Archive of Our Own ^beta

Won't You Bring Me the One I Really Need? (I Don't Want You, I Need You)

*****

It was peaceful in the forest.

The trees branches were filled with leaves of burnt orange, stubborn green, and withering brown. The air had the earthy scent that made a person feel at ease, just dirt and the knowledge that this place has existed long before you and will stay long after you. There were animals chattering, birds singing praise to the blue sky, leaves crunching under a set of boots.

It was peaceful in the forest.

Until a spell was whispered, a gunshot was fired, and a scream pierced through the trees.

Harry Potter should have known better than to find peace in a forest. Honestly, he should have.

Harry screamed when he felt burning pain shoot through his leg then radiate in his body with shockwaves of agony. It was more the surprise than the pain that dropped Harry to one knee, his tongue clamped between his teeth to keep quiet.

If Harry didn’t give Voldemort the pleasure of hearing him scream in pain, he wouldn’t give it to - to…

Harry whipped his head around to try and find his attacker while he held his wand tightly in his right hand. His leg was losing a lot of blood, but if Harry needed to defend himself on the fly, he needed to wait to cast anything to heal his leg.

There was no one, anywhere.

“Homenum Revelio,” Harry whispered in a voice thick with pain. There was nothing, then a glimmer behind a nearby oak tree.

“Did you shoot me?!” Harry screamed in that direction, guessing based on the gunshot like sound paired with the bloody hole in his leg. Harry didn’t really expect a response, so the twangy and American voice that called back to him was a surprise.

“I did.”

“Are you going to do it again?” Harry demanded.

“I ain’t decided yet.”

Rude.

Americans were bloody rude.

“Arse,” Harry muttered. He squinted suspiciously toward the tree before deciding to heal himself quickly then get the hell out of the forest.

If the erumpent he was searching for was there, it was gone after the racket Harry’s attacker had made.

Harry felt woozy when he prodded at the inside of his calf, feeling for an exit wound. He had to breathe through his mouth to keep the sick smell of his own singed flesh from making him vomit. When Harry didn’t feel a second hole beneath the warm and wet blood soaking his leg, he resigned himself to yelling at the man again.

“Oi! Did you use a normal bullet?” Harry asked, already sure he did. It would be useful to know for absolute sure though, as Harry was already out of his element.

Hermione was the one that was good at healing spells, not Harry. But Hermione was thousands of miles away, back home with Ron, so Harry was stuck healing himself. Luna wasn’t far, just at their campsite, but Harry wasn’t going to summon her.

For one, Luna didn’t have a great track record with healing Harry (the time she accidentally healed his splinched finger by replacing it with a toe was still a fresh horror), but Harry also wouldn’t summon her with some mental muggle on the loose. Harry had made it their entire trip without killing anyone, he would hate to lose his streak because someone aimed a gun at Luna.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” Harry yelled when the man didn’t answer him. If it weren’t for Harry’s lingering charm, he would think the bloke left. But a second later a barrel of a gun poked around the tree and it was followed by a face mostly hidden by a hat.

What Harry could see was a scruffy beard, a mouth set in a frown, and, beneath that, a puffy dark green vest over top of a checkered brown flannel.

“Nine mil slug,” the man said, sounding confused. “What the hell kinda monster are you?”

“The worst kind,” Harry snarled, his irritation heightened by the pain in his leg. “I’m a bloody human and I think murdering me is actually twice as illegal as usual. Don’t - do not shoot me again,” he warned the man.

Hermione said Americans were insane, Harry needed to learn to listen better. Though, if he hadn’t figured it out in the last eighteen years, he doubted he ever would.

The man didn’t move an inch though so Harry warily pointed his wand at his leg, hoping he wouldn’t be shot again.

“Accio nine mil slug,” Harry murmured.

It had been a good plan, really. Harry was going to summon the bullet out of his leg then heal the damage. Honestly, it was an excellent plan for a quite unplanned injury.

Harry didn’t anticipate the bullet to come whizzing out from a different part of his leg, smacking his hand just as Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the ground in a dead slump.

Bobby Singer watched the kid faint after he magicked his bullet out through a brand new hole in his leg and he snorted. What a damn idjit.

With nothing for it, Bobby slung his shotgun over his shoulder and figured if he shot the kid the least he could do was make sure he got patched up alright.

Someone once told Harry that being unconscious wasn’t the same as sleeping; it was probably Madam Pomfrey.

If there was a difference, Harry knew it wasn’t dreaming. Harry dreamed of the same things when he was unconscious as he did when he was asleep —

Cedric dying; his dad screaming.

Sirius falling; Harry screaming.

Dumbledore falling; eery silence.

Hermione screaming; Ron crying.

Fred laughing; the Weasleys sobbing.

Recently, Luna would wake Harry up when he tossed and turned from the things he saw in his sleep. She never let him get out an apology when he knew he had to be interrupting her sleep as well, she simply said ‘that was what friends were for’ and sat with him until they both fell asleep. But instead of being woken up kindly by one of his closest friends, Harry was abruptly pulled to consciousness by rough knuckles rubbing across his sternum.

“Wha—” Harry shot upright with a groan in his mouth and then felt a hot pain in his right leg that made him want to vomit.

Recollection took a moment for Harry to gain, but he did remember getting shot. What he didn’t remember was leaving the forest he had been searching and being put in a bed… not his bed…

Harry took a moment to look around the rustic bedroom he had been deposited in. The walls were bare, the furniture in the room mismatched and well-worn, it was cozy. And Harry was in entirely too much pain to appreciate it.

His leg was straightened out, wrapped up tightly in white bandages, his jeans cut off at the knee. Harry held his breath while he tried to look at the wound with forced disinterest. If it weren’t Harry’s leg, what would he do?

Well… he’d probably have his bloody wand on him.

Harry checked all his pockets and felt a low sense of panic buzzing beneath his skin at its absence. Harry had to have his wand, he just did… if Harry didn’t have his wand then – then…

“Finally wake up, Sleepin’ Beauty?”

Harry turned a pale face to the doorway and saw the man that shot him came walking casually in the room, a medical bag in one hand and –

“That’s mine,” Harry said, trying to sound hard and intimidating when he saw his wand dangling loosely in the man’s left hand. “I’d like it back.”

“And I ain’t keepin’ it from ya,” the man said. Contrary to his words, he pulled one of the beaten up chairs beside the bed and dropped in it, Harry’s wand still in his hand. “You promise me you ain’t gonna be hexin’ me and I’ll give it back to ya.”

Harry hesitated for a second, trying to search the man’s face for some sort of indication about who he was.

“You did shoot me,” Harry reminded him. “I’d be perfectly within my rights to at least mess you up a little bit.”

“I also brought ya back to my house and fixed your leg,” the man countered, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Reckon we’re even.”

“You shot me with a gun,” Harry stressed, arguing for the sake of arguing. The man didn’t seem like a homicidal maniac, and Harry would know.

“That was a warnin’ shot,” he said with a shrug, settling in the chair looking completely comfortable. “If I wanted ya dead, I’d have aimed higher. Even wizards can’t walk away from a slug in the head.”

Touche.

“Fine.” Harry sighed dramatically, putting on some airs, and leaned against the comfortable pillows that had been put behind his head. “I promise to not hex you in retaliation – oi!” Harry sat right back up, the absurdity of the conversation fully clicking in his mind. Harry squinted at the man and tried to judge who he was, what he knew, why he was sitting there – clearly a muggle – and discussing hexes and wizards so calmly.

“Who are you?” Harry asked, his fingers flexing and his eyes darting toward his wand automatically. Harry was at a disadvantage without his wand in hand and with a messed up leg, but he was still preparing a full-fledged fight. If some muggle in a flannel shirt and trucker cap thought he was going to be the one to kill Harry then he was wrong.

