5/5/2016 - 1:15 AM (EST)

Dean frowned to himself as he eyed the sheet of metal lying in front of him, the bumps and dents along its surface so deep that it was barely holding together. He ran a gloved hand along it, pressing at the lumps before using his weight to hold the sheet steady against the metal table.

BANG! The hammer collided with the metal forcibly, the sound ringing out across the scrap yard. Dean swung at it again, beating what had been the trunk of the Impala back into a shape resembling the original. He gave it a few more whacks at that spot before switching to another distortion and repeating the process. The sound of metal on metal echoed across Bobby's property like some horrible cloister bell, grating and shrill.

Dean wiped a hand across his brow, setting the hammer down on the table and taking a moment to stretch, muscles tense. He yawned loudly and ran a hand through his hair. It felt odd, staying in one place like this with no case or monster to track down. It wasn't the first time he'd stayed at Bobby's but those times had ended just as soon as he could drive. His da-John had disagreed with Bobby over how he and Sam were raised enough times for the man to prefer them staying in some sleazy motel room.

Sam had never been happy with the constant moving, though. He always got tired of having to switch schools every month or two, always being the new kid. His grades were stellar but he could never make friends because he'd end up getting pulled away when it was time to follow some new lead.

Was Harry angry at Dean for doing the same thing? He winced at the thought. He'd yanked Harry out of his nice, normal life and from his special gifted school to hang out in a dusty old house. While it was true that he'd been more focused on getting him back then noticing the consequences, he hadn't totally considered how he'd be messing up Harry's life. Though he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

Dean sighed to himself. He had no idea what he was doing. He had no clue how to be a parent. Ellen had been offering him advice and he'd been using it as a crutch, to his own consternation. It had actually been her advice that he work on his car and take a break from hovering over Harry. They'd been getting along really well the past two days, though there was still some awkwardness and tension, and Dean didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that fragile bond.

Hopefully Sam would be back soon. He was on a hunt a few states away but would be heading to meet them as soon as it finished. Harry would probably like Sam; they could bond over their special schools.

The sound of crunching gravel drew him from his thoughts and he looked up, blinking in surprise at the sight of Harry making his way across the yard towards him.

"Hey," he greeted, a grin growing on his face as he brushed off his hands on his pants. "What's up? Is everything alright?"

Harry shrugged, glancing over at the Impala, brow furrowing for a moment. "Uh, nothing really," he admitted, looking back at Dean. "I just… wanted to take a walk."

Dean nodded. "Yea, it's kinda crowded in there. I keep telling Bobby to toss out some of his crap but he hoards stuff like a pack-rat."

Harry cracked a small smile at that, which Dean considered a victory. "My friend Hermione would have a fit. She hates messes, especially when people aren't taking care of books. She loves books."

Dean caught the casual reference to his friend, something Harry hadn't yet talked about. "Hermione, huh? Is she a classmate or something?"

Harry nodded. "Yea, she's in the same year as me and my other friend Ron. She's really smart, she's the best in our year."

"What about Ron?"

Harry had shifted closer, a notable improvement from the hesitation he'd been displaying just a few days ago. "I met him on the train to school. He's got a bunch of older brothers who go to Hogwarts too, and a younger sister. He and Hermione used to hate each other but after… after he hurt her feelings and apologized they made up. His mum let me come stay with them during the summer. She's nice too."

Harry's smile had turned a tad wistful and he glanced away for a moment, clearing his throat. It was rather obvious that he missed his friends, and Dean once again felt guilty for uprooting Harry's entire life so abruptly. However, he was glad that Harry had good friends.

"They sound great," he said. "And they're lucky to have you as their friend."

At this Harry appeared embarrassed, a faint flush spreading over his cheeks. He crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders, looking down at his feet uncomfortably.

Suddenly it hit Dean that it was the middle of winter and that Harry was only wearing a T-shirt. "Jeez, kid, why aren't you wearing a jacket? It's like thirty degrees out here!"

Acting on long-unused muscle memory, from when Sam was always forgetting his coat as a teenager, Dean slid his own jacket off and reached out to wrap it around Harry's shoulders. Harry, in part, was clearly surprised, stuttering out a protest once he realized what Dean had done, but Dean just brushed him off.

