A/N: Hey everyone. I had a bit of a mind-melt over the last week and a bit, and you'll probably notice some rather rambly bits in this chapter, BUT it somehow stumbled its way up to 4000 words, so I'm sure you lot won't mind too terribly. I'll warn you now in advance though, I only managed to bring the All Hell Breaks Loose episodes with me, due to technical difficulties blah blah. But that's the only in-depth reference material I have with me, so you'll have to bear with me here.

Chapter 21 – Unwanted Company:

The hospital staff had been kind enough not to kick him out of the hospital until he awoke on his own, something that Harry was grateful for. In his current state he probably would have lashed out at anyone who tried to force him awake. It also allowed him a chance to calm down.

If the slightly sticky tracks down his face were anything to go by, Harry had been crying in his sleep. Were he to be perfectly honest, he barely knew John, and yet it felt as though he had cried more for him than he had for Sirius. He'd wanted to cry for Sirius though – he'd been in a state of shock; it had been unexpected. He'd known exactly what was going to happen to John.

It was times like this he really wished he still had his magic. If he'd had his magic he could have used it to heal Dean himself – although he'd never been very proficient at healing magic, he would have tried and tried until he was completely out of energy – and John wouldn't have had to make that deal. But that was a very big what if, spinning all the way back to the tail-end of last century when he first met Crowley, and definitely not the best thing to dwell on for the time being.

Dean had sort of been discharged by the time Harry left the hospital – the doctors had wanted him to stay, he'd wanted to leave, they had made a scene of sorts; probably been banned from the hospital while they were at it. By the sounds of it it was very typical Winchester behaviour, but it only made Harry depressed.

Of course, the fact that they were waiting to gang up on him when he left the hospital didn't really help his mood. The look in Dean's eyes said it all really. Sam must have told him his version of what went down, and he'd then pieced together what Sam had either missed or not wanted to acknowledge, and come to the correct conclusion that Harry had been in on it. It was perhaps an unfair judgement, but it was – or at least it would have been under better circumstances – partially a compliment really, that Dean thought that Harry was intelligent enough to know what was going on and that John apparently trusted him enough to let him in on it over anyone else.

"You okay man?" Sam asked him, forever the empathetic one – and still blissfully unaware of what had really happened. "The doctors wouldn't let us go in to see you, so we," he glanced over at Dean's disgruntled expression and back-tracked a little, 'well, I, was a bit worried. I don't think Dean really understands that this must be rough for you too."

And wasn't that just a solid punch to the gut?

Harry cringed slightly as Sam continued to talk. He wanted to ask if he could just leave now, regardless of how rude that may seem, but what came out instead was, "Are you going to have any sort of funeral for him?"

Dean bristled with anger, drawing himself up to his full – taller than Harry – height and glaring at the once-wizard.

"You have absolutely no right to ask that. In fact, I think you should leave."

Sam smacked him over the back of the head with a disappointed cry of "Dean!", even as Harry silently agreed with him. He tried to apologise with his eyes but, well, Dean wasn't really the subtle type. Harry doubted he noticed.

They lapsed into a charged silence; Dean glaring, Sam standing awkwardly on the sidelines, and Harry shuffling his feet.

Pulling himself together, Harry stilled his feet and met Dean's glare head-on.

"Sam, do you think I could talk to your brother alone for a bit?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at him in question, probably wondering if Harry wanted the stuffing beat out of him. Sam was indecisive – with good reason; it was hardly a friendly atmosphere even with him there to moderate. It wouldn't do for him to be within ear-shot – so really anywhere in the same 500m, if they started yelling – when they had their conversation, because it was going to be harsh, biting, accusatory, and possibly violent.

"Sam?"

Conflicted, Sam turned to his brother.

"Yeah Sammy, can you give us a minute?" Dean's tone was more biting than he probably intended, for Sam frowned deeply, sending them both calculating looks before acquiescing to their request and walking away.

"You know what my dad did," Dean shot at him as soon as Sam was out of ear-shot. Knowing that there was no point in denying it, Harry simply nodded, lips pressed into a thin line somewhat reminiscent of an annoyed Minerva McGonagall. "Why the hell didn't you stop him?!"

Harry folded his arms defensively across his chest, twisting the ring around his index finger with his thumb.

"Dean. Think about it for a moment. You were dying. Seriously, absolutely, irrevocably dying. Believe it or not, your father does love you. He couldn't bear to see you die when there was a chance he could prevent it. It was hardly my place to tell him what he could and couldn't do with his own life."

"Fuck you. You're trying to say it's my fault dad's dead?" Dean spat angrily, hands fisted at his sides, just waiting for the right opportunity to punch Harry in the face, no doubt.

