirked, good kid, good (who the hell is Merlin though (apart from the obvious)?). But he's not really a kid is he? He didn't know how much time the other had spent in Hell but from what Alastair used to suggest it must have been a long time, even though he couldn't really help himself the kid looked fourteen, fifteen at the most.

Bobby seemed surprise first by the English accent (he could see his brother stunned face and couldn't help but smile, a little private smile) and impress by the display from the seemingly meek boy. He knew for a fact it was bullshit, Harry was nothing but if you just bothered to look past the appearance. Bobby drunk the shot he prepared and made another one that Harry took; looking at it like it was going to bite him. He intervened before they passed the night like that.

"It's okay Harry, it's just holy water." The other looked at him curiously, shrugged and seemed to think, "fuck it" and drunk it.

Nothing happened and all the hunters in the room let out the relaxed sight they had been holding.

"Well?" Sam said impatiently.

"Bobby, Sam, this is Harry, I met hi-" Oh fuck, he didn't think of that, he did say he didn't remember Hell so he couldn't very well announce he had met the younger man down there, fuck, fu-

"Dean saved me from a ghost a while back." Harry lied smoothly catching on to his dilemma and he directed his gaze at him startled, relieved and thankful for his insight.

"That's all well and good but what are you doing here?" Bobby asked demandingly and this time he was directing his sharp blue eyes at him.


"Harry hasn't got anywhere else to go Bobby, I just, I don't know, I…" He trailed off lamely, Bobby softened to a look of understanding and he was glad someone did because he damn well didn't comprehend why he felt like that towards the young man, he just knew he did. It was how he worked, he knew he had all those emotions he just didn't question them.

He realized he should probably start soon.

"You're British!" His dork of a brother suddenly exclaimed apparently finally getting out of his daze. Harry looked up at him amusingly and Dean laughed inwardly at the fact that Harry had to freaking craned his neck to catch his giant of a brother's hazel-brown eyes.

"You're tall." Harry announced in a deadpan voice. He couldn't hold it; he chuckled, forgetting about angels, God and apocalypses for a moment at the interaction between the two.

Sam blushed mumbling "Right." under his breath.

"Smooth, Sammy, real smooth." His blush deepened and he mumbled again in his chin something that sounded like "Shut up."

"It's not really that I haven't got anywhere else to go, though that is true…" He pointedly looked at Dean at that and he tried to decipher all the emotions in those eyes but didn't have the time to when they swiveled back to a point on the wall. "More that a man wearing a trench coat brought me here, well, more like teleported me really, spouting something about Dean Winchester needing me."

Dean could see the hope in Sam's eyes.

It burned steadily brighter and brighter the more he spoke and he could surely burn the whole house on fire at this point. Sammy had always been too hopeful and it frightened him but it was a part of him that he knew, it proved that perhaps his little brother hadn't changed that much during his four months leave of absence.

He was definitely different but maybe the important things were still there.

He could see Harry at the edges of his vision who, for his part looked stuck between skeptical and growing wonder.

"Dean, this is good news." He had to look away from the building emotion and softness he could see itching itself on his brother's features, flinching away from it, pained to be in the presence of emotions that weren't twisted and ugly. Hell took things from him he didn't know he missed until he realized their absence.

Harry had his head on the wall supporting him, his eyes closed tightly like he could block the sound of his brother's voice simply by putting a black wall in front of his eyes.

"How?" He asked still observing Harry who had put two arms around himself protectively and was still keeping his green orbs hidden, damn it, he wanted to see them. Harry stilled and snapped his eyes open and locked them on his own like he had heard him, he could see the panic receding slowly as he took in his surroundings again. He approached him, not touching but just to try to be a comforting presence, something known by Harry, pressing himself on his left on the same wall.

It worked.

He automatically felt the smaller male leaning unconsciously into his warmth.

His brother stopped talking mid-sentence to stare at them with an indefinable expression before straightening again "Look, I know you're no choirboy about this stuff but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof." Trying desperately to pass on his faith to the rest of them.

"Proof", Dean tried hard not to snap at Sam for his belief, looking away from Harry and turning a skeptical gaze up at his brother, as always hating the extra inches his little brother had on him. "Proof that there is a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally, I'm sorry but I'm not buying it."

"Why?" His brother asked grasping at straws in the front of his lack of faith.

"Because, if there is a God, why would he give a crap about me?" He choked out, those words felt too real at the moment, hitting too close to home and he wondered if his brother got that, understood the weight of them.

He felt a small hand placing itself on his shoulder and he followed it down to the pale and gaunt face, Jesus he needed to feed the kid, of Harry.

"Dean, like you said, if there is a God, well, why wouldn't he?" And this simple innocent question asked by the squirt who was looking up at him with trust in the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

Fuck, asked by someone who he had almost torture down under, who knew he would have done it too if Castiel hadn't come precisely at that moment (and he was forever grateful to the maybe-angel for keeping him from doing that more than for getting him out of Hell), would have done it because he had to, because pain, relief, splashes of blood all over him, screams in his ears, "make them feel your pain Dean", no, yes, cut deep, destroy, not death, death is too easy, endless fire in his veins and…


This question asked by someone who knew, and just didn't care.

It shook him more than anything his brother could have said.

"Start reading." Bobby broke the frozen silence that had encompassed the room.

"You are getting me some pie and dude, Harry what do you want? Harry you're eating you're far too thin for your own good." He ordered firmly, he wouldn't back down from that. He saw the defiance entering the petite male's form but the other probably saw the resolve he had and he slumped in defeat almost as instantly and mumbled, "Whatever you're having mate." He smiled triumphantly, "Atta boy" and nodded at Sam.

He was relived by the carefree laughter that followed his brother's exit.


Harry was in an unfamiliar place surrounded by unfamiliar people and the Apocalypse was apparently a thing.

He was starting to think that on his grave it should have said: Harry Potter, a beloved friend and Fate's number one Bitch since 1981 is buried here.

He was in a make up bed on the floor, he, of course, could have transfigured a cot but, well, last time he checked he was still in a house full of twitchy hunters. Besides he didn't want Dean to find out about his magic that way. He wanted to sit him down and explain everything to him, every single thing from the Dursleys to the Wizarding world to Voldemort and the war… Things he wouldn't have dream of telling anyone else before, he didn't really understand the trust he had in the man or the bond that seemed to have formed itself between them without either of them being aware of it. Perhaps it was because they were both held on the racks for years but he didn't think it was only that, maybe it was because they used to keep each other human, a hard thing to accomplish in the pit, he didn't know.

He just knew it was there.

He didn't want to give it up.

He was trying to keep himself awake in the silent house, his mind still reeling from seeing Sirius and Cedric's ghosts blaming their deaths on him as he still did to this day.

A twisted and dark part of him created by years of abuse from his remaining family, the red-eyed dark wizard, delusional politicians, greasy-haired teachers or even twinkling old men, told him during those countless years in Hell that he deserved it, everything he went through, because if that was what he got for what he did, he surely must have done something wrong in this life or another one. Every time this voice rose above the others in his head he tried to shut it down but it never worked. It stayed there, in the back of his mind, festering.

