New world same story

Harry arrived at the hospital in record time, having pushed himself hard for three days straight. His muscles ached, and his mind buzzed from the lack of rest, but none of that mattered now. As he entered the sterile building, his heart clenched, weighed down by dread. He wasn’t ready to see Dean in a hospital bed, weakened, with only months to live. He had prepared himself to confront the inevitable, to see his friend worn down and fading.

But as Harry approached Dean’s room, the muffled sounds of a commotion reached his ears. Frowning, he quickened his pace and rounded the corner, stopping just outside the door. Voices—heated, frustrated, and unmistakably familiar—filtered through the cracks.

“You’re not leaving, Dean!” Sam’s voice, deep and authoritative, reverberated through the hallway.

“I’m not dying in this damn bed, Sam!” came Dean’s raspier reply, laced with defiance.

Harry leaned against the doorframe, his brow furrowing in curiosity. Peeking inside, he couldn’t help but smirk at the sight unfolding before him. Dean was half out of bed, wrestling with Sam, who had one arm wrapped around his brother, trying to shove him back onto the mattress. Dean was still hooked up to an IV, the drip stand wobbling dangerously as the two fought.

“Stay down!” Sam growled, clearly trying not to hurt his brother while restraining him. “You’re going to have another heart attack if you keep this up!”

Dean’s expression was a mixture of exasperation and stubbornness. “If I’m gonna croak, it’s not gonna be while wearing this stupid hospital gown!” He yanked the sheet off himself, wincing as the movement jostled his IV.

“Dean, for the love of—just listen to the doctors for once in your life!” Sam pleaded, tightening his grip on his brother. "You have to rest."

“Rest?” Dean scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Rest where? In this room with the smell of antiseptic and old people? No thanks. I’ve got better things to do than sit around waiting for my heart to give up.”

Harry watched, his arms crossed, clearly amused. Neither brother had noticed him yet, too wrapped up in their struggle. Sam was visibly frustrated, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he wrestled to keep Dean in bed.

“You’re going to tear your stitches if you keep this up, you idiot!” Sam snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he jabbed a finger into Sam’s chest. “I’d rather tear my stitches than sit here for another second. I’m not some fragile old man. I’m getting out of here whether you like it or not.”

Sam sighed deeply, his voice dropping into a low growl. “Dean. You need to stay calm. If your heart rate spikes again, you’re going to have another heart attack, and I’m not going to sit here and watch you kill yourself over your damn pride.”

Dean barked out a laugh, shoving Sam back weakly. “Pride? It’s not about pride, you oversized puppy. I’m not wasting the time I’ve got left lying here waiting for the Grim Reaper to show up. I’m going out on my terms.”

At this point, Harry couldn’t contain his grin any longer. He cleared his throat, drawing the brothers’ attention.

“Having fun, boys?” Harry asked, his voice casual and amused as he stepped into the room.

Sam looked up, eyes widening in relief. “Harry! Finally, someone with some sense.” He glanced at Dean, still holding him down by the shoulder. “Help me talk some reason into him before he does something stupid.”

Dean, grinning like a madman despite the situation, waved his hand in mock greeting. “Harry! Perfect timing. You’re just the man I need. Get me the hell out of here, would you?”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, walking further into the room and folding his arms as he watched the two brothers. “Looks like you’re doing just fine, Dean. Didn’t think I’d walk in on you two having a wrestling match.”

Sam shot Harry a pleading look. “Don’t encourage him. He’s trying to break out of here, and he’s not exactly in a position to be—”

Dean cut him off, smirking. “Oh, come on, Harry. You know me. I’m not dying in some sterile hospital room. Help me out of here, and I’ll owe you one.”

Harry’s smile faded slightly as he looked between the two brothers. “Is there even anything else the hospital can do for him, Sam?” he asked, his tone more serious.

Sam’s face darkened, and his grip on Dean loosened slightly. “No. They’ve done all they can. His heart… it’s too damaged. All they can do now is keep him comfortable and try to prevent another attack. He has to stay calm, and he has to stay in bed.”

Dean groaned, leaning back against the pillows with exaggerated frustration. “So basically, they want me to sit here and waste away while they take bets on when I’ll kick the bucket. No thanks.”

Harry frowned, considering the situation. “Then why stay?”