"Keep it, I'm good," he cut the kid off, offering him a reassuring smile. "I'm all muscle anyway, immune to the cold."

The blush was back, pink spreading across the pale skin, and Harry ducked his head. "Thanks," he murmured softly.

"Anytime." Seeing how embarrassed the kid was, he mercifully rescued him. "This is my usual car by the way, not that beat-up old van we rode in here. Bobby let me borrow that, though he should've hauled it off for scrap years ago."

Harry followed his gesture towards the Impala, eyeing it curiously.

Dean continued. "I got in a wreck a little while back and haven't gotten around to fixing her ' till now. You should've seen her before, though; completely totalled. But she's a strong girl," he rapped on the side, "it takes more than that to break her."

Harry trailed after him, leaning over to look in through the smashed window. The insides were bare, the seats having been removed by Bobby, making it look more like a death trap than a car. With the flooring stripped away one could see the initials carved into it by a young Sam and Dean.

"I've had this car since I turned eighteen. My dad gave her to me then." He ignored the little flame of betrayal coiled in his chest at the mention of his father.

Dean felt like someone had punched a hole through him and now it was just hanging open. It had been over a month since his father looked him in the eyes and told him that he had done the most despicable thing Dean could ever imagine, but the wound remained as fresh as the day it was made. The worst part was that all he could think about was how John could've fixed it, could've made it better sooner, could have done a single damn thing to help his grieving son.

Harry turned to look at him, question in his eyes, and Dean tore himself from his thoughts.

"You know," he joked, directing the conversation away from the mention of his father, smirking as he said it, "when I'm all old and wrinkly like Bobby in there she'll be yours, so make sure to take care of her."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise and he looked over at the Impala, mouth opening but nothing coming out. He looked back at Dean with a kind of surprise in his eyes, and something else, and it gave Dean a proud feeling knowing that he put it there.

"C'mon kid," he said, nudging Harry's shoulder, "let's go inside where it is nice and warm. I'll show you where Bobby keeps his treats."

The Gryffindor Quidditch stands were hard and uncomfortable underneath Ron and Hermione's legs, the air cold enough to see their breath. All the snow had melted away, fortunately, but that hadn't changed the fact that it was still mid-winter, and Scotland. Luckily Hermione was still an expert in her little bluebell flames, as well as the cushioning charm Professor Flitwick had taught the Second-Years just last week.

To be fair, neither twelve-year-old exactly wanted to be sitting out at the Quidditch pitch instead of inside the cozy Gryffindor common room or within the library stacks. However, the Quidditch pitch had become the best option. In the past few days the rumours of Harry's supposed 'arrest' for being the Heir of Slytherin had spread like wildfire, even many Gryffindors buying into it. They ended up being kicked out of the library after Ron, in an attempt to defend his absent friend, got into a shouting match with Hannah Abbott right where Madam Pince could see him. Ejection was swift and harsh. The common room wasn't much better; for all their supposed loyalty they weren't completely sure of Harry's innocence either and it took both Hermione and Percy to prevent a brawl between the other Weasleys and members like Cormac McLaggen.

So, the Quidditch pitch.

In Hermione's opinion the worst part of the gossip was that Harry wasn't even there to defend himself or prove them wrong. So she merely sat there, staring down at her copy of The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 3 blankly as her mind raced. The Polyjuice potion would be complete the day before break ended, leaving them only a short window of time to trick Malfoy into ousting himself as the Heir. Her mind was whirring with different methods of wheedling the truth out of him, knowing that there needed to be real proof if they were to arrest him.

"But it's taking so long, Hermione!" Ron replied when she voiced this to him. His temper had been spiking several times each day and it had no outlet. "Malfoy could petrify the whole school before we get him!"

"I rather doubt that." She huffed, setting her own book aside. "I made a list and there actually have only been four petrifications this entire year. Mrs. Norris-who I don't think counts-, Colin, Justin, and Nearly-Headless-Nick, who happened at the same time as Justin. That's only three attacks Ron. It's a short list. And besides, what would the use be of doing it during break? There's barely anyone here."

"Last time it was opened it was more, almost a dozen in just a month. No one could figure out why. But then in the spring someone actually died and they were about to close the school, except the attacks stopped suddenly. But all the books that say what happened are gone from the library, and Madam Pince wouldn't tell me who took them." She huffed to herself loudly.