"The Rising Of The Witnesses." was for him just another way for that taunting voice to express itself.

And after it was over he saw the pitying glances from both the bearded man and Dean's little brother, he hated it. When he was on the floor, flinching from their gazes, he desperately searched for something other than that awful pity and he found it.

He caught muddy green eyes and saw understanding.

He kept that image to push the memories away and suddenly felt a white force, he didn't know how it had a color but it had, pushing on his mind. He tried resisting it but waves after waves of blessed steady calmness won him over.

He fell asleep.

A noise coming from the kitchen woke him up and he saw Dean slowly doing the same. They looked at each other then at the rest of the room's occupants but they were the only ones awake which was alarming because paranoid didn't even begin to describe how Bobby seemed to be. They turned back to see a man wearing a trench coat, Castiel, the Angel, Merlin, an angel, he still had a hard time believing it, casually leaning on the kitchen's counter.

He observed the man carefully, for the moment following Dean's lead on this encounter, after all the hunter had already met him. The ridiculous clothes didn't seem to matter when he could feel the power the otherworldly being radiated, luminous blue eyes full of starlight and heavenly grace, he flinched as they settled on him sharp and quietly judging him.

Dean had positioned himself in front of him, a wall of muscle and righteous anger that hid him from the angel's gaze and he put himself as close to the strong back as he could cherishing the protectiveness much more than he would have thought.

"Dean, Harry." A surprisingly deep and gravelly voice came out of the not-man's mouth "Good job on the witnesses."

What? They knew? He thought to himself indignation and disillusion blossoming inside of him. Dean took care of that question for him, adding a little of his signature witted sarcasm and crooked mocking smile at the end because of course he couldn't help himself from antagonizing a being so much more powerful than any of them it wasn't even funny.

But he had to ask.

Side stepping the bigger man in front of him and putting himself in full-view of those penetrating eyes, interrupting Dean before the man got them killed, or worst, "Why are you here? And I don't mean here now, I mean here on earth?"

The far too knowing gaze snapped to him. "Harry Potter, did you know your cries were so loud when you first arrived in Hell that it shook Heaven?" The blue-eyed man asked unmercifully with awe and a disturbing fascination in his tone. He stood there frozen, eyes wide open and mouth dry for what could have been an eternity, he wouldn't know, until Dean put his hand on his arm, grounding him.

"You mean you knowingly let a fuckin' teenager to rot in Hell for years without doing anything about it?!" Dean said marching menacingly towards the intruder seeming to foolishly think that the few inches he had on the vessel the man was occupying were relevant.

A sudden emotion flashed in those sapphire eyes, something that looked a little like guilt before it was quickly covered by the blankness he was getting used to. "Harry made a deal, it was out of our hands and we never received the order to go and rescue him from his damnation."

"But you saved me after only four months." Dean retorted disgusted without missing a beat.

"We were ordered to." An indifferent voice replied.

Harry found his speech again.

"Why?" He whispered weakly.

"Why what?" The gravelly voice curiously asked.

"Just, why? What did I ever do…I-" He protectively put his arms around him looking down at the tiled ground of Bobby's kitchen for some sort of, he didn't know. He was so tired…

Dean gripped his shoulder and tucked him in his side reacting smoothly to his confused and pleading voice. He slumped on the solid shoulder supporting him.

"You know what you did, you dealt with a demon. You may have done it to save a nation and the world but you still used the sinner's way."

"I was seventeen! I couldn't do what they wanted me to do. I wasn't strong enough. I'm not strong enough…" He cried out desperately, he heard a startled gasp behind him but didn't pay attention to it, trying to cling on the grip he had on reality that he felt slipping through his fingers. His breathing was coming in short puffs, his vision getting blurry and he keened, his knees failing him.

Dean caught him.

He was turned around into a firm chest; he felt a hand grasping his.

"Harry, it's Dean, do you feel that, that's my heart, come on squirt, breathe with me. It's okay, it's gonna be okay, you're safe; I'll keep you safe I promise. You can do it, come on."




"You're safe."


"It's Dean, you're with me."


Gun oil, leather and a rough voice.



"Okay?" The rough voice whispered in his ear and he realized that they were on the floor and he was tucked beneath Dean's chin gripping fistfuls of his shirt in a death grip.

He didn't move away.

"Sorry." He whispered quietly.

"Happens to the best of us squirt." Dean croaked reassuringly.


He was going to open his mouth to protest the nickname when he realized he liked it, it was a term of endearment not boy or freak or boy-who-lived… A hand was petting his hair soothingly and he burrowed himself in the older man's body, not seeing the death glare said man shot up at the strange inhuman being.

Warmth spread through him.

The other occupant of the room that they had forgot about in the heat of his panic attack chose that moment to make himself known once more. Ignoring the entire episode that he probably didn't understand anyway, "We are here for the first time in two thousand years because seals are breaking. The demon Lilith is behind it. Think of the seals as locks on a cage."

Warmth left him to an icy dread that began to pool in his stomach. He heard Dean whispering, "What happens if it opens?"

"Lucifer walks free."

They shouldn't have asked.

They scrambled up at that, having to heave themselves up to fully comprehend the enormity of the situation. He stood there stunned while Dean scoffed and proceeded to offend the trench coat wearing man once more. However he pulled out of his funk when the man backed Dean into a corner.

"You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell, I can throw you back in." Pulling his Gryffindor's foolish bravery out of whatever place it was hiding in. He inserted himself between the two of them pushing the angel away from an obviously distressed Dean and facing him with the sort of glare he usually kept for Voldemort.

"Go." He ordered, surprising himself by the steadiness of his voice, "I don't care if you can smite us with just a glance or that you can throw us back into the pit, we now know, you don't have any business here anymore." Magic filling and magnifying his voice with power.

He vanished, the sound of wings following him.

They woke up, a scream caught halfway up their throats.


Dean wasn't a stupid man or a simpleton; despite the way he portrayed himself.

He knew something was going on with Sam, had seen the nervous agitation that was plastered all over his brother, had seen his brother disappearing at odd hours of the night since they had left Bobby's with Harry in the backseat because he just wouldn't let the younger male out of his sight, not after Cas's visit, not ever if he had any say in it.

And he had.

His brother had vehemently protested, spouting things like "he's not a hunter", "why Dean?", "we don't even know who he is" and such nonsense. He had taken it in stride with a stone-cold face, not budging from his decision no matter what his brother cared to say. Sam had been a nightmare to be around ever since and he had the feeling it would have been the same with or without Harry.

Sammy just wasn't the same.

He didn't know what caused it and he would have asked except that wasn't the Winchesters way of dealing.

Their dad had taught them the system of stoic lack of communication they now used; he and Sam had simply perfected it with a mix of painful sincerity and lies that were the foundations of their relationship. It used to be made up by the fact that he had understood all of his brother's quirks, every shift of his face, every movement, expression and sentence his brother gave. There was now an ever-growing dangerous gaping chasm between the two of them that they painfully felt but forced themselves to forget.

