~The Hard-to-Kill Club~

In Which Dean Wins

So Raise Your Glass, If You Are Wrong,
In All The Right Ways,
All My Underdogs.

So If You're Too School For Cool,
And You're Treated Like A Fool,
You Can Choose To Let It Go.

We Will Never Be Anything But Loud,
And Nitty Gritty, Dirty Little Freaks.

We Can Always Party On Our Own.

~Raise Your Glass, by Pink

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

Location: A Bar; Some Desert in Nevada

Time: 12:07 AM PST

"Hey, Harry!"

"Hello, Sam," Harry smiled brightly at him, feeling cheerful with his lot for the first time in years. "It's been quite awhile! How are you?"

"Another year," The Hunter admitted, stepping into the dimly lit corner and taking his seat to the left of the Wizard, "Pretty good, though – little beat up and all, but the usual for us. What about you?"

"Good! Tough being Lord Potter, but I set time aside and finally started training with Death to become the Master of the Hallows," Harry informed him, knowing that Sam liked to learn about the Wizarding Community. He turned to the other Winchester, who hissed at – wait, hissed? "Uh, Dean, how are you?"

"DEATH…!" Dean exclaimed with fury, hands lifted in the air, before plopping down into the only empty seat left at the table, to the right of Harry. Thin lips pulled into an icy cold scowl, and Dean growled, "I hate Death. Stupid Horseman and his stupid bling…"

Okay, Harry could admit to being terribly confused right about now. Dean usually said – and yeah, did – strange things, but to hiss and growl at him? Could Hunters suffer from PMS? Sam certainly seemed to have it now and then! Harry pondered while nibbling at his fish and chips and sipping at his Butterbeer. Hmmm…

Whatever! The Wizard lifted both of his eyebrows, not that anybody could really tell since his shaggy hair swallowed them up, and blinked at Sam. He thought back to their conversation and parroted, "…Bling?"

"A Muggle term meaning nice jewelry," Sam helpfully explained, always soaking information in and then releasing it like a sponge. "We needed to get four rings from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse; Death had the fourth one."

Hesitantly, Harry tried to ignore the sinking in his stomach and warily asked, "It wouldn't happen to have been gold, would it? It would have a center of black diamonds, with this strange triangle picture in its middle…"

Please, please, please say no…!

"No…?" Sam slowly replied, confused with the question, and stared blankly down at the shorter man, a question in his voice. When Harry did not respond, Sam added, "It was actually silver, with little swirls along the side, and the center was a square."

Slumping in relief, Harry let his forehead hit the table with a small thump and mumbled, "Thank Merlin! Death keeps hiding the Hallows. He thinks it great fun, and has made it part of the training I get from him. I thought I might have to find the damn thing again."

"Again?" Sam asked, with curiosity, and started to munch at his veggie wrap. When the Wizard had heard that Sam and Dean had stopped by, Harry had invited them out to a nice little pub. It served healthier foods, which made Sam happy, and beer, which satisfied Dean.

"Again," Harry confirmed while grumbling about the past year – "Last time Death hid the Resurrection Stone, I had to visit this place called Mordor in Middle Earth, where I had to take it from this deformed House Elf to keep their Dark Lord from getting hands – er, eye – on our ring."

Blinking rapidly, Sam patted his head and kindly said, "I'm sorry…"

"Me, too," Harry mumbled into his drink.

Silence, and then –

"You know what," Dean started while staring off into space as a waitress brought them another round of drinks, winking at them and turning her hair pink; Sam stared at her with his mouth hanging open. "Yesterday, I happened to think…"

"Oh, God," Sam muttered, forgetting the anomaly of pink hair and fearing the worst. It never ended well for them when Dean had – shudder – thoughts. Remember the Prank War? Because Sam remembered the Prank War!

Stupid itching powder…

Scowl.

"No, God has nothing to do with it," Dean protested with a wave, and then sourly muttered, "He never does…"

"He sort of did," Sam interrupted while pretending to be the voice of reason – or rather, Harry thought with amusement, The Devil's Advocate. Aptly named, right? "Remember: We were out searching for Alphas and Crowley, and it turned out that Castiel had been working with Crowley, and God emerged from Purgatory."

"Castiel," Dean corrected him punctuating each of his sentences with kicks to the legs of the table. "Not God; Castiel! Stupid Angel usurped the throne and decided to suck up all the souls from Purgatory, like a vacuum!"

Calmly, Sam smiled at Dean, still trying to remain positive and refrain from offending his brother, who had become good friends with Castiel. Sam finished the last bite of his veggie wrap, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and pointed out, "He called himself God."

"If I call myself Tom Cruise," Dean sarcastically started while viciously biting into his pie and wiping the crumbs from his mouth – here, Sam sighed – with the sleeve of his dark leather jacket, "then does that make me rich, Sammy?"

"No…" Sam hesitantly said, knowing that his older brother had become (more) short tempered since his return from Purgatory, and especially since being resurrected with the help of the Mark of Cain. Testy, Sam had claimed, to which Dean mocked, "Testes? I have 'em. Do you?"

"NO!" Dean roared in return, banging his fists against the table and drawing the attention of the strange waitress, who turned her hair black, hooked her nose, and crossed her eyes. Harry bit back laughter at her (bad) impersonation of Severus Snape.