Dean perked up immediately, his eyes gleaming with hope. “Exactly! See? Harry gets it. Let’s get out of here. You know some magic, right? Can’t you do any of your wizard mumbo jumbo? Fix me up?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno, Dean… hearts are tricky, even for someone like me. They’re pretty intricate. Of course I'll try and do what I can, but I can’t promise anything.”

Sam immediately cut in, his expression firm. “Even if you could, Harry, Dean needs to stay calm. He’s supposed to be resting, keeping his heart rate low. If he pushes himself too hard, he could have another attack. He needs to stay in bed.”

Dean rolled his eyes, frustration bubbling over. “Rest? I’ve done more resting in the past few days than I have in years. I’m not sitting here waiting to die, Sammy.”

Harry watched the exchange for a moment, then sighed and stepped forward. “Alright, how about a compromise?” Both brothers paused, looking at him. “I’ll brew a potion that’ll keep your heart rate slow enough to avoid another attack. I’ll check you over with some magic, and then you can rest at my place instead of here. Deal?”

Dean’s face lit up with relief. “Deal! Get me out of here.”

Sam glared at Harry, clearly torn between wanting to protect his brother and knowing how stubborn Dean could be. “You can’t be serious, Harry. He needs to be under supervision.”

Harry shrugged. “Look, Sam, it’s either this, or we keep wrestling Dean to stay in bed until his heart actually gives out. At least this way, he’ll be somewhere safer than… wherever he’d try to run off to on his own.”

Dean shot Sam a pleading look. “Come on, Sam. I’ll be fine. We’ll be at Harry’s place. Just let me out of here.”

Sam hesitated, rubbing his face in frustration. Finally, he threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine. But only if the doctor clears you.”

Dean groaned but didn’t argue, knowing it was a small price to pay. Sam looked back at Harry, exasperated. “I’ll go get the doctor.”

As soon as Sam left the room, Dean turned to Harry with wide, eager eyes. “We’re not actually waiting for the doctor, are we?”

Harry smirked. “Of course not.” He pulled out his magic key, walking over to the hospital bathroom door. With a flick of his wrist, he inserted the key into the lock, twisting it until the door shimmered.

Dean’s face split into a grin. “You beautiful magical bastard!”

Harry held out his hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Dean scrambled out of bed, pulling the IV needle out with a wince before heading through the door. Harry followed after him, but not before snapping his fingers, summoning a glowing note that floated down onto the bedside table. The message read:

Sam, we’ve gone to my place. Text me when you’re ready to come in. Dean’s safe.

With that, Harry and Dean disappeared through the door, leaving the hospital behind.

When they stepped through the portal into Harry's home, Dean immediately collapsed onto the nearest couch, letting out a groan of relief. The cozy, warm space was a welcome change from the sterile hospital room, and despite the pain in his chest, he grinned as he sunk into the cushions.

Harry, however, wasn’t as relaxed. He pulled out his wand, murmuring a few incantations under his breath as he cast diagnostic spells over Dean. The soft, warm light of the magic illuminated the room briefly, and Harry frowned as he watched the results form in front of him. Dean’s heart was in worse shape than he'd hoped. It was a miracle the man was still breathing, let alone as lively as he'd been at the hospital. The image of Dean’s heart, damaged and fragile, floated in front of him like a ghostly echo.

Harry sighed, the weight of it pressing down on him. Dean noticed the look on his face, but instead of commenting, he forced a grin and broke the silence.

“Hey, Har,” Dean called out, voice laced with his usual irreverence. “Think Trix would fix me a steak? Sam’s had me eating rabbit food for my heart, and I’m dying over here.”

Harry shook his head, the tension in his chest loosening slightly at Dean’s attempt to lighten the mood. With a snap of his fingers, Harry called out, “Trixi!”

In an instant, the small house elf appeared with a pop, her large eyes blinking up at Harry. “Yes, Master Harry?” she squeaked.

Harry gestured toward Dean. “My friend had a great attack, dear. He's not in good shape…Please make sure he’s comfortable, calm, and gets plenty of rest. And some food please.”

Without hesitation, Trixi scampered over to Dean, fussing over him immediately. She fluffed his pillows with a rapid series of swipes, tugged at the blanket on the couch, and looked up at him with concern. “What can I get for you, Master Dean?” she asked in her high-pitched voice.

Dean grinned. “A steak. Big and juicy.”

Trixi gave an eager nod. “Right away, Master Dean!”