Dean just didn't know what to do, he didn't understand his brother's secrets and constant agitation and Sam didn't notice his brother's overwhelming fears and nightmares. Demanding to know what was up with Sam meant he would have to share his own secrets and he wasn't ready for that at all. His sleep was full of fire, blood and pain and it was only when he heard Sam leaving to God knows where did he allow himself to fade into slumber that he knew was going to be made of nightmares and not wanting his brother to see him so weak.

So he wasn't surprised, when he came back from his eventful trip to the past, that it was only Harry sleeping in the motel room.

His eyes full of two evil yellow light bulbs, his dad's young limp body and his ears still ringing from his mother's cries.

He took up his flask because that was how he resolved things nowadays.

Castiel was in the room but he was used to the angel's silent presence by now and ignored it to stare at the young man sleeping on the bed that was twisting and turning. He wanted to go there, he hesitated, when Harry arched up the bed letting out a loud whimper in the otherwise silent room his decision was made for him. He closed the distance and sat down on the bed grasping the thin shoulders "Harry." He said firm and commanding. "Harry." This time he shook him because the other was thrashing and hurting himself, his forehead bloody by his scratching and he couldn't see this red on white, wasn't ready for it, for the reminder of what he had almost done and he forcefully folded the younger man into his lap.

It worked.

Harry was gradually calming, cries receding and whimpers trailing off till' he was boneless in his grip, shuffling to get more comfortable, he smiled softly down at the scene. He turned his attention to the Angel stoically regarding the scene "You could have done something, Angel." He emphasized derisively.

"He is not my charge." The heavenly being stated impassively and he couldn't help but snort bitterly.

It just wasn't fair, Harry deserved an angel far more then he did, that was for sure.


"What." He snapped irritated because he had begun to fall asleep peacefully for once, soothed by the kid's rhythmic beat of heart but, no, he couldn't rest, he had to be God's bitch again.

"Your brother." Still not looking at the blue-eyed man but pressing the other's body even more into his form as some sort of shield at the mention of his brother because he knew it couldn't be anything good.

"Yes." He said tiredly.

"Your brother is heading down a dangerous road Dean. And we're not sure where it leads." That made his head snapped up all tiredness forgotten in the face of a fucking angel warning him about his brother. "So stop him. Or we will."

He froze, fear clogging the back of his throat and knotting up his tongue. "Where is he?"

"425 Waterman."

Oh, Sammy, what have you done?

It was the demon bitch; fucking Ruby man…

Even with a new body he could recognize her damn smirk anywhere. He didn't know if Hell made him more sensitive to the demons but he could see the evil crawling all over her pretty form, all the hidden self-satisfied emotions in the glinting smiles she flashed his brother. He was full of scathing hot rage that reminded him of the pit and he tried to breathe through his nose to calm himself before he would do something he'd regret. He wanted to scream, punch and shake his little brother as his psychic abilities pulsated around him in waves and the demon choked.

He was breathless and weak at the knees as the floor around the trap smoldered with black and red ashes swirling with all the force of hell-fury around the bloody tied up man.

Ruby's smirk took up all of her beautiful face and he wanted to make the bitch suffer so bad his hands trembled with it because he knew how to, Alastair had made sure of that and it was the first time he considered torture since he crawled out.

He was strangely desensitized at the notion.

He could all but imagine all he would do to make her scream for days on end.

He snapped out of it when he saw them making their way outside, the limp body slung in his brother's arms like a symbol of their idiocy between their lop-sided smiles.

He blocked their way out, all his anger making the edges of his vision blurry, filling the space around him with rage that all but wanted to find a reason to jump out of his skin.

"Anything you want to tell me Sam?" His voice controlled making his word cutting and over-articulated.

Sam lost all the confidence air he had a minute ago at the sight of him, good.

"Dean, hold on, okay just Let me-"

He didn't give him the time to finish, "If you say let me explain…" He let the threat hanging meaningfully.

"Are you gonna explain this?"

Sam's body language seemed to all but plead to him, but he wouldn't and couldn't understand what his brother was doing with that black-eyed bitch. Had he forgot everything they've been through, every last goddamn thing their father had taught them?

He made the mistake of making eye contact with her when she put her small delicate hand on his brother's tall frame. His rage that had burned with ice and fire in his gut since he arrived at the horrifying scene chose her, he was glad it wasn't his brother.

Quickly pulling the knife out and backing her violently onto the shelves behind them, he looked her in the eye with a cruel smirk made of all his years in Hell and she finally looked at him with startled fear, oh how he loved that look on her. He was downing the knife on her pale white skin…

…When a strong grip stopped him, "Dean, stop it, Dean." He followed the large hand keeping him from doing what he desperately wanted to do, to his brother's face.

Betrayal cut deeper and harder than all of the torture he went through.

He lost his grip and let himself be strangled by the bitch in his shock.

He came back to himself and injected as much venom as he could in the glare he shot her. He knew by only glancing at the black eyes of her meat-suit that the next time they saw each other, one of them was going to die, he swore to himself that it was gonna be her.

"Dean…" He heard his brother whisper anxiously when Ruby had disappeared with the man's body but he walked away not even looking at him.

He was afraid of what he would do.


Harry woke up from the best sleep he had had in since, well, forever to a hunched Sam trying to fuse himself with the book he was reading. As always he tried to find something to reach out to the taller brother but Sam was a mystery to him. The man was a tightly wounded ball full of angst and grief that reminded him of himself in his worst years at Hogwarts, it called out to him, he wanted to help, didn't want to be a burden on the brothers shoulders, he wanted to prove his worth and most of all he wanted to understand the taint that was growing every single day on Sam's aura.

He didn't know if it would work out but he had to do something "Hey, Sam-" He didn't really know where he was going with this but he didn't have the time to finish the phrase when Dean walked in slamming the door behind him. He had never seen the hunter like that; he was practically radiating anger, frustration and a helplessness that was heart wrenching to watch.

Ignoring his brother, what in Merlin's name happened?!, and forcefully packing his stuff. "Come on Harry, get up we're leaving." He ordered.

"What-" Sam interrupted him and he had the feeling it wasn't a good idea for him to talk at that particular moment.

"Dean what are you doing? Are, are you leaving?"

"You don't need me, you and Ruby go fight demons." He was confused and who was Ruby again? He was getting up the bed quickly putting on some pants because Dean was already clothed and walking away and he seemed to make a statement of not looking at Sam.

A second later, he understood why.

The punch came flying.

Dean was preparing himself to land another one when he decided enough was enough and put himself quickly between the two men who towered over him. He pushed Dean away from his brother with a hand on his chest grabbing the fist mid-air.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asked Dean incredulously.

"Get out of my way Harry, the little shit deserves it." He snarled, teeth bared and features twisted that reminded him of where he had met Dean for the first time.

"I'm sure he doesn't, what the bloody hell is this?! You're brothers!"

"Oh yeah and do you know what my brother had been doing behind our backs for the past month, well come on, let's hear it Sam."

When he saw that Dean wouldn't hit his little brother again, he turned and looked at Sam who for his part was looking at the ground, blood on his lip and shame painted all over him.

Dean continued unmerciful "Do you know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal? From human?"

He had to intervene because he could see the word "freak" wanting out of Dean's mouth.

"Stop it Dean. Just stop it."

"Stay out of this Harry."

