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The Phoenix's Grave
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Crowley hadn't even left the cemetery with his remains when they had heard the sound. The demon had made a complicated series of gestures with his hands that had resulted in his remains disappearing from sight, no doubt secreted away where no one could use them against him again. Dean had to admit that he admired that Crowley always seemed capable of multitasking. It was certainly handy in a crisis.
Which this situation seemed to be devolving into if the odd wailing echoing over the hilly cemetery was anything to go by.
"What is that?" Sam asked, sounding more like he was thinking out loud than expecting an answer.
"That is a banshee, Moose," Crowley answered, his brogue thicker than Dean had ever heard it. "You boys mess with graves all the time, but those are typically in America. The sites here are a bit different." Crowley gave Dean a wink that was too knowing for Dean's comfort. "Why do you think that America has so many bloody ghosts?"
"God's plan to fuck with us personally?" Dean quipped. He really hadn't taken the reveal about being destined to do anything well. He couldn't even die on his own terms. The only positive to that was it seemed like Sam was possibly in the same boat, considering he was back topside. "Or maybe it's my roguish charm?"
The haunting call interrupted whatever Sam had opened his mouth to say.
Unfortunately, his oaf of a brother took off in the direction the wail was coming from. Dean didn't even bother cussing as he followed. He heard Crowley let out a string of inventive curses behind him, but he didn't bother looking back. The demon could fuck off back to Hell if he wanted. Their business had been done as soon as he had released Bobby's soul back to him.
A golden dome flared into existence in front of Sam in a surprisingly wide area of level ground. In the center of the area was a medium sized mausoleum. From what Dean could see through the brier roses covering it, the thing had been made out of some blue-gray stone that glinted slightly under the clouded sunshine and the golden light stopping Sam from moving any closer. Other than the oddity of the stone, the building itself was very simple, just four walls with a large slab acting as its roof. The side facing them had a heavy-looking door made out of wooden planks bound with wrought iron bars.
The haunting wail sounded for third time just as Crowley joined them.
"Don't," he panted, winded from the run that Dean knew he shouldn't have had to make. The pompous demon had short range teleportation and knew how to use it well. He was even capable of going from sitting to standing without any issue. "Don't go any closer."
"Doesn't look like we can?" Sam questioned. He was running his hands over the barrier, a trail of bright gold light following his hands even though the rest of the barrier had faded back to invisibility. He pressed against the place and might as well have been pressing against a window pane. Dean shifted his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet.
And Crowley reached out a hand as if to grab him.
Oh, shit.
Dean turned his back toward the demon in order to examine the barrier himself. Even adjusting for a possible curve, his hand swung freely through the air. He simply did not meet the same resistance that Sam was experiencing. He took a deep breath before walking forward a few steps. Crowley's curses sounded even more inventive.
"Does no one in your motley crew ever bloody listen to reason?" Crowley finally settled on, sounding even more irate than he normally did. When Dean turned to look at him, his midnight black eyes were impossibly hard with his frustration. The haunting wail rose again through the air, desperate and sorrowful even as it faded away again. "Banshees warn of impending death, Squirrel. If you were any kind of smart, you'd be grabbing Moose here and hightailing it back to whatever little podunk town needed your blundering assistance this week."
"Why do you want us to turn back so badly?"
"Forgive me for wanting you to not die," Crowley answered snidely. He waved his fingers in a dismissive shooing motion. "Go on then. Go happily to your death. See you shortly." Despite his words, Crowley neither disappeared nor walked away. He only crossed his arms like he was that little yellow guy from the Dr. Suess cartoon about trees. The only thing missing was a mustache. Dismissing the amusing image from his mind, Dean turned again towards the mausoleum. Crowley's curses were a muffled echo the closer he got to the heavy wooden door. As an extra creep factor, the door swung open easily at Dean's touch. Sam looked mildly worried when Dean glanced back over his shoulder before entering the dark space beyond.
The air inside the stone structure was surprising warm. The scent of roses and jasmine was strong, too, without any of the musky scent that Dean had learned to associate with mausoleums over the years. The inside was just as plain as the outside, without any embellishments beyond the words carved into the far wall.
Beware. Fire awaits beyond this point.
