The Winchester Brothers and the Student of Hogwarts

By : Undoneangel

The black sixty-seven Impala sped down the dark, two lane highway in the dead of night. A heavy rain pounded the landscape around them, causing great droplets to obscure the view through the windshield nearly as fast as the wipers could keep up. The air outside was chilly, but not cold enough to turn the torrent to blizzard.

The weather inside the car was quite different. Dean and Sam Winchester sat in a mutual and bitter silence, with a tension one would need a diamond plated chainsaw to tear through. They both sat there, jaws clenched, teeth grinding, both telling off the other in their minds. Dean gripped the steering wheel white-knuckled out of anger. Sam sat stewing, leaning against the passenger door.

Not four hours ago, the brothers had left the Bunker with every code cracking book the Men of Letters had stashed away in their library. Charlie's call had rattled them, but it had also shaken loose some of the tension that had been building ever since Dean had acquired the Mark of Cain. The prospect of removing the Mark had put Dean into a better mood than he could recall in recent memory. He smiled, promising that if what the Book of the Damned had to offer could really free him of this curse that they would be going on a long and much deserved vacation.

"No, I'm talking about a beach. Drinking cervezas. Go for a swim. Mingle with the local wildlife." Dean looked hopeful yet sad. "When was the last time either one of us was on a beach?"

Sam thought about it, and he could honestly not recall a single time.

"Never." he answered.

"Never!" Dean repeated raising a finger to make his point. "Sand between our toes, Sammy. Sand between our toes."

Dean turned the radio back on and drummed the steering wheel happily. Things were looking up. . . . That is until they had stopped for food at some random greasy spoon along the highway.

Their food had just been delivered by a pretty young waitress. A petite brunette with a name tag that read, "Vicky".

Dean bit greedily into his bacon cheeseburger as soon as it was in front of him. The waitress turned and smiled at Sam, who awkwardly smiled back. She lingered a second or two longer than she meant to causing her to blush and sheepishly walk away toward the kitchen. Dean took notice of the exchange, and through a mouthful of burger smiled and nodded a goofy looking approval. He nudged his head in the direction she had gone a couple times and Sam allowed himself to take a second look to watch her walk away over Dean's shoulder.

He watched her slender hips sway back and forth as she rounded the end of the long counter.

Sam was about to return his attention to his food when he noticed something a bit off. A teenager sat in the corner booth alone with the hood of his sweatshirt up, his own plate of food untouched. Sure, it was a cold, damp night but it wasn't that. It was the way he also watched the waitress. A sort of devious, hungry stare.

He almost shrugged off the feeling but saw the teen turn his head as she passed by and promptly got up from his booth and followed her.

"I'll be back." Sam said quickly as he jumped to his feet. He hurriedly rushed past his oblivious brother in pursuit.

Dean, in a moment of surprise and brotherly pride said, "Yeah! Alright Sammy!" he paused to swallow and after a moment added, "That's my boy!"

Sam's suspicions were confirmed when he himself rounded the corner and he saw the back door of the diner was wide open and there was no sign of the waitress or the teen.

An hour later they were back on the highway. Dean's gruff voice broke the silence, exploding over the sound of classic rock playing lowly on the radio.

"What the hell were you thinking, Sam!" he started, slamming a fist onto the steering wheel. "Taking out a Vampire nest by yourself? How many years have we been doing this? You could have been killed!"

"Dean, there were only four of them. And they were teenagers for crying out loud! We've handled far worse on our own before. When are you going to stop treating me like I'm a kid? How many times have I bailed you out when you were waist deep in ghosts or werewolves?"

"That's not the point, Sam!"

"Then what is the point, Dean?" he retorted. "What is it with you lately? I swear I feel like I can't even breathe without your permission. Whatever it is, you gotta stop holding it in, man. Talk to me."

Dean didn't answer.

Sam began again. "Dean, will you just –"

Dean responded by leaning forward and cranking up the volume on the stereo, drowning Sam out with a blast of The Scorpions. Sam threw his hands up I defeat and shook his head.

