Chapter Text
HP/SPN Crossover Opening Credits Sound Effect - Audio
Over the Chicago skyline, dark thunder clouds rolled. High above in the atmosphere, hallowed screaming winds pushed them along, and electricity popped and crackled where they collided. Down below, the city lights were forging war against their new bleak backdrop. Millions upon millions of yellowed-hued lights hovered, either blinking awake to stave off the darkness, or only seeming to glow brighter because of it.
Including the lights of CEO Brad Callum's office, as the man himself sat in his office chair, feet up on his desk, texting his wife that he would work late that night while arranging with his secretary to contact his secret girlfriend to meet him at their usual hotel. On his desk were papers he had just signed, approving big bonuses to board members by shutting down another factory out east.
His secretary Michelle Robertson did as she was told as she turned on a desk lamp, and decided to hell with bastard CEOs. On the way home that night, she was going to stop off and get her and her girlfriend some steaks for dinner and celebrate getting to be with the one she loved.
In another building a few blocks away, security guard Andrew Bass was humming a Twenty-One Pilots song as he double checked the fret elevators and breaker lights, preparing for the upcoming storm. He had VIP tickets to see them the following week, tickets he spent over a year saving for. Because they had been one of his constants and rocks during his depression, and in his locker, in an envelope, was a photograph of him and his late daughter that he was going to have them sign.
Down the street, Antonio Rizzo was making sure his supply bag had a torch before shoving it into his food trolley on the street corner. He decided to leave the cart's umbrella open in case it started raining on his walk home with the thing, but otherwise, everything was cleaned and locked up, ready for either the morning or later that day if the storm passed. His job didn't give much in the way of financial comfort, but it gave him a work visa. He was content with that so he could be by his sister while she studied biochemistry.
A few streets over as it started sprinkling, Mr and Mrs Speeches were turning off their living room lights, leaving only the television light in the room. They were watching a report of the upcoming storm, and they purposely left the lights on and the doors open of their laundry mat downstairs. After all, not everyone had a home to give them shelter.
A blaring EMT ambulance passed as the Speeches settled onto their sofa, the blue and white lights swirling fast in the timing of the siren. Inside were partners Eric Milton and Last Greenwood, who were rushing to answer a call about a possible heart attack. Last didn't know Eric was secretly in love with his wife; Eric didn't know that Last always secretly desired to be a woman, and neither knew they both prayed to a God they weren't sure they believed in for the courage to at least try and do something about it.
On their route, they also passed Christi Dane with her young son Timmy. They were on their way back from the daycare Timmy went to during the days his mother worked in a local coffee shop. Christi steadfast held onto Timmy's hand, ready to pull him closer if it began raining in earnest. Meanwhile, Timmy was excitedly telling his mother about the tooth he lost during daycare, and his master plans to trick the tooth fairy into only thinking he was asleep, so he could finally get a look at the elusive tooth collector. He was skipping in his joy, his shoes lighting up green and blue with every step.
A few more streets over from that, only one shop - a pizzeria - down the street was not beginning to illuminate in the fast-approaching darkness; its inside lights were obviously off. In front of its glass panelled wooden doors stood a young man with round glasses, his messy black hair whipping around in the wind. He had lightning-shaped scars on his forehead and forearm, the forearm's stretching down to his hand where it stuck out from his dark blue corduroy jacket. Those pink scars became white as he tightened his grip on the wand in his hand.
Inside, Death raised his head to see him through the glass, ready to receive the only human to have ever given their allegiance back , to either his wand, or him.
…
The last time Harry walked purposely to any sort of death wasn't quite like this. For instance, then, when he opened doors, he was met with a destroyed castle and then dark grounds to a large magical forest. Not to the strong smell of garlic and tomato sauce.
At least the dead bodies hadn't been dead long enough to begin to smell.
The door shut behind him with a thunk, and Harry held the Elder Wand behind his hip again, shielding it. The runes on his skin tingled as he met eyes with the man at the table. His eyes weren't just black - they were void. Void of all light, all colour. They bored into Harry's as though he could see everything that made up Harry - his face, his mind, his blood, his thoughts, his magic, his soul, his past, his future…
Death considered him a long moment.
"Harry Potter," he greeted softly. "The Boy… Who Lived."
Harry swallowed.
Death gestured in front of him before going back to his food. "You left these behind."
Harry blinked down to what was, just a moment ago, an empty plate on the other side of the table. His breath caught at the achingly familiar sight that replaced it.
The Invisibility Cloak sat there, neatly folded, and on it set an item that, though Harry had only dealt with it once, in the darken Forbidden Forest, could only be one thing: the Resurrection Stone.
Harry took a step back, his entire world and existence narrowing down to that one sight.
He could remember, in his Heavenly King's Cross, the feeling of something watching him, awaiting a decision. It was all too clear to him now - what he had told himself over and over and over in the dead of night couldn't possibly be true as the mere thought hung over him on the tails of his nightmares.
God didn't bring him here. God didn't do shite. Harry didn't accidentally fall into the wrong world, he didn't try to resurrect himself wrong, he didn't screw up his own death. There was no divine plan for him; he didn't have some kind of special ability or anything truly about him that was needed to save a world. Instead, he was chosen as a baby by some megalomaniac seeking immortality, groomed by a big-picture-oriented fool once obsessed with immortality, too, to find himself the pawn piece who happened to end up with the very three things that would grant him any sort of attention from the likes of something as staggeringly and impossibly powerful like what was seated in front of him.
White, hot fury coursed through his veins, and he glared at the horseman.
His voice was deep and low as he growled through his teeth, "What, don't want your Cloak back?"
He was aware of Dean shifting on his feet off to his left, but only in the awareness of who and what to protect if things went south fast. Otherwise, he was trying not to shake with the need to curse Death.
Death swallowed his bite of pizza, completely unperturbed, and answered, "It's hardly my only one."
"It was you," Harry accused. " You brought me here!"
"Did you think it was God?" Death questioned, some condescension in his tone. "Or Albus? He was powerful for his kind, but I found him as insignificant as the others when I reaped him."
Harry blinked. "You reaped Dumbledore?"
"Of course," Death said as if it was obvious. "I reap everyone who wields my wand."
At that, the Elder Wand was pulled from Harry's hand, his arm yanking out as he tried to hold on. He couldn't, and he watched it gently float to rest on top of the Invisibility Cloak next to the Resurrection Stone.
"Thanks for taking care of it," Death then said, cutting himself another bite.