Beneath the words was a wide hole in the stone floor. Steps made out of the same blue-gray stone as the rest of the mausoleum led down into the darkness. Dean hesitated a moment, his every instinct screaming about this being a trap, but still he crossed the scant space and started down the stairs. The air caressed his face like a lover as he descended. It stirred a memory from the depths of his mind, something both comforting and terrifying and filled with the sound of powerful wings beating in time with blood rushing in his ears.
The steps seemed to go on for an impossibly long time. The trip downward was monotonously dull. The quiet was almost oppressive. Through it all the thick scent of roses and jasmine wrapped around Dean like a shroud. It felt like he was doing something more than simply walking down stairs. It also felt like it would be impossible to reject the whole plan and just turn back towards the safety of the world above.
Suddenly, the walls gave way like fog before the dawn and the stairs ended in a circular room made entirely of stone. The space was lit by a ledge running around the room at just above eye-level. Dancing flames filled the ledge, making shadows move around like seaweed underwater. In the center of the room was a dais with an indigo pillow that was just as wide as the dais. The wide edge of the pillow was decorated with a series of scarlet diamonds edged with golden yellow.
And someone was sitting on the pillow in a meditative pose. Dean would have once called the person a kid without hesitation, because he looked like he couldn't be any older than maybe sixteen at a generous stretch. But there was a power radiating from the being that made Dean rethink that assessment. There was something about the sienna skin that was was unmarked except for a faded scar in the center of the forehead which made Dean suspicious.
Then the being opened his emerald eyes and focused on Dean. The ledge full of flames flared impossibly bright, nearly leaving him blinded. Squinting, Dean saw a familiar shape flare out from behind the being. The only difference was that these wings weren't hidden from sight, giving them the appearance and substance of shadows. These wings were physically present, full of feathers that were the same set of fiery colors as the flames lining the wall. The wings stretched to each curved side of the space. The threat of the flames didn't seem to bother the being at all.
"Hi," Dean said, his voice sounding weak to his own ears. He waved his hand, feeling like a dumbass as he did so but unable to think of anything else to do. "You doing okay over there?"
"You're not one of Dumbledore's stooges," the entity said. He sounded just as young as he looked, and painfully human on top of it. Dean's heart felt like a hand was squeezing it. Somewhere in his gut, this entire situation felt a lot like seeing Castiel napping in the backseat of the Impala. The wings folded and kept folding until they disappeared from sight completely. The being braced his elbows on the bends of his knees before resting his chin on his fists. "Who are you and what brings you to my humble abode?"
"The name's Dean Winchester," he answered. He only got a blank expression in return, not the recognition that it seemed every powerful creature seemed to have anymore. It was actually a relief to not see it for once. That more than anything made him relax. "Is this Dumbledore the reason that you're down here?"
"Oh, yeah," the being agreed. "Once he realized that I was on to his schemes, he did the only thing he could to neutralize me." The being let out a bitter laugh. "It's not like he can kill me, after all."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Phoenixes can't really die," the being said casually, as if he wasn't dropping a truth bomb into Dean's carefully scripted world view. On one hand, phoenixes being real was really small potatoes to finding out that demon and angels were real and that there were actual gods that walked the earth. On the other hand, even angels and gods could die, something this guy just claimed that he couldn't. The guy's emerald eyes glittered with mirth as if he knew that Dean's mind was currently exploding. "Harry Potter."
Dean blinked at the phoenix. The guy's grin widened.
"That's my name, since you gave me yours."
Then Harry dropped his legs over the side of the dais and stood up. He lifted his arms over his head in the same series of stretches that everyone did when they had been sitting for a long time. It made the striped shirt he was wearing rise up a few inches, revealing a trio of pale scars that disappeared into the waist of his dark blue jeans. Dean's heart skipped a few beats because those scars looked a lot like claw marks. Apparently being immortal didn't mean immunity to scarring.
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to give me a ride out of here," Harry said after he relaxed from his stretch. Dean eyed him, suddenly suspicious. And after the last few years of dealing with demons and angels, who could blame him for not liking what that question could entail? Harry shook his head ruefully. "Not anything sexual. I just need to transform into my creature form and be literally carried out. It's the only way bypass the wards."
