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Part 3

Sam could take his 'faith' and shove it where it sun don't shine. Dean hated waiting, he hated this place, he hated this game and all Sam wanted to do was sit around and do nothing. He thought Loki was telling the truth about sending them here, and okay so the kid did look like Harry Potter, but he wasn't buying the alternate reality crap. So the guy could grow a few pairs of wings, he could make tables and vases and all the fancy stuff in the world appear out of thin air. But the dude was still a supernatural creature and in their line of work, supernatural creatures tend to lie. He tried calling Bobby the next day. Just as Sam said, the number didn't exist. Fuck this shit. Seriously.

He saw it coming a mile away before Sam said, "I told you, Dean."

"Piss off, Sam," Dean muttered and contemplated trashing his cell phone. What good would it do for him now? He tucked it back in his pants after a moment though. Wouldn't do him much good in the long run but hey, that cell had been with him for years, braved all sorts of crap–it'd be like killing off a dog just because it'd looked at you the wrong way and that was just…sick. Dean was just a nostalgic guy he supposed.

"Where do you think Harry is?" Sam asked after a while.

Dean shrugged and checked his watch, though it didn't do a whole lot of good. Stupid thing froze after the encounter with the trickster. Dean frowned and fiddled with the watch. Some habits were just too damn hard to break. "Probably having some whacked up family meeting," Dean said.

Sam let out a sigh, drawing his brother's attention. "Dean, you ever miss Mom?"

Well, hello, where the hell did that come from? Dean blinked. "Every damn day," he said startling himself with actually answering.

Sam smiled, looking slightly wistful. Dean wondered if this was how Sam looked at Stanford when his friends shared all kinds of family memories. Sam must've felt like an outsider in those kinds of conversations. "Yeah? Me too. I mean, obviously, not like you do. I don't remember her. But I miss the thought of her."

They didn't say anything else to each other. Harry stepped in cautiously a few hours into the evening. He looked around and noticed them still sitting where he'd left them the previous day. Judging by his wide eyes and gape, the kid probably thought he'd dreamed of Dean and Sam. Dean shot the kid his best 'screw you, I'm still here' grin.

"Uh," Harry started as he stepped in and closed the door quickly. He pressed his body to the door, physically blocking any unwelcomed attempts to come inside without the owner's permission. "You guys weren't a dream," he said dazedly. "I just…I thought…"

"You thought wrong," Dean shot back, feeling slightly immature for arguing back to a ten year old. Jesus.

The look Sam sent him showed him exactly what his younger brother thought of him. Well fuck Sam too. Yeah, okay, so Dean wasn't exactly the mature one. Dean liked to think he just had more of an inner child than Sam.

"Dean, shut up," Sam hissed.

Oh come on. Just whose side was Sam on here? Sam was Dean's brother. And brothers were supposed to stick together damn it.

Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, when Sam's hand shot out like lightning to clamp over Dean's mouth, effectively shutting him up. "Mmph!" He protested, hands coming up to shove Sam off him.

Sam's grip tightened and he said, "Seriously. Shut up and listen for a sec."

Dean stopped and glowered, only because he knew Sam wasn't going to let go if he didn't feel like it. Harry was staring at them like they'd lost their marbles. Then Dean heard it. Muffled by the door came a faint thud, thud, thud. Like someone was walking down the hall. It was getting louder the closer the person came.

"Oh fuck," Dean tried to say through his brother's hand.

"Yeah," Sam replied and this time, he let Dean go, watching as he stumbled and barely caught himself in time before he fell on the bed.

"Ow, jeez, Sam," he snapped at his brother.

"Shhh," Harry hissed suddenly. He looked desperately at them. "My uncle's coming. Can't you guys…go away or something? Just while he's here because if he sees you…"

Dean and Sam exchanged worried looks. This could be bad. They still didn't know how to fly and Loki didn't mention any other 'angelic' powers so Dean assumed they didn't have anything else. He looked around the room but there was really nowhere for them to go. Except…

The doorknob suddenly jiggled and Dean realized it was now or never. He looked toward his brother and nudged his chin to the bed. Under the bed to be more precise. Sam stared at him for a long second, like Dean had completely lost it. "Sam, come on," Dean hissed, grabbing Sam's arm.

"We can't fit down there," Sam said.