"No." He kept his stance in front of Sam protectively even though he was a million inches short to do anything. "Now you tell me what's going on. And I'll get some ice for your brother."

Dean's rage seemed to curl on itself and back in him, leaving the man slumped and drained in the middle of the room. He turned to Sam to see him gazing intensely down at him with a new emotion in his eyes than the usual mistrust he was used to see in the taller male's eyes.

He came back into the room to be greeted by the sight of the two men sitting dejectedly on opposite sides of it.

"Here." He gave the package to Sam and sat in between the two hunters.

"Thank you." The other murmured grateful for more than the cold relief on his lip.

"Okay…Now start talking." He spoke firmly and saw the amused twitch of the lips Dean made at the way he was handling the situation and smiled back at him with mirth in his eyes.

Sam straightened and headed the command first, "I can pull demon out of their hosts and send them back to Hell, Dean, please understand I've been saving more people the past five months than we had in years."

"Is that what Ruby wants you to think?" Dean retorted without missing a beat.

"Okay, stop and get me up to speed, who is Ruby? And how exactly are you doing what you're doing?"

"A demon and his freakin' mind!" Dean shouted regaining his lost anger at just the mention of it.

That stopped him short. "A demon?! What, his mind? What does that mean?"

"She's been helping me, you were gone Dean."

"I'm gone and suddenly it's a good reason to go and get cozy with demons?! And if it's so good why didn't you tell me? Why would an angel tell me to stop you, huh?"

Sam startled at that and looked up at his brother, his faith seemingly getting the upper hand. "An angel?" He whispered fearfully.

"Cas told me that if I don't stop you, he would."

"Castiel said that? Yeah, well, sorry but Cas is kind of an ass." That stopped both of the brothers short and they turned back to him, finally remembering he was there. "He is!" He defended, "Now tell me how are you doing that Sam?"

"I'm sorry Harry but it's kind of a family thing." He politely declined but Dean didn't seem to care much about the apparent family secret in the present circumstances.

"The demon that killed our mom.-

"The yellow-eyed one?"

"You told him?" Dean ignored the remark and kept on talking.

-Yeah, him, his name was Azazel by the way, well the night he killed her he gave Sam drops of his blood, Sam had been experiencing visions psychic-like visions since he turned twenty-two because of it and now apparently, he's using the powers the demon blood gives him to hunt and exorcise. But it's gonna get darker and darker and he doesn't get that. "

Harry observed the curled up form of the younger man carefully and found something like kinship in the tall man's situation because that, that, sounded eerily familiar. He understood better now though, "So that's what it is…" He trailed off, mostly talking to himself.

"That's what it's what?" Dean caught the whisper and asked sharply expecting an answer.

"The taint on Sam's aura, I didn't know what it was and I figured you knew. Besides it wasn't really my business." Both of the brothers gazed at him guardedly and Dean approached him.

"How can you know something like that?" He winced at the suspicion he could hear in the sudden hollow of Dean's deep voice.

While Sam questioned, "What do you mean, "taint"?"

He should have kept his mouth shut.

He began to fidget at having the attention placed on him like that but figured it was his turn to share. He just hoped he wasn't going to be rejected by Dean after that or even worst, killed by him or his brother.

"Okay, Dean, sit down. And don't interrupt me until I'm finished please." He ordered wearily and when he saw he was obeyed, he pulled himself up on the bed, pulling his knees close and wrapping his arms around them, expecting the worst but nonetheless breathed in and out and launched himself in his story.

He talked of his parent's deaths and the prophecy, his magic and his world full of creatures and enemies shadowed everywhere, of his friends and the deaths of some of them not by his hands but it might as well have been, the war and hissing the name Voldemort between two hateful gasps, he glossed over the Dursleys because he wasn't ready to tell anyone that, he didn't know if he were ever going to be and didn't talk about his death for the sake of the web of lies Dean was weaving about his time in Hell.

He talked and talked until his throat was raw and his voice a painful dry whisper.

After he lapsed into silence shuddering and world weary and so goddamn tired; he didn't know if their rejection would make a difference right now. He was all broken inside warped in sharp edges that didn't hold him together, leaking his emotions all over the place. He didn't want to look up at them and see his own loathing reflected in the two pair of eyes that burned his form with their intensity.

He felt the bed dipping and thick fingers lifted his chin, guarded but still warm and sympathetic eyes full of their own human flaws stared back at him.

He looked back and nodded softly to show he understood why the older man couldn't put his feelings into words, he nervously turned his gaze on Sam who looked at him and Dean with an unreadable face even as he could see pity and understanding battling the expected but none the less hurtful fear and wariness.

They hadn't rejected him.

They still had a long way to go. But for now;

It was enough.

The phone rang.

The old man named Travis was everything he thought a hunter would be at that age from what he had seen of Bobby and the little he had learned from the brothers on how their father used to be. He was all yellow teeth, old scars with deep-seated dark humor and overwhelming weariness in his clear eyes.

He hoped Dean wouldn't turn out like this but he wasn't big on hope.

"John would have been proud of you, sticking together like this."

Tension thickening visibly until it was almost stifling.

"Yeah, we're thick as thieves."



After he had killed the rougaru with a fire spell to save Dean ("Nice trick there squirt!") and the cannibal situation was over and done with, he decided to talk to Sam because it was clear that every time Dean opened his mouth he only made it worse.

He would have found it funny if it wasn't so sad.

Sam had identified himself with the creature where there wasn't one single real similarity. The younger hunter, seeing this normal everyday man all but burned on fire because of how he was born, had agonized and had hidden himself behind the shadows of his long hair on the ride back. And the taller male calling himself a "freak" during the case hadn't helped his mood at all but it had straightened his resolve to hash it out with the shaggy haired man.

He had decided earlier to stop using his powers and said so to his brother and him, Dean had seemed relieved beyond compare with a little bit of hope thrown in there but him, he wasn't so sure. He would observe Sam and see if he were to get worst, if that happened he would do something about it, he didn't know what but if it could help the brothers in some way. He would.

He found the man sitting on the hood of the Impala wearing pitiful big eyes and large hunched shoulders like a second skin and staring at the sky like it hold all the answers. Considering what they knew now, maybe it did.

He approached and took a seat beside him cautiously but loudly so as not to startle the pensive man.

"Hey Sam… Listen I just wanted to say something-

"I don't really wanna talk right now Harry." The other interrupted him with a sullen pout on his tan features.

"I know, trust me I know but-

"No you don't." The other said harshly and Harry was getting seriously infuriated by the guy.

"Yes I do, I carried a soul piece of my parent's murderer for seventeen years, I know." He said all in a rush before the man could even think of cutting him off again. Ah, he had his attention now didn't he?

"Now, listen to me Sam, I had this dark and twisted soul inside of me since I was one year old and I could have gone evil with the life I had. You know, Voldemort and I weren't so different on papers but he made choices and I made others. And I never, ever killed anybody in my life and I hope I never have to, well anybody human, of course. That's what counts, Sam, choices. The monster we killed tonight, he didn't have any choices, you do though: it's a totally different situation. And before you ask me how you know if you made the right ones, I can't tell you because I'm not in your place but Sam, you and your brother are some of the strongest people I've ever met, Merlin most people would be rocking back and forth in a mad house right about now if they were in your shoes. I'm sure you'll figure it out and if you feel like you can't, Dean will help you and I will too for that matter because it seems that I will be stuck with your tall whiny asses for a long time coming."