Harry jerked off Hagrid's pouch from around his neck, ripped it open and wrenched his phoenix wand out, letting the pouch fall to the floor. He held his wand by his side, ready to cast.
Death seemed amused by this. "You answered my wand's allegiance," he said, nodding toward Harry's right forearm. "You and I are the only two beings it will ever be loyal to now."
"I don't want it," Harry growled. "I never wanted the Elder Wand. You're the reason I came here with it."
"It's my wand," Death informed him, sounding slightly annoyed by Harry's ignorance. "I am Death. You're the one who won its allegiance. It would have followed you anywhere, life or death, without my assistance."
"Why me? Why do this? Dumbledore said I had a choice!"
"And so you did," Death said, going back to his food. "You chose life, to survive, fulfilling the prophecy. You chose to go where you were needed - you did not specify where that was."
"So you chose for me?!" Then, "Wait, the prophecy? My death fulfilled the prophecy, not my returning to life."
Death spared him a flat look. "Death prophecies are tedious, but they are simple. "
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, dread filling him. He took a few steps closer.
Death took a bite and laid down his knife and fork. He then picked up a napkin and dabbed at his lip as he chewed. When he swallowed, he folded his hands on the table and stared into Harry's eyes. Harry got the feeling he was only giving him as much patience as he was because of the items that sat between them.
Death recited, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."
"He killed me."
"And you chose to survive."
Harry began to blink rapidly, slowly beginning to shake his head. A conclusion he never even once considered was making itself apparent in his brain, and his heart rate picked up as he wildly rebelled against it.
The wind outside began howling, thunder was clapping, and in the corner of his eye, a sliver of white feathers flapped.
A mournful hoot cried.
"No," Harry croaked.
"He killed you, and you chose to survive."
"No."
"Therefore, he cannot live."
Harry shook his head in earnest, backing away.
"Lord Voldemort can now only exist in the afterlife."
"No."
"And you… can never die."
Harry's throat closed up and his vision blurred. He blinked rapidly again to clear it, still shaking his head. Death merely picked his fork and knife back up, cutting himself another bite of pizza.
"But… but my world…"
"It's safe. Perhaps one day you'll return when you're finished with another one."
"But… my parents? Are you… are you saying I'll never meet my parents?"
"They are in the afterlife, are they not?"
"Sirius? Fred? Remus - Dumbledore - everyone? Everyone dies!"
Death swallowed another bite. "They will. But I will be reaping God far before I reap you."
Harry shook his head again, dropping his wand and shoving his hands into his hair. He felt a tear threatened to escape his eye as this new understanding, this new reality, crashed around him. It was too big and didn't seem worthy of the pounding rain that began outside, as though the sky was crying because Harry was not.
His breath caught, and he took a few steps forward as denial lodged itself in his chest.
"You're wrong. It was just a prophecy. Just a stupid prophecy!"
"It was a Death prophecy," Death corrected. "It was always a game of immorality as soon as the Fates decided to involve my Hallows."
"What if I refuse them?"
Death looked up at him again. He seemed to consider Harry as he took yet another bite and yet again laid down his knife and fork. He picked up his glass beside him, noisily sipping the straw. As he set that down, he said, "Then the prophecy is cancelled. You may die, and if Voldemort finds a way, he may live."
Harry sharply shook his head. "That can't happen. If he comes back, he will destroy my world. He'll slaughter muggles by the thousands if he takes over the wizarding world again."
Death folded his hands on the table, unmoved.
"Harry," came a hiss to his left.
Harry snapped his head over. Dean stood there, and though Harry could tell there were several emotions marring his face, Harry was feeling so many himself, he couldn't comprehend them. Dean flicked his eyes meaningfully out the window, and Harry turned to see out.
The storm had come.
The sky was still darkening, and across the street through the rain and crowds of people rushing to get out of the weather, Harry's attention was caught by small lights. A child was in a woman's arms, his foot hitting the back of her leg every other step. Each time it did, the lining of the small shoe lit up green and blue.
Harry whipped back around. "Stop the storm."
"Why should I?" Death asked, sounding bored now as he continued to eat.
"Why bring me here?!" Harry shouted. "Why any of this?! What do you want from me?!"
"The leash around my neck off!" Death barked sharply. Lightning flashed and cracked loudly, illuminating his face. "Lucifer has me bound to him. Some unseemly little spell. He has me where he wants, when he wants. That's why I couldn't go to you. I had to bring you here and wait for you to catch up."
Harry stood straighter, considering Death more intensely. "What spell?"
"One that makes me into his weapon," Death spat, setting his silverware down once more. "Hurricanes, floods, raising the dead. I hope that after wielding my wand, you might be able to begin to process how powerful I am, and I'm enslaved to a bratty child having a tantrum."
"There is no counterspell for something like that," Harry said.
Death actually did a semblance of an eye-roll as lightning flashed again. "Of course there isn't."
"So what can I possibly do?"
Death slowly leaned forward and raised his hand, showing an ancient-looking ring on his third finger, a white gem encased in it. He gently removed it and held it over the Deathly Hallows.
Death said, " Master trumps leash ."
He dropped the ring on top of the Hallows. As it landed, loud, booming thunder clapped hard enough to shake the windows, and lightning cracked again.
"You brought me here… to be Master of Death? If I'm your Master, Lucifer can't use you."
"And there's your human arrogance. You wouldn't be my master, Mr Potter. You would be Master of Death, wielder of the Deathly Hallows, and therefore, Master of all Deathly things. Including," he gestured to the ring.
Harry's heart began to hammer. He spun to look back out in the storm then back at Death. "The storm…"
"I have my orders."
"You mean… You mean, I have to accept being Master of Death, or Chicago will be destroyed? Millions of people will die!"
Death didn't answer, just went back to his food once again.
"You can't do this," Harry tried. "There has to be another way! There's always another way!"
Again, Death didn't answer, just took another bite.
"I already sacrificed my life!" Harry yelled. "I already gave up everything I knew and loved! And you want me to sacrifice my death too?! Live an existence where I am always giving up what I love - where I am always losing the people I love, to never, ever see them again?!"
"Yes," Death said calmly. "It'd be a shame if you don't accept. The pizza here is really very good."
Harry gaped at him, mind racing and throat closing.
"Of course, I'll have to break the lines of my runes too," he added, nodding toward Harry's arm again. "But I suppose that can wait until your reaping. Should only be a few hours."
Harry shoved his hands in his hair again, spinning to look back outside. The storm was definitely steadily getting worse. People were running outside, looking desperately for shelter, and the windows had begun rattling in earnest with every deadly sounding clap of thunder.