Dean shot a look toward Harry and the door. The doorknob jiggled some more and someone was shouting from behind it, "Open this bloody door, Harry, or I swear I'll–"

"You'll bloody what? Move me into another closet?" Harry shouted back.

"Open the door now, Harry!"

"No!"

"Come on," Dean said and dived for the bed.

It was the goddamn stupidest thing he'd ever suggested and done. The bed was kid sized for one. And the blasted wings caught as he crawled underneath it. "Damn trickster," Dean muttered, scowling at a dust particle as he stopped and had to push his wings down. Somehow they both managed to fit. Just barely. It was really cramped down here with Sam, the big Sasquatch. Times like this he kind of wished he had a normal sized brother. What the hell did Sam eat when he was at Stanford?

"Dean, ow, you're on my elbow," Sam complained quietly to him.

Oh so that was what that was. Grunting Dean rolled off him but then Sam's hand came up and smacked him right in the fucking face. "Christ, Sam."

"Sorry," Sam mumbled.

"Whatever, bitch," Dean said and tuned his brother out to finally listen to what was happening in the room.

"What was that?" Vernon's voice asked.

"What was what?" Harry's voice carried out.

"There was a…thump just now. Where was that coming from?"

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam muttered, "Shit." His brother and his damn long limbs. It was like living with his brother when he hit puberty and didn't have much control over his growing body.

"Control yourself, you moron," Dean murmured.

"Do you have a rat running around here or something we aren't aware of, boy?"

"No, Sir."

"Good." Vernon didn't sound too concerned or relieved but then again he was a jackass. He didn't give a rat's ass about Harry. Dean watched warily as the man came closer to the bed. Fuck, he thought when he suddenly realized what was going to happen. He didn't have time to warn Sam before the bed dipped under a new weight. Again this was the stupidest thing he'd ever suggested and he'd suggested some pretty stupid stuff in the past. Sam glowered at him from around the lump of the body between the brothers. Yeah he probably deserved that.

"Anyways I wanted to talk to you about the…letter you received today," the uncle said, his voice ringing louder than it ever should. Dean wished he'd just go away right about now.

"Uh, Sir, I don't think you should sit there."

Yeah, Harry, you tell him. Come on, listen to the man.

"I can sit wherever I want," Vernon said stiffly.

Dean snorted before he realized what he was doing. He clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening in shock, hoping he wasn't heard. Since when was the Winchester luck ever that good?

"What was that?" Vernon asked and the mattress bounced back to normal as the man got off. "Harry, did you hear that just now?"

Harry gave a nervous chuckle. Way to keep it cool and act natural, Dean thought sarcastically, as he pictured what Harry must have looked like up there. They were so screwed. "I don't know what you mean, Sir. I didn't hear anything…?"

Sam nudged him in the arm, giving him a look that said, 'dude this is so on you.' Yeah he deserved that.

"Don't play dumb with me, boy! You do have bloody mice in here, don't you? You're probably keeping them as pets," Vernon growled.

"No! There aren't any mice in here!"

"Then what in bloody hell are you hiding from me, boy?"

"Nothing! I swear!"

Dean held his breath as Vernon quieted at the last outburst. Was that it? Did Harry save them? Just as Dean felt himself relax, Vernon suddenly crouched down next to the bed and his hard gaze bore straight into Sam and Dean. Son of a bitch.

"What in the…"

Heart suddenly hammering, Dean acted on pure instinct. He grabbed his brother's arm and surged up, flinging up the bed like it was nothing. Up in the air, his wings spread out to their full capacity. He wasn't sure how he was doing this, but now wasn't the time to analyze anything. He let go of Sam and dropped to the floor on his feet. The door flew open on its own and Dean grabbed hold of Harry, knowing an escape when it was staring him right in the face. He rushed them out, just as Vernon came to grips with what was happening, chasing after them and roaring obscenities all the while.

"Get back here with my nephew!"

Dean glanced over his shoulder, a cheerful grin plastered on his face, as he said, "How about 'no way in hell you son of bitch'?"

When they got to the living room with the fireplace, Harry shot out of Dean's grip. "Harry, dude!" Exasperated, Dean followed after the kid. They were trying to make an escape here. Harry was digging around in the kitchen, obviously looking for something. Dean rolled his eyes as Sam suddenly appeared, peeking his head from the door.