As Trixi disappeared with another pop, Harry turned back to his potions lab, which appeared at the wave of his wand. Shelves lined with glass jars and vials swung open, revealing rows of glowing ingredients that shimmered in the dim light. He began pulling down what he needed, carefully selecting herbs and crushed powders, setting them out on the counter.

Dean, watching from the couch, raised an eyebrow. “What’s all that?” he asked, curious but wary.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. “For the potion. I told Sam I’d brew it, and you will be drinking it, Dean. Or…” He shot Dean a pointed look. “It’s back to the hospital.”

Dean groaned, leaning back into the cushions with a dramatic sigh. “You’re as bad as Sam, you know that?”

Harry smirked but didn’t reply, busy with his brewing preparations. As he set the cauldron on the burner, Dean’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, glancing at the text message. A snicker escaped him as he read Sam’s angry message.

“Sam’s on his way,” Dean said with a grin. “He wants to join the party.”

Harry chuckled, flicking his wand toward the front door. It swung open with a slight creak just as Sam stormed in, his expression thunderous.

“What the hell, Harry?” Sam’s voice boomed, his eyes narrowing at both Harry and Dean. “You were supposed to wait for the doctor!”

Harry turned, feigning innocence with a slight shrug. “Technically, I’m certified in healing. So, I’m basically a doctor. And I cleared him.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed further, not looking the slightest bit amused. “That’s not how it works, Harry.”

Dean, still lounging on the couch, snickered from where he sat. “Come on, Sammy. I’m fine. Harry’s got his magic, Trixi’s fixing me a plate, and I’m out of that godforsaken hospital. It’s a win-win-win.”

Sam rubbed his temples, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. “You’re not fine, Dean. You need rest, you need to stay calm, and you need to keep your heart rate down.”

Harry, calmly stirring the potion brewing in the cauldron, added, “Which is why I’m making this potion, Sam. He’s staying here, under my supervision. No more wrestling matches, no more stress. He’ll drink the potion, eat his food, and get some rest.”

Sam glared at both of them, his shoulders tense. “And what happens when he tries to sneak out and do something stupid? Huh?”

Dean rolled his eyes, looking toward Harry for backup.

Harry raised a brow at Dean, smirking. “If he so much as twitches toward the door, I’ll tie him to the couch with magic. You’ve got my word.”

Dean groaned again, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. “I hate all of you.”

Sam crossed his arms, looking between them skeptically but finally giving in with a resigned sigh. “Fine. But if anything happens, Harry, I’m holding you responsible.”

Harry gave a mock salute. “Noted, Doctor Winchester.”

Trixi popped back into the room then, carrying a tray with a perfectly cooked steak, mashed potatoes, and vegetables, setting it down in front of Dean with a flourish. “Here you go, Master Dean! Enjoy!”

Dean’s face lit up as he dug into the steak. “Trixi, you’re the best.”

As the brothers settled into a tense, temporary peace, Harry continued his brewing, keeping an eye on the potion and on Dean. This was far from over, but for now, things seemed to be under control.

Sam gave Dean an exasperated look as he watched his brother dig into the steak with gusto. “You really shouldn’t be eating that,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “Especially after everything the doctor said.”

Before Dean could retort, Trixi stepped in, glaring at Sam with surprising intensity for someone so small. “Master Dean is in pain,” she scolded, her hands on her hips. “Let him enjoy his food! Trixi is very mindful of Master Dean’s condition.”

Sam blinked, caught off guard by the house elf’s fierceness. Trixi pointed at the plate in front of Dean. “While Trixi made steak and potatoes, she also made vegetables Master Dean enjoys, like Brussel sprouts in Parmesan cheese. Plus quinoa! This meal is balanced—probably more veggies than Master Dean has eaten in years! And if streak helps him enjoy them then let him eat in peace.” Her last words were delivered with a sharp, knowing look.

Dean, grinning around a mouthful of food, pointed at Sam with his fork. “She’s got you there.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue but then sighed, realizing he was outnumbered. “Fine,” he muttered, relenting and sitting down. “But you’re still taking it easy.”

Trixi, satisfied, gave a huff and went back to the kitchen, while Sam watched Harry with interest as he crushed herbs and mixed ingredients into his cauldron, the gentle bubbling filling the room.

Sam leaned forward. “So... can humans brew potions?”

Harry, without missing a beat, rolled his eyes. “I am human, jackass.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, unamused, and Harry elaborated with a smirk. “You’re a nomaj or a muggle, I’m a wizard. But we’re both human.”