He turned his head to look at Sam who was looking at him with amused amazement in his big doe eyes, the man suddenly started laughing with an hysterical edge to it but laughing none the less.

"What?!" He asked indignantly.

"No, it's not really funny but the way you say "Merlin" all the time is actually hilarious."

The mood lost its heaviness and he bantered back blushing "Shut up, you gigantic prat." Sam's chuckles trailed off and he caught his eyes with a gratefulness that was staggering.

"Thank you."

They went to bed that night with lightened hearts.

He had done it.


Dean was searching desperately through the newspapers for a case cause, first, it seemed like an eternity since they had gone on a big bad monster with claws, the whole nine yards old school hunt and he had had enough of angels and demons to last him for a lifetime.

He just wanted a reprieve from the whole breaking of the seals business. Second, he wanted a distraction from the recent revelations, it felt like everyone were unraveling too fast all around him and he needed something familiar, something he could deal with, something where he could be in control for god's sake. And apart for going to the bar and getting laid right now, which would be difficult in the morning and he found he really had no patience for the whole process lately, what he needed was a nice hunt warped in a nice little bow with the drink of victory at the end being the metaphorical cherry on top.

He was still reeling from Harry's confession, he had of course remembered the mojo the man had performed in Hell but…Natural born magic user, that was unheard of, he noted to himself that he had to call Bobby about it soon enough. Not that he didn't believe Harry, it's just he wanted to know what the old man knew about the subject. When Harry had started talking and had revealed he possessed magic he had to control himself as to not interrupt the smaller hunter but hadn't been able to stop the sharp hiss of betrayal that had left him. But as the other had continued talkin' with that hollow painful note to his voice that he had never wanted to hear in the kid's raspy voice, the hurt had been replaced by horror at the life the runt had led only to end up in Hell…

It was cruel and a harsh reminder that he and his brother didn't have the monopole on suffering.

He also knew the squirt enough by now that he noticed there were some things he wasn't telling them. He clenched his jaw, if it was so awful he couldn't even tell them or him, after the tale of death and war he had recounted well let's just say he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

His determination to protect the green-eyed boy had reached a whole new high.

An article pulled him out of his thoughts.


It must have been one of the weirdest hunt they ever went on and if that wasn't telling he didn't know what was.

At least they got a good laugh out of it.

Harry had laughed his quiet little laugh, Sam his heartfelt one: head thrown back and wide smile echoing in the Fest's courtyard.

He didn't know what had happened between them but he was glad for it, their behaviors had changed overnight. He could no longer see the mistrust that had filled his brother's eyes when he looked down at Harry and he could no longer see the bad-hidden yearning the little hunter used to have when gazing up at his brother.

He was pretty sure it was Harry who had made the first step after the rougaru hunt though, his brother from "before Hell" would have been the one to do it but he wasn't sure of this version of Sammy.

He didn't know what Harry had said; he just loved him all the more for it.

He put the Impala into gear and he could hear soft compulsive chuckles coming from the backseat over the music and feel the lingering amusement coming from his right. "Shut up." He muttered with a perfected tone of sullenness, he was rewarded by the renewed laughter filling up the car.

The little runts weren't going to let that costume bit go for a long time, he just knew it.

With the smooth wheel of his baby beneath his hands, the music blaring out of the speaker, the open road in front of him and the laughter in his hears; he felt damn good, the best he had been in a long long time, hell, years.

(Didn't hurt that he got the girl at the end either.)

The past month had been strangely calm.

Too calm if you asked him.

They had torched a ghost, practically done it with their eyes closed too. Harry had opened up more in the face of his brother's eagerness to learn, told them of friendly ghosts, magic schools, giant snakes and freakin' unicorns, man…

His lilting English accent a constant background noise that somehow seemed to have a soothing effect on his usually frayed nerves.

His brother was still agitated most of the time but he seemed to try and keep himself in check, good.

They had been wandering around aimlessly along the dirtied roads of the good ol' U.S, a sightseeing tour of sorts for the British boy riding the backseat, a nice break from their hectic lives that the three of them had enjoyed immensely.

They had needed and deserved it.

Showing Harry the life they could, the life they knew, it wasn't much but it was theirs: made of pies, burgers and beers. His brother showing the wonders of the Internet while he sneaked some porn magazines under his pillow, teaching him how to shoot with the guns the younger man had brought with him (and if he had felt a swell of parental pride when he had hit bull's eye, nobody had to know). Sam, the nerd, teaching him research and recounting some of the hunts they had been on, his big arms everywhere when he got excited with him throwing his two cents every few sentences just to see the smiles and hear the cheeky retorts he got from the emerald-eyed teen, him showing how his baby worked and how to take care of her…

(Trying to teach the ropes of flirting to the awkward boy was to this day, one of the best moments of his life).

In exchange they got stories of epic pranking, flying cars and flying brooms (he whimpered at those) and ridiculous valentine's poem…

It was good times and kind of what he imagined being happy felt like, he couldn't be quite sure.

It couldn't have last.

When they suddenly found themselves up to their elbows with men dying for no apparent reason. The first tricky hunt they had had in a month and wasn't that a miracle.

He hated being right.

Like Harry had declared, they had been lucky it had actually lasted that long.

It was ghost sickness and he had it.

Of course he had, it was meant for jerks and dicks, he knew with some of the things he had done, well, maybe like more than half the things he had pulled, he was warranted for those particular titles but still…It sucked.

Okay scratch that, it didn't just suck it was positively awful and terrifying. Cranking the volume up in the Impala to drown out the sound of his rapidly beating heart, he looked in the rear view mirror and not for the first time in the last past hours he wondered if Harry had it too. The little hunter had his eyes wide open and an overwhelming fear shined out of them, so fucking green and locked on him, seeming to drink him in.

He couldn't look at them anymore and snapped back to the front.

His brother probably hadn't caught the look, too busy in his own worry, and continued to rattle on the symptoms of the ghost whammy with the other two passengers getting paler and paler by the second.

His heart was thumping so loud against his ribcage it was almost painful.

After Sam had finished his depressing speech and they had apparently a lead, the asshole that had found it funny to contaminate him by spraying him with his dead ghosty blood, he anxiously looked at Sam feeling his forehead crinkling with worry.

"So what I've got 48 hours before I go insane and my heart stops?"

Harry murmured from the back still fixing him with that heartbreaking look, "How much time does he really got?"

When Sam didn't answer him or the little guy but was instead staring at them one after the other, his eyes shifting somewhat guiltily he snapped "Sam." Through his clenched teeth.

"Errrrr…" Sam's mouth twisted in a wonky smile that didn't do anything to quench his fear at all, "More like 24 hours."

Harry closed his eyes in dread and let out a pitiful whimper that he had probably tried to keep for himself.

He had only one thing to say, "Awesome."