Ron sank back into the seat, scowl deepening. "It was probably Malfoy's dad or granddad," he commented, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at nothing in particular. "Dad says his grandfather was worse than both of them combined. He would've loved to off a bunch of muggleborns. Then he told his son, who told Malfoy, who decided to try and open it himself."

Hermione frowned. "If it happened all those years ago how did Dumbledore never find it? I'm sure there must've been clues."

"Dunno," Ron answered with a shrug. "He's a Gryffindor, can't only Slytherins find it or something?"

"But he's the most powerful wizard alive, and the smartest. If anyone could find it it's him."

Another shrug was her response. "Well he is like a hundred and fifty years old, Hermione."

Hermione continued to frown. "But then-" She stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. "Oh!" She gasped, "Ron, maybe he was a teacher then, too! According to Greatest Wizards of the Twentieth Century Professor Dumbledore has been working here for over sixty years, so wouldn't he have been a teacher then too? Perhaps he would know something that could help Harry!"

But Ron shook his head. "Remember last year? He's super busy; Mum told me that he's got three jobs. If he knew he would've told the Ministry so they could find the real Heir, right?"

"Oh." She visibly deflated for a moment before perking back up. "But he couldn't have been the only one, right? Some of the others might've been here then too!" Her hair seemed to swell with her excitement and she looked ready to sprint up to the castle herself. "Maybe Professor Flitwick? He was a dueling champion though, so maybe not… Madam Hooch has been here a long time too, maybe her? Or Professor McGonagall, she's Deputy Headmistress-"

"Like she'd tell us anything," Ron cut her off derisively.

Hermione's jaw dropped, scandalized, at the slight against her favorite teacher. "Ron! Professor McGonagall is brilliant, and helpful, and always fair and-"

"Hagrid!"

"I-... what?"

Ron gestured towards the Forbidden Forest and Hermione followed his gaze. "Hagrid!"

Indeed, Hagrid was emerging from the shadowy thicket, a large shape slung over his shoulder and Fang following behind him. He appeared to look around cautiously for a moment before climbing up into his shack, closing the door behind the dog.

"...oh." Hermione blinked. "Wait, how old is Hagrid?"

Ron shrugged and turned back to her. "Dunno. He's been here since before Bill and Charlie were here. Actually Dad once said that he remembers Hagrid being here when he was student too. I dunno though, it's hard to tell."

Hermione eyed the cabin for a moment before nodding slowly, then once more. "Hagrid might know something," she realized, a glint appearing in her eyes. "You're right Ron, Hagrid will help us. I'm sure he wants to clear Harry's name."

Ron beamed at the praise, jumping right to his feet. "Definitely! Hagrid's great. He'll tell us what happened, I know it. Hagrid never keeps secrets."

The tinny sound of artificial gunshots echoed around Bobby's living room, emanating from the ancient television standing in the corner with books stacked all around it. Little black-and-white cowboys raced across the desert on horses, waving their big hats in the air and shouting like maniacs.

Harry never really understood the appeal of cowboy movies. Even when he was a kid. Dudley had gone through a three-month phase where he'd been obsessed with them, wearing the hat and spouting off catchphrases in a bad accent while he shot Harry with foam pellets, until Vernon put a stop to it with a lecture about the "filthy Americans defying their King and country".

Though, to be fair, Harry wasn't paying much attention anyway. Even before he'd found out he was a wizard movies never appealed to him, on the rare occasions the Dursleys let him sit on the floor beside the couch while they watched the telly. And now it just felt so much less impressive in comparison to the things he'd seen with his own eyes.

He found his gaze wandering to Dean every few minutes, sitting beside him on the couch with his eyes glued to the telly. He would notice Harry's looks occasionally but didn't say anything; he just smiled.

It was just so odd simply hanging out with the man like this. Never once had Harry done something so casual with the Dursleys, because never would they have wanted to be around him-and he knew that he should stop comparing Dean to them but he couldn't help it. He'd done the same to Ron and Hermione at first, expecting them to tease him or be annoyed whenever he offered an opinion, but that didn't happen at all. Same with the rest of the Weasleys over the summer; they were as different from the Dursleys as night and day yet he just couldn't be rid of them, lurking in the back of his mind like a disease. He didn't know if he'd ever be rid of them.