If he did this, he would never meet his parents.
He would never be reunited with them, to feel them, hug them - not really. Not even with the Resurrection Stone, not fully, not really . He would never know them.
He would never see Sirius again - never see anyone ever again. Not Ron or Hermione, Mr or Mrs Weasley, Remus or Teddy or Tonks, Neville or Luna, Ginny or Bill, McGonagall or Hagrid - even Buckbeak - all of them, everyone, that would ever die and be reunited in the afterlife.
Harry would never join them.
Or he could do nothing, and everyone, including the people in Chicago, would come together in the afterlife.
"Harry," he heard Dean hiss again.
Dean.
Hell.
Forty years.
Not everyone got the same afterlife, did they? How many people, exactly, out of the three million underneath this Biblical storm, would lose the chance to build themselves a better afterlife if he didn't accept this? How many people would go to Hell? Become doomed for eternity to be tortured until their souls turned into the rotten existence of demons? How many people would lose the chance of meeting others who would become a large, loving part of their lives? Those connections that made coming together in the afterlife the whole point.
How many humans could he doom by his selfish desire to not lose any more people?
An ugly sob broke from him. He couldn't do that. He just couldn't.
He yelled a sound of grief, ripping himself away from the window, and in a few large steps, snatched up the Hallows, folding the Cloak to his chest so the other items were safely inside it, and bellowed, "STOP THE STORM!"
The runes on his arms squeezed once, then Harry could feel, then see, white bright light roll across his veins from the runes. It spread to the tips of his fingers, and he could feel it spread from the runes all the way down to his toes and up across his face. It encompassed him then dissipated.
"Very good, Harry," Death said, standing. "Instructions, for Lucifer's cage," he added, pulling a folded piece of parchment from his suit pocket and setting it on the table.
Then, soundlessly, he was gone.
Harry dropped to his knees, burying his face into the Cloak, and screamed. He screamed in the heartbreak that was ripping his chest in two. Screamed for the people he just lost permanently, just gave away for good. He screamed for his mother, for his father, for Sirius, for Hagrid, for everyone, anyone. His throat burned and his stomach kept attempting to lurch, to be sick.
"Look, I'm sorry," cried Hermione, "but neither of you are making sense, and we've got no proof for any of this, no proof Voldemort and Sirius are even there—"
"Hermione, Harry's seen them!" said Ron, rounding on her.
"Okay," she said, looking frightened yet determined, "I've just got to say this…"
"What?"
"You… This isn't a criticism, Harry! But you do… sort of… I mean— don't you think you've got a bit of a - a - saving-people-thing ?" she said.
He glared at her. "And what's that supposed to mean, a 'saving-people-thing'?"
"Well… you…" She looked more apprehensive than ever. "I mean… last year, for instance… in the lake… during the Tournament… you shouldn't have… I mean, you didn't need to save the little Delacour girl… you got a bit… carried away…"
A wave of hot, prickly anger swept Harry's body - how could she remind him of that blunder now?
"That's it, ease over, it's alright. I've got you."
Cedric was going to get there first. Cedric was sprinting as fast as he could toward the cup, and Harry knew he would never catch up, Cedric was much taller, had much longer legs—
Then Harry saw something immense over a hedge to his left, moving quickly along a path that intersected with his own; it was moving so fast Cedric was about to run into it, and Cedric, his eyes on the cup, had not seen it —
"Cedric!" Harry bellowed "On your left!"
"It's alright; it's alright."
As he lay there, he became aware suddenly that the grounds were silent. Fawkes had stopped singing.
And he knew, without knowing how he knew it, that the phoenix had gone, had left Hogwarts for good, just as Dumbledore had left the school, had left the world… had left Harry.
"Let it out, it's okay. Let it all out, sweetheart."
He swung his legs off the sofa; he needed to see Hagrid with his own eyes before he would believe that he was alive. He had barely stood up, however, when a door opened and Hagrid squeezed through it, his face covered in mud and blood, limping a little but miraculously alive.
"Harry!"
Knocking over two delicate tables and aspidistra, he covered the floor between them in two strides and pulled Harry into a hug that nearly cracked his newly repaired ribs. "Blimey, Harry, how did yeh get out o' that? I thought we were both goners."
"Yeah, me too. I can't believe—"
He could hear soft humming and felt gentle touches.
Harry could see the sun sinking, blood-red, below the skyline. This was the worst he had ever felt. If only there was something they could do. Anything.
Harry felt himself coming back to the present, having been too sunken in his grief. The first thing he noticed was his knees stung sharply, and his face was terribly wet. The second was that someone was holding him, and he could hear soft singing.
"Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself
Follow your heart and nothing else
And you can do this, oh baby, if you try
All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied
And be a simple kind of man
Oh, be something you love and understand
Baby, be a simple kind of man
Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can…"
As Dean rocked him, singing softly, Harry's sobs slowly tapered off.
Dean brushed a hand through his hair. "Hey, there you are, you're back," he whispered. "Come here, it's alright. It's alright."
Dean seemed to adjust so he was sitting on the floor, and Harry let himself fall against him, practically in Dean's lap. He pulled the folded Cloak, encasing so much, down to his stomach and pushed his head into Dean's chest, hearing his steady heartbeat, skewed glasses be damned. Dean wrapped his arms tightly around Harry, a hand still brushing Harry's hair.
"There you are, there we go. It's okay, Harry, alright? Are you listening to me? You hear me?"
Harry swallowed and nodded.
"Good. It's alright. We'll fix this. I don't know how, but we'll fix it, okay?"
"It's done," Harry croaked. "Chicago's safe. My world's safe. It's done."
Dean hummed and rubbed Harry's back. "Yeah. Yeah, you did good, Harry. And we'll find a way to fix the rest, okay?"
Harry didn't believe him. He sniffed, using the back of his wrist to wipe at his cheeks. His throat felt raw, his face puffy, and his whole body was exhausted and sweaty. He felt hollow inside. He pushed against Dean to turn his head and look outside.
The sun was out.
Harry sniffed again and hung his head. "They're safe."
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "They're safe."
"They're safe," Harry repeated, wanting to feel it in his bones to counteract the hollowness in his chest. "They're safe."
"Yeah, sweetheart," Dean sighed, and Harry felt a small kiss pressed into his hair. "You saved them. It's over, everyone's safe."
Harry nodded and pushed himself away from Dean, getting to his knees. "Let's get the fuck out of here."