The Winchesters, ignorant to this admittedly strange exchange, glared at each other. It wasn't the nicest glare – not that glares should be nice, but still! It screamed: DIE, FUCKER!

"I'm rich!" Harry helpfully piped to distract Thing One from Thing Two.

(…What? Harry LIKED reading books by Dr. Seuss!)

"Shut up!" They growled together.

Harry only smiled.

"Speaking of suckers, let's not forget Benny!" Dean exclaimed, while ordering yet another drink – his fifteenth, if Harry had counted correctly – and downing it in one go. He ordered another but busied himself with consuming his (…bloody) steak, instead. Harry stared. What the (…bloody) Hell?

Apparently finding nothing weird about the amount of liquor and the state of the meat (in other words, raw and still mooing) consumed by Dean, Sam returned his attention to his drink and snorted. "Who could forget about him?"

"Me!" Harry brightly exclaimed, lifting his left hand and frantically waving it around in the air like Hermione used to do in classes at Hogwarts, "since I did not know him."

"Be thankful," Sam muttered in his usual kind fashion, but Dean, being Dean, glowered at both of them and grumbled, "…Bloodsucker was weird." And Sam, being Sam, attempted to soothe his ruffled feathers and understandingly added, "Most of them are."

Nostalgically, Harry thought back to his experiences in the Second Wizard War, which included contact with all kinds of creatures – well, with the exception of Vampires. He pouted, "Well, I'll have to take your word for it since I only know werewolves. Remus is nice. Greyback, though – not so much…"

Thankfully, Dean and Sam were much too busy bickering to hear this admission.

"You're weird!" Sam retorted, lifting his glass and pointing the rim of the bottle at his big brother, who had been making faces at him ("Your face is going to get stuck like that for good, Dean!") for the length of the monologue from their favorite Wizard.

"I wasn't the one with hallucinations," Dean pointed out while batting the bottle to the side, fearing that his little brother might have his superglue with him again. "Oh, look! Lucifer! He's in the kitchen, in the hallway, in that mirror! GASP!"

A blush stained his pale cheeks, and Sam ducked his head to hide behind his long brown hair. He pouted at the brotherly (and somewhat insulting) teasing and whined, "Hey! Cut it out, Dean! I wasn't that bad!"

"'I always feel like, somebody's watching me!'" Dean sang some of the lyrics from Somebody's Watching Me. It caught the attention of several other patrons, making Sam flush in embarrassment and Harry laugh hysterically. "'And I have no privacy.'"

"Dammit, Dean! I don't have privacy because my older brother is always hanging around like a creeper!" Sam complained, before sinking into his seat, crossing his arms, and sulking. Cue Bitch Face.

Preening, Dean puffed out his chest and bowed to the round of applause ringing through the pub. All of the patrons seemed to like his sudden rendition of Somebody's Watching Me, which meant one of three things – 1.) Everyone here was pretty tone deaf, 2.) Everyone here was plastered, OR 3.) Everyone here was pretty tone deaf AND plastered. Harry found himself leaning toward the third option – and just leaning in general. Maybe Harry was plastered? Did Dean even sing?

Squinting in confusion, Harry considered it, and eventually decided that Dean must done something to piss off Sam, which meant that Sam had finally lost his crown – uh, Presidency! "Well, I think Dean should win this round," The Wizard offered.

As expected, Sam looked affronted and started spitting off questions like the rapid fire of his favorite gun – "What? How? Why…?"

The Wizard lost track of the questions, and thus their answers, and simply claimed, "Because Dean's beast!"

The Winchesters gaped at him like – "What? How? Why…?"

"What?" Harry asked, ducking his head in embarrassment. "Did I not say it right? I heard these Muggle teenagers use it the other day, and I thought, since I'm stuck looking eighteen forever, that I should try to learn the current lingo here!"

"'I'm not actually beast," Dean responded before Sam could get his thoughts together and interrupt his good fun. The Winchester grinned predatorily and stared at him with suspiciously black eyes. "But I am a –"

"– You know what? I agree," Sam interrupted, glaring at his brother in warning and downing his drink, wishing it had been something stronger – like Harry's Firewhiskey. Harry did not need to know about Dean the Demon. "Dean wins."

Dean leaned back, thumped his boots down atop the table, and smirked. "Awesome."

"Hey!" Harry squinted at him through his glasses. "…Are those fangs?"

Hesitantly, Dean muttered, "Uh, I can explain…?"

"This ought to be good," Sam snorted.

"It all started last year…"

New Status:

Dean Winchester – Hunter, The Vessel of Michael, and The New President of the Hard-to-Kill-Club, Also Fondly Known As Dean the Demon

ULTIMATE WINNER!

:)

Notes:

Supernatural Seasons Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, and Part of Ten (Partially AU)

Harry Potter Book Seven & Beyond (AU)

***Author's Note***

YAY! A Special Guest Appearance from Tonks and *Lifts His Arm In The Air* Dean wins! He is, like readers said, the most badass and the hardest to kill of these three lovely protagonists. So why shouldn't Dean be the President of the Hard-to-Kill-Club? Yes, I also gifted him with fangs! Dean with fangs sounds fun! ;)

Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope everybody liked it! I will respond to reviews tomorrow. Bye~! :)

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