Dean was so nice. And not nice like Mrs. Weasley, constantly feeding him and making sure he was doing well-though there was nothing wrong with that-but nice in a way that Harry could only describe as being the way he'd always pictured a dad would act. Funny, nice, considerate, even showing Harry how his car worked! And that had been one of the most enjoyable things Harry had ever done.

However, Harry also felt more than a bit guilty about this. Knowing that he was still keeping such a big secret about Dean, even if he told him a little bit about Ron and Hermione. The longer he kept it the more he wished he didn't have to; the man had been so accepting about everything else, why wouldn't he be about this?

One of the movie cowboys riding on a horse suddenly pulled out his gun and began shooting wildly. Native Americans scattered wildly, several dropping under the fire.

Oh. Right. It might not be such a good idea unless he knew he could do damage control. Hermione once mentioned that the Ministry had a way of keeping the sort of parents who feared or hated magic from doing anything, and Harry couldn't. So it would probably better if he just waited for Dumbledore to come find him. Even if treating Dean like the Dursleys left a foul taste in his mouth.

Dean nudged his shoulder, dissipating his gloomy thoughts as he turned to look at him.

"Like the movie? I've got all the Clint Eastwood movies but this is my favorite. Sam hates them though." He rolled his eyes.

Harry nodded in response to the earlier question. "Yea, it's, uh, cool."

Apparently appeased, Dean settled back into the couch, stretching his arms out along the back of it. One came to rest behind Harry head, firmness at odds with the almost overly-soft couch, but Harry didn't mind.

The movie continued on, and after a little while longer Harry found his eyelids getting heavier. He attempted to remain focused but there was something mesmerizing about scratchy voices and Western drawl. It got harder and harder to focus, especially with the softness of the couch letting him sink right in.

He didn't remember moving, but somewhere along the line the firm arm behind his head had shifted into a shoulder, and his own was pressing up against something just as firm and warm. There was also a weight on his opposite shoulder but his awareness had grown so fuzzy it barely registered.

A bit of alertness returned a little while later, when he actually did feel himself being moved, but he was still mostly asleep. The weight on his shoulder moved and he felt it slide behind his back, something else underneath his knees. Then he was being lifted and that was when he tried to wake up for real.

His eyes blinked open but he couldn't see clearly. A voice whispered "It's okay, go back to sleep." Something about it made him relax and within seconds he had slipped back into unconsciousness.

He didn't feel, nor remember, being placed on a cool mattress, blankets pulled up to his chin, or a hand in his hair with that same voice whispering "Goodnight." But he would remember a better night's sleep than had come in a long time.

One o'clock in the morning found Dean, not asleep in his bed resting after a very enjoyable day spending time with the son he'd missed out on over a decade with, but patching up his brother in the kitchen while trying to both not fall asleep halfway through stitches or be too loud and wake Harry up.

Sam obligingly remained perfectly still, albeit a few winces whenever Dean pulled the thread taut. The other hand was clenching a bottle of Scotch from Bobby's "hidden" stash, downing a mouthful whenever the pain got too bad. Aside from the deep cut on his arm he also had a dislocated shoulder and black eye, not to mention the smaller cuts decorating his face. All in all: bad, but nowhere near as bad as they sometimes had to deal with.

"-then he cut my arm," Sam continued in his explanation for what, exactly, had caused him to arrive in such a state. "Lenore wouldn't drink the blood though. She did the whole 'vamp-teeth' thing but didn't give in to the bloodlust. Gordon didn't expect that and it gave me room to deck him and knock him out. Then I tied him up and let Lenore get away."

Dean gave the string a hard yank and Sam hissed in pain, looking up to find his brother staring at him incredulously. "You let her get away?"

Sam frowned. "Well… yea. I mean she wasn't hurting anyone and Gordon had already killed the others-"

"She's a vampire, Sam! They hurt people! It is literally the only thing they do! Drain, kill, make more like the disease they are. You don't let one go, no matter how pretty she is!" He scowled deeply and tied off the stitch, snipping the loose extra. "There. Let this remind you to not do stupid shit like that again. I thought you got over this naivety years ago."