Dean helped Harry stand, and Harry was momentarily dizzy and had to lean on Dean to get his bearings again. Dean had him lean against a table, dipped out for a moment, then returned with a cold and wet paper towel. He pressed it under Harry's eyes and against his cheeks, wiping away the rest of Harry's sweat (and tears, but he wasn't going to admit that) and helping out the puffiness. Dean also snagged a water bottle for Harry and picked up Harry's pouch and wand along with Death's instructions before leading Harry out the back. All the while, Harry hugged the Hallows to his chest.
There were cooks in the kitchen that had killed over on the floor, and Harry wondered why they couldn't have helped them too.
Once outside in the back, Harry sucked in a breath and froze.
"What?" Dean asked. "What is it?"
"Wha-? What 'what'? Them!"
"Who?"
"All those… Do… do you not see them?" Harry asked, eyes wide.
Dean looked around, frowning, then shook his head.
"All those people," Harry said, looking in front of him. "They're just… standing there, looking at me."
And they were. There were dozens and dozens of men and women, of all different races and sizes, and all in what seemed to be bloody business casual clothing. Their faces were blank, and they stared at Harry unblinking.
Dean swore. "Reapers?"
Comprehension dawned on Harry. He took another look at the dozens upon dozens of people, standing straight and still, watching him. He gulped, letting himself sense them. They were… definitely not human.
"Okay," Harry breathed unsteadily. "Okay. I can see reapers now."
He walked slowly toward the corner of the building, stepping out of the way of a few reapers, who all turned to keep Harry in their focus. He peeked down the alley where there were a lot more, still watching.
"Dean, this is really creepy."
"Alright, alright," Dean said, rushing to Harry's side. He walked through three reapers in the process. Harry shivered as the reapers didn't react.
"Really, really creepy."
"Okay, keep calm. What are they doing?"
"Just… watching me."
"Okay," Dean rubbed his face. "Okay, well, they aren't attacking, I guess, which is good. Well, you're, uh… you're, uh, M-Master of Death now, right? So, maybe try telling them to… stop?"
"Ace planning there, Dean."
"Well, you think of something!"
Harry couldn't, and his head pounded. He turned slowly on the spot, taking the reapers in.
"Er… hello," he addressed them. They didn't react. "Can you, er… not… do this?" A few blinked at him. "I'm not really… your master -"
"You're Master of all Deathly things," Dean hissed.
"Right. Okay. So… er, I guess… carry on? As you were?"
They blinked at him again, then seemed to come to themselves, turning to go in different directions, some walking through fences and walls, some disappearing altogether. Only two men stayed, one brown in a grey suit, the other white with thick brown freckles and brown hair.
They bowed to him.
Harry shifted on his feet, uncomfortable. "No need for that."
"I'm Morael," the freckled reaper said. "You can call me Morty."
"And I'm Dabriel," the other said.
"Er… hello," Harry said again. "I'm Harry Potter, and this is Dean Winchester."
"Uh… hey?" Dean said slowly, awkwardly, giving a slight wave to the thin air a few paces from the reapers.
"We know who you are," Dabriel smiled kindly.
"Why did you two stay but the others left?" Harry asked.
"We wanted to welcome you," Morty answered. "You're the first to ever pledge loyalties to Death."
Harry scowled. "Pledged my loyalty. Right. Well, nice meeting you, I guess."
With that he turned away, heading straight down the alley. Dean hesitated but followed. When they got to the Impala, Harry went right to the passenger seat, where he kept the Hallows cradled to his chest and brought his knees up to meet them. He buried his face in his knees.
Dean climbed in after him, seemed to want to say something, but then just turned on the car and pulled out into the street.
…
Harry stayed quiet and fell into an uneasy sleep about two hours into their drive once they were well out of Chicago. Dean had turned on the radio to listen to weather reports, but the only thing being reported was the bafflement of the weathermen that a record-breaking storm could just disappear. Harry's dreams were twisted, terrifying, and heartbreaking, and once, he woke with a cry, scrambling in his seat. Dean had to pull over and talk him down.
Dean also pulled off the interstate at two points to go through drive-thrus, but Harry didn't have any appetite. Dean convinced him into drinking a few large ice waters, and even once to get out of the car to stretch his legs.
Harry barely responded though. Dean likewise didn't seem inclined toward conversation. The most they spoke was when Sam called to confirm they had contained and destroyed the Croatoan-soaked swine flu vaccine, to both Dean's and Harry's relief, and they confirmed they had Death's ring. It was obvious by Dean's voice there was more to report than that, but they all agreed to meet back at Bobby's. Harry, for his part, was quietly dividing that day's events in his mind, compartmentalising.
For one, he was glad to be reunited with the Invisibility Cloak. It smelled just like he remembered and felt good in his hands. For another thing, he decided having the Hallows could at the very least be useful, and they did have the last horseman's ring. They now could focus on how to get Lucifer and Michael into the cage.
His head hurt, and so did all of him, though he couldn't tell if it was physical hurt or emotional. The whole ordeal, he was worried, cost him a lot of hippos he couldn't afford to lose.
It was late with a fading sun by the time they were pulling up into Bobby's drive. They saw the van there, half-unpacked. Dean turned off the engine, and they sat in silence for a few moments while the engine popped and cooled.
"Well," Dean said, "we have to tell them."
"Why?"
Dean gave Harry a sharp look. "You're Master of Death, Harry. They need to know."
Harry sighed, head falling back on the seat. "Thought you'd be madder than this."
"Oh, I'm fucking furious," Dean said darkly. "You've been using Death's wand this whole time!"
"I told you I had a secret. That there were some things I wasn't willing to share."
Dean snorted humourlessly. "And that makes it better?"
Harry rolled his head over to look at him. He searched his face, but could only see resignation and anger. His eyes dropped to the love bites Harry had left, and guilt tried to ping in the hollowness in his chest. "I don't know. I thought about... telling half-truths, or something, but I knew that if I had to tell myself that technically I wouldn't be lying, then it's pretty obvious where it sits with me. I didn't want to tell you, and I didn't want to lie. So… that's what I did."
Dean rubbed a hand through his hair. "Well, is there anything else?"
Harry thought about it. "Gabriel knows. He recognised the Elder Wand as soon as he saw it."
Dean nodded, taking that in. Then he scowled. "So, that was what he meant when he said he had one or two things over you."
Harry nodded, too, looking down at the Hallows in his lap. He smoothed a hand over the Cloak. "Don't reckon he knows about these, though." He slipped his hand into the Cloak's fold and took out the ring. He stared at it a moment, the runes on his arm gently tingling in recognition of the ring's source. Then he handed it over to Dean.