By the time Harry and Sam had figured it out his gut were churning constantly with a healthy mix of fear, anguish and strong alcohol straight from the flask.

They had gone to see Luther's brother, Harry refusing not to go and using what he called a dillusionment spell that had his heart palpitating and his temples sweating because he couldn't see, hear or feel the other male and that wasn't gonna fly at all right now.

Dean stumbled out next to the Impala with Sam explaining what has been happening to him, Harry reappearing him making him jump and reach for his heart with an indignant squawk because now was not the time for this kind of crap.

He was proud to say that he had managed to keep a certain humor in the situation, a mixture of dark humor and wonky jokes that he certainly didn't feel lately, he was just sure he had to keep them up even though he didn't really know why.

Until now.

He huffed and came to an angry stop next to the black car, "You know what screw this. What are we doing?!" He directed the question at Sam and Harry, his eyes unfocused on a space between the two.

Harry only looked at him confuse saying, "We're trying to save you Dean." And Sam announcing at the exact same moment, "We're hunting a ghost."

He focused on the second remark because the first had his palms sweating and his knees jerking, it reminded him too much of Hellhounds and mind-numbing pain.

"A ghost, exactly! Who does that?!" His legs buckling and bending, muscle-less and weak.

"Us." Harry and Sam fired back one fiercely, the other blandly.

"Us? Right. And that Sam, that his precisely why our lives suck. I mean, come on, we hunt monsters, what the hell?!" Dean exclaimed oblivious to his pacing or his hysterical arms gesture, his mind going hazy with fear. "I mean, normal people, they see a monster and they run. But not us, no, no, no, no…We-we search out things that want to kill us. Yeah? Huh? Or eat us! You know who does that? Crazy people! We…are insane!"

Sam and Harry opened their mouths but he quickly waved to interrupt them, he would have made to the other side of the car to shake them, make them understand, make Harry see the truth so that he could save himself before he was too deeply immersed in the bottomless hole of darkness they called their life even thought it would reap his heart and ignoring the fact that it was probably too late for that.

"And then there's the bad diner food and then the skeevy motel rooms and then that truck-stop waitress with the bizarre rash. I mean who wants this life? Sam? Harry? Huh? Seriously? Do the two of you actually like being in a car with me eight hours a day, every single day? I don't think so! I mean, I drive too fast and I listen to the same five albums over and over and over again, and I sing along. I'm annoying, I know that. And you Sam, you're gassy! You eat half a burrito and you get toxic! And you Harry what are you doing with us huh? You're a sweet young dude you could actually do anything you'd want but, noooo, do you actually want to die again?! You should save yourself man and get out of this life, my life, our lives before it's too late, I mean you know what?" He tossed the keys to Sam and pointed in the general direction he thought their chests were, he couldn't very well tell anymore. "You can forget it."

He didn't wait for their replies as he wobbled off into the dark.

His tie was choking him, every breath he took a gasp or a hiss and his legs were two limbs disconnected from the rest of his body. He was walking aimlessly, he was lost, his brain a jumble of thoughts.

The hallucinations had started and it was pretty much down hill from there.

He was pretty sure Harry had brought him back to the motel and that Bobby had arrived but he couldn't be sure.

The three of them had left him alone to deal with the ghost and he had almost begged for Harry to stay and keep talkin' because the only moments of lucidity he had were full of British accent but his pride got in the way, he really hated his pride right about now.

At first they were only clocks ticking, words appearing and pictures changing. He figured it was okay, he could deal with that. After all, he was in a way relieved with the knowledge that what awaited him after his heart stopped beating was a hell of a lot worse than what a ghost could ever come up with.

Once again, he had spoken too fast.

Ruby, Sam whose eyes were shining an evil yellow that he had hoped he wouldn't see again telling him that he couldn't wait for him to go back to hell. He broke just a little from that.

"Hello Dean."

God, please no. Not her. Not here. Just no. He repeated that like a mantra pressing his face in the leather of the Bible he was holding, maybe it would save him a second time he thought bitterly.

Lilith blond innocent looking child wrapper her tiny seemingly harmless arms around him, "I missed you so much." He stood up shuddering in disgust wanting to put as much space as possible between him and this nightmare. "Look who I brought with me." He tore his eyes away from the fascinating floor cursing himself all the while.


Half naked Harry with holes on his shoulders remainders of the hooks, blood dripping from every pore, guts almost hanging out of his body, eyes blank and broken gazing at him unseeingly from an half-burned face. His horror-filled mind could see a define scar on his left hip, D.W.

"You did this Dean." He heard Lilith say with half an ear still staring at what he had done to Harry, but no he hadn't done it, Cas… But he almost had, hadn't he? "You did this Dean and you liked it."

"You're not real." His voice wavered, his teeth rattling, his blood going to his head in a dizzying rush and his heart beating erratically.

"What's the matter Dean, don't you remember all the fun you had down there? You do remember. Four months is like forty years in Hell. Like doggie years. And you remember every second." She continued unmercifully pointing out the truth he had locked out in a very far and twisted dark corner of his mind; getting up with Harry's larger hand in her small one, his blood coating her little fingers and following his retreat, stalking her prey with the high-pitch voice and those eyes full of death.

He grasped uselessly at his chest as his heart filled with pain and the rhythm of his beats doubled, a feat he didn't think possible. His knees buckled and he crashed to the floor.

The room getting unfocused in a tangle of colors and sounds, his heart shuddering in warning and his mind losing grip on consciousness.

"Dean." He heard the little girl say, "Dean, it's me, look at me, it's not real. Whatever you seeing it's not." He wanted to believe that voice if he didn't know it belonged to a demon.

"Dean!" Large thin calloused hands gripped his face and he recoiled but they were insistent, "It's Harry." He didn't want to open his eyes and see what he had made of Harry; the blood was on his hands.

"Dean." The voice said desperately, the English accent getting stronger in its intensity. His body, against his wishes responded to that plea and he slowly opened his eyelids.

Green welcomed him, all over again filling him with hope, understanding, so human and alive.


With no blood on his face, just the usual scars, his Harry from now, not in Hell.

He gripped the slightly crying man's dirty shirt. Feeling thin fingers going through his short hair and his head positioned on the younger one's lap. He breathed carefully, in and out, that's it. "I'm gonna die. I'm going back."

"No you won't, I won't let you." Was the tearful but nonetheless forceful answer to his anguish cries.

"Please, please don't leave, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Harry." He let out in a painful dry whisper.

"I won't." He heard the fierce promise, welcoming the unconsciousness he allowed the ghost of a relieved smile to settle.

When all was done and over with, Sam and Bobby having taken care of the ghost they all allowed themselves a cold beer on the side of the road, like he hadn't been drinking too much already.

Harry and Bobby were talking quietly on Bobby's car hood and he had to genuinely smile at that cause of course the old man would be taken by the boy's stray dog appearance and sometimes slightly lost look.

He turned to look at his brother who was frowning at nothing, when was he not nowadays, he had seen the look on his brother's face when he had woken up still awkwardly grasping Harry's shirt, knew that his brother's vision of him was changing crumbling down at his all too apparent weaknesses and building alcoholism.

