It was past midnight, so only streetlights shone, casing shadows that played tricks on the pavement. A lone, shuffling figure in the long black coat didn't notice. He was stooped slightly, hands stuffed into his pockets for some warmth against the brisk breeze and head ducked down behind his collar, following his feet. He seemed in no hurry to get where he was going, lost in his thoughts. The worn leather satchel slung across his shoulder jingled with each scraping step as it hit his pant leg. It seemed heavy and a bit conspicuous for that very reason.

He was passing from the light of one streetlamp to the next when the shadows moved swiftly towards him.

He was thrown against the iron wrought fence of a home. Last thing he felt was rain and a clenched fist at the side of his head.

"… inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei …"

There was a metallic taste against his tongue and he grimaced while opening his eyes against his headache. Without his glasses, he could see nothing and the fact that the dilapidated basement he suddenly found himself in had but one yellow bulb didn't help him make out much more than odd, blurry shapes. He picked his heavy head up.

He heard a quiet tsk. "It won't work." That was followed by a fierce thunk that caused him to jolt upright. Upon doing so, he realized that he was tied to a wooden chair. He looked down at his hands in disbelief. Rope immobilized his arms at the wrist. There was friction against his ankles as well. No wonder he couldn't feel anything past his waist. He must have been tied up for quite a while now.

He looked up again. "What-?" His voice was rough. Dry. He swallowed to wet his parched throat and squinted.

He saw two men standing just outside the faint glow from the bulb.

"You're right," a second and warier voice muttered. A quiet sigh. "So what? We tried everything, didn't we?"

"Not everything…"

He started struggling against the bindings as adrenaline started to rush into his numb limbs. These men... He knew these men. He knew what these men were capable of. He knew he wouldn't make it out of this basement alive. He tried to clench his fists, but there was no circulation past his wrists. The chair rocked and rattled on the floor as he tried to loosen the ropes, but it was to no avail. He only managed to wind himself.

"Hmm…" There was some shuffling between the two men as they pulled away further. They seemed to be more cautious now as their postures stiffened noticeable and their words were hushed. "Cas would have said something, right?"

"That ass isn't here right now and this is our best shot."

One more moment of silent discussion later, they turned to their captive.

Taking a careful and casual step forward into the light, the shorter of the two folded his arms against his chest while tipping his head down slightly. "Do you know who we are?" His dark eyes didn't waver and neither did his voice. He knew who was in charge and he meant to keep it that way.

He was met with no answer, however.

He glanced back at his lankier counterpart behind him while arching a brow. He had been expecting some reaction, at the very least a quiet glower. Instead his captive had his chin pressed to his chest and eyes clenched shut. "Is he, like, recharging or something?"

"Beats me."

"We should get to it then, huh? This has gotten way out of hand already." He reached inside his brown leather jacket and pulled out his pistol. He handled it with ease, switching his grip in a flash so he could bring the butt of the gun down on the tied man. He smiled drily at the satisfying thud and grunt. "Oi, look up here." He nudged the captive's chin up using the tip of the Colt. "You know who we are? Hmm?"

The bruised man blinked blearily.

"What do you know?"

He shook his head.

"Lying would be a lot easier if you talked."

He clenched his jaw once.

The man with the gun shook his head and sighed. "Your loss." He then gestured behind him absently. "That's Sam. And I'm Dean. But you already knew that." He tapped his foot on the dusty floor. "Why have you been tailing us for the past month?"

There was silence.

Dean kicked the chair without warning, startling his captive. "I said lying would be lot easier if you started talking, buddy." He then walked off to the side to drag over a stool into the light. He sat down, hooking a heel on the rung and resting his elbow on his knee so his gun hung from his hand very evidently, ready to twitch at the slightest provocation. "Got all day." He examined the barrel of his pistol, the gleam catching his eye. "What are you, anyway?"

Sam watched the captured man with keen interest. He and his brother had tried almost every trick in the book, from holy water to salt to silver blade and iron, and even holy oil. Nothing had worked. There was no demon in this man. He had gotten knocked out in one punch. He wasn't responding with anger or condescendence as most creatures they had run into seemed to. He was almost…

… human.

"What are you doing?"

"Ah!" Sam darted away from Castiel while grappling at his chest in fright. "Seriously?!"

Castiel pondered the strange scene in front of him without acknowledging the exclamation. "Dean?" He tilted his head. "What are you doing?" He flicked his pale eyes at the gawking man in the chair.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean grumbled as he pushed up off the stool and strode up to the angel. "You have no idea what kind of crap we've been dealing with."

"What are you doing with that man?" Castiel brushed him aside and pointed at the captive plainly. "What's he done?"