Sighing heavily Harry reached up and rubbed at his temple. He got the distinct feeling he was going to have a migraine by the end of this discussion.

"Shut up. Don't twist my words. That's not what I meant and you know it. If you want to be angry at someone, go ahead and be angry at me," Harry offered, adding as a bitter afterthought, "that's all I'm really here for, after all."

"Good. Perfect then."

And Harry was flung to the ground from a strong punch to the jaw.

It was only Jo's rigorous training that saved him from a fracture, but even so his reaction time was too slow to prevent what was going to be an impressive bruise, likely accompanied by some swelling.

Shaking his head – slowly, carefully – Harry climbed back to his feet, settling his glasses back in their proper place.

"You going to do that again or are you finished?" Harry asked in an exhausted monotone, readying his stance for another blow. For a moment it looked as though Dean would indeed hit him again, but his scowl deepened and he dropped his fists back to his sides.

"The fuck's wrong with you man? Just standing there and letting me hit you. Get mad! Fight back! Do something!"

Harry wiped away the small trickle of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth and raised an eyebrow at Dean, mimicking the man's earlier action.

"What do you want me to do? I deserve whatever you throw at me. John told me to pass on a message, but I figure it can wait until you've pounded out your anger. Whatever you do to me, I've suffered through worse in the past."

That seemed to ignite some sort of light-bulb in Dean's mind.

"What, even if I killed you?" It was curiosity; Harry couldn't sense any actual killing-intent behind the question.

"You of all people Dean should know that there are worse things than death. In a life like this, death is the only way out – it's the saving grace, not the eternal punishment. So yes, Dean, I've suffered things much worse than death. And just so you know, you aren't the only person here who had a family member die saving them. Sometimes, you just have to get over it and be glad for what you still have."

Harry was past done talking to Dean; it was too taxing just then – it would possibly always be too taxing, dealing with such an abrasive personality, always quick to anger. People like that always rubbed him the wrong way; he didn't have the patience for them anymore. Turning on his heel he started walking away, intent on just finding his car and driving all the way home, regardless of what his neighbours would think if they saw him arrive back looking so beat up. He'd apologise to Sam some other time for being a dick and running out on them.

That was the plan anyway. He only managed a few steps before Dean pulled himself together enough to call after him.

"What did he say to you?"

Harry paused mid-step, half-turning back towards Dean.

"John said that he loves you, both of you, even if it never seemed like it. That he knew the two of you together would be able to cope better without him than Sam would have coped without you. And he essentially said he was sorry for raising you the way he did and ruining any chance of normalcy you might have had; he's worried he may have ruined you. But he was only doing what he thought best at the time. I understand that he probably didn't have much of a choice – believe it or not, he's actually a very emotionally driven person, not unlike Sam. He knew perfectly well what he was doing, and I guess he could only hope you two would be able to make things work."

When he finished his little speech Harry was a bit teary-eyed himself, and immediately turned away from Dean, only to come face to face – or rather, face to chest – with Sam, who had headed back over when he saw Harry moving to leave, assuming that their conversation was over and done with. He looked down, because he couldn't bring himself to look up, and saw Sam was shaking again.

"So he really did make a deal with Azazel then," Sam said weakly, voice heavy with emotion.

Harry choked out an affirmative and hung his head further, cursing himself as the tears started again. It was ridiculous, how much this one death was affecting him. He'd spoken with the man all of four times, hardly long enough to form a proper attachment, yet here he was, sobbing his heart out.

Winchesters leave impressions on people. And Harry was oh so susceptible.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders and he was pulled into Sam's chest. He struggled momentarily, but it was too much effort. Ceasing his struggles he collapsed forward, exhausted, and let himself cry. He pretended he couldn't feel Sam's tears falling on his head, and Dean maintained a respectful silence somewhere off to the side. Harry couldn't imagine him crying, but if he was, he wouldn't want any witnesses to it.

All in all it was just too much emotion at once. Harry had allowed himself to become so closed off from people that he rarely ever felt strong emotions, and certainly not in such quantities.

When the tears finally stopped he snaked an arm up and rubbed his eyes, mumbling a soft apology into Sam's shirt and squeezing his arm in thanks. He hadn't had a shoulder to cry on for a long time – in fact, he wasn't sure if he'd ever had one at all. Sam ruffled his hair – and it said something about how exhausted Harry was that he didn't even put up a token protest – before releasing him, taking a step back and subtly rubbing tear tracks off of his own face.

Dean cleared his throat and went to talk, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat again, coughed angrily, and stormed off. Harry bit his lip, holding back another sigh, and rolled his eyes, turning his back on Dean's retreating form.

Sam didn't smile at him, but he didn't frown either. It was something.