“Ain’t no one,” the man said. He held Harry’s wand out to Harry, offering him the handle side out, and his eyes bore into Harry’s when Harry nervously glanced at him. “Bobby Singer. I was huntin’ the beast that’s been out tearin’ up forests and burnin’ down shacks.”

“That’s rather daft of you to do it with a gun,” Harry informed him. His muscles relaxed when he had his wand in hand, but he was still wary. “Are you related to a witch or wizard? Or… your partner?”

“Hell no.” Bobby sat back and scoffed. “But we run in the same circles, you ain’t the first of your kind I’ve seen.”

Well, there he had it, Harry hadn’t broken any regulations or restrictions. The United States was much more pro-magic (Luna said that it was because American’s were all too unhinged to know when magic was real or fake) than the United Kingdom was, but Harry still didn’t like thinking he was the one leaking the magical secret.

Too many people still liked comparing Harry to Tom Riddle for him to ever be very comfortable with skimming the law. Harry used to flaunt it, the laws were stupid, but… but dementors still guarded Azkaban and Harry had a hearing six months ago over an unforgiveable used against the Carrows.

It was lucky that Minister Shacklebolt had confessed to using two of the unforgiveables during Harry’s court hearing, it had seemed as if it was somehow dicey before then.

“Huh.” Harry shook his head, the hot pain in his leg helping him focus on priorities. “Well then… you wont mind if I just…” Harry tapped his leg with the wand, wincing at the feeling, and then felt an immediate rush of relief when the holes healed themselves up.

There would be scars, there were always scars, but Harry had plenty of those.

“Er… thanks for not leaving me in the forest,” Harry offered, quite awkwardly, when Bobby only watched as Harry removed the bandage wrapping and twisted his leg around, inspecting the star shaped scars on the inner and outer sides of his calf. There was some lingering soreness, but it would be gone soon.

“I got lunch too,” Bobby said abruptly, pushing himself to his feet and stretching his back out with audible pops. “You’re damn skinny.”

Did Bobby really think it was important to insult Harry after shooting him?

How rude.

Harry had followed Bobby down the staircase of his house, limping just a touch, and took in all the details of the house as he went. There were runes carved in the walls, more runes painted on ceilings, and a single photograph hung up in a frame on the landing of the stairs.

“Are these your sons?” Harry asked, peering at the picture. It was two young boys waving and pulling faces in the seats of some sort of muggle machinery – a forklift, maybe? Bobby must have taken the photo, though how he did it without laughing at the faces of the boys was beyond Harry.

“Sure are,” Bobby said without missing a beat. “They oughta be home this weekend.”

Harry assumed that meant that Bobby was divorced and didn’t push the subject. Instead, he followed Bobby through a living room filled to burst with books, weapons, and nick-nacks, to get to a kitchen that was surprisingly clean, airy, comfortable. ‘Lunch’ was a counter with bread, deli meats, condiments, and bags of crisps laid out. Harry was bemused by the offer of lunch, but hungry enough to not question it.

“You talk in your sleep,” Bobby said halfway through the meal. Harry had just raised his sandwich for a bite and felt the prior food in his stomach suddenly turn to lead. That would explain why Bobby felt the need to feed the wizard he shot, Harry was sure he made a pathetic sight when he was unconscious and bleeding.

“Ah, pity lunch,” Harry said, placing the sandwich down and forcing a smirk that came out half-grimace. “Often, I think I must be rather charming, then it always turns out to be pity.”

Harry didn’t even need to know what he said – what Bobby heard – him say when he had been unconscious upstairs. Harry never dreamed of anything good, never had innocent dreams of snitches flying around while Harry was skin-to-skin with some faceless lover. It was always fire, blood, war, death.

Luna said it would get better eventually, when Harry ‘processed and healed’ instead of ‘denied and lied’.

Denying he had any problems was Harry’s top hobby though. Without that, what would he have?

“I was thinkin’ it would be an interrogation lunch,” Bobby told Harry. He raised his eyebrows at where Harry had abandoned his food. “I ain’t gonna go feelin’ guilty about askin’ you all my questions just cause you wanna give up a good meal.”

“Interrogation lunches are usually a little more threatening,” Harry said airily, plucking back up the sandwich even if he had lost some of his appetite. “But, sure, I could probably answer a few questions.”

‘A few questions’ turned out to be… so many questions.

Bobby Singer was as interested in the existence of ‘born wizards’ as Harry was to find out that Bobby was a muggle who hunted magical beings and creatures. It took a very specific type of idiotic bravery to do such a thing, and Harry couldn’t help but respect someone else with matching levels of idiocy and bravery.

Harry had such a good time swapping stories and information with Bobby that he had sort of forgotten about Luna until a silver hare arrived, Luna’s sweet voice asking if Harry was returning to their campsite or not for dinner.

“Who the hell is that?” Bobby asked, wide-eyed when the hare dissipated.

“Luna, my friend I’m on this trip with,” Harry explained, twirling his wand between his fingers. The two men had retired to the living room and Harry was enjoying himself with a beer and interesting conversation… he would hate to end it prematurely. “You wouldn’t… happen to want to come for dinner, would you? I promise, you wouldn’t be in any danger.”

Bobby snorted and was on his feet quickly with the air of a much younger and quite excited man.

“Boy, you’re about as dangerous as that damn ghost bunny,” Bobby said, his tone mild but his eyes glittering with humor. He grabbed the rest of the case of beer they had been sharing with one hand and pulled his puffy vest over his flannel with his other hand. “Lead the way.”

“This is the best part.” Harry smiled charmingly, finally seeing a great chance to pay Bobby back for shooting him. “Hold on tight.”

Harry grabbed Bobby’s wrist, turned on the spot, and apparated them both to where Luna was waiting- three bowls of stew already laid out in preparation.

*****

After that very strange day in August… Harry and Luna became regulars at Bobby Singer’s house.

Bobby was interesting, always had plenty of jobs he could use their assistance with, and Harry told Luna that Bobby just seemed quite lonely so they were only being neighborly.

Luna hummed and watched as Bobby taught Harry things that fathers typically did their sons… how to grill, how to do an oil change on a car, and how to use a gun. Luna didn’t mind being at Bobby’s house, she rather liked all the books on creatures and she took great pleasure in correcting the many ways that creatures were wrongly described, it was just that Harry was blind and Luna would never not find that amusing.

Harry mostly ignored the odd looks Luna cast his way as he followed Bobby around the car lot he lived in and worked on, Harry was having a brilliant time helping Bobby with all his work. It was sad that Bobby’s family didn’t live close enough – Harry thought Bobby said his son’s traveled a lot, maybe their mum did something on the road for work? – to help him, but Harry enjoyed it.

In exchange for the little odd jobs Harry and Luna helped out with, Bobby helped them just as much. When the water-something burst in their muggle camper, Harry made it worse by trying to reparo it. Bobby had it fixed in two hours with just tools, elbow grease, and what seemed to be endless knowledge on a variety of topics. When the weather started to turn and the heat wouldn’t work, Bobby let them sleep in his house with their camper parked in the lot to be worked on during the day when the sun was up and warming them from the incoming frosty winter.

It was the second day of Harry and Luna sort of taking over Bobby’s house that Bobby’s sons arrived.

Bobby was on an errand two towns over, something about a man named Rufus and ‘damned possessed cops’. Harry had offered to go with him, lend some assistance if he could, but Bobby said it was a job for subtlety, not magic. And Harry didn’t have a subtle bone in his body, so he made himself comfortable in Bobby’s recliner with a book opened in his lap.

