Harry Potter, Supernatural Crossover.

EWE, CanonCompliant Up to Lazarus Rising, Through Book 7

Rated T

No Pairings

Summary: Harry Black: Master of Death, called upon by the angels to assist in raising Dean Winchester from Hell.

Author: Bewilder'd

Red. Blood—bone. Pain. His, someone else's. It didn't matter. He didn't care. Pain was all there was. Red. Blood—bone. Pain.

Darkness.

Darkness? Dean smelled—he smelled dirt, and wood. Two things he hadn't smelled in—in so long now, he was surprised he remembered what they were called. He fumbled, hoping, and was again surprised—there was a lighter. He flicked it, flicked it again, and there was flame. His mind flashed back to red and pain, but he forced himself to practicality.

He was in a box. His breath came faster, and faster—why a box? What fresh hell—pardon the pun—was this?

He yelled—tried to yell—"help" but only a hoarse mockery of the word came out. He pushed—pushed up on the lid of the box, and the dirt came rushing through, falling in on him, collapsing. His hand broke the surface, and he could feel a different sort of heat touching his skin—a heat that felt gentle, for once, instead of sharp and biting and hateful.

The rest of him followed his hand, and he breathed, finally, fresh air. Air that didn't smell of blood, but of grass and sky.

Where was he?

He stood, and looked. The entire field surrounding his grave—and he would have to talk to Sammy about that—looked as though it had been nuked.

…..harrypottersupernatural….

Dr and Mrs Connor of number 8 Gardenia Lane were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Their lawn was mowed once a week, their plants watered and weeded, their house clean and sparkling and just like one might see in a magazine. They had a cat and a small dog, who took pride in fetching the newspaper to them every morning. It was a perfect lifestyle.

Of course, their neighbors—enough to make any suburban family just shudder. At first they had been excited at the prospect of British neighbors. Though they were foreign, British people were supposed to be just oh-so-polite. But these! That boy, who couldn't be more than thirteen years old at the very most, had bright blue hair. Blue. What father allowed his son to dye his hair blue?

And the father. He must have been very young at the time that his son was born. He could claim good genes, but even good genes couldn't keep a thirty three year old man looking as though he were twenty two all his life. And they never saw him working, or going to work, or doing anything of the sort. And he kept an owl for a pet. What a family, the Blacks.

Dr and Mrs Connor just shook their heads and ducked away from greeting the Blacks on the street, avoiding them at all costs whenever they could. It was better to just not associate with them at all, except, of course, when the little blue haired kid came over to mow their lawn once a week for five dollars.

So when a knock on the door sounded late one day—the 18th of September, Mr Connor remembered it vividly—and he opened the door to someone he usually never saw except for maybe once a week, he was shocked into silence.

"Dr Connor!" the younger one—Teddy—greeted. "My dad—he just fell—he won't wake up, Dr Connor. I need your help! Please, will you help me?"

Dr Connor just blinked, his mouth gaping a little. He slowly nodded, realizing that his wife was out for cards with her sister and friends, so she wouldn't have to know.

"Thank you," Teddy said, desperation fading a little from his voice now he had help. He took off across the street, fluffy blue hair bouncing on his head with each step before Dr Connor could even take three. He left the door open for the adult to follow through, going immediately to the living room off the hallway, where the older Black was sprawled haphazardly on the couch. He was half falling off, and it looked as though Teddy had tried to get him as much onto the cushions as he could, but a panicking tenten year old wasn't going to manage much, even if the adult wasn't a large one.

Dr Connor turned to the ten year old. "Why didn't you just call 9-1-1?"

"Dad doesn't like hospitals, he'd prefer not to go, but he's been like this for three hours," Teddy said. "I just—I'd rather ask you. Can't you help him, Dr Connor?"

Dr Connor sighed, but nodded, and took the vital signs of their strange neighbor. He seemed fine—except that he was unconscious. "Has he ever had episodes like this before, Teddy?"

The boy shook his blue head. "He's fazed out a few times, but nothing like this. And there's an explanation for those—and maybe for this too, I just can't think of why it would be going on this long."

Dr Connor bent over the man again, wondering—he hoped the man didn't have a brain tumor or something. Maybe it was a rare form of epilepsy. Suddenly, the elder Black shot up, hitting Dr Connor in his forehead with his own, sending both reeling backward with hands pressed to now aching skulls.

"Ow," Black said, as though surprised. He stared at Dr Connor with bright green eyes, unlined despite whatever age he was, and blinked at him. "What are you doing here, Adam?" he asked, rubbing at the red mark forming over the strange scar under his bangs.

"Your kid said you passed out about three hours ago, wanted to know if you were going to be alright," Dr Connor said, straightening and standing. His work here was done, now that Black had woken up. "I see that you're alright now, so I'm going." He nodded sharply. "Good bye."

Black frowned. "Yes, I'm fine now. Sorry about that, I wish I'd been able to warn Teddy—that was nothing unusual. But this will be the last we'll see of you and Hannah, Adam. Teddy and I will be moving soon."

"Oh," Dr Connor said, surprised, and not trying to hide that he was slightly pleased at the news. Though he would have to find someone new to mow the lawn when his wife was at work. "Good luck then."

"We're leaving?" Teddy asked, frowning at his father. "Why?"

"Hush, love, I'll explain," Black said quietly, eyes darting to the doctor. Dr Connor shrugged—he didn't care. "Thanks again, Adam. Good bye."

Dr Connor saw himself out.

…..harrypottersupernatural….

Teddy immediately turned to him after the muggle had left. "Why are we leaving?" he demanded.

Harry grinned. "No, 'are you okay?' I did just spend the last three hours on an alternate plane of existence without any sort of preparation, and no warning."

"No. You're making me move, and I just got settled in!" Teddy protested, crossing his arms. His hair mulishly turned the same brown as his father's had once been—he knew that it played on his adoptive dad's guilt, and he used that as much as he could.

Harry huffed. "Teddy, you don't even go to a muggle school. You're home-schooled. We Floo to visit the family, take portkeys. The only people we really know are Adam and Hannah Connor, and they hate us. You mow their lawn, and that's about it."

Teddy frowned and scuffed his foot. "I like the house." He perked up for a moment. "Where are we going?"

"South Dakota," Harry told him, smiling when he realized the fight was mostly over.

"Isn't that the place with the faces in the mountains?" Teddy asked, thinking a moment.

"There's also a place called the Badlands," Harry asked, knowing the name would perk the interest of a ten year old. "I might take you to visit if you're good and don't show any magic around our new neighbors—they might get jumpy."

"Jumpy how?" Teddy asked, amber eyes narrowing. They were the only things the metamorphamagus ever had trouble changing anymore, one remnant of his werewolf genetics.

"Hunter jumpy," Harry admitted. It wouldn't be their first experience with hunters, not in the least. America, it seemed, had run wild with magic, which had corrupted vampires and werewolves and a few other magical creatures which were generally less harmful. Others were already like that, and worsened by the wild magic, and then there were the demons besides. Aurors tended to take care of those in England and a few other European countries, but Harry and his son had been quick to realize that there was no such force in America. Only muggle hunters—muggle hunters who hadn't heard of a born-witch or -wizard, which meant that his kind had done a remarkable job of hiding from them, he had to say.

"Great," Teddy grumbled. He wrinkled his nose a bit, and his hair shifted to a messy black, his nose and some of his face shape to match Harry's, and his eye shape changed to almond. Amber still shone from beneath black lashes, but he could be Harry's son genetically this way. "Black is so boring."

Harry laughed and mussed his hair. "Pack up, kiddo. We're leaving tomorrow—a friend of mine is already getting us set up with a house."