Sam scowled right back, yanking his arm away and pressing a clean cloth against the cut to stop the bleeding. "She wasn't a monster, Dean! She was a… a vegetarian vampire!"

All he got was a flat look from Dean.

He huffed. "Dean, she wasn't always a monster. It's not like one of those things born like that. Vampires used to be human; can't they choose to still act like one?"

Dean stared at him as if he had two heads. "No!" He hissed, before suddenly turning to glance back at the stairs behind him. He turned back and cleared his throat. "No," he repeated, quieter. "Sam, their bloodlust is just too strong to ignore. Sure they can eat crap like cow blood but they need human blood to live. They're all the same."

Sam opened his mouth to retort but Dean cut him off as he finished tying off the wrap around Sam's hand, which was bruised from his fight with the psychotic hunter.

"All done." He gave it a light smack, smirking at Sam. "Damn Sammy, you look like you got in a bar fight."

Sam sighed, deciding against responding, knowing that it was a lost cause.

"If Harry asks, tell him you got beat up by a crazy guy."

All thoughts of Lenore and Gordon were banished from Sam's mind. He instantly sat up straighter, eyes widening at the casual mention of his nephew. "Harry?" He prodded.

Dean's lips pulled into a small grin, eyes lighting up in a way Sam rarely saw. His brother had never been the sort to smile a lot; smirk, sure, or do a flirty grin, but rarely smile. "You'll like him Sam. Kinda reminds me of you, minus the bitch-face." He glanced back towards the stairs again. "He's smart though; even goes to one of those special schools for smart kids."

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Oh? Which one? A bunch of my classmates at Stanford were from England."

Dean waved a hand vaguely. "Can't remember the name, it was something weird." The grin was back. "He's funny though, and really just a great kid."

"Wow Dean, listen to you gushing like a soccer mom."

The grin turned annoyed, but even still it couldn't vanish the underlying fondness. "Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk. So where's he now?"

Dean gave Sam a "Duh." look. "Dude, it's like one in the morning. He's asleep." He rolled his eyes and pushed himself out of the chair, stretching. "Which I would like to go back to doing, if you don't mind."

Something his brother had said suddenly registered. "Wait, what do you mean 'I got beat up by a crazy guy'?"

"Oh." Dean paused halfway to the door. "I told Harry we work for the government, and that's why we travel a lot. It was the best excuse I could come up with. Besides it's kinda true; we travel a lot and capture 'bad guys'." He finished with air quotes.

Sam was no longer smiling. "You lied to him, Dean? You didn't tell him about us being hunters?"

"Uh, no, I didn't. He's just a kid, Sam; he doesn't need to know about all that. And even if I told him, then what? Either he thinks we're wackos and tries to run away or for some reason he believes us and spends every day hiding from monsters! Take your pick."

"I was fine with it Dean, and I was around his age."

Dean dismissed him with a wave. "Yea but you were raised around it. Besides you would've believed me if I told you the moon was made from cheese."

"I would not!" Sam took a deep breath and sighed. "Dean, lying to him like that is just what Dad did to me, and I hated him for it. If he'd told me the truth-sure, I'd have been freaked, but I would've been glad of it."

Dean scoffed.

"Besides, how do you know Harry won't react worse if he finds out you lied? He barely knows you Dean, and if he doesn't trust you, there is a real possibility he will start to hate you and then run away just like I did, except this time you won't be able to get him back."

At those words Dean's mouth shut and his face paled slightly. He swallowed once and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out and he closed it, looking away with a conflicted expression on his face.

Sighing, knowing there was nothing left to say, Sam stood from the table, grabbing the ice pack Dean had put together, and walked out of the kitchen, leaving his brother there staring out the window into the darkness.

A/N: I wasn't originally planning on updating until I finished school (May 24th is my last day and the 28th is my graduation-expect another chapter then) but I just saw the most recent episode of Supernatural and it was far too good to not have some sort of note to it.

I don't know how my updating schedule will work once summer begins, but it SHOULD pick up. Much of the lag this time has been because of school. I have the entirety of this story planned out but much of my recent trouble has been that many of these early chapters are primarily about setting things up and I keep going back to add or delete scenes. This one is a bit safer since it is more of a filler, and builds some of the relationship.

If you are interested, follow me at my Tumblr account under the same name, where I will be posting notices about my stories and other fun stuff.