Midway (Harry Potter/Supernatural) PG-13

[mhalachai]

Midway
A Harry Potter/Supernatural story
by mhalachaiswords

Summary: The year's not up, but Dean's not sure he's going to make it.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. Kripke and co. own Supernatural. I am but borrowing the characters for a brief time and shall return them intact at the end.
Spoilers: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows spoilers. Also for All Hell Breaks Loose in SPN.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters/Pairings: Nymphadora Tonks and Dean Winchester. Specifically, ghost!Tonks and Dean. If Tonks died in 1998 (HP Lexicon), then this is set in 2008. Reasoning in the story.
Words: 1,282
Author's note: This is penyn_1600's fault. She suggested Dean/Tonks back when I asked for suggestions for odd crossover drabbles last month, and this one just wouldn't stop.

~~~

Dean blinked. The air was clear and silent. No Sam, no werewolf. Worst of all, no gun.

And why the hell did it look like he was in a deserted midway?

"It's the stop in the road, before you go on."

Dean spun, hand going for the gun that was no longer at his hip. A woman, his age with shoulder-length purple hair perched on a ticket booth beside the silent Tilt-O-Whirl. Her eyes were alive, bright with curiosity, but filled with an unnatural calm.

No living person could ever look that calm.

Dean tried to swallow, his mouth so dry his tongue stuck to the top of his mouth. No. "I guess I'm not in Kansas any more," he said. The joke fell flat, not the least because his voice cracked as he realized what was going on.

He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. Not yet.

The woman on the ticket booth drummed her boot heels against the warped wood. "This is a place in the middle," she said, and Dean finally picked up the British accent in her words. "It's not really anywhere at all."

Dean pushed his hair off his forehead, worry gnawing at him. "Are you a Reaper?" Now, so close to death, he could remember another Reaper, another place in the middle.

He remembered that he had been ready to die, that day.

"I'm not a Reaper." The woman smiled, her lips parting enough to show white teeth. "And I'm not a demon, either."

"I never said you were," Dean said defensively. The woman's smile only grew wider. "Look, this has been fun, but I need to get back."

"Do you?"

Worry was quickly giving way to panic. "I need to get back," Dean said urgently, not pleading. Not yet. "Sam, my brother, he needs me. We were right in the middle of a fight, he can't do it alone!"

The woman just stared, and something in Dean broke. He turned on his heel and ran. He had to get away. He had to get back to Sam.

The farther he ran, ducking around abandoned midway rides, kicking up dust in the hot summer sun, the more mixed-up he got. Maybe he was dead and this was hell, he thought as his knees finally gave out and he dropped to the ground, panting and sweaty. No way out and all alone.

No more Sam.

No more anyone.

"This isn't Hell," a melodic voice said. A hand on his arm was helping him to stand. Dean tried to pull away, but the woman was strong. She hauled him gently to his feet. Then she let him go. "Not yet. Your year isn't up yet."

"Fuck off," Dean muttered, still exhausted.

She shrugged. "You got a choice to make, Dean. It's a choice you have to make now, before your year is up."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

The woman sat down on a picnic bench in the shade. For the lack of anything better to do, Dean followed her. "You made a deal. Your soul for Sam's life, and they gave you one year. If you died in that year, they got their prize a little early."

"So what?" He knew the deal. He'd made it, one last desperate attempt to bring Sammy back to him. And he'd pay the price, one day, anything to keep San safe.

"So it's not been a year, and you're dead." The word fell like a brick into the silence of the amusement park. She rested her chin in her hands. "But I've heard a rumor that God negotiates." She winked at him. "And I think you've just found yourself a loophole in the deal."

Dean's chest started to ache with something he hadn't felt in years. Hope. "What the hell do you care?" he demanded, not sure if this was a trick, if this was just another way for the demons to fuck with him.

The woman reached out and briefly covered his hands with hers. Her touch made his chest hurt more, his lungs start to burn. "The reason I'm still down here is I'm looking out for someone special to me. Someone asked me to look in on you, and it's good that I did." She twisted a ring around on her finger. "I have a little bit of leeway to looking in on lost little boys."

"I'm not a little boy," he protested without thinking, the crushing pain in the centre of his chest making it hard to talk. He hadn't been a child since the night his mother died, not really.

The woman shook her head, her hair turning blue as she did so. "In the end, we're all lost children fumbling in the dark. Sometimes you just need someone to hold your hand. Or in this case, to make your heart beat when it's having a little trouble."

Suddenly, every heartbeat in his chest spiked with pain. Dean doubled over, slid to the ground. Over the rush of pain and noise, he thought he heard the woman say, "I'm Tonks, by the way. I'll see you again some day."

He tried to answer, but the light was fading.

Then a laugh, a bright, hopeful, clean sound in the darkness. "But not for a long time yet."

~~~

He blinked, opened his eyes, then wished he hadn't. Every inch of him felt like a giant fucking bruise. He tried to lift his hand. Bad idea.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice. Dean closed his eyes, that unfamiliar hope filling him again. Sammy was still alive, and from the sound of his voice, disgustingly healthy. "You get it?" Dean managed to mumble.

"What?" Sam's voice got closer to Dean's ear. "Yeah, I got it. Damn it, Dean, I thought you were dead!"

Dean wanted to joke that he'd thought the same thing, but it was taking all his energy to breathe.

"Your heart stopped, I had to do CPR and everything," Sam babbled. "Do any of your ribs feel cracked? Should I take you to a hospital?"

"Sam?" Dean said. He opened his eyes to see his brother's worried face. He didn't think he'd ever seen a more welcome sight.

"Yes, Dean?"

Dean managed a weak smile. "Shut up, you big jerk."

A whole host of emotions passed over Sam's expressive face. Apprehension, worry, and finally relief. "You shut up, jerk."

"Butt-face. Go get me an aspirin. I'm going to lie here for a while."

Sam's hand closed over Dean's, making him frown. "You got it."

Dean watched Sam go, thinking about girls in silent, abandoned places in between; girls with hair that changed color; girls who looked out for lost little boys.

~~~

When Dean was strong enough to sit up without help, he kicked Sam out to go find some food that didn't come from the vending machine. Then he called Bobby.

"I need a bit of help to find someone."

"You got a name?"

"Yeah. Tonks. She's a woman, maybe my age."

There was a long pause. "Got anything else?" Bobby asked finally.

"She's English. And I think she's dead."

Over the crackly line, Bobby sighed. "Is she dangerous?"

Dean stared down at his free hand, calloused and empty. "I don't think so."

"So why am I doing this?"

Dean listened to the tick of the clock, the faint sounds of traffic on the road outside the motel. "You're doing it because I ask." He hesitated. "Please."

Dean couldn't put it into words, but he had to find Tonks' little lost boy and make sure he had someone looking out for him.

After all, he owed her a favor.

And maybe, just maybe, he owed her his soul.

Only time would tell.

end