Harry didn’t usually read fictional novels, but the cover photo on the one he found in the bookcase in the room Luna was using caught his eye. It had shown two young men standing at the boot of a car. The one with the long brunette hair had something painfully sad in his eyes, the shorter one with the green eyes and spiked looking blonde hair had a broken shadow in his eyes, anger burning in the shape of his shoulders.

The Winchester Gospels, it had been called. It was good, so far. Sort of heartbreaking, with the mum dying and then Sam’s Jessica dying, but Harry was very much enraptured by the story of the two boys going after monsters together. It was like a chapter book for children of hunters, if a little too intense for actual children.

Harry was reading about Sam and Dean hunting a wendigo when the front door was thrown open, causing Harry to actually jump and sort of throw the book…

… directly at the face of one of the blokes on the cover of the book.

“I’ve cracked,” Harry whispered, not concerned in the slightest by the gun being aimed at him by a fictional character. Sam Winchester wasn’t real, he was in the story Harry was reading. The gun looked real, the shock and fear and anger warring on Sam’s face seemed real, but he wasn’t real.

So Harry was crazy, that sucked. It meant that everyone who called Harry a basket-case in the making had been right. Poor Luna, she had defended Harry for the last sixteen months since the war ended and Harry couldn’t even do her the favor of not becoming insane.

“Who the hell are you?” Sam demanded, voice hard. “Where’s Bobby?”

“Lunaaaa,” Harry wailed Luna’s name toward the stairs. She had become somewhat nocturnal, always going out to take care of her creatures during the night and sleeping during the day. “Lunnnaaaaa!!”

“Who the- who the fuck is that?!”

Harry turned a miserable look from where he had been staring in the barrel of Sam’s gun to where – yup, that tracked. If Sam Winchester jumped from the pages of a book to kill Harry, it made sense that his unfairly attractive brother would be there as well.

The book didn’t do Dean Winchester justice, honestly. Dean wasn’t short, like the book made him sound, it was just that he was shorter than Sam so in a direct comparison he seemed short. But Dean looked tall as he glowered at Harry, his eyebrows pulled low, and every muscle in his upper body was on glorious display as he tensed them in preparation to probably kill Harry.

“No idea,” Sam said, not taking his eyes or weapon off Harry. “Find Bobby, quick.”

“Bobby’s not home.” Luna finally made an appearance on the staircase and when the Winchester brothers turned to look at her, she frowned at Sam. “You shouldn’t point a gun at my friend,” a twitch of Luna’s wand in hand and the gun flew to her hand where she unclicked the barrel and then gently set the disassembled gun on the stairs beside her.

“Someone could get hurt,” Luna said, her voice airy, hair a mess, but the threat perfectly heard by Harry.

Sometimes he wondered why it took a complete breakdown for Harry and Luna to become such close friends…

Harry sat outside Shell Cottage on the cliffs, staring out at the sea. The sound of the waves crashing on the rocks was soothing, it was too loud to give Harry and leeway to hear his own thoughts. And his thoughts were a messy and dark place, painful to linger in.

There was a stack of stones beside where Harry was sitting in his black dress robes and Harry threw them one at a time in the ocean… watching as they disappeared and became nothing more than a memory. It must be peaceful… quicker and easier than falling asleep…

Harry didn’t even notice that he had scooted closer to the edge of the cliff. His body moved closer and closer with every stone he threw… quicker and easier than falling asleep.

Harry couldn’t sleep, he just couldn’t. But death wasn’t sleeping, it didn’t require that Harry do anything more than letgoletgoletgoletgo.

“Do not.”

Harry was startled by the voice that suddenly joined him and he jerked forward – falling. Harry scrambled with a sudden whoop in his stomach. When Harry tried to claw at the wall, digging his fingernails in in a sudden desperation to not fall, it hit him hard.

Harry didn’t want to die, he just wanted to stop hurting.

“Accio Harry Potter.”

Harry’s body flew back up on the ledge and he smacked facedown on the ground, digging gravelly bits of sand in his skin, he sucked in a shuddering gasp. When he exhaled, it came out as a sob.

Harry curled his legs to his chest and sobbed at the pain in his chest that was heavy and unmoving. Harry cried for the twenty year-old that had been buried that day, devastating his entire family. Harry cried for everyone who was so bloody broken and hurting and couldn’t find their way out of the deep hole the war left them in.

Luna sat beside Harry, stroking his hair, saying nothing.

What was there to say? Neither of them had any sort of naïve ideas that ‘it would get better soon’. It hurt and it was going to hurt. There was nothing to say.

“I’m leaving next week, after Professor Lupin’s funeral,” Luna whispered when Harry couldn’t cry anymore, couldn’t do anything except stare out at the sea and wonder when life would become easier. “Come with me?”

Harry licked his lips, thought of Ron and Hermione, Ginny, Teddy, and everyone who wanted him to stay and fulfill more obligations he couldn’t carry the weight of anymore.

“Yeah, alright.”

And they had just been traveling ever since then. Luna had a tent, Harry refused to use it. Harry let Luna pick the country she wanted to visit on her quest to find and classify as many magical creatures, plus one, as Newt Scammander once had. When Luna picked the United States, Harry bought a funny home on wheels for them to use.

People thought Harry had lost his mind then, but Harry had found a sort of peace in traveling with Luna. Even with the last month they spent in one place, Luna had a knack for making Harry feel calmer, more rational.

Ration that flew out the window when Luna took a gun from a fictional character and stared down two dumbfounded men in the middle of Bobby’s living room.

“People think I’m insane, because I’m frowning all the time…”

Everyone looked toward Dean, whose pocket just started singing, and Dean made a sheepish face at his brother before snatching the phone and answering it with a curt greeting. While Dean listened to whoever called him, Sam bent over to pick up the book Harry had thrown at his face.

“Dude.” Sam turned back to Harry and held the book up with the most unimpressed look on his face. “Seriously?”

“Did it… summon you? Or something?” Harry asked uncertainly, feeling better when Luna waltzed down the staircase and moved to stand beside Harry. It wasn’t that Harry felt more sane, knowing Luna could see the brothers as well – it wouldn’t be the first time Harry and Luna both saw something no one else did – it was just that Harry didn’t want to be completely crazy by himself.

He was a little bit codependent and entirely sure he would die without Luna beside him, so what? Luna said loads of mammals were codependent, that was how they survived.

“It – you can’t – why were you even in my room?” Sam demanded, blushing and stammering at first. Harry tilted his head at him curiously, but it all clicked when Dean hung his phone up and sighed so loudly it had to have been intentional.

“That was Bobby,” Dean told Sam, eyeing Harry with quite a bit of unfair dislike. “He said they’re staying here and we aren’t allowed to shoot them.”

“But…” Sam’s irritation melted and his arm drooped to his side, the book still in hand. “They’re demons – or something?”

“Or something,” Harry corrected him, beaming that Bobby had endorsed them staying there. “You two are Bobby’s sons then?” It all made sense, Harry should have seen it sooner. The two young men standing in front of him were clearly the older versions of the boys in the photo on the wall.

Well… why there were story books about Sam and Dean didn’t make sense at all, but Harry was still itching for the book back.

“We’re his family,” Dean said shortly, still scowling at Harry.

“And we’re his friends,” Luna said softly, summoning the book from Sam and handing it back to Harry without her sweet smile dropping once. “So maybe we can all be friends as well.”

Dean snorted and stormed away, back outside, effectively answering that. But Sam had his eyes locked on Luna’s wand with a sort of curiosity burning in them so Harry resumed his post in the recliner, picking up where he left off, while Luna offered to explain everything to Sam over a cup of tea.

