The next day had been one of the best most people in that house could remember. There were meetings that needed scheduled, problems to be solved, things that needed taken care of. But nobody cared. Waking late as the morning sun was blazing, everyone in that house was fully determined to fill the day with nothing and feel all the better for it.

Mrs. Weasleys kept the kettle full of strong coffee and people spent hours talking and laughing. Visitors popped in and out of the house throughout the day. Some stayed to talk, like McGonagall, and others just checked in or said hello. At some point Harry and Ginny disappeared for a few hours and when they returned, Dean noticed, smiling to himself, that Harry's shirt wasn't buttoned properly.

Needing fresh air, the teens drug their guests up to the field they used as a Quidditch pitch. Not over eager to get back on a broom, Dean had balked at the suggestion. But after enough teasing and taunting, he had caved figuring between Hermione and Cas, hopefully someone could fix him up when he fell.

Both the brothers enjoyed the very different feeling of a broom when not fleeing for their lives from unstoppable cursed fire. Still not entirely comfortable with it, they spent a great deal of time just hovering around watching others play. George had trudged out to the pitch with them, only because they had practically carried him. Once in the air, a lightness seemed to leak into his heart. Still not smiling or talking much, he at least moved more and seemed focused on the world around him.

Dean quickly learned that Harry was quite a Quidditch player. He watched the black haired boy spin and twirl and speed around with such grace that, despite his deep fear of heights, he found himself going just a little faster and just a little higher.

Sam overcame the learning curve much faster than his brother and before they trudged, sweaty and smiling back to the house, he had managed a passing drill with the siblings without falling to his death.

After nearly a week in the Burrow, the world started to move again, pulling them back into the everyday. Wanting to stay in this warm home that had welcomed them in, Sam and Dean were reluctant to remember Kevin and all the work they had waiting for them back at the bunker. Finally, they announced at dinner, chowder with all kinds of goodness simmered in, that they would be leaving the next day. After the protests and rebuttals, this decision was accepted and they spent that last night much the same way they had spent every other night; talking, sipping cups, and playing games, living a little slice of normal, well at least happy life.

Accounting for the time difference, it wasn't until lunch that the brothers cleaned up their areas and made preparations to leave. Just as in the bunker, hugs and handshakes, fist bumps and goodbyes were passed around between these muggle brothers, the angel, and the witches and wizards that had taken them in. Cas reached out to rest his hand on Dean's shoulder while Sam had his hand on his brother's shoulder. With a soft flutter they disappeared from the brightly lit lawn of the Burrow and appeared in the cold atrium of the bunker. These walls that had felt so much like home not a month ago seemed a little colder for the lack of any red hair running around.

As they sighed deeply, preparing to dig back into the hunt on how to close the gates of hell, the heavy metal door at the top of the bunker slammed open and the trio plus one walked in grinning.

The sound had scared the three just returning home so they whipped around to face the door, guns drawn. Eyes wide, they froze in that position as the newcomers faltered a moment before continuing. As the door closed, the boys snapped to their senses and stowed the weapons.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, confused.

"Helping you all of course," Ron said casually.

"But your family..." Dean started.

"Is just fine," Ron finished.

"But you guys just..." Sam tried.

"Finished our mission, with your help I might add," Harry said happily.

"We can't ask you..." Dean gave it one more go.

"You didn't. And we aren't asking permission. You are hunting for clues on how to solve a mystery right? We have some experience in that area," Hermione shut the oldest brother up, mimicking the same speech Sam had used against them.

And just as it had comforted, and slightly terrified the trio, the brothers enjoyed the idea of fighting this battle next to friends... no, family.

Smiling, resigned to losing this argument, Dean rested his eyes on the extra person; the thin, pale girl with long red hair and deep brown eyes. He knew how much Harry cared for this girl, Ginny. And his gut twisted painfully at the thought of throwing her waist deep into this chaos. She looked back up at the brother; in his short stay at the burrow she had become fond of him. Perhaps it was the devil-may-care attitude he had, much like Bill, or the tangible excitement he showed at challenges, like Charlie, or his humor of a five year old, like the twins. She already knew the thoughts behind those dark green eyes.

"Don't worry, Dean. I'm not staying. Harry just wanted to show me where it was - in case..." and her cheeks flushed as her voice tapered off. Relief settled over the brothers as they smiled and nodded.

"I think I'll strip down the apparation singeing spell - just in case," Hermione said, eyes full of mischief.

Weeks passed in the bunker, with the inhabitants falling into that same comfortable routine. Sam and Dean worked a few intermittent jobs to keep sane. Sometimes Cas or Harry or Ron or Hermione, or a mix of the latter tagged along.

On a morning they were all in the bunker, seated for another breakfast, courtesy of Dean, Kevin came sprinting in.

"Ifoundthenexttrial," he sputtered without breathing. Everyone around the table looked up at him alarm, hands freezing halfway between plates and open mouths.

"Whoa, Kev, man. Slow down," Dean said, standing slowly. Kevin took a few deep breaths; clearly he had run all the way from the study he worked in.

"I...found... the next trial," he said slowly and the atmosphere in the room changed in a moment; electric tension sparking. No one spoke.

"An innocent soul has to be rescued from Hell and delivered unto Heaven," and still no one spoke.

"Rescue a soul from Hell? Like actually... Go to Hell? How - how do you get a soul unto Heaven? I mean, how do you even get a soul out of Hell?" Sam spoke the thoughts filling every mind.

"We're gonna need an expert," Dean looked at his brother darkly.