Dean took it cautiously.
"But this was my only secret from you, Dean. Now you know."
"It's a pretty big fuckin' secret," Dean snapped.
"To be fair, I didn't know he wanted me to be Master of Death."
"And your tattoo?"
Harry sighed again. He pushed up his sleeve to reveal the burns. "In my world, if you win a wand in a duel or struggle, the wand changes allegiances. It's the wand that chooses the wizard, you see. A classmate named Draco Malfoy had disarmed Dumbledore the night he died - and it was Dumbledore who had the Elder Wand. For… Merlin knows how many years.
"Back when we were on the run, we got caught by Snatchers." He ran a hand down his arm and rubbed at the rune-burn. "A lot happened in our escape, including a… a very, very good friend of mine… died. But… but during it, I disarmed Malfoy."
"So, the - what? Elder Wand?" Harry nodded. "It changed its allegiance to you."
Harry nodded again.
"And so, the tat?"
"It was the only wand in this world, and I didn't want to risk it being stolen - not it's allegiance, anyway. Especially not this wand. So, when I learned that getting its runes tattooed on me, I would be closing the bond, I just…" he shrugged. "It seemed stupider to risk not doing it."
"What about this one?" Dean asked, pulling Harry's phoenix wand from his pocket. He pulled out Harry's pouch, too, seemed to hesitate, then handed them both over. Harry tucked the pouch around his neck and held the wand.
"This is my wand," Harry told him softly, nostalgically. "I got it the day I learned I was a wizard. Eleven inches, holly, with a phoenix tail feather for its magical core. It broke, during things… I've been carrying the pieces in my pouch, and when we started looking for Death - like Death- Death, I started getting worried about the Elder Wand. So, I decided to see if I could fix this one. And I did."
"And that's what's been in your pouch that you were so tetchy about."
"Yes."
They sat in silence again for a moment longer, then Dean said, "Okay. Are you willing to go inside with me and tell the others everything? Because I'm not keeping this a secret - we can use this to-"
Harry interrupted him by slamming the door open, not wanting to hear those words come from Dean's mouth. He slammed the door and leaned against the car.
"Hey!" Dean barked, pushing himself from the car and slamming his door too. "Don't do that. You don't get to act like that."
"Act like what exactly," Harry spat. "Like someone sick and tired of being used? "
"Hey!" Dean barked again, rounding the car toward Harry. "We're all being used, buddy. What do you think this is all for, huh? We're not just saving the planet, we're trying to save humanity's right to free fucking will! You made a hard decision today, Harry, and we scored a big fucking win because of it. And I will go to my grave loving you for that. But we finally have the finish line in our sights, and what the fuck good is your sacrifice if we don't use it?"
Harry had nothing left in him to fight. No more energy to be stubborn, no more nerves to be fired, and at the moment, it also felt he had no more heart to break.
"Fine," he said tonelessly. "Use me."
It was apparently the wrong thing to say because Dean's fury bled way to obvious worry and concern. He looked at Harry oddly, then put a hand on his shoulder. "L-let's… let's just go inside."
Harry agreed, putting his phoenix wand in his pocket, and he let Dean steer him inside, keeping the Hallows to his chest. Dean opened the door for him, steering him through the kitchen and to the study where the others were, unpacking whatever bags they brought in.
Bobby was standing at his desk, Sam at the other side of it, and Castiel was bent over a wooden chest in the corner. They looked up when they came in, and by how they went still, he could tell they sensed immediately something was wrong.
"What happened?" Castiel asked, standing.
"Dean?" Sam asked.
Dean rubbed his forehead, pushing Harry a little toward the cot that still sat pushed against the bay windows. Harry obeyed the gesture and sat, staring at the floor.
"Son?" Bobby asked.
"Well, we got Death's ring," Dean announced, going back into the kitchen. The sounds of glasses and bottles clinking together almost echoed as the others listened attentively. "We saved Chicago - Harry saved Chicago. Crowley took off, haven't heard from him. I tried calling the number he called me from, but it's already disconnected."
Dean came back into the study with two whiskey glasses and a whiskey bottle. He handed one glass to Harry and poured him a hefty amount.
"Drink," he ordered. Harry did, the whiskey burning on the way down. Dean poured him another glass then himself one.
"Dean, what happened? What's wrong with Harry?" Sam asked.
"What does he have?" Cas squinted at the Hallows.
Harry clutched them closer to his chest.
"Well, Sammy, a lot's happened." Dean knocked back his whiskey and poured himself another glass too. Harry sipped his, appreciating the warmth giving his chest another feeling other than hollow.
"Like what?" Bobby prompted.
"Well, for starters, Harry's immortal."
The silence those two words caused seemed to thump around the room.
"What?" Sam asked.
" Death brought Harry here, to free him from Lucifer. Lucifer had Death bound to him with some kind of spell - that has no counter, according to both Harry and Death. But there is something more powerful that would make the spell, from what I can tell, null and void."
Bobby whistled.
"Wait," Sam said slowly, "are you saying… Harry freed Death?"
"Yep."
"Isn't that like… dangerous?"
"No," Harry said, still toneless. He took another sip of his drink. "Death was free before Lucifer bound him. It was Lucifer that made Death do all those natural disasters. Freed, Death will just continue as he always has."
"Meaning killing people?"
Harry sighed, slumping. "Meaning providing people with the possibility of something after life."
"Yes," Cas agreed. "I would imagine Death is largely unconcerned with the majority of the population."
"Populations," Dean stressed, drowning his drink again. Harry decided to follow suit, draining his, and Dean refilled them. "Worlds, plural, probably an endless fucking realm of them. And Harry gets to go jumping from one to another."
"What do you mean?"
"Harry…" Dean opened. He paused and seemed to wait until Harry looked up, a question in his eye. Harry shrugged and took another sip. "Harry sacrificed his death to save Chicago."
"What do you mean?" Bobby repeated Castiel's question.
Dean crossed over to set the whiskey bottle down on the low bookcase and leaned against the doorframe to the kitchen. Sam took his cue and leaned against Bobby's desk, settling in for an explanation.
"That prophecy of his, from his world?" They nodded. "It was a Death prophecy, which apparently is a thing. Because Voldedick killed him, he had a choice to live or die, death or survival. He chose to survive, meaning, he cannot die and douchewad can't live."
Cas hummed. "I heard of Death prophecies, but… there would have been something major at stake."