"We're going to have a hunter's funeral for him, in a few days. Do you want me to text you the details?"

Harry hesitated to answer. The idea of seeing Dean again so soon was incredibly off-putting, but at the same time he felt like he owed John enough to attend his 'funeral', whatever that may be.

It was a good thing Sam was patient; Harry was taking forever to make up his mind.

"Yes," he said eventually, meeting Sam's gaze. "Yes, I'll go. See you there."

Sam nodded slowly, obviously still concerned, and watched as Harry raced off to find his car.

Harry paid more attention than he normally did, trying to find somewhere to stay. He didn't want to end up at the same motel as the Winchesters, because that would be horrendously awkward. It would be for the best if he didn't run into either of them before the funeral – it would give all of them a chance to calm down, so that Dean hopefully wouldn't feel the need to punch him again. He was going to feel strange enough wandering around with a massive bruise on his chin.

In fact, Harry was so worried about it that he splashed out on a hotel and holed himself up in his room, not even leaving for food – he took full advantage of the long hours of room service. Apparently he
was an 'eat your feelings' sort of person this month.

Sam, true to his word, texted him the day after, giving him a date, time, and address. The funeral was going to be in two days.

It almost seemed too soon. Although he was completely cried out, he was still emotionally unstable. When the Do Not Disturb sign fell off his door and the cleaner came into his room he'd snapped at her, reducing her to tears, before apologising profusely and offering her some chocolate from his always present stash. Needless to say she'd left incredibly confused, but at least she hadn't complained about him to management. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of his entire life. He was used to having some insane sort of iron control on his emotions, for the most part – minus heartfelt anger at whatever may have been happening at Hogwarts when he'd been back home. He'd never really been so out of sorts before. In its own way it was rather terrifying.

He just felt so wrong here. Nothing was how it should be. And if Dean punched him again, he'd deserve it.

Not that he wanted a grave-side brawl, even if Sam was the only one around to witness it. Especially if Sam was the only one around to witness it.

That thought made Harry groan out loud, rolling onto his stomach and burying his head under one of the pillows.

Sam Winchester was too kind a soul – his occupation aside – for Harry to get himself involved with. It almost seemed as though he would taint him, weigh him down with the failures and darkness of his own life. He needed to get away from them as soon as possible and never turn back.

Unfortunately, he knew that would never happen. Now Harry had an invested interest in the Winchesters. Out of all the hunters he had ever met, he wanted them to succeed the most, for them to survive above all else. Perhaps it was the way he could see bits of himself in each of them. Battle-weary, well, that was a given really, considering the way they'd been raised. In Dean there was a fierce protectiveness, not unlike what Harry used to show for his friends, always trying to protect them over himself when they got themselves into another dangerous situation. Sam possessed the look of someone who had been thrown headfirst into the harsh reality of the world; while Harry's world had always been harsh, there had of course been a breaking point where he just thought 'really? This is how things are going to be?'

He curled the pillow further around his head.

There would have been so many positives if this whole mess had never happened in the first place. The most obvious one? John wouldn't have died. Sure, it would have happened eventually, whether from a hunt, a disease, or god forbid from old age, but it wouldn't have happened now. More importantly, it wouldn't have involved Harry. Not being associated with their father's death would have meant that Harry's first meeting with Dean in-person wouldn't have involved him being punched in the face. That would also have been nice to avoid, although he did ask for it. Then there was Sam. Bloody Sam. Mister tall and sorrowful. Harry's whole being ached when he was around the guy, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

So then, he decided, sitting up suddenly and listening absently as the pillow was sent tumbling to the floor. He would go to the funeral, say a quick farewell, then high-tail it out of Memphis.

It sounded like a good plan. In theory.

All too soon it was funeral day, and Harry was on the verge of attempting a rather Oliver Woods style stunt and trying to drown himself in the shower. But that was childish, and Harry was above such things now... Mostly. Still, it would be a very apt reason for missing the funeral: "Hey, sorry I couldn't make it, I was in hospital recovering from a partial drowning."

He was still all over the place, but he was trying to be resolute about his plan of action.

Yesterday he'd gone digging through a tiny magical pouch of family heirlooms and such that he'd scavenged from his vaults and kept on his person at all times, trying to find some token to offer. Sitting in the room, far away from his hectic shower, was a simple badge. Harry didn't know what it was for, but it had his family crest on it – and didn't everything? – and he wanted, as stupid as it might sound, to acknowledge that, in some crazy way, John had been important to the last Potter.

If his suspicions were correct, it was only going to get burned, but there was hardly anything else he was going to use it for. And maybe it would somehow find its way to John down in Hell, and he could use it to find Death Eaters.

Harry let out a strangled laugh, spluttering as he practically inhaled some of the water that sprayed down on him.