"What are you guys doing? We have to go…"

"I know," Dean said.

"Just hang on a sec," Harry pleaded. "It has to be here somewhere."

"We don't have time," Sam stressed.

"Hang on," Harry snapped, sifting through a pile of…letters.

Dean groaned. They were running for their lives and Harry was looking for a stupid letter?

"HARRY!"

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

The damn uncle. Vernon finally caught up to them, his face red, panting like he'd just got finished running a marathon. Jesus but the guy sure was out of shape. "Harry, we have to go," Dean said.

Harry found the letter and sighed in relief. He adjusted his glasses and nodded. Relief flooded in Dean. "Finally," he muttered and turned to face Vernon. The wife and kid had come racing to see what the commotion was about. Dean felt a headache creeping up. He really hated the trickster. Grimacing, he said to Harry, "Close your eyes." And punched Vernon point blank in the face, knocking the man back.

Vernon dropped like a stone. The wife and son both gasped at the violence. Dean scowled at them, "Anyone else want a piece of this?"

No one said a word, stepping back to make room as Harry, Dean and Sam headed for the front door. Once they were outside, Dean grinned and said, "Easy, peasy, Sammy."

"Shut up," Sam said wearily.

"Whatever." Dean rolled his eyes and turned to the kid. Harry looked up at him in awe. At least he appreciated Dean. Maybe this angel gig wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. "What do you think, Harry?"

"That was…bloody amazing!"

"See, Sam? I'm bloody amazing."

"Don't let the hero worship go to your head."

Dean rolled his eyes again. "I never let it go to my head." Suddenly he recalled something and grinned, waggling his eyebrows to annoy his brother. "If I remember right, someone else used to act exactly like this."

Sam flushed. "Dude, shut up."

"Whatever. Where to now, Holmes?"

"Uh, the cottage I think."

"Okay, brainiac. Where's that?" Dean asked impatiently.

Harry looked between the brothers silently. "Um, that, I'm not too sure," Sam said, looking down at his feet.

"Great." At least they got Harry out. So far, though, Sam and Dean made pretty terrible guardian angels.

They were walking through the neighborhood for what seemed like ages now. Dean was pretty sure that pain in his leg was a fucking cramp. Since when did Winchesters get cramps? He worked out on a daily basis damn it. "Shit," he stopped and shook his leg, wishing the pain would just go the fuck away already.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Sam asked.

"Cramp, I think," Dean muttered, embarrassed as hell.

Harry looked worriedly at him. "Angels get cramps?"

"Apparently," Dean grumbled and gave up shaking it off. If his leg was going to be a bitch, fine. "Don't worry about it. Come on, we gotta keep going." They were almost out and then they could just catch a cab somewhere far away from the Dursleys. Their plan was to find a motel to hole up in while Harry waited for that one dude, Dean forgot his name, to come and whisk him off to some magical, far away land. Whatever.

"We have to play along as best we can, Dean," Sam had said.

Well…here they were, playing the game, letting the story play out with some minor altered details. It wasn't like it could be helped. Loki said to protect Harry at all cost. And if they'd left him there, that uncle of his would've continued to starve the kid and beat him up and the wife, that bitch, would've just stood back and let it happen. Even if Loki didn't tell them to protect Harry, Dean wasn't sure he would've been able to stomach the abuse and done nothing to try and stop it from happening. So if the fucker wasn't 'entertained' by this–sadistic freak that he was–because Sam and Dean had the audacity to be doing their job and tweaked a few things in the story, then he could just eat shit and die.

They finally caught a cab. The driver eyed Sam and Dean both suspiciously. Dean hunched low in his seat. Fucking wings. "It's uh," Dean said, not sure what to say.

Sam cut in with a rushed, "It's for cosplay, sir."

Dean shot him a 'what the ever living fuck' look. But whatever the hell that meant, the driver just nodded and Harry closed the door. The motel parking lot was, blissfully, empty. When they walked in, Dean could only imagine what they must look like to the manager. Two big guys with wings and a kid. Oh yeah, nothing going on there. Not at all.

Don't comment, you motherfucker, Dean thought.

The manager must've possessed the ability to read minds because all he asked was what kind of room they were looking for. Once they paid for a room with two queens, just someplace to hunker down for a day or two, Dean saw out of the corner of his eye, the man reaching for the phone.

Well, shit.