"No possession?"
"How did you manage to find an interpretation grosser than sex?" Harry looked as disgusted by the suggestion as he sounded. Then he shook his head vigorously. "No. No possession. It's literally carrying me out when I'm in my bird form. I'm not small, about the size of a swan or goose, but I'm definitely not going to wear you like, like, like—"
"A meat suit," Dean offered when Harry seemed at a lost for an appropriate word. The phoenix snapped his fingers and pointed at Dean.
"Yes, exactly," he agreed. "A meat suit." He made a face as a thought seemed to occur to him. "Or a puppet. That's equally bad."
"If you're as big as you say, I may need to take a few breaks as we go up."
"Rising from an underworld is a shorter trip than descending to one."
"Underworld?"
Harry nodded and gestured to the room around him.
"To hold me, Dumbledore needed somewhere more removed than simply underground. He had to find somewhere that was offset from mundane world."
"That's why the banshee kept screaming."
"Yeah, I bet she's more than bit miffed at being displaced from her home."
"So ready to get out of this place?" Dean asked, feeling a sudden sense of urgency to leave. Harry must have felt the same, because he nodded his head vigorously. Then he just changed in the same amount of time it took Dean to breathe in.
Where Harry had been standing there was now a bird hovering in place. As warned, the bird was the size of a swan with a tail that was easily the same length as the rest of his body. Dean had the feeling that the tail was probably similar to a peacock's. Given the amount of crimson and scarlet feathers edged with gold that he could see, Dean was willing to bet that it would be very impressive when spread out in presentation. Despite the relatively large size, Harry wasn't heavy in Dean's arms.
As promised, climbing the stairs didn't take nearly as long as it had felt like Dean had taken coming down. All the while, Harry stayed still in Dean's arms. He felt warm, too. It reminded Dean a lot of the early days of traveling when he would curl around Sammy to sleep. It had been a long time since Sammy had allowed that kind of closeness.
Something shifted as they exited the stairwell. The floral scent that had been so strong before dissipated as if swept away by a strong wind. The heavy wooden door with its wrought iron bars had disappeared entirely from the entrance leaving nothing between them and the exit. At some point while Dean had been underground, the barrier must have fallen, too, because Sam and Crowley were waiting for them when Dean left the mausoleum with Harry still in his arms.
"Only you, Squirrel," Crowley said with an awed tone. Harry lifted his head and let out a questioning trill. Crowley offered his fingers to the bird like one would to an unknown dog. "Aren't you a lovely specimen? Truly impressive, yes, you are." Harry let out another trill, shifting and spreading his tail a bit. Dean rolled his eyes at the obvious preening. "Are you able to transform, pretty bird?"
"Transform?" Sam asked. "What's so special about a fiery peacock?"
"Emphasis on the fiery part," Crowley commented with a wry chuckle. Dean snorted as he tried to bite back his own laughter. Sam glared at them both. Dean decided to take pity on his baby brother.
"Harry is a phoenix."
"Who's Harry?"
Harry shifted back to his human form just as easily as he had shifted to bird. Dean's hands ended up on the man's hips out of instinct. He couldn't bring himself to move out of the embrace, despite who was watching. He really didn't like the speculative look that Crowley was giving him.
"I'm Harry," the phoenix said. "And you're like an overgrown moose." Harry looked between Sam and Crowley before leaning back against Dean like he was proving a point. He was clearly looking only at Crowley when he continued. "Does that make you Natasha then?"
"It wouldn't be inaccurate," Crowley drawled. He smirked like the smug bastard that he was. "You should be careful with Squirrel there. He's already got a feather friend."
"Yeah," Harry agreed readily. "Pissing on him probably would have been too subtle."
"Squirrel is just as bad when it comes to the angel. You'll see if you stick around." Crowley's smirk took on a shark's edge. Dean squeezed Harry's hip in silent warning. "Will you be sticking around?"
"You know what? As long as I don't have to kiss the empty moose, I just might."
"Excellent." Crowley tugged on the lapels of his blazer. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an entire underworld full of demons to manage."
And with a mocking half-bow, the King of Hell disappeared.
"So," Sam asked, drawing out the single syllable for far longer than necessary, "what's next?"
What was next indeed.