After several minutes, Sam reached over and lowered the volume and sat looking at his brother intently.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted.

"What?" he said calmly. "You obviously have something on your mind other than what happened tonight. So let's talk about it."

Dean hovered on the moment thinking of a million things he wanted to unload onto Sam, but his jaw clamped down and wouldn't let him speak. He grunted in frustration and turned up the music once again.

Sam went back to leaning on the door in silence.

The loud music began to fade and crackle. Something else came through as though a radio station was reaching its maximum range.

"Stop messing with the tunes, Sam!" Dean roared.

Sam defensively put his hands up. "I didn't touch it!"

Dean paused as a realization crept up on him. "Wait. That's a cassette, not the radio. Why is it scanning like that?"

Suddenly the rain outside came to an abrupt stop and the thunderous pounding on the roof and hood silenced. They both looked up from the radio and were startled to see the rain continued to pour down all around the car, but not on it. As if some magical bubble had formed around them.

Dean slammed on the brakes and they skidded to a halt on the rain slicked road. They both looked out the windshield and saw the rain cascading down and bowing around the car. They exchanged wild-eyed looks for a brief moment and immediately sprung into action. They exited the car and ran to the trunk which Dean threw open as fast as he could.

The familiar chalk drawn devil's trap on the roof of the trunk hatch greeted them as it popped up. The cache of weapons for any monster, demon, ghost, or demigod sat before them, ready to use, but neither one of them knew what to reach for.

The crackling sound of the radio began to change. A high pitch whine came through, starting low and climbing higher. Soon it was so intense it felt like an ice pick digging into your eye sockets and eardrums.

Sam clenched his palms against his head. "Ah! What The hell is that noise?"

Dean poked his head around the back end of the car and stared at the radio, his eyes wide with recognition.

"Nononononononononono!" he managed to get out before the windows of the Impala exploded outward. He threw his arms up to protect his face from the glass shrapnel flying in all directions. "Sam!" he shouted. "Grab the Holy Oil!"

Sam did as he was told, tossing the jar of oil to his brother. He shouted over the din, "Holy oil? An Archangel? Really? But why now?"

"I don't know! Load up the shotgun!" Dean shouted and picked up the Angel Blade with his free hand.

Sam felt his stomach drop. He realized that this attack was probably retaliation for jail breaking Metatron from heaven's prison. Something he sill hadn't told Dean about and hadn't planned on it either. He quickly and skillfully loaded shells into the sawed off shotgun as the ground began to shake. The last shell was inserted and in a flourish the gun was locked, cocked, and probing the darkness for a target as the sound ceased and the ground began to quake.

The pavement near them cracked with the rumbling, and with it came a near-blinding flash of light and a earsplitting crash. After the brothers recovered themselves they realized the Archangel had arrived. He stood defiantly and unflinching in front of them, his shadowy feathered wings spread wide in his fury.

"Dean, the Holy Oil!" Sam shouted.

"Don't bother," the Archangel said. "The rain will simply wash it away."

The rain suddenly began to fall again, instantly drenching them to the skin as if his words had burst the bubble holding it bay.

The brothers took up a fighting stance and the Archangel pulled his silver blade, smirking to himself.

"That's cute. You think you can defeat me?"

Dean looked him straight in the eyes and asked, "What are you, new?"

The Archangel growled in frustration. "You Winchesters never learn. When will you realize that you can't keep meddling in Heaven's affairs?

Sam spoke quickly, trying to divert the subject and keep him from revealing what he and Castiel had done. "How about we get this over with?"

The Archangel bellowed with rage and took a few rushing steps toward the brothers. They braced themselves for the onslaught but were caught off guard when he stopped short and his eyes, mouth, and hands lit up with Holy Light and he threw his head back in a cry of pain.

