Author's Note: Okay, so I have a confession to make. Almost all of my Supernatural knowledge comes from my sister who is addicted, and I only watch it when I am curious about a specific part of the plot. That's not to say I don't enjoy it, I do. I just have a very vivid imagination that doesn't cope well with monster movies. So, it's understandable that I make mistakes every now and again. I was watching one of the episodes last night when I noticed that a banner in the back dated the episode as happening in 2008. This is a problem because it takes place earlier in the series than me story, which takes place in 2006. Oops. So, bearing that in mind, I've already written and posted enough of this story that I refuse to go back and change the entire story line so, we're going to stretch our imaginations a bit further and pretend I didn't see that, and that these dates actually work. 'Kay! Thank you!

Also, someone asked me when Sam and Dean met Death. Honest answer, I don't know. I asked the fount of all my Supernatural Knowledge what she knew about Death in the series, ('cause I know he's there) and she said that late in the 5th season he starts toying with the brothers and takes a real liking to Dean. She also mentioned that the admiration is completely one way.

Thank you also for all of the wonderificous reviews. You guys are awesome and you really make my day! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! And thank you for all of the song suggestions. I've had a great time with them. Also, I appologize for my blunders.

Chapter Three

Sam yelled as Bobby yelled over the phone. "Look," he sighed when the older hunter paused for a breath, "any hunter can take the salt and burn. Hell, if Dean asks nice Cas might even take care of it for us. This other job is gonna be ugly."

"Then why the hell aren't you asking for help ya idjit?" Bobby demanded angrily.

"Because Azreal is helping us." The younger Winchester winced.

"What?" Across from him, Dean winced in the driver's seat. "Ya damn idjit! Did you even stop to ask why the Angel of Death agreed to help you? What does he get outta this?"

"Yeah, Bobby. We aren't that dumb."

"Yes you are." The older man growled. "You won't even tell me what this job is."

"We think it's a smash and grab."

"You think? Coulda fooled me!" Booby growled irritably. "You two are gonna get yourselves killed with your thinking!"

Beside him, Dean gestured for Sam to give him the phone. Sam rolled his eyes and gave his brother the phone. "Bobby, its Dean." He said curtly. "Instead of yelling at Sam, maybe you could do something useful?"

"What?"

"What could a demon steal from an angel to use as blackmail?" The older Winchester asked coldly. "Because whatever we're looking for Lilith stole it to hold against Az."

Bobby was quiet for a few seconds. "I'll look into it." He finally rumbled. "And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever do anything this stupid again?" Then the phone went dead.

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Bobby stared at the ancient manuscript. It was impossible, but it was the only thing that could possibly interest the Angel of Death to the point of desperation. Say plague or famine and you had his attention; war was equally appealing; the word massacre had his giddy as a school girl. But to offer him a soul that had eluded him for God knew how many years, no wonder the angel was willing to help.

Three items created by Death that could either kill you or make you immortal, items that could even do the impossible and reclaim a soul the angel had already taken.

The older hunter frowned at the thought. "Damn idjits are gonna get themselves killed bringin' back John." He growled suddenly. "No wonder the Angel of Death wants their help. He gets three souls for the price of one."

Carefully he began to reread the ancient legend looking for any other traps hidden in it. When he couldn't find any he pulled out his phone and began dialing. "Pick up, ya idjits." He grunted.

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Azreal was waiting for them when they got off of the elevator. "I don't suppose you know exactly which apartment we're looking for?" Dean frowned.

"2364 is the fourth door on the left." Azreal said softly, cautious hope in his eyes.

"I take it you've been here before?" Sam said watching the angel. He merely nodded stiffly and began to move off down the hall.

The door he stopped in front of was a nondescript wooden door that they might have found anywhere else in the city. The only odd thing was the way Azreal was carefully avoiding contact with the knob.

"This it?" Dean asked casually. The angel nodded. "Right." He said. "This is what we do. Me and Sam are going inside. I'll look for angel boy's stuff. Sam, you watch my back. Azreal, you stay out here and keep a look out."

"That won't work." Azreal growled.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"Because inside that apartment it's July thirtieth of 2000. If I'm out here screaming in 2006 you won't have heard in in 2000."