Hours later, the brothers, Cas and the trio stood on a long stretch of abandoned dirt road right where it intersected with an old gravel road. Dean rose from his stooped position after covering the earth back over a curiously filled Altoids container. While driving in the Impala the brothers had explained they were going to summon a demon; a crossroads demon. The trio had been very quiet.

They stood in the bright afternoon sunlight, squinting around the emptiness, waiting. Suddenly, a short black man with shaved hair appeared out of nowhere.

"Winchesters," he spat as his eyes flashed red. Ron took a step back at the sight. "And friends," he added, eyeing the teens.

"What happened to the hot chicks?" Dean smirked.

"I'm out of here," the demon said, turning to leave.

"Maybe not," Sam said smiling. Looking down, the demon recognized the huge red Devil's Trap spray painted on the gravel road. Rolling his eyes, the demon grimaced as the brothers smiled.

Not far from the crossroads there was a huge old abandoned factory set way off the road. Dean frowned as he watched the kids step out of the car to follow them.

"Guys maybe you should..."

"Dean, we aren't sitting in the car like kids," Ron huffed.

"I'm not tryin to call you kids. It's just this form of... conversation might be unpleasant," and Dean couldn't help it when his eyes flicked to Hermione. She was almost back to normal after her night with Bellatrix. But scraping noises and screams still set her to shaking; an after effect from long exposure to the curses she was tortured with, according to the matronly Miss Pomfrey.

"I'm fine," she said with as much strength as she could muster, hand already in the angels as the two were nearly inseparable.

After wrestling the demon into the rune lined trunk, the brothers hauled him in enchanted chains into the building and set to work.

"I ain't got nothing," the creature spat and Dean paced behind him, face stern and dumped more of the holy water from his flask on the demon. His skin sizzled and he screamed like it was hot oil. Sam could see how white Hermione was and he was eager to move this interrogation along.

"You know, wouldn't it be a lot easier just to tell us how to enter Hell, uh, uninvited?"

"It's... a secret," the tied up man murmured, stalling for time.

"We promise we won't tell anyone," Dean smiled darkly. At the stoic silence of the monster, Dean set the flask down and suddenly an old blade with weird markings on the side was in his hands. Fear lit up the demon's eyes.

"No! Wait. I can't. It's forbidden, man..." Dean took another step towards the chair as Sam splashed more holy water on him."Ahhh! Please... All right, look... For a price, y'all can be smuggled across Hell's border," he broke, panting.

"By who?" Dean growled.

"Rogue reapers. They got secret ways, in and out. Not just Hell - the Veil, Heaven," the demon divulged.

"Rogue reapers smuggling people?" Sam said concerned.

"People, souls..."

"So, what? They're like hell coyotes?" Sam questioned further.

The demon didn't respond as he looked up at the brothers.

"Now kill me. Come on, man. Better death than Crowley," he pleaded.

"Good point. But first you're gonna tell us... everything," Dean purred as he flicked the blade across the demon's skin.

It was a long quiet drive back to the bunker. Sam and Dean had coaxed enough information out of the demon to form a plan; before they had plunged that ancient knife into him. They were going to track down one of these rogue reapers and slip into hell to spring a soul unto heaven.

Not planning to start till the next night, they ambled out of the car walking back into the bunker. The heaviness and darkness of Dean's heart pushed him to stroll to the high cabinet after everyone else had shuffled off to bed. Pulling a tall bottle of amber liquid, half empty, down, he braced his arms on the counter, thinking about the day.

Working a demon, heck, working anything over had never bothered him. Not before hell. After his stint there, he played the same record over and over in his mind. It's a monster. It's not human. It's not the same…

But no matter how you shook it, that thing was in a meat suit with a soul. And when that demon died, so did the soul. Dean always comforted himself by saying he was sure they had "gone to a better place". But after his experience with heaven and its host, that wasn't as helpful as it had once been.

He splashed the drink into a short glass, downing it quickly. Again and again he filled and drained the glass. It was when he lost count that he heard footsteps behind him and whipped around to see Harry walking into the kitchen. For some reason, Dean slid the bottle behind him, but he wasn't fooling anyone.

"Hey man, you alright?" Harry asked, concern all over his face.

"Yeah, great. Why?" Dean asked with forced chipper.

"Well, that wasn't really a beach vacation," Harry joked, trying to talk about the heavy subject in a way that hurt less.

"All part of the job," Dean recited the same line he had used a thousand times.

"Yeah... what we will do to get things done," Harry mumbled darkly and Dean wondered what kind of skeletons lay in this boy's closet. They didn't speak for a long, heavy moment.

"She's okay, you know," and Dean knew he was talking about Hermione. He shifted self-consciously, the young man getting just a little too close to what was killing Dean.

"She understands why. She knows it's important," Harry continued. Dean looked down at his hands, just the slightest bit of blood still smeared into the deep cracks of his knuckles. And his will broke.

"All I could see was that twisted witch carving up Hermione as I worked on him. Every time he screamed and yelled, I heard her. I know it sounds stupid… I couldn't help but see how much I had in common with someone she hates," Dean prattled off, just a little tipsy. Harry sat thoughtfully for a long moment.

"Hermione doesn't hate Bellatrix," and Dean looked up at him, "She might have at one point but I think that it ate Hermione up. She pities her and the damage that she did to herself - to be in such a dark place. And Dean - I don't think that Hermione sees any similarities between you and her. She tortured Hermione for evil purposes… and for pleasure in a sadistic way..." Harry finished.

Dean knew he was trying to make him feel better, but that rock in his gut just got heavier. Because deep down, there was a little part of him that Dean kept chained and caged that enjoyed it too. And that made him feel all the worse.