His phone beeped loudly at him from the bed, and Harry grimaced, reluctantly turning off the shower and stepping out of the awkward cubicle, wrapping a towel around his waist as he went. That was his 'get the fuck out of the shower or you're going to end up late' alarm. He'd set it specially, since he was in such an avoidant mood.

He dressed quickly, throwing on one of his tidier pairs of jeans and a button-up shirt in a presentable-casual sort of fashion, knowing better than to rock up in a suit – not that he owned one. His hair received some rough treatment from the towel, leaving it somewhat damp but not dripping, and sitting just a tiny bit flatter than usual as the remaining moisture weighed it down. The things he'd brought with him had already been chucked back in his car, and all he had left to do was check out of the hotel before he could leave.

He didn't ever plan on coming back.

The badge was slipped into his pocket along with his wallet, and then he was gone.

Despite his almost desperate desire to get lost, Harry actually arrived before the Winchesters. He wasn't a tardy person by nature, but he wouldn't have minded so much if he'd been late to this. It was easy to see that they had been there before, making preparations, because there was a large funeral pyre waiting for them. Burn the body. It was a hunter thing. Harry didn't find that his own funeral preferences warranted thinking about.

"At least it isn't raining," he muttered to himself as he climbed out of his car, taking measured steps towards the wooden construct. In a morbid way it could almost be considered beautiful, he supposed, though he'd never been the sort to find beauty in construction.

He wasn't alone for long. Right on time – surprisingly – the Winchesters pulled up in a rental car – as the story went, Dean's car was completely totalled in the crash. Of course, Dean didn't look all that pleased to see him, but Harry had been expecting that. He wasn't all that pleased to see Dean either. Sam, on the other hand, looked almost relieved to see him. Harry wasn't in the right frame of mind to wonder why that might have been.

They quickly set to work completing the pyre, dousing everything in gasoline as they went. Once they were done Dean stood next to it, impatiently flicking a lighter on and off, while Sam sent a questioning look at Harry. Realising it was time, Harry dug around in his pocket for the badge, simply holding it in his palm for a while, before walking over and placing it on John's folded hands. It was an odd experience for Harry; John was the first peaceful-looking dead body he had ever seen. Wizarding deaths were brutal in war-time. Peaceful deaths were a myth.

Stepping back he nodded at Sam, which Dean took as his cue to set the pyre alight. Harry watched in twisted fascination as the gold slowly heated, began to bubble, and then melted as the flames grew higher and stronger. Briefly his thoughts were drawn to Seamus, a boy with a certain proclivity for fire and explosions, as he watched the flames. Silly really, to think on a classmate of years past while at the funeral of someone else. But Harry wasn't good with death, not like everyone thought he was. He... processed things differently, in regards to that particular fact of life. As a coping mechanism, he supposed, he distanced himself from death. His own death truly meant nothing to him – it would be a relief even – but other people didn't deserve to die.

Voldemort came to mind and he quickly altered his thought.

Most people didn't deserve to die.

He didn't even realise it was over until Sam nudged him rather frantically – it mustn't have been the first time; Harry hadn't noticed he was so lost in thought, since he was usually very physically aware.

"You okay?" came the inevitable question. And Harry's answer actually surprised himself.

"Yeah."

And in a way, he was. The whole issue would never be okay, but he was. It was as though the fire had burned away all of his anxiety and grief and fear and whatever the hell else had been going on inside his head. Perhaps there were positives to hunter funerals after all. Maybe everyone should be heralded to the next life via flame.

"What did you give him?" Sam hedged, trying for a conversation of sorts before they went their separate ways.

Harry smiled softly with tired eyes.

"A thank you."

And in a way, it was.

Half-turning to face the hulking figure of Sam Winchester Harry simply stared for a moment. The stare meant everything and yet nothing, and before Sam had a chance to become uncomfortable Harry had blinked and decided to continue on a vein of thought aloud.

"If you ever need someone to talk to, you know, that isn't as..." Harry struggled to find a nicer way of saying what he meant, but failed, "irritable and prone to anger and quick judgements, as Dean, then I'm just a phone call away. If you want. Uh..." As he continued on Harry's courage fled and he stammered and flushed slightly in embarrassment. It was a silly notion, Sam was hardly going to-

"Thanks man. It might be nice to be able to talk about this shit to someone younger than Bobby, you know?"

"No problem." And Harry was very proud to note that he managed not to sound too eager, although he didn't know why he was even feeling eager in the first place, which would have made the whole thing incredibly awkward. Well, more awkward than it already was.

"See you around."

And just like that, the Winchesters were gone.

Harry almost felt like saying 'Good riddance', but really now, that was just tempting Fate, and he was never sure which way the scales would fall.