"Then just stand here and look pretty." Dean snapped. "You're not coming in."

"My so-" Azreal stopped abruptly, took a deep breath, then said more calmly, "something very important is in that apartment. If something goes wrong I don't want anyone to be hurt."

The two brothers stared at the angel with darkly mistrusting eyes. "Something?" Sam asked softly. "Or someone?"

Azreal glared at them both. "I must go with you. He knows me."

"And who is 'he'?" Dean asked. The angel just stared back stoically at the two hunters. "He's your son, isn't he?" The older brother demanded. "That's why you're so desperate to get him out. He's your kid."

"No." Azreal denied. "His father was human, so was his mother. He doesn't know what I am."

"Then what does he mean to you?" Sam asked. "Why is he so important? Who is he?"

The Angel of Death snarled at the end of his patience. "Harry is important! That's all you need to know! He's important, and he's been trapped in that apartment for six years, and he's in danger!"

"Fine." Dean snapped. "We'll get him out, but then we want answers."

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The apartment was dark as though whoever lived there hadn't bothered to turn on the lights or even get up. The two hunters glanced at each other before moving further into the room. Behind them the angel watched through the open door, a compromise that neither party was happy with. "Dean." Sam said softly. "Look at your watch."

The elder Winchester glanced down and frowned at the frozen hands of the time piece. "Guess Az was right about time not working right in here." He nodded.

Cautiously they moved further into the apartment, passing through the kitchen and into the darkened bedroom. The morning sun peeked through the open blinds offering a little light. "Harry?" Dean called. "Harry Potter, are you in here?"

"Yes." The dull reply was soft and hoarse. "Who are you?"

"My name is Dean, and this is my baby brother, Sam." He answered, peering into the gloom in search of the speaker.

"Did Lilith send you?" Harry's disembodied voice asked calmly.

"Lilith is dead." Sam said firmly. "We… I killed her two years ago."

"Oh." The apathetic voice replied. "What day is it?"

"Friday." Dean answered.

"No, not the day of the week. What day? What month? What year? How long have I been here?"

"October." Sam answered slowly. "October thirteenth, 2oo6."

For several moments the apartment was as still as the grave. Then the voice spoke again. "Two thousand, two hundred and sixty six days. I should be twenty three." He said longingly. Then his voice turned cold. "How did you get here if you killed Lilith?"

Dean shrugged. "We stole the key from a demon called Crowley. Then when an acquaintance realized we had it he asked us to get you out."

"An acquaintance?"

"An angel." Sam answered. "Named Azreal."

"He's an angel?" Harry's voice seemed mildly amused.

"Yeah." Dean sighed. "He's the Angel of Death."

Harry's laughter seemed to fill the empty room with bitterness. "Now I know you're lying." He hissed. "Why would the Angel of Death be willing to free me?"

The two brothers glanced warily at each other before Sam spoke. "You don't know?" He asked cautiously.

"Know what?" The suspicious voice asked.

"Um, we think he might kind of be your dad."

For a moment the dark room was silent. "My father was James Potter, and even the people who admired him the most would never dream of accusing him of an angelic nature. Besides, my father's dead."

"Then you tell us." Dean growled. "Why does the Angel of Death care so much about you?"

"Maybe because I have something that belongs to him." The shrug in his voice was unmistakable. "He can't have my cloak, but I never wanted the others."

"The other what?" Sam frowned.

When the boy didn't answer Dean coughed softly. "Maybe we could turn on some lights?" He suggested cheerfully. "It's a bit weird talking to someone I can't see."

Harry sighed. "Help yourself. The switch is by the door." He said. "Fat lot of good it will do you though."

"What do you mean?" The younger brother asked as his sibling stumbled toward the light switch.

The lights flickered on to reveal an empty room. "I have no intention of letting anyone hurt me again." The voice said from quite close by. "If you can't see me, you can't find me to hurt me."

"How can we get you to trust us?" Dean frowned.

"Let me go." Harry's voice was barely audible. "Let me out of this damn apartment. Let me bury my dead. Let me wake up tomorrow and be eighteen!"