Personally, Harry didn’t think Luna could explain it all over one cup of tea, but the fictional Sam and Dean had just found a cave where the Wendigo took its victims, so Harry couldn’t contribute to the 'magic is real and no real witches don't use demonic powers' conversation…

Bobby wasn’t back before night fell, which left Harry in the awkward position of realizing he had been sleeping in Dean’s bedroom and Luna in Sam’s. Dean had stated in no uncertain terms that Harry needed to get out of his room, Dean even seemed offended that Harry had been in his room in the first place, just trying to finish reading the bloody novel that had him so enthralled.

Sam and Luna were in the hallway. Sam was grinning as he took a pillow from Luna’s hand just before Luna snatched it back. Harry wasn’t sure whose pillow it was, but Harry assumed that Sam wanted his room back so Harry bumped Luna with his should before giving Sam what he hoped was a ‘sorry your maybe-father let strangers take your rooms, we didn’t mean any harm’ look.

It was a lot to say in one look, but Harry didn’t know the real Sam Winchester well enough to say it in words.

“We’ll sleep downstairs,” Harry offered, quite politely in his opinion. Harry wouldn’t mind bundling up and sleeping in the camper even without heat, but Luna was all skinny and got cold easily. Luna getting cold always made Luna sad, the cold triggering the shadows in her eyes and the flat tone she would speak in, spooking Harry with how easily she slipped back to the dungeon at Malfoy Manor in her thoughts. If Luna was sleeping inside with two possibly murderous young men, Harry couldn’t leave her alone.

“You can take my bed,” Sam told Luna, smiling at her and shifting around so he stood in the hallway with Harry, leaving his bedroom open for Luna. Apparently whatever Luna told Sam over tea had made them perfectly at ease with each other… maybe she should give Mr Scowling-Dean the same talk.

“Thank you, Sam.” Luna held up the briefcase she carried, the one where her creatures stayed and flourished under her care. “If you decide that you do want to pet an augery, just call for me. The nargles will tell me you need me.”

With that, Luna shut the door in a very surprised looking Sam’s face.

“What are nargles?” Sam asked Harry, both of them trooping down the stairs together, arms full of blankets and pillows.

“Honestly? I’ve got no idea,” Harry said cheerfully. He tossed his bedding on the recliner, leaving the couch for the much taller Sam. “Did you know that your height is mentioned at least ten times in the first book about you and your brother? Also, I thought your father was John Winchester, did Bobby adopt you? Did you ever find the yellow-eyed demon?”

Harry didn’t even flinch when Sam shucked off his jeans and flopped on the couch with angry and aborted movements. Harry just wanted to know, he had never met someone famous enough to have their own book series before.

“Tell you what,” Sam’s voice was dripping with sarcasm and he glared at the ceiling while Harry waited for answers, “I’ll tell you everything that happened between the ending of that book you read and now if you tell me how you fought in a war and died before coming back to life.”

“Er…” Harry actually didn’t want answers that badly and he sort of cursed at Luna in his head for oversharing about Harry’s life with… someone who Harry had read about their personal life.

“You know what?” Harry nestled down in the bedding and made himself comfortable. “Nevermind. Goodnight, Sam.”

Sam snorted. “Night, dude.”

*****

Bobby returned the next day, defrosting some of the Winchester brothers’ wariness around Harry.

And, yes, their wariness seemed to be Harry-specific because Dean didn’t scowl at Luna with suspicious eyes when she sat at a table, sipping coffee innocently. Harry didn’t scowl back, only because… well… Dean was sort of terrifying…

Dean was broad-chested and loud. He had green eyes that felt as if they pierced Harry every time their eyes met. And Harry watched him move around and saw that Dean moved like a soldier and a dancer at the same time.

It was terrifying because Harry was fairly certain that Dean would kill him given half a second’s chance, but Harry just became more and more fascinated by him.

“You gotta quit starin’ at ‘im,” Bobby said, his voice muffled from beneath the small cabinet under the kitchen sink where he worked.

Harry was doing what Bobby swore was a very important job – holding the flashlight. The two of them were finishing up the repairs on the camper. Sam had offered his assistance when Bobby mentioned what he and Harry would be doing, but Luna stole his attention with her own offer to introduce Sam to her suitcase of creatures.

Privately, Harry thought that Luna was sending Sam sweet eyes, but he only grinned to himself over it. Sam seemed nice enough, Luna was smart, if she wanted to make eyes at Sam and take him to meet her creatures then Harry was happy for her.

“I was only staring at Sam because I think Luna fancies him,” Harry explained to Bobby, knowing Bobby wouldn’t go embarrassing Luna over it. “I care about Luna, I don’t want her to be hurt.”

Bobby grunted, which Harry roughly translated to mean that Bobby had also began caring for Luna. Luna was hard to dislike, Harry would know. She had a knack for squirming her way beneath someone’s skin with her genuinely kind heart and her soft-spoken personality that seemed to hide the fact that Luna killed four death eaters herself in the Battle of Hogwarts.

Which was brilliant.

“I ain’t talkin’ about Sam,” Bobby said. “Pass me the eight mil.”

And Harry, because he knew what that was thanks to the time he spent with Bobby, was able to find the tool he wanted from his dingy tool bag and pass it to him.

“Who d’you mean then?” Harry asked, rather hoping Bobby wasn’t about to say –

“Dean.”

“You’ve been home five hours!” Harry hissed, blushing like a first year. “How do you do that?!”

Bobby grabbed the top of the cabinet to pull his head out and fix Harry with a deadpan look that had Harry feeling twice as embarrassed.

“Boy, you ain’t subtle,” Bobby told him factually. “You’ve been starin’ at Dean like a schoolgirl all day.”

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, ducking his head until Bobby went back underneath the sink to finish work on the heater. “He hates me, I think.”

“Idjit,” Bobby said without heat. There was a clanking sound, one, two, three, and then Harry cheered when he heard the heater in the closet of the hall kick on.

“You’ve fixed it!” Harry said, genuinely impressed. Harry offered Bobby a hand to help him get off the floor and he beamed when Bobby was standing. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

Bobby suddenly was the one who looked uncomfortable and he brushed off Harry’s praise with another muttered insult. Harry didn’t mind, that seemed to just be how Bobby worked. Harry helped Bobby pack his tools up and head back to his house. The camper was fine, better with heat, but Harry liked helping Bobby with odd jobs around his place too.

It felt normal… like something Harry used to want and never got.

They spent the rest of the time until lunch working on Bobby’s house. They repaired the railing for the staircase, Bobby repaired his garbage disposal while Harry held the flashlight again. There was a hole on the outside of the house, near the deck, and Bobby taught Harry how to patch it up so small animals couldn’t sneak inside.

Luna and Sam were nowhere to be seen, probably in the mind-blowing world inside Luna’s suitcase, but there was plenty of Dean.

Dean watching the telly while they worked on the rail. Dean getting a beer when they fixed the garbage disposal. Dean changing the oil in his car while they patched the hole.

And Harry couldn’t quit staring. Dean was just… he was very fit. And mean, Merlin, he was mean. Every time Harry looked at him, he saw Dean glaring right at him. It was almost enough for Harry to ask him what he had done aside from being born a wizard to earn his dislike, but Harry didn’t want to start a row with Dean and put Bobby in the awkward position of asking Harry to leave.

Plus, as it turned out, Bobby must have noticed how much Dean didn’t like Harry and he found his own way to resolve it.

“I got a job for ya,” Bobby told Harry during lunch a few days after his sons returned home.