"Yeah?" Dean quipped. "Becoming Master of Death do it?"
Castiel sucked in a breath then closed his eyes on a sigh. "Yes. That would be appropriate."
"Master of Death?" Sam asked.
They all turned to look at Harry, and Harry felt resigned. He finished his drink, set the glass on the floor, and pulled the Hallows to his lap to unfold the Cloak, revealing the items inside.
"Once, there were these three brothers. They were travelling and came across a river that was too dangerous to cross, but learned in the magical arts, they conjured a bridge. Death met them on it, feeling cheated because no one had survived the river before. He was cunning, though, and pretended to congratulate the brothers for outsmarting him. He offered them each a reward."
He flicked his hand, sending the Elder Wand to float in the middle of the study, on display for everyone.
"The eldest was a fighter and asked for a wand that would be the most powerful in existence. So, Death fashioned him the Elder Wand. When the brother resumed his travels, he sought out revenge, killing a wizard enemy with the wand. Drunk from its power, he proceeded to publically boast and brag about the wand at a local inn. That night, another wizard snuck into where the brother slept, slit his throat, and stole the wand. Thus, Death took the first brother for his own."
He flicked his hand again, sending the Resurrection Stone to float alongside the wand.
"The second brother was arrogant and wanted to humiliate Death further, so he asked for the power to recall the deceased from their graves. So Death plucked a stone from the river and created the Resurrection Stone. When he returned home, the brother used the Stone to try to bring back a woman he had hoped to marry before her untimely death. Her spirit was called, but she was sad and cold, still separated from him. Driven mad from hopeless longing, the second brother killed himself to join his love in the afterlife. Thus, Death took the second brother for his own."
He flicked his hand one last time, and the Invisibility Cloak unfolded from his lap to float with the other two.
"The third brother was humble and wise and didn't trust Death. So, he asked for a way to be able to leave without Death being able to follow. Death reluctantly handed over his own cloak, a Cloak of Invisibility. Death spent years and years looking for the youngest brother but was unsuccessful. The youngest brother was really old when he removed the Cloak, giving it to his son, and greeted Death like an old friend. They departed life as equals.
"They are called the Deathly Hallows, and it is said that whoever possesses all three is the Master of Death. The brothers were my ancestors, the Peverell brothers, and at the time of my death... I had all three Hallows. Or rather, the three answered to me."
Harry waved his hand, making the Cloak fold itself again, the other two Hallows coming to rest on top of it. Then Harry let them flop to the floor. He curled his knees to his chest again and looked away.
Dean made a noise and rushed forward to pick the items up. He paused, then looked at Harry and asked, "Will I die if I touch them?"
Harry huffed. "No, they're perfectly safe"
"That's debatable," Dean mumbled. He gingerly picked up the Hallows then carefully and gently carried them over to Bobby's desk, like they were a bomb that could explode.
"I don't understand," Sam said, backing away from the Hallows. "So… Harry's the Master of Death? How?"
"The prophecy," Dean answered. "Death said something about the Fates? Involving… those?" he waved a hand to the Hallows. "I guess. At any rate," he took his spot back against the doorframe, picking back up his glass, "Harry here won the Elder Wand's allegiance before he died, so it followed him here."
"Wait a minute," Bobby cut in, pointing the Hallows. "You've been, what… using Death's wand, this whole time?"
Harry suppressed the wince that apparently came with hearing Bobby sound angry with him.
"Harry, what the hell?" Sam yelled.
"Alright, calm down," Dean tried.
"It's why it was useless against Pestilence," Cas surmised. "With him and Death being horsemen, the wand wouldn't chance casting at its maker."
"Oh," Harry blinked. "Yeah. That makes sense. With the horsemen rings, it probably couldn't decipher who's who."
"And that was how you stood against Lucifer," Cas continued. "If it's the most powerful in existence, then it can't be defeated. And the sigil on your arm... you gave your allegiance back to it."
Harry nodded. "I closed the bond with it. I… basically, with something like Lucifer, I made myself a power-conductor of sorts."
"Harry!" Sam chastised. "You're human! "
"What does this mean for you?" Bobby asked him.
"Exactly what you saw when I returned from the fight. As far as being Master of Death, then… what we already said," Harry answered, scratching the back of his head. "I won't have an afterlife."
"Okay," Sam rubbed his face. "Okay. Wait. So… Harry, let me get this straight… In your world, there were these, Deathly Hallows?" Harry nodded. "And you had all of them when you died. Now you're... Master of Death, an immortal wizard?"
"Pretty much," Dean answered.
"Harry, why didn't you say anything?" Bobby yelled. Again, Harry tried not to wince, Bobby now sounding more disappointed than angry.
"Look, I didn't know if Death was going to be the same Death," Harry defended. "And I didn't know about the other Hallows - I thought I - I did leave them behind."
"But you've had Death's wand, this whole time?"
Harry shrugged. "It's called the Elder Wand."
"Why didn't you tell us?!" Sam asked.
"Why would I?" Harry yelled back. "Sam, when I first got here, you wanted to help me, but the moment you found out what I was, that went right out the window."
"That's not fair -" Sam started, and Harry stood.
"No, it's not! None of this is fair, Sam! Can you honestly put yourself in my position and say you have done any differently? All I knew for sure was that I had the Elder Wand, and I secured it, didn't I, to make sure no one can take that away from us. I wasn't sure what Death we were about to meet. I didn't know this would happen. I went in there prepared to do whatever I had to do to save as many people as I could, and I did! So you don't get to be mad at me for not sharing something that could put my world and yours in even more danger!"
Sam clenched his jaw and seemed reluctant to accept that. "What does not having an afterlife mean?"
Castiel answered, "It means that if he is killed here or otherwise can no longer stay physically, he will be rejected by the afterlife and thrown into another life, most likely into another world, another universe, and so forth. And it also means a permanent separation from the afterlife."
Harry hung his head and nodded.
"But everyone goes to the afterlife eventually, no matter how shitty of one," Bobby argued.
"Not Harry."
"So…" Sam said carefully, realisation in his tone, "everyone else will die, but not you… and you'll lose everyone."
Harry didn't want to think about it. He turned his back to them, stole Dean's drink to finish it off, then said quietly to Dean, "I need to be alone."
Then he left, deciding to leave Bobby's property and take a walk in the woods nearby.
He wondered how he would feel in their shoes, and he could freely admit he wouldn't be exactly happy about any of it.