“Right,” Sam said, chuckling at his own question. “But I meant—could I brew potions? Someone like me?”

Harry paused for a moment, thinking as he sprinkled powdered unicorn hair into the mix. “Honestly, I don’t know. In my world, maybe? Usually a spell activates the latent magical properties in the ingredients in my world so in theory yes but you'd need a wizard to activate it…

But then…wands can be made with only a few spells in them that can be used by anyone, even a nomaj, since they are given to children to practice so…if the right spell is put into it then perhaps. I never really considered it.

There are some potions you might be able to brew in this world, but most require spells to enchant the ingredients.”

He stirred the mixture slowly, the potion turning a vibrant blue. “The items in my world have their own magical properties, so I don’t have to enchant everything. But in this world, it seems like some things have a natural magic while others need a bit of help. I’ll look into it. There could be potions you could brew, but probably not the more complex ones. At the very least maybe if I enchant the ingredients you can brew them, but then i could just give you potions to carry.”

Sam nodded, intrigued. “Makes sense. Guess it’s not as simple as just following a recipe.”

“Not unless you want it to blow up in your face,” Harry said with a grin, making Sam chuckle.

As Dean continued devouring his meal, Sam couldn’t help but glance over and sigh in mild exasperation. “I still think you should be taking it easy with that.”

Dean waved him off, finishing up the last bite. “I’m eating the veggies. That counts.”

When Dean finally polished off his plate, Harry approached with the potion, holding a small glass vial of thick, blue liquid. “Time to drink this,” Harry said.

Dean eyed the potion warily. “What does it taste like?”

“Like something you’re not gonna enjoy,” Harry said, unapologetic.

Dean groaned, taking the vial. He hesitated, gave Sam a pleading look, and then downed the potion in one gulp. Immediately, he winced. “Ugh, that’s disgusting!”

Trixi popped back in, holding a glass of juice. “Here, Master Dean, drink this! It will clear your pallete, It’s full of antioxidants, with mango and honey for sweetness.”

Dean eagerly accepted the juice and took a long sip, sighing with relief. “Now that’s more like it.”

Harry crossed his arms, watching him carefully. “That potion will keep your heart rate slow enough for the next seven days. You’ll need another dose later, but be careful—without your heart speeding up, your body won’t produce adrenaline the same way.”

Dean frowned. “So... no adrenaline rush?”

“Exactly,” Harry said. “When fighting or doing anything stressful, you won’t get that burst of energy you’re used to. You need to be extra careful.”

Sam jumped in quickly. “He won’t be fighting. He’ll be resting.”

Dean groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “This sucks.”

Harry smirked. “Yeah, well, it’s either that or back to the hospital, remember?”

Dean shot Harry a dirty look but didn’t argue. He knew he was lucky to be out of the hospital at all. Sam, satisfied that Dean wasn’t going to be pulling any reckless stunts, grabbed his laptop and sat down, “does this place have wifi? I wanna research potential solutions for Dean’s heart.”

Harry summoned a box and it flew over to Sam, “a friend left this thing and said if I had you…friends…over then you may need it for your laptop thing.”

Sam pulled out a usb and plugged it into his computer and it was like the fastest wifi he'd ever used, “that's amazing!” He said as he began researching.

Meanwhile, Harry moved to his shelves, pulling out old books and texts, flipping through pages and muttering to himself. “There’s got to be something I can do... some kind of spell or enchantment.”

Sam, looking up from his laptop, watched Harry work with a new sense of hope. Even if there wasn’t an immediate answer, between Harry’s magic and his research, maybe they’d find a way to help Dean after all.

Dean, resting on the couch with his steak-filled belly, glanced between the two, grateful but too tired to say it. Instead, he closed his eyes, trying to relax while his brother and…friend?—was that what Harry was?—fought to save him in their own ways.

The days passed with Harry and Sam poring over books, research papers, and magical texts. Harry’s frustration grew as he discovered that wizards hadn’t invented a way to heal a heart damaged like Dean’s. The magical core that wizards possessed naturally protected the heart from this kind of failure, so it was never an issue they faced.

Harry, exasperated, sat back in his chair, glaring at the pile of books in front of him. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, reaching for the bottle of firewhiskey he’d set aside earlier. He poured himself a glass, downing it quickly, hoping that maybe—just maybe—the alcohol would help him think straight.