Well, they weren’t exactly his sons, but Bobby called them ‘his boys’ and Harry figured they were family in the same way Harry and Luna were. It didn’t make it any more comfortable for Harry though, not when he had made a tentative friendship with Sam (who was rather clever and witty), but was still constantly receiving death glares from Dean.

Bobby told him to ignore Dean, but Dean was a hard bloke to ignore. It wasn’t just his looks either, it was the way that he always had a grin for his brother and a helpful comment for Bobby. Dean was even polite to Luna… which made Harry the only one to have somehow earned his dislike.

Sam told Harry that he made Dean uncomfortable when Harry risked asking him about his brother. Harry assumed Sam meant Harry’s magic, as Dean had been a hunter his entire life, but Sam annoyingly only laughed at Harry’s assumption. 

Dean was more civil when Sam and Luna were around. They just weren’t around much… they mostly stayed with Luna’s creatures during the night and slept during the day.

It was kind of sweet and Harry absolutely was not jealous. 

Sam made an appearance at lunch that day only long enough for Harry to see his flushed cheeks, his sparkling eyes, and to steal a random bag of food to take back for him and Luna. Dean made himself comfortable in the kitchen while lunch was prepared and Harry swore he was glaring at him the entire time.

Lunch was nothing special really, but it was still delicious. Harry had made a stack of sandwiches, Bobby heated up a bowl of baked beans. Dean even contributed silently by pulling a bowl of potato salad and six-pack of beer from the refrigerator.

Harry was surprised that Dean sat down for lunch with him and Bobby, just not as surprised as he was by Bobby giving him a job.

“Brilliant!” Harry said, meaning it. Bobby had done a lot for Harry – not just repairing the camper either, there was something soothing about the older man and his unflappable demeanor, Harry appreciated just getting to follow him around and learn a little about everything – and Harry wanted to find a way to repay him. Falling asleep after a long day of manual muggle labor and not being bothered by dreams? There wasn’t a price that Harry could put on that, so he would do any job Bobby wanted him to do.

“There’s a clan of vamps up in Montana,” Bobby said. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind checkin’ it out.”

Harry didn’t, not at all. Vampires were dangerous when they were out drinking blood and killing muggles. There were some good vampires who found ways around their bloodlust, but many of them didn’t seem to bother.

“Of course I can,” Harry said, feeling pleased that Bobby trusted him with a job. “Are we going today?”

Bobby took a drink of his beer and then shrugged before lifting his sandwich. “I thought you might be able to handle it yourself, I ain’t one for huntin’ in the snow. I’m not a young man anymore.”

“Oh.” Harry was surprised by that and tried to not show it. Harry had never tried taking down vampires himself, never even really considered doing it after the brief year he spent with auror aspirations. How hard could it be though?

“That’s fine,” Harry told him, pasting a careless and casual smile on his face so Bobby didn’t know he was nervous. “I’ll just… go hunt a clan of vampires by myself after lunch.”

Easy.

Probably.

Dean didn’t agree.

Even though Harry didn’t hear him say a single word while Bobby gave Harry the information on the job, Dean stomped down the staircase with a dark green duffel bag over his shoulder when Harry planned on leaving. Bobby had given Harry a car to use, something more subtle than apparation, and Harry was getting familiar with the supplies he’d been given.

Syringes full of dead man’s blood. Shockingly sharp machetes. Granola bars and bottled water.

It was a peculiar mixture.

“You’re not going alone,” Dean said in a clipped tone when Harry noticed him joining him. Dean’s jaw was clenched, his shoulders squared, and even if Harry thought that Dean was one word from trying to bash Harry’s skull in, stubborn was still a good look on him.

“I’m not?” Harry asked curiously. “Are you – are you coming with me?”

Dean didn’t answer, only glared harder, so Harry shrugged.

“Fine,” Harry said, nervous about that. It was one thing to spend the day around a fit and dangerous bloke who hated him within the safety that Bobby’s property offered Harry. It was another thing to travel together and hunt vampires down while Dean would undoubtedly carry a very sharp weapon.

“I’ve got to tell Luna I’m leaving,” Harry told Dean after zipping up the bag that Bobby gave him. “It’s – er… I’ve just got to tell her.”

Harry and Luna got along well and most of the reason was that Luna was too blunt to not tell Harry what upset her when it happened. The first time that Harry left their camper and wandered off on his own, he had returned to find Luna hugging her knees and crying in bed. Apparently, quite fairly, Luna had been upset by discovering Harry missing as it made her think of everyone disappearing and being taken during her seventh year at Hogwarts.

So, when Harry left, he made sure he did it after telling Luna that he would be leaving.

Luna was grateful when Harry jumped in her suitcase, landed in a pile of leaves, and tracked Luna to where she and Sam were playing a game with the nifflers. Harry told her that he was leaving with Dean to hunt vampires – Sam’s eyebrows shot so high they had disappeared – and Luna embraced him tightly.

“These boys have a great many wrackspurts, but I think Sam’s are getting better,” Luna whispered conspiratorially while they embraced. “You can help lower Dean’s, I just know it.”

“If you say so,” Harry said, bemused. Luna explained wrackspurts to Harry before, they just didn’t make any sense and Harry rarely retained information that didn’t make sense.

Harry sent a quick and uneasy look at where Sam sat on the ground, repeatedly tossing a broken snitch for a niffler to fetch and return.

“You’ll be okay here for a few days?” Harry asked Luna quietly. Just because Sam seemed friendlier than his brother didn’t make him friendly. Harry read the books… Sam could be dangerous. Very dangerous.

But so could Luna.

“Oh, yes.” Luna smiled brightly, her silver eyes sparkling when they landed on Sam. “He’s tall, but I’m a much quicker draw than he is. It’s thanks to you, really. I truly learned so much in the DA.”

Harry’s lips quirked up in the corners as he recognized a faint threat to Luna’s words.

“Well, if he tries anything, just kill him,” Harry advised Luna, just loud enough for Sam to hear. Sam looked at them with a furrowed brow, his eyes ticking from Harry to Luna, noting how closely they stood together.

Harry winked and made sure to peck Luna on the cheek before he left.

Just because Harry had no romantic interest toward Luna himself didn’t mean that he wasn’t willing to fake it some to be annoying.

*****

The drive to Montana was… bloody awkward.

Harry had politely tried to strike up a conversation with Dean, but was shot down almost immediately when Dean turned the radio up to its maximum level. It made Harry’s skin feel too tight, having the music block out any other sound, but he focused hard on breathing and didn’t say anything about it.

Dean clearly despised Harry, no need to make it worse by having a panic attack in his - incredibly nice - car.

They stopped after about four hours to get fuel and Harry made a beeline for the loo. He stood in there for a long few minutes, clutching the sink and letting the sound of running water soothe his nerves. It was music, Harry didn’t need to listen for apparation or hissed spells being flung.

It was Dean’s fault, probably. Harry didn’t mind when he was with Luna and she played records loudly while they had drove their mobile home from state to state. But Luna was kind and loyal and Harry loved her, Dean was someone who seemed as if he would happily cut Harry’s head off if the option was presented.

“You told Bobby you’d do this, so do it,” Harry muttered to himself as he splashed water on his face. Harry grabbed a paper towel to dry his face with and actually yelped and went for his wand when the door was thrown open.

“Oh.” Dean himself stood in the doorway, his green eyes narrowing when they met Harry’s startled eyes. “Dude, maybe lock the door when it’s occupied?”

Harry’s nerves calmed when a sense of bitterness washed over him. Harry had literally done nothing to him, nothing at all.

“My mistake,” Harry said with a scoff. He shouldered Dean a bit roughly as he stormed from the bathroom and didn’t look back, even when he felt Dean watch him go.