He thought back to the morning before, waking up with excitement and nerves - good nerves. The idea that he and Dean had sex seemed alien to him now. The idea that he woke up somewhat happy seemed like a foreign concept. He thought back to being skin to skin with Dean, locked in an embrace… he had felt safe, and wanted, and cared about.
Had he ruined any chance of feeling that again? Would he even want to feel that again? Did he deserve it?
Twigs snapped underneath his feet as he entered the forest. The sun was almost fully set, and he could see his breath. Seeing it unsettled him. It wasn't like he actively sat around picturing his body not breathing, but it was surreal to see his breath and know he would always be breathing.
What would the others think of him now? Being Master of Death? Would they start to think of him as a freak? They accepted him as a wizard, but would they accept this? Did being Master of Death make him a freak?
And with that pathetically gloomy thought, he realised the whiskey was hitting him.
"Well," Harry prayed to Gabriel, picking through an overgrown path, "they know. They know it's Death's wand."
Harry didn't feel anything in response but continued on.
"They're not happy. Obviously. I mean, Cas doesn't seem too, er… one way or the other about it. Sam seemed… angry, but like he kind of got it? Bobby just looked so disappointed in me. And Dean? He says he's fucking furious. Looked it, too, I guess. I mean, I expected that, but it's just… worse now. The costs and all. Especially because Bobby had to go and sell his bloody soul."
Harry thought he could feel a distant pique of interest. He reached for it with his mind and resumed.
"If I had known Bobby was planning that, I… I don't know. I would've seen if my wand could've given us any other way to find Death. Maybe? I don't know. What do you think?"
If there was an interest in what he was saying, out there in the universe, it was gone then. Harry huffed and ended the prayer. There was a log not too far off the path, and Harry picked his way to it, content with pouting as no one would see him do it.
He barely sat when he heard a nearby rustling. Harry looked around and froze when he thought he saw a sliver of white. Then he heard it - a smooth, cooing hoot.
"Crap," he said, standing and looking around.
This was the first time the owl thing happened when he wasn't in a situation that demanded his absolute attention. He avoided really thinking about it otherwise, and he definitely wasn't in the mood to confront it now.
The hoot came again, then more rustling then -
Then a painfully familiar snowy white owl burst from the branches and floated down to land on the log Harry was just sitting on.
For a long moment, all breath was stolen from him.
"Hedwig?"
The owl puffed out her chest and hooted happily, blinking up at him.
Harry forced himself to breathe in then let out a slow breath as he slowly squatted in front of her. "Hedwig? Is that really you? Are you real?"
Hedwig hooted and hopped a little closer. Harry slowly held out his hand, and Hedwig rubbed her head against his palm before nibbling affectionately at his fingers. Harry's mind was screaming, not having a clue as to what to think or believe, but then Hedwig lifted her foot, showing a small scroll attached to it.
Harry gently untied and unrolled the scroll to read: A token of my appreciation
Harry didn't recognise the handwriting, but he thought he recognised the parchment as something similar to the one Death left instructions for the ring on.
"Bloody hell." He gazed back up at Hedwig, who seemed anxious to get closer. Harry held out his arm, and she flew to him immediately, scooting up his bicep to nip at his ear.
Harry let out a small laugh, the weight of her on his arm grounding him.
"Holy hell, Hedwig. God and Merlin, it's really you!"
Hedwig made a cheerful noise and bumped her head against his.
"Wait…" Harry breathed. "Wait… Has it been you, this whole time? The owl thing? That's been you?"
Hedwig gave an affirmative sounding hoot.
"I don't understand. Why? How?"
Hedwig looked pointedly at the scroll in Harry's hand, then at Harry.
"You were trying to warn me?" Harry guessed.
Hedwig hooted.
"You were trying to stop me?"
She hooted again, sounding mournful.
"Oh, Hedwig, I am so sorry," he said, bringing her closer to his chest as she scooted down to his forearm. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realise it was you. I didn't… hell, I didn't realise a lot of things, did I?"
Hedwig bumped his chin with her head.
"Merlin, I've missed you, you have no idea."
She hooted back, sounding decidedly happier than a moment ago.
"Yes, we're back together now," he chuckled and patted her head. "If Death gave you back, does that mean you can't die either?"
Hedwig made a confident sound and bumped his chin harder.
Harry grinned despite himself. "Does that mean you'll follow me? To whatever world next?"
Hedwig adjusted her grip on his arm, staring unblinkingly back and like she was ready for anything, all with a dignified grace that was completely and utterly Hedwig .
"I'll take that as a yes, shall I?"
She hooted, and Harry let out a small, victorious cheer.
Hedwig looked just as he remembered her. She was all snowy white soft feathers and large expressive amber eyes. Her mere presence filled that hollow feeling in Harry's chest, and seeing her again, hearing her again, conversing with her again was such an amazing comfort and a warm balm on his heartache. She was still incredibly intelligent - if not more so now - and of course proud. And, it would seem, as loyal as ever.
Harry sat on that log for almost two hours, well into the dark, telling Hedwig everything. All about the Horcruxes, of being one himself (to which she fluttered around him nervously, pecking at various parts him until she was satisfied he was just Harry), of being on the run, of breaking his wand, of the Deathly Hallows, the Elder Wand, the battle at Hogwarts, and of dying. He told her about landing in this world, about the Winchester brothers, Bobby, and Castiel. He apparently didn't need to tell her much about his work here, as she seemed to be very aware of what he had been up to after his death. It made him feel both very loved by her, and also guilty that he had refused, apparently, to even entertain the possibility that the owl thing could be Hedwig.
It was much colder than earlier by the time Harry, with Hedwig on his shoulder, made his way back to the house. On the way, he confided to her about how worried he was of what the others thought of him now. With an affectionate, supportive nip to his ear from her, he decided to make a formal apology to them.
The lights were on when Harry arrived, and he carefully pushed through the backdoor, wondering who was where.
The others were still in the study, everything from their trips put away. Bobby and Dean were standing, Sam was getting up from the couch that looked to have officially replaced Bobby's cot, and Castiel was leaning against a bookcase.
They each straightened to gape at Harry, or more specifically Hedwig, when he came to a stop in the kitchen.
Dean broke first, rounding on Sam with a sharp, "I told you one of us should have gone after him! I knew this would happen."
Sam fixed Dean with an annoyed glare. "Right, you knew Harry would go out and get himself an owl."
"He's Harry Potter! Something weird was going to happen!"
"Harry, what in the world…" Bobby began.