“Sam, any luck on your end?” Harry asked, a note of hope and desperation in his voice.

Sam’s eyes remained glued to his laptop screen. He was scrolling through articles, forums, and anything else he could find that might hold the answer to Dean’s condition. Finally, Sam perked up, his face lighting up as something caught his attention.

“Actually... I might have found something,” Sam said, sounding uncertain but determined.

Dean, lying on the couch, looked over with a raised eyebrow. “Might?” he asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. “That doesn’t sound too convincing, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t elaborate, just shook his head and continued reading. “It’s worth a shot,” he said firmly, looking over at Harry and Dean. “You’ll see when we get there.”

Dean sat up and exchanged a glance with Harry. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Harry sighed, setting down his glass and pulling out his wand. With a quick flick, he muttered an incantation, and the door to his house shimmered and glowed. “This’ll take us straight to the Impala,” he explained. “I’ve got a feeling we’re in for a long drive.”

The three of them stepped through the door, emerging near the Impala. Sam slid into the driver’s seat while Dean got into the passenger side, and Harry took the back seat, staring out the window as they drove. For a while, the ride was quiet, aside from the sound of the engine. Dean, fidgeting, reached for the radio, only for Sam to give him a pointed look.

“No music, Dean,” Sam said. “You need to stay calm.”

Harry chuckled from the back. “Sam, music won’t spike his heart. My potion’s doing its job.”

Dean grinned, cranking up the volume to his favorite classic rock station. “Thank you, Harry.”

They drove for hours, the roads growing quieter and the scenery more remote as time passed. Eventually, they pulled up to what appeared to be a massive white tent in the middle of nowhere. The stark structure stood out against the natural backdrop, a gleaming symbol of something... strange.

Harry and Dean exchanged a dubious glance, their skepticism written all over their faces.

“Sam,” Dean began, eyeing the tent warily, “please tell me you didn’t drag us all this way for some faith healer or snake oil salesman.”

Harry snorted, crossing his arms. “I thought you’d have something more... scientific, Sam.”

Sam shot them both a look, undeterred by their sarcasm. “Just... trust me on this, alright? It’s worth a shot. You said it yourself, Dean—what’s the alternative? You’re not exactly overflowing with options right now.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue but then closed it again, knowing Sam had a point. He sighed, throwing his hands up. “Fine. But if this guy tries to sell me holy water or tell me to recite prayers, I’m walking.”

Harry smirked, tapping his wand against his leg. “I’m with Dean on this one, Sam. If this gets too preachy, I’m out.”

Sam rolled his eyes and got out of the car. “Just have a little faith, guys,” he said over his shoulder as he walked toward the tent.

Dean and Harry shared another eye roll, but they followed him anyway. As they stepped inside the tent, the air was filled with a strange mixture of incense and soft chanting. People sat in rows of chairs, all facing a raised platform at the far end, where a man in white robes stood, his arms outstretched as if welcoming the heavens themselves.

Dean leaned toward Harry, muttering under his breath. “Great, a wannabe prophet. Just what we need.”

Harry stifled a laugh, but Sam shot them both a warning glare, clearly serious about this.

They found seats near the back, and Sam motioned for them to sit. The healer on stage began speaking in a soothing, almost hypnotic voice, talking about the power of belief and healing through divine intervention. Harry and Dean exchanged another skeptical look, but they stayed quiet, at least for now. The blind man seemed to at least really believe what he said, even if it was bullshit.

Dean leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “This better work, Sammy,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable in the setting.

Harry, though still skeptical, glanced at Sam, who was focused and determined. He sighed, resigning himself to the experience. Whatever this healer was offering, Sam believed in it—and for Dean’s sake, that was enough to at least give it a chance.

Now, all they had to do was wait and see if this so-called miracle healer could do what neither magic nor science could—save Dean Winchester.

As the faith healer preached on stage, Harry and Dean could barely contain their amusement. Dean leaned toward Harry, keeping his voice low, “I swear, this guy’s eyes look like they’re trying to communicate with Mars.”

Harry snickered, glancing at the so-called “faith healer” who was now waving his arms in the air dramatically. “Works through God, huh? Sounds like a bad insurance policy.”

Dean nodded, struggling not to laugh outright. “How much do you think he charges for a miracle? Bet it’s a hell of a deductible.”

Sam shot them both a fierce glare. “Guys, seriously. Can you show a little respect?”