The first thing Harry did when he got in the car was mute the radio. It wouldn’t stop Dean from cranking it when he made it back outside, but it made Harry feel better for a moment.

And Harry felt even better when Dean did return to the car and only turned the music to a low background level.

Harry, for his part, swallowed an unwanted lump in his throat. Harry never went out of his way to be around people who disliked him and Dean’s dislike felt like that of Harry’s aunt and uncle - dislike based entirely on his genetic makeup.

It was unfair and Harry couldn’t wait to finish the job and get back to the little home he shared with Luna.

Dean didn’t seem in a rush to get to the job they were after. Once they arrived in the town where Bobby suspected the vampires were, Dean cruised slowly until he found a motel.

Harry had never rented a motel before and admitted as much when they pulled up. Harry didn’t know what to ask for or what to say, he didn’t think he even had a proper way to pay if they didn’t take a crumpled American dollars Harry carried around in case he needed it.

Dean, shockingly, wasn’t a git about it. He only asked if Harry was ‘cool with sharing’ before going inside when Harry said yeah.

Which, Harry wasn’t actually, but he wasn’t going to say so. And when Harry said he had been fine sharing, he meant a room… not a bed.

“Er…” Harry followed Dean inside the room they rented and blinked in surprise at the same thing Dean was looking at.

There was one bed in the room… one large bed.

Harry had a great imagination, honed by years of having nothing to do but sit in a cupboard by himself, but even he couldn’t delude himself into thinking Dean wanted to share a bed with him.

“Yeah, no.” Dean turned around and left the room before Harry could offer to sleep on the floor. It was carpeted, it would probably be fine for a night or two.

Harry dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Dean to return. It didn’t take long and Harry could read the look on his face clearly when he stormed back in the room.

“Brilliant,” Harry said with a smile and heavy sarcasm. “Because I had just been thinking how could this be more dangerous and us sharing a bed is much more creative than anything I had imagined.”

“How is…?” Dean shook his head and dropped his duffel bag on the floor. “You know what? Nevermind. We aren’t sharing a bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You paid for the room, I’ll take the floor,” Harry offered.

Dean actually glared at Harry as he snatched a pillow from the bed and dropped it on the floor.

“I paid for the room, so I call dibs on the floor.”

Harry bit back a sigh and only shrugged. He wasn’t going to fight about it. They made a quick plan to track the vampires in the morning, when they’d be less likely to be attacked, and then awkwardness fell once again.

It was less awkward when Harry stealthily got his book from his bag and laid in bed reading it. Even if Dean did peek up at what Harry was reading, the cover said it was ‘51 Soups for All Seasons’. So… so Harry could finally figure out if they ever caught the yellow eyed demon that killed their mum and Sam’s girlfriend.

By the time Harry’s eyelids drooped shut, they still hadn’t.

Maybe they weren’t as good of hunters as they thought they were?

It was all the tension of being around someone who seemed so determined to not like Harry that leaked in his dreams… all night Harry dreamed of fights where he barely escaped with his life, fights where good people died.

There was blood on his hands, smoke in his lungs, ash in his mouth every time Harry jerked awake. It was lucky that Dean seemed to be a heavy sleeper, Harry wasn’t usually quiet on nights like that. If he had thought about it, he would have put up a charm beforehand, he had just fallen in the habit of not using them to stay quiet lately.

Luna hated it when she found out Harry used them. She said he could choke in his sleep and die perfectly silently. Harry didn’t think those were high odds, but the war left strange scars on everyone.

And, as it turned out, Dean wasn’t all that heavy of a sleeper.

They mutually decided to stop at a diner before they went to the morgue - and wasn’t that peculiar? Harry seeking out dead bodies to check their cause of death - that morning. Harry was dragging, exhausted and weighed down by thoughts he had trouble shaking. Dean didn’t seem much better as he yawned his way through a stack of bacon that surely should cause a heart attack.

A stroke?

Harry didn’t know what it would cause, just that it seemed unhealthy.

“My Dad was a Marine,” Dean said, rather arbitrarily, when Harry was adding sugar to his coffee.

Harry’s eyebrows twitched in confusion. “That’s… good?” he said.

Dean shrugged and bit off a piece of his bacon. If Harry thought that was the extent of the conversation, he was quite wrong.

“I’m saying the whole screaming in your sleep thing? It’s not a big deal.”

Harry grit his teeth in mortification. There were a handful of people he would discuss nightmares and flashbacks with, the bloke who was always scowling at him was not one of them.

“If that were true,” he started, face red, “we wouldn’t be talking about it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Harry’s response and then only shrugged.

“Fine by me,” he said, his voice a degree cooler than it had been. “Let’s focus on the job then.”

Fine by Harry.

They went to the morgue and Harry was bitterly amused to see Dean change into a posh suit and tie to gain access to the bodies. Dean, it turned out, looked as terribly attractive in a suit as he did jeans and leather.

Not that the suit was needed, as Harry merely held his wand in the pocket of his sweater and applied a few light confunding charms to get what they wanted.

“You can’t use magic on people,” Dean hissed at Harry after Harry sent the mortician away with a suggestion and spell.

Harry grinned, a little cocky, and shrugged. “No, you can’t use magic on muggles. I, however, can. I’m not breaking any laws.”

Exactly.

Tiptoeing a line? Sure. But when had Harry ever not danced a fine line between criminal and citizen?

Dean didn’t seem impressed, which was unfair because silent magic was an impressive feat. Harry shrugged it off, he didn’t think he could do anything to impress Dean Winchester and he wasn’t going to bother trying.

The two dead bodies were definitely from vampire attacks. Both were drained of blood with the tell-tale marks on their necks. Harry felt badly for them and was gentle when he checked their injuries, disturbing their bodies as little as possible.

“So now we start investigating,” Dean said when they left the morgue. The radio was once again at a lower volume and Harry watched Dean tap his finger to the beat from the corner of his vision.

“Investigating?” Harry asked blankly. “What’s left to investigate? There’s definitely a vampire in town and where there’s one, there’s usually two.”

“Yeah, but the trick is to find out where they are,” Dean said.

Harry bit his cheek and tried to not laugh.

“And how do you usually do that?” Harry asked him.

“Talk to the locals, see who stands out.”

“Ah, that does sound fun. On the other hand,” Harry pulled his wand out and twirled it a little theatrically, “I could speed it up.”

Dean continued to look incredibly unimpressed, which was going to sting for quite some time as location spells were some of the most complex charms Harry had ever learned.

They stopped at a fuel station so Harry could use two of the crumpled dollars in his pocket to buy a map of the area. When they were in the car, Harry focused solely on his spellwork while he cast a complicated charm to find the vampires.

It took more than a few minutes, but Harry eventually found a location. There was an address on the outside of the town that the charm led them to. It didn’t take long to get there, though it did involve driving down snowy roads that had Dean cursing as he navigated his car to stay on the road.

The address wound up being little more than a barn surrounded by at least two feet of snow. Harry grimaced at the thought of walking through the cold snow and cast a warming charm on his legs and shoes.

Harry would have offered Dean the same thing, but since Dean thought Harry shouldn’t use magic on muggles…

“You need to stay back when we go in,” Dean said as he turned in his seat to dig through the duffel he had in the backseat. Harry watched him pull out a giant knife - a machete sharp enough to take the head off a body - and a few vials of more dead man’s blood in syringes.

“I need to stay back?” Harry repeated incredulously. Why was Dean insisting on sidelining Harry? Did he really think Harry was entirely useless?

Harry glared at Dean and flicked his wand toward the front windshield. Dean got to watch as Harry melted them a path through the snow then, just because he could, Harry made the grass regrow and flowers to bloom on their path.