But he couldn't keep up anymore; everything was catching up to him and he felt as if he was tearing up at the seems most of the time, he couldn't hide his weaknesses from Sammy anymore, the ones he had known he had for the longest time.

He kinda hated his brother a bit too for putting him onto a pedestal that he couldn't possibly match up for, Harry could see his short-comings and accepted all of them, all of him, but it was clear Sam could not.

But when his brother asked what he had seen and a flash of yellow made his way into his little brother's hazel-brown orbs, he lied.

He still tried.


Of course they had found a case on Halloween.

He knew something bad was going to happen and not the usual stuff too; it was in the simple order of his life, just a logical observation.

Merlin, how he hated the 31st of October and it wasn't only because it was the anniversary of his parents death or the numerous events that had happened to him on this day, it was the sheer obliviousness of the normal people towards this particular night. Couldn't they feel the wrongness permeating the air, he glared at all the sinister decorations, the joyful costumes in the small town even the candies the brothers were eating unnerved him.

They had discovered the witch if she could even be called that, hex bags, he snorted, what a joke. But she could do some real damage like apparently raising bloody Samhain and they needed to stop her quick; he wanted to be the one to do it.

The brothers had noticed his mood and treated carefully around him, good choice, he was strung up and two minutes away from hexing the next person who would just think about irritating him.

They were on their way back to the motel room and Dean and him had just one moment to feel the simmering power before they barged in stopping the barreling Sam from shooting at the new occupants of their bedroom.

He knew it, that couldn't mean anything good; his ire reached a higher level, magic pulsing around him in dangerous waves.

"It's Cas, it's the Angel." He heard Dean say to his brother but he was more focused on the unknown entity in the room that had his back to them, how arrogant.

Sam was suddenly an awkward bumbling teenager meeting his idol and he winced in preparation when he saw only apathy in Castiel's eyes. Dean had already subtly positioned himself in front of them apparently having the same apprehension as him.

"-the Boy with the demon blood-"

He flinched when he heard that and glared at the angel, sidling next to Sam to offer moral support on the obviously pained tall man.

He interrupted the obviously socially inept being before he said something seriously awful and he decided to challenge someone far more powerful than him, his magic jumped and sizzled beneath his fingertips all but waiting to be unleashed. "Who's your friend Castiel?" He asked sharply still glaring.

"Yeah how about you tell us who Chuckles is?" Dean added supporting him. Sam was still forlornly glaring at the floor apparently able to be lost in thoughts even in the presence of angels.

"The Rising of Samhain, have you stopped it? Have you located the witch?" Castiel questioned blatantly ignoring their demands. His eyes narrowed and darkened dangerously.

"Well, no…" Sam who had tuned back in the tense conversation helpfully supplied scuffing his big feet awkwardly.

"But we know who the witch is." He completed, hoping that it would be enough for them he wanted the inhuman beings gone now, away from Dean and Sam, Castiel's threat from a couple of months ago still branded in his memories.

The dark skinned man huffed in amusement at his statement and he decided that he wasn't going to like him then and there.

"Apparently the witch knows who you are too." Castiel said lowly offering a hex bag to Dean who he was staring at. He actually had been staring at Dean from the beginning of the encounter; he narrowed his green eyes in suspicion, something was up that they couldn't see. "I found this in the wall. If we hadn't found it, one, both or the three of you would be dead. Now, do you know where the witch is?"

They all shared uneasy glances at that; Castiel unfortunately caught the exchange and his eyes, two cold chips of ice burned brightly on them. "This is unfortunate. The rising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals."

Dean scowled, "So this is about your buddy Lucifer?"

"Lucifer is no friend of ours." The dark figure chose that moment to growl out, turning around his voice a deep rumble, and he really didn't like him especially when his eyes full of contempt swept on Sam and next lingering on him. "Enough of this." His hackles rose quickly at the haughtiness and judgment he saw in those dark brown orbs, amusement was the response he got and his hand was slowly itching for his wand.

The man approached them slowly and unexpectedly lightly for such an imposing man, stopping next to Castiel and all but glowing in angelic possession.

"This is Uriel, he is what you call a… specialist." He didn't like where this was going at all, a sense of foreboding settled with Castiel's tone of voice.

"What kind of specialist?" He whispered lowly with an ice-cold voice that startled the brothers into staring at him for a moment, he shook his head feeling the question in their gazes but still looking intensely in the black eyes that regarded him with sick pleasure.

Uriel's smile was sharp and full of glinting white teeth, "We're going to destroy the town." He declared with badly contained sadistic glee.

Harry recoiled in horror but grim acceptance quickly replaced it.

The room was filling with shouts and he had had enough of this self-righteous bastard, he hadn't realized it but in his rage he had conjured the Gryffindor sword. He was quite surprised, he didn't know he still could but the comforting metal in his hand was enough to give him an excuse to push the new angel down a few peg and he wasn't about to let a town full of innocent people be destroyed.

He launched past the brothers and Catiel, gripping the taller man by the collar and pinning him into the wall pushing his sword at his neck, nicking the skin, a bit of blood penetrating the oddly luminous blade. "Nobody's going to destroy this town are we clear?"

"You sure you want to do that with me, little abomination." The other answered radiating dark amusement; he seemed to itch for a fight as much as him.

"Harry." He heard Dean call fearfully but he wouldn't back down even thought it was idiotic, he just wouldn't, he was thrumming with adrenaline.

"Trust me I want to. You pathetic excuse for an Angel." The taller of the two bristled at the insult and the amusement finally disappeared to be replaced by heavenly fury.

Castiel must have sensed the change and stopped the altercation before it got out of hand with a sharp "Enough."

"I suggest you hurry and find this witch." The blue-eyed angel ordered lastly and somewhat meaningfully.

Defiant green eyes stared up at enraged dark ones until they flew away.

As soon as they were gone, Dean rounded on him as the adrenaline left him and he slumped on the bed behind him. "What the hell was that? You can't pull shit like that with angels Harry!"

"I know, he just…"

"Yes I hate him too, the winged son of a bitch but it's no reason to get yourself blasted out of existence by the asshole." He chuckled at the insults but stopped when he saw the deadly serious expression on the dirty blond man's face.

Still, Dean seemed to be in the same opinion as him, that they were more and more sure that angels really weren't much better than demons.

"Okay, okay, I'll try to keep my temper at bay." He offered petulantly.

"Good." Dean nodded satisfied with the retort, lips twitching despite his efforts at his childish tone.

"What was that sword anyway?" Sam asked suddenly.

"Long story, I'll explain later." He quickly responded at the demanding and curious brother.

"Right." Dean drawled out. "You will, but no time to stall, let's go."

They had failed, the seal had broken, Sam had had his faith and hope ripped away and had used his powers.

Dean had visibly flinched and looked away at the sight as Sammy had licked and tasted some of the blood on the corner of his mouth.

He didn't understand, he had paid attention and the tainted aura hadn't grown since the rougaru hunt, it had even receded a bit. He was starting to think that maybe it wasn't the actual use of the powers but something else that had an impact on it.

He however kept all that to himself, he wasn't sure and he didn't want to alert Dean or worry Sam for nothing. They already had enough on their plates.