Dean and Harry shrugged, but they didn’t stop their quiet commentary, snickering every time the healer said something particularly theatrical. Sam’s jaw clenched, and he muttered angrily under his breath, clearly frustrated.

Then, the healer’s voice suddenly boomed across the tent, echoing with a strange resonance. “You there,” he called, pointing directly at Dean. “God has chosen you.”

Dean froze mid-laugh, the humor draining from his face. “Uh, no thanks, I’m good,” he said, waving him off. “God and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”

But the man on stage wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Come forward, son. You need healing. The Lord has chosen you to be saved.”

Before Dean could protest further, Sam gave him a hard shove. “Go, Dean. Just... trust me on this, alright?”

Dean stumbled forward reluctantly, shooting Harry a look that said, Can you believe this crap? Harry just raised an eyebrow, still skeptical, but his gaze remained fixed on the healer.

On stage, the healer smiled benevolently at Dean, his voice dripping with supposed sincerity. “I know you’re in need, my son. God has told me that you are on the brink of death. But through His power, you will be saved.”

Dean scoffed under his breath, muttering, “Yeah, sure, buddy.”

Meanwhile, Harry stood at the back of the tent, watching carefully. Something was off. The air had shifted, growing colder, and the lights flickered faintly. He felt a familiar presence—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. His eyes narrowed as his instincts kicked in, and that’s when he saw it.

Behind the healer, invisible to everyone else, was a reaper. Its pale figure loomed behind the man, a soul in its hand, reaching toward the healer as if offering a trade. Harry’s breath caught in his throat as realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

The healer wasn’t working miracles. He was trading lives—taking a soul from someone else to save the person he chose. And the reaper... the reaper was complicit in it. But Harry was more than just a wizard; as the Master of Death, he had control over creatures like this reaper.

He swallowed hard, his heart torn in two directions. He wanted so badly for Dean to be saved. He didn’t want to lose him—not now, not when they barely had a chance to know each other. The selfish part of him screamed to let the reaper finish its work. Dean deserved to live.

But Harry also knew what it meant. An innocent person would die to save Dean. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t let it happen. It disrupted the natural order, spit in the face of everything he stood for.

“Stop!” Harry’s voice cut through the preacher’s words like a blade, loud and commanding. The reaper didn’t react, continuing its slow approach toward the healer.

Harry’s jaw tightened, his voice low but fierce. “I am your master, and I command you to stop.”

The reaper froze in place, but the crowd, unaware of the supernatural, turned their confused gazes toward Harry. The healer paused, his hand on Dean's chest as murmurs of confusion rippled through the tent.

Sam’s eyes flared with anger, thinking Harry was ruining everything. “Harry, what the hell are you doing?”

Harry ignored him, focusing entirely on the reaper. But then, something unexpected happened. The reaper’s form shifted, and for a moment, it looked almost... pained. “Help me,” it rasped, its voice an eerie echo in Harry’s mind.

The reaper continued its motion toward the healer, its hand extending again. That’s when Harry realized—whatever was happening here, the reaper was being controlled too. This wasn’t just some faith healer; there was something far darker at play.

Without another second of hesitation, Harry rushed forward, grabbing Dean and dragging him off the stage, away from the healer’s grasp.

The crowd gasped, scandalized by the disruption. People began whispering, some standing in shock, others looking outraged.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Sam yelled, running after them, his face twisted in anger. “You just ruined Dean’s chance to live!”

Dean, still processing what had just happened, looked between Harry and Sam, confused. “Harry, what the hell, man? Why’d you stop him?”

Harry tried to explain, his voice urgent. “Dean, you don’t understand. That wasn’t healing. That was something darker, I couldn't let him do it! I can explain…”

But Sam wasn’t having it. His anger boiled over as he grabbed Dean by the arm and dragged him toward the Impala. “You don’t get to decide that, Harry!” he shouted. “You ruined it. You ruined everything!”

Dean, still unsure, allowed Sam to pull him toward the car, but he cast a glance back at Harry, torn between trust and disbelief. Sam shoved Dean into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.

Harry stood there helplessly as the Impala roared to life, Sam speeding off into the distance. He wanted to chase after them, wanted to explain, but he knew Sam wasn’t in the mood to listen.

As the dust settled, Harry stood alone in the clearing, his heart heavy. He had done the right thing—he knew that. But in saving an innocent life, he might have just lost the chance to save Dean’s. And that weighed on him more than anything else.