“Maybe you should stay back,” Harry said, too annoyed to pull off the falsely sweet voice he wanted.

Dean looked from the path Harry made to his wand and to his face. When their eyes met, there was a considering look in Dean’s eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was better than all the looks he’d given Harry far.

“Alright, so neither of us stays back,” Dean said evenly. “If you die though, I don’t wanna hear your girlfriend bitch about it.”

Dean climbed out of the car, moving quietly so they didn’t alert the (hopefully sleeping) vampires to their arrival. Harry followed suit and closed the car door with absolute silence.

“If you mean Luna, she’s not my girlfriend and she won’t bitch,” Harry whispered. “She will master necromancy and bring me back though, then I’ll bitch.”

Dean didn’t laugh, but Harry saw his lips twitch in amusement and he considered it an absolute win.

Almost as much of a win as he considered them easily taking down the three vampires resting within the barn. Dean got a nasty cut on his chest from one of their nails and Harry was smug when he reported himself to be injury free.

“Alright, tough guy, you’re awesome.” Dean rolled his eyes and winced when they made it back to the motel. Harry offered to help him get inside, but Dean shook his head and insisted on doing it himself.

Harry was the one to wince when Dean pulled his shirt off and Harry couldn’t even appreciate the sight with the horrible gash across his chest ruining it. It was deeper than Harry thought and still bleeding freely.

“You any good with stitches?” Dean asked.

“First off, I am awesome,” Harry said. He tentatively touched Dean’s shoulder and directed him to the bed to sit. “And second, I don’t do stitches.”

Dean moved to get back up and Harry shifted so he was standing right in front of him.

“But I can heal that if you’d like,” Harry said, pulling his wand and wiggling it pointedly. Dean narrowed his eyes and Harry sighed. “I’m not going to hurt you, you insufferable toerag. If you’d rather bleed to death, I don’t want to hear anyone bitch about it.”

It took a long time for Dean to agree, but he did finally lean back on his hands and nod shortly.

As Harry suspected, Dean didn’t seem wholly impressed when Harry healed him.

“Damn.” Dean did look down at his (once again) perfectly attractive chest and raised his eyebrows. “That’s some top notch medical care.”

“It’s an easy spell,” Harry said. He picked up Dean’s discarded shirt and spelled it clean before handing it back to him. It was a shame when Dean pulled it back on, but Harry wasn’t going to ogle him…

… he could do that when Dean had a shirt on, thank you very much.

“I say this calls for a beer,” Dean declared after he tugged his shirt on and stood up. When he grinned at Harry, Harry bit his cheek to keep from automatically grinning back. “You in?”

“I… sure,” Harry said. They had shared a room all night, killed three vampires, and Harry healed Dean’s injury… surely Dean was past the whole ‘I’d kill you in your sleep if I felt like it’ stage.

“Great.” Dean pulled his leather jacket on and Harry’s mouth was peculiarly dry. “Let’s go, I saw a place a few blocks away.”

The place Dean found ended up being a warm pub with low lights, rock music playing from a jukebox, and only about ten others inside. Harry followed Dean to sit at the bar and he shrugged when Dean asked him what he drank.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” Harry said. He didn’t know much about muggle alcohol, just that Ron swore it wasn’t as good as firewhisky.

Dean’s eyes looked over the fluorescent menu written on the wall behind the bar. He smirked when he found something he must have wanted and raised a finger for the bartender.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean grinned at the girl working the bar and Harry saw her grin back as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Can we get two jäger bombs and two bottles of bud light?”

“Sure thing.” The bartender fluttered her lashes at Dean and Harry worked very hard to not roll his eyes.

Obvious, much?

Their drinks were quickly made and Harry was surprised when Dean raised the dark glass to Harry.

“Here’s to one hell of an easy hunt,” he laughed before throwing back his drink. Harry mimicked him and wound up sputtering as he swallowed the bitter tasting liquor. Dean chuckled and pushed the bottle of beer to Harry. “Man, you’re gonna get trashed quick, aren’t you?”

“No,” Harry lied, subtly wiping away the tears that pooled when he’d been coughing. It wasn’t exactly Harry’s fault that he didn’t drink - it was Hermione’s. The first time she caught him nursing a bottle of booze after the war she immediately confiscated it and told Harry how he wasn’t allowed to become Sirius.

Which had been rude, and entirely well-intentioned, he assumed.

“Suuure,” Dean said, smirking. “How about another then?”

It felt a lot like a dare and Harry was too mature to be dared into getting drunk.

“Fine,” Harry snapped. He looked at the board then and chose the next round. “What on earth is a pudding shot?” he asked.

“It sounds disgusting,” Dean said. He raised his hand at the bartender again. “We’ll take two.”

Pudding shots were disgusting, as were the apple pie shots Dean ordered next. When they had jello shots (which were delicious), Harry was feeling very numb, floaty, and giggly.

“This is fun!” Harry cried, leaning on Dean’s shoulder some to avoid hitting the floor. Harry grinned at him stupidly. “I really thought you - you were gonna kill me.”

“Kill you?” Dean chuckled and seemed much more sober than Harry. It wasn’t fair, but nothing about Dean seemed fair. “Why am I killing you?”

“No idea!” Harry threw his hands up and laughed when it nearly unseated him. “Most people like me, you know! Bobby - you know Bobby? He likes me. And Luna likes me… but you’re very…” Harry tried to twist his face in a scowl and laughed again when he wasn’t sure if it worked or not. “You’re very angry.”

“That’s just ‘cause you’re annoying,” Dean said. “Just - fuck - you’re walkin’ around and sleepin’ in my room and grinnin’.” Dean shook his head. “Annoying.”

“You’re annoying,” Harry countered with a sniff. “You listen to music too loud and you glare a lot. It’s rude, Dean, it’s rude to glare so much.”

Dean laughed and it made Harry smile. He was handsome, more so when he was relaxed and laughing. It was a nice laugh. Harry liked it.

“I like loud music,” Dean said. He took a drink of the beer he’d been nursing between shots and then grimaced. “Not whatever this crap is though.”

Harry tilted his head and had a hard time deciphering what the music playing was beneath the sounds of the crowd that had slowly filled the bar.

“Play a new song,” Harry suggested. He grinned widely, mischievously, when he spotted the stage in a corner of the bar. There was a guitar leaning against a microphone stand and Harry nudged Dean to nod toward it. “You can play that, right?”

Dean pinched his eyebrows together when he saw what Harry was looking at. “Who told you I can play guitar?”

“Sam,” Harry lied. Harry was drunk, not so drunk that he was going to admit to getting far enough in the Winchester Gospels to discover Dean had a knack for music. “Go on then, if you’re not a chicken.”

Dean tensed and Harry thought he was going to shove Harry away, tell him to piss off. Harry had just been having him on, he didn’t particularly care about music when he was that inebriated, but just as Harry couldn’t turn down a veiled dare, it seemed Dean couldn’t either.

“Fine.” Dean finished his beer in a long drink and then stood up and grabbed Harry’s elbow to pull him up as well. “Come on, pretty boy. I’m not embarrassing myself alone.”

Harry wobbled on his way to one of the little tables in front of the stage, but he kept a hold of his own half-filled beer. Dean hopped up on the little wooden stage and gained more than a few curious looks from the others in the bar. The music that had been playing went quiet while the bartender waited to see which form of entertainment would play better.

Just because he could, Harry winked when Dean plucked up the guitar and looked right at him.

Harry thought it would be a little funny if Mr ‘Good at Everything’ wasn’t much of a musician with so much attention on him. But Harry wasn’t disappointed when Dean showed he was just as good as the book had made him sound.