The Archangel slumped forward and slid off a bloodied silver blade held by a winded Castiel who stood close behind him. As soon as the body hit the pavement, a ring of white light exploded through the rain knocking the brothers off their feet.

Dean and Sam looked up after all had quieted and saw the burnt asphalt around the dead Archangel in the shape of his once glorious wings.

"Nice timing, Cass." said Dean.

Castiel looked down at his fallen kin. "Barachiel," he said solemnly. "He was my brother and friend."

Sam got up and helped Dean to his feet. "Sorry, Cass. But why did he come after us?" he said staring hard at Castiel and hoped he would understand his farce of a question.

Cass seemed to pick up on it as he hesitated before speaking. "There is still a struggle for power in Heaven. Metatron's actions have caused a few factions to split from the garrison and they all have a price on your heads. In their search for a leader, they seem to think the only one worthy enough to lead is the one that can kill the two of you."

"How many of them got the memo?" Dean asked.

"I don't know." he answered as his knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

"Cass!" Dean exclaimed as the brothers sprang to his side. "You alright, man?"

Castiel looked horrible. There were bags under his eyes and he looked genuinely exhausted. He appeared as if he were about to pass out.

"No." he answered gruffly. "This Grace is nearly spent. I used too much power to get here. I haven't been able to travel like I used to in some time. But I had to . . . had to find you."

"And we are grateful for that, Cass. That Archangel could have really cooked our bacon." said Dean.

"Could?" Castiel scoffed weakly. "He could, and would have smited you with a single breath." He tried to stand but only managed to do so with both brothers supporting nearly all of his weight.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, take it easy." said Dean.

"There is no time. There is a situation that needs to be attended to. It is much more important."

"What? More important than you taking a dive and a whole cult of angels out to slit our throats?" exploded Dean.

"Yes. This has effected mass amounts of people. Like an epidemic."

"Not the Croatoan Virus?" Sam asked.

"No, it's much worse. There is a scripture. . . of sorts . . . however convoluted it is."

"Chuck!" the brothers exclaimed in unison.

"No. Not Chuck." Castiel explained. "My powers are diluted and I cannot see everything as I used to. Angel radio is still unplugged. But I hear their whispers. There are books, and they tell of a very powerful and evil man. He has plans to march over the face of the Earth with his armies and kill and enslave humans. He has many followers. But there is a boy that is prophesized to defeat him. You must find him."

"Look," Dean started. "We've already stopped the Apocalypse, killed the Mother of all monsters, defeated Leviathans, been to Hell and back, been to HEAVEN and back, been to Purgatory and back. We've had our asses kicked by demons, angels, and everything else in between. And now you want us to babysit some kid while half of Heaven is trying to kill us?"

Castiel stared at Dean and took it all in. "He doesn't need a babysitter, Dean. He needs protection. And we need to make sure he uses his powers for good. His magic is not fully developed yet."

"Great! Just, great!" Dean huffed. "Fine! Who is this kid and where do we find him?"

"I will send you to him." Castiel said as he reached into his trench coat.

"How?" asked Sam. "You can barely stand."

Castiel pulled out a small vial which glowed with a blue-white light. Sam recognized it as the Grace he stole from Metatron himself. Castiel uncapped it and a wisp of this light floated out of the vial and entered his mouth and nostrils. His eyes flashed blue and he stood up straight. His energy and strength had returned.

"Hurry. Find the boy and protect him." He raised his hands to the brother's foreheads, his fore and middle fingers extended on each. "By the way, his name is Harry."

Sam's eyes grew wide and he managed to exclaim, "Wait! What?" as Castiel touched their foreheads.

There was a flash and a rushing all around them and suddenly they found themselves shivering and knee deep in snow. The brothers looked up, and up, and up at a massive castle now looming in front of them.

"Where the hell are we?" Dean asked.

They both spotted a metal plaque built into the wall a few yards away from them which read:

HOGWARTS

Est. 990 A.D.

Founded by Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff,

Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin.

"You have got to be kidding me." said Sam.