The only good thing out of this all mess was that the sword was forgotten, it's not that he didn't want to explain to the brothers, just that he didn't want to remember all the moments he had needed it.

The morning was full of sunshine and Dean and him were sitting on a bench watching kids playing on the playground in comfortable silence, both comforted by the sight of all the lives they had saved.

Even thought they hadn't managed to stop Samhain from rising, well, it really didn't feel like a defeat at all.

A shift in the air clued them in seconds before a familiar trench coat joined them.

Maybe Castiel wasn't so bad after all; he was for now the only angel who deserved the title.

They were in crazy town and amazingly didn't fit in.

Dean's eagerness to hunt the peeking tom ghost and the talking alcoholic teddy bear were nice distractions from the tense silences that had filled the car since Halloween. Sam was giving them the silent treatment, Dean was quick to anger and drinking more than usual, he was tired and irritable and both of their nightmares situations weren't improving.

The little brother was even more tense and irritable than normal, something had happened, something more than just what they had seen, he was sure of it.

Sam was getting suspicious of Dean's lies, he had already stated that he wasn't to be taken for a fool during the case, that he saw Dean's unrest and his bottle of alcohol always within reaching distance. Harry was only glad that he had gone unnoticed from the younger man perceptiveness; he had seen the jade eyes full of worry Dean shot him but ignored them.

Dean had too much to deal with for him to add on and his constant fear of being a burden kept him from the conversation and counsels he knew he desperately needed.

But when Sam was out getting some food, he decided against his better judgment to talk to Dean. "Dean." He called nervously, fidgeting and playing with the hem of his shirt.

"Yeah? What is it Harry?" He looked up to see the older male sitting opposite him on the bed; he must have sensed the impending serious conversation and had turned the T.V. off.

"It's just, maybe you should talk to Sam about Hell maybe it would help you, I know it won't do anything for your nightmares, I know but…"

"He wouldn't understand, you know that Harry, besides I thought you of all people should know how hard it is to talk about it." Dean looked pointedly at him at that, pointing out his own lack of communication about his time downstairs.

"I know, I know, I just want you both to be okay." He murmured pitifully, his tiredness getting to him.

"We'll be fine Harry, don't worry about it." He snorted bitterly at that because how could he not?

They had solved the case, a wishing well, really? He figured he should stop being surprised by the sort of things they encountered. Sam had made an unhealthy declaration of bloody vengeance during the hunt that didn't sit well with him; that road would only end in death and disaster.

Two things he certainly didn't wish on the two brothers.

They were packing their stuff to get out of dodge like always, on to another no name town when Dean broke the silence, his voice like a slap in the once again tense silence filled with unasked questions and dodged conversations, "I do remember everything that happened to me in the pit."

That had frizzed him into a startled stop of his movements, when he had said he should talk to his brother about Hell he meant without him in hearing distance. Dean looked at him for a long drawn out glance that he should decipher but couldn't, when he snapped his intense gaze back to his brother.

"So talk to me about it." Sam said nodding resolutely; he clearly had no idea what they were talking about.

"No." Was the answer he had expected that seemed to throw Sam for a loop who looked on at his torn brother with confusion. "I won't lie anymore. But I'm not gonna talk about it."

"Dean, you can't just shoulder this thing alone, you gotta let me help." Said an exasperated Sam and Harry really wanted to punch some reality into the tall man.

Dean was apparently thinking along the same line, his shoulders dropping with a defeated air around him. "How? You really think a little hug to hugs, some sharing and caring is gonna change anything, huh? That it'll somehow heal me? I'm not talking about a bad day here." There Harry snorted bitterly, horrified to feel wetness rolling down his cheeks, he was now seated shoulders hunched, gazing unseeingly down at the floor, feeling the walls he had built around his memories of Hell slowly crumbling down at every new words out of Dean's mouth. He didn't see the confused hazel-brown eyes or the deeply worried green ones observing him for a moment.

"I know that." Sam responded, defiant at the worst moment possible.

"The things that I saw, they aren't words." Red, blood, black, darkness, cold, hot, whips clacking against his skin, hooks digging into his shoulders, knives splitting his wrists, taunts, blood-curling screams, why, why, why, "There is no forgetting, there is no making it better because it is right here. Forever. You wouldn't understand. And I could never make you understand. So I am sorry…" why am I here, what did I do, am I still me or just flesh hanging from a ceiling, magic reaped away from him to be put again in painful back and forth, eyes ripped out of their sockets, limbs tore from his body, only to be put back together the next day to do it all over again, but why, why, why.

"Harry." Alastair's voice drawling out his name like it was a treat, disgust making him shudder away. His back collided with a strong chest and he tried to claw his way out of the strong grip.

"Harry, listen, you're not there anymore." He couldn't believe that deep voice, maybe he really was back and everything was just an elaborated dream like a part of him had always believed. But the mark on his shoulder burned, burned, burned.

"Harry." A deep voice, gun oil, Impala's leather, whiskey…Dean. No he was out, had been out for a long time now, he was safe, Dean meant safe.

"That's it, listen to my voice, you're not there, you're safe, I'm sorry Harry, I'm sorry, come back to me, come on, snap out of it, please."

He came back to himself curled in Dean's lap, back to chest. He blushed at his own weakness and looked up into the accusing brown eyes of Sam that was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He untangled himself slowly from Dean's warm body, feeling the loss of heat keenly.

"You were there too." Sam stated.

"Yes." He croaked.

"You don't have to do this Harry." Dean stood and came to his aid placing a strong warm hand on his shoulder.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded impatiently like a dog with a bone faced with his lack of knowledge.

"Dean didn't save me from a ghost, we met in Hell." He whispered.

"You…What? How old are you?" Sam asked with a fearful voice and Dean stared at him expectant too, he remembered that the older hunter still didn't know about the duration of his stay.

"I was eighteen when I died." He heard the gasps but continued strangely detached from what he was going to say. "But I am 28 years old."

"Shit." Dean hissed out with wide horrified eyes full of realization and grim understanding. His jade orbs darting all over his face like he might suddenly disappear.


"Yeah, a demon came to me in the middle of the war when I was seventeen and desperate for all of it to just stop, he gave me the power and means to kill Voldemort. And I did. As soon as I accomplished the task I was set to do, the Hellhounds came." He finished trailing off and staring into the distance. "Dean is right you know, you cannot demand answers or think you can help because you simply can't Sam, don't kill yourself over it. It just is."

Sam nodded somewhat shameful and apologetic.

Dean was still staring at him and he didn't have time before the taller hunter gripped him in a strong smothering needy hug made of longing and comfort like he thought that he could squeeze all those years in the pit out of him.

They were now back on the road.

The air had been cleared, not all of it but bit-by-bit they would make it through.

Sam was less twitchy, more relaxed, Dean was driving humming and at ease, him, well him he was looking at the scenery passing by and figured he hadn't been feeling this good in a long time, Merlin, probably ever.

He was sure, with the three of them together like this, they were like a big magnet for trouble and an explosive mix that was an aphrodisiac for the supernatural but they were, at least for now, okay. And that was enough.

He was under no illusions that it wouldn't get worse.

Because it was.

Very soon.