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed Castiel by the arm to drag him away for a private conversation. Sam wandered after them, occasionally glancing at the squinting man who seemed to be trying to eavesdrop without hiding his intention. Dean was talking a mile a minute, filling Castiel in on the strange stuff following them around the past four weeks. "One second he's there and the next, poof, he's gone," he whispers rapidly. "You're the only guy I know who does that, so that's freaky, isn't it? And he's been tailin' us, thinking he's gotten the last laugh. Well, he had another thing coming. He's not an angel, is he?"

Castiel blinked blankly at them.

"Good, good." Dean frowned at his brother. "I'm starting to like your idea more and more."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, me too." He scratched his neck nervously. "I think he's human, Cas."

"Well, of course he's human…"

The Winchester brothers narrowed their eyes in unison. "Of course?" they echoed.

"That's Harry Potter."

"… Okay…"

"You've tied up Harry Potter." Castiel shook his head in reproach.

Harry scrambled up to his feet as soon as the bindings around his ankles and wrists vanished without a trace. But his numb legs didn't hold him up for long and he ended up stumbling forward before crashing down on all fours. At least the terror was subsiding now. He carefully steadied his frantic breathing and closed his eyes to organize his thoughts.

"Who the hell is Harry Potter?" Dean scowled. Castiel pushed him out of the way instead of answering him. "Great." He threw his hands up in the air in defeat. "That's just great."

Sudden clarity sharpened Harry's mind. He shot backwards by kicking his legs out in front of him. In one fluid motion he had his wand out and a silent hex hurling from it.

Castiel was thrown back by the red flare. He went crashing into the wall without so much as a surprised yelp.

"Whoa! Shit!" Dean whipped his gun at Harry just as a hex hit Sam on the chest, sending him crumpling to the floor.

The gunshot was deafening in the congested basement.

An errant curse whizzed past Dean's ear, faltering before it could hit the ceiling and then dying out in the air.

Harry looked down in shock. A dark spot was spreading at his stomach.

Before he could tighten his grip on his wand, it was swiped away.

With a shaky swear, he scrabbled back as best he could, considering the searing pain he was in, until his back bumped into the wall. He cast a wandless Shielding charm around himself, knowing that it wouldn't hold for long but trying not to think about that. He pressed a hand to his stomach to staunch the blood.

"That was a little unexpected," Castiel murmured to himself as he brushed his hand across the translucent blue glow surrounding the wounded Auror. In his other hand was the wand held inexpertly. His dark hair was dirtied with dust and cobwebs and his clothes were disheveled after coming into contact with a forgotten corner of the basement. "We won't hurt you, Harry," he insisted gently.

Sam groaned when he came to, much to Dean's relief. "What happened?" he slurred as he was helped up by his older brother. "That sucked."

"No kidding!" Dean exclaimed in near hysterics. "I thought you were a goner." He quickly checked Sam over to make sure he wasn't hurt.

"Whoa…" Sam stepped back when he saw Castiel and Harry. "You shot him?"

"He got you both! I didn't know what to do! I panicked, alright?"

Harry grimaced when he felt his body flashing cold. He was losing too much blood. His wand… He gritted his teeth.

"Harry," Castiel tried again.

"No," he exhaled. "No way."

"You need to go to the hospital."

He squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to breathe.

Sam walked up beside Castiel in awe, resting his hand on the warm blue shield as well. "Is he doing this?"

"Yes," Castiel mumbled.

"What is it?" Dean leaned against it heavily.

"Shit," Harry gasped as his magic broke under the weight.

Dean staggered forward and bonked his head on the wall before he could catch himself. "Ow."

Harry ducked his head when he felt a soft touch on his hair. And then there was a warm glow spreading down him. He pulled his hand away from his stomach. There was no wound, despite all the bloodied evidence to prove otherwise. He looked up in bewilderment at the man in the brown trench coat. "How did you…?"

Castiel had a few questions of his own as well. "Aren't you the Master of Death?"

"The what?" Sam wanted to know. He too knelt down to hear. "Master of Death?"

"I don't want to test out the theory," Harry said warily. They weren't going to kill him? At least not yet, it seemed. He needed to buy some time. "Who are you?" He tried to remember seeing the strange face before him. He couldn't.

"I am Castiel."

"Alright, hold up." Dean was a bit miffed that his plan had gone so awry. "What is going on here? Who is this guy? You know him, Cas?"

"Not personally." Castiel shook his head. "But I do know of him." He then gestured at the Winchester boys behind him. "Why have you been following them? They don't like being followed."

"They've been terrorizing half the country…"

Sam and Dean sheepishly glanced at each other. "Oh…"