Harry stepped up closer, pausing in the doorway between the two rooms. He cleared his throat and said, "Everyone, I would like you to meet a very close friend of mine. This is Hedwig." Hedwig gave a small hoot and nipped at Harry's ear. "Hedwig," he said to her, "this is everyone. That's Dean, Sam, Bobby, and Castiel."
"Friend?" Sam questioned slowly, as though he was mostly questioning Harry's sanity.
"Yeah," Harry said. He pulled the scroll out of his pocket and handed it to Dean who immediately unrolled it. "I got her when I was eleven. She died when the Order tried to get me from the Dursleys'. Death Eaters were waiting for us - she and Mad-Eye died that night."
"'A token of my appreciation,'" Dean read dully, pulling out Death's instructions from his own pocket. He compared them. "A gift from Death. Great."
"It is," Harry confirmed, grinning at Hedwig and stroking her chest. "I won't be alone. She'll follow me, to other worlds."
"How do you know?" Bobby asked.
"She told me."
They blinked at him.
"In a way," Harry amended. "She's an owl from my world. I know it must sound weird, but she's extremely intelligent."
Dean was staring at him flatly as if every muscle in his face was saying of fucking course, but the rest just looked confused or concerned.
"Harry…" Sam started, "we can't keep an owl. How are we even supposed to take care of it?"
Hedwig bristled at his words, giving him a reproachful look. Sam appeared taken aback.
Harry answered for her, "One, we don't need to take care of her. She's fully capable of taking care of herself. And second, as I said, she's an owl from my world. She's not just an owl, she's a magical one, and my friend. So, treat her like a pet, I dare you."
"Fascinating," Cas said, stepping closer. He was squinting at her with his head tilted. "She is most definitely intelligent, near-human it seems."
Hedwig bristled again.
"Very human-intelligence-like," Harry assured her, stroking her feathers again.
"She is quite beautiful," Cas added.
That was enough to make her preen proudly a little, and she sent Cas an approving little, "Oowh."
Harry grinned at him. "Isn't she?"
"Is she like… your familiar?" Bobby asked.
"Er, no," Harry said, looking at Hedwig for confirmation. She nipped his ear again and then looked at Bobby like he was an idiot. Harry huffed a small laugh. "Yeah, not a familiar."
"Okay, wait," Dean said before roughly rubbing his face. When he looked back over, Harry could see how bone-tired he was. "So, not only are you Master of Death, and we now how these Deathly Hallows gadgets, but Death sent you an owl?"
Hedwig dug her claws into Harry's shoulder, and Harry didn't see what her expression was, but whatever it was, it made Dean take a half a step back when he looked over at her.
Harry sighed, looking down at hands.
"Listen, everyone… I'm sorry. For whatever it's worth, I am sorry. I… I don't know if I made the right choice in keeping my secret or not. But, I do want you all to know that I… I wasn't doing it to purposely go against you, or because I had something nefarious going or, I don't know, made a deal with Death or anything. I honestly didn't know about the Master of Death thing, or that Death wanted me, and I just - I don't even know what to think about that. But… I am sorry."
He opened his mouth to say that that was it, secret-wise, there wasn't anything else - at least about himself in consideration to this world - that he was keeping from them. But he quickly snapped his mouth shut when he realised that was only true for two of them.
He looked up, first at Cas, who was just watching him with mild interest, then Dean, who was unreadable.
Harry took a deep, subtle breath, keeping Dean's eye, and said, "You've all been so good to me. I can't imagine where - or even how - I'd be if it weren't for you." He looked at Bobby and Sam then. Sam was giving him his full attention, and Bobby was looking from him to middle distance, listening. Harry took another breath. "So - and again, sorry about the whole Death's wand thing - but er… There is one more thing…"
Sam crossed his arms, and Bobby looked at him fully.
Harry glanced quickly to Dean and Cas, took another step forward, rubbed his hands against his thighs, then said clearly, "I have PTSD."
"What, you mean like - Post-Traumatic..." Sam led.
"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," Harry nodded. "I…" he tried, failed, and looked to Cas.
"At the time of his arrival, it was pretty severe," Cas reported. "In Van Nuys, he had a major episode where he fully flashbacked to a traumatic event to the point of total disassociation and hallucination. I did what I could, and he's been coping well since. I'm told he's on medication."
Harry looked back down at his hands, embarrassed, and he confirmed softly, "Yeah," as Hedwig's claws squeezed his shoulder.
Dean cleared his throat. "Uh…" They looked over at him. Dean gave Harry an apologetic look, then said, "And uh, I think he had another one of those flashback things, right after, y'know… the Death thing."
"I'm okay," Harry said. "It, er, it wasn't like Van Nuys… exactly?" He frowned. "Maybe a little. But I'm fine."
"Okay, but," Sam said, shifting on his feet, "Harry, you're a wizard. I mean, you're human, sure, but you're uh, a different kind of human. This might affect you completely differently than like one of us."
Harry conceded that but said, "Really, I'm fine. Exhausted, and a bunch of other bad emotions, but I'm okay. Better even," he added, stroking Hedwig's feathers again. She cooed softly to him.
They were quiet as the last of the day's news settled around them, and Harry, feeling pathetic and insecure again, stepped up closer to Bobby. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the set of keys Bobby had given him the night before.
He picked at them a moment then held them out, not looking at Bobby. "I understand. If you want these back, that is. I get it."
Bobby heaved a huge sigh and lifted his ball cap to scratch at his head. "I reckon if I still let in a fallen angel, an ex-Hell-con, and Lucifer's damn vessel, I can't very well refuse a Master of Death."
Harry shook his head. "If… If I've said something, maybe… maybe you wouldn't've…" He couldn't say it, not to the man's face.
Bobby snorted, clearly understanding. "Don't think I haven't thought 'bout that. But Cas told us while you were, uh, owling, that he doesn't think the wand would've gotten us Death anyway. And, hell… can't say I wouldn't've done the same."
Harry looked up at him tentatively, unable to really accept it.
Bobby reached out and curled Harry's fingers around the keys. He then jerked his head toward the stairs. "Now go to your room, ya ijdit. I don't wanna see you down here again until there's less dark under your eyes."
He gave Bobby a very small but overwhelmingly grateful smile, folding the keys to him. He nodded to the others and made his way to the stairs. When he reached them, Bobby called out.
He turned to see him and Sam at the doorway.
"Thanks, for today," Bobby said. "I know it wasn't easy."
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Get some rest, Harry."
Harry nodded one last time and, absolutely exhausted, made his way up as he softly told Hedwig about, apparently, their new bedroom.