Dean looked down as he began strumming the guitar, instantly filling the bar with a soft and nearly melancholy tune. It was lovely, really. Dean was only showing off when he began singing.

“And though the sounds of someday may be home…”

Dean didn’t sing like he spoke. Dean sang in a husky voice, one that made Harry’s brain buzz much more than the alcohol did.

It didn’t help that while Dean sang, he looked directly at Harry. He didn’t look at Harry like he hated him, or was impressed by anything Harry did with magic, he just looked at him and had a tiny smirk pulling at his lips as if he knew that Harry’s brain was actually stuttering.

Dean earned a ringing round of applause when the song ended and he chuckled and shook his head when a few people cried for more.

“I might love you,” Harry told Dean, very awed, very drunk.

Dean stole Harry’s beer and finished it off.

“Yeah?” he asked. “You shouldn’t.”

There was something bitter just beneath his words, something that resonated in Harry’s chest.

“Should I also not say that you’re terribly fit and I have a motel nearby?” Harry asked with as bright of a smile as he could.

Drunk Harry was very brave, maybe Hermione should have let him drink his way through the war.

Dean laughed again and it might have been the liquor, but Harry swore his eyes were twinkling with interest.

“When you’re shit faced? No,” Dean said bluntly. He stepped closer to Harry and bent down so he could put his face in front of where Harry was seated. “Sober up and we’ll talk, sweetheart.”

Oh.

Oh that was bad.

Harry didn’t know that he liked to be called sweetheart, but he did. He liked it very much and was very unhappy that he couldn’t just instantly sober himself without any potions.

So he pouted.

“But then you’ll be sober and back to hating me,” Harry said with a pathetic sigh. “We’ll be enemies and you’ll probably try and kill me and then Bobby will make me move off his lawn and I really like Bobby’s lawn even if he did shoot me one time. It’s a nice lawn, Dean.”

“Wait, Bobby shot you?!”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a bob of his head. That wasn’t good, bobbing his head. It made everything a bit spinny. “We’re friends now though. I think. Maybe he hates me too? Maybe Luna will marry Sam and get to have Bobby as her father-in-law and everyone will hate me and I’ll just have a little house on wheels in a very lonely forest.”

“Fuck, you’re wasted.” Dean lifted Harry up and shifted his arm to wrap around Harry’s torso beneath Harry’s arms when Harry wobbled. “Come on, let’s get you in bed before you add tears to this emo fest.”

“You’ve died, right?” Harry asked while Dean led him out of the bar, basically carrying Harry. It was cold outside, it felt nice. “I just don’t think you can sing like that if you haven’t died. But then why can’t I sing? I died and all I got was a scar. Dean, hey, Dean? How come you can sing?”

“God, please shut up,” Dean groaned. He didn’t sound too bothered though and Harry was well past controlling what he said anyway.

“D’you think Sam and Luna are snogging?” Harry asked. “I bet they are. Are you good at snogging? You look like you would be.”

“Snogging is kissing?” Dean shrugged, hefting Harry a little more securely in his arms when Harry tripped over his own feet. “Yeah, I am.”

“Of course you are,” Harry said. He squinted at Dean’s lips and nodded to himself. They were great lips. They probably tasted great.

“No tasting my lips when you don’t even know your own name,” Dean said.

Harry blinked. Could he read Harry’s mind?

“Christ, you’re drunk,” Dean said.

“Yeah.” Harry gave up trying to hold his own head up and tilted it to lean on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re pretty,” he slurred, looking at Dean’s long lashes and the little freckles that were painted across his nose.

Dean looked over at Harry and the exasperated lines on his face softened.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re pretty too.”

Harry blacked out pretty quickly after that, but really, he didn’t mind. After all, Dean Winchester said he was pretty.

“Ten bucks says Dean killed Harry.”

“That’s not funny,” Luna said, frowning at Sam. “Necromancy is quite difficult, it might take me a while to master it.”

Bobby snorted and leaned against the porch railing, watching for Dean’s car. He’d sent Harry and Dean off on an easy hunt a few days ago, it shouldn’t have taken for three nights to get back.

Course, Dean thought he volunteered for the job, idjit boy he was. Bobby played him like a fiddle, he was just hoping it paid off.

Harry had sent his little magic buck to tell Luna he would be back soon and Bobby parked himself on the porch while he waited. Either those two boys would pull up and be at each others throats like a couple’a wet cats or they’d be… well… at each others throats like a couple’a cats in a different way.

Bobby knew which one he was hopin’ for, they weren’t the subtlest people. Harry had been makin’ cow eyes at Dean since the second they met and Dean had done his damnest to be in every room with Harry.

Bobby knew when he met Harry, and that sweet little Luna, they they’d be just right for his boys. Harry and Dean were the same damn person, they’d be good at watching each others backs and dealing with their crap.

And Sam deserved someone who could make him laugh and smile, God knew he didn’t do it enough.

Sam was all smiles too while he teased Luna about magic and she teased him right back. It was music to Bobby’s ears, hearing those two carry on. He was just hoping he hadn’t messed up by sending Harry and Dean off alone.

Dean could be a stubborn bastard, but Harry could be too.

Bobby straightened up when they all heard the crunch of tires on the drive.

Moment of truth…

Bobby wasn’t real superstitious, not with anything he didn’t know would work, but damn if he wasn’t crossing his fingers in his pocket when the Impala pulled up.

“Harry’s going to have a bruise,” Sam whispered to Luna, their hands all tangled up with each other. “Dean doesn’t do feelings, he does violence.”

“If he hit Harry then I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill your brother.” Luna blinked up at Sam with big innocent eyes. “Will you still like me?”

Bobby grinned when Sam pretended to think about it. Hell, maybe he did need to consider it. It wasn’t like Bobby didn’t get real attached to Luna and Harry in just a few short months himself.

“Probably,” Sam said just before Dean parked the car and climbed out.

It was a good sign that Dean was grinning big, looking real pleased with himself. It was better when Harry climbed out of the passenger seat with his own smile.

“The world is three vampires less!” Dean crowed, shooting Harry a look that wasn’t subtle at all.

“Yeah?” Bobby didn’t grin, cause he wasn’t gonna be all smug about the hunt doin’ what he hoped it would. “You boys sure you got ‘em?”

“Of course we are,” Harry said, looking offended. It wasn’t real, that boy was dramatic as anyone. “You know, I didn’t need a babysitter. I,” Harry smirked at Dean, “didn’t even get hurt.”

“Is that right?” Bobby asked, checking Dean over quickly. Dean didn’t look hurt any, thank Christ.

“You sure about that?” Sam asked, sounding real excited. “Because it looks like you’ve got a nasty bruise on your neck there, Harry.”

Harry turned real red when he clapped his hand over his neck. Bobby chuckled inwardly and nodded to himself.

Yup, his instincts had been just right.

“That’s not a bruise, it’s a hickey, bitch,” Dean shot at Sam. They all watched as he stepped right over by Harry and slid a hand behind him, probably grabbing his ass - something Bobby didn’t want to see.

Dean looked at each of them one at a time, asking them to say something about it with his eyes.

Luna bounced on her bare feet, smiling big at Harry with happy eyes. Sam smirked, as if he was any better when Bobby had to boot him and Luna out to the camper just two nights ago.

Bobby didn’t smile, he wasn’t some sap, but he did nod at Dean then Harry. If they thought they needed Bobby’s permission to be gay and happy then they were a couple’a dumbasses.

Bobby didn’t rent out every room with two beds in the only motel in Terrance, Montana for them to not come back together.

Idjits.