Disclaimer: Not Mine
Warnings: There will be violence swearing, SLASH
Editted September 22,2010

Number 12, 2001

After the defeat of Voldemort there was this need for freedom against all the barriers, all the expectations there were layered on top of him from Dumbledore, Hermione and Ron. It all lead to this one moment, to this decision, stowing his few belongings away in a leather satchel that Sirius had left to him Harry glanced back towards Number Twelve.

Being here wasn't worth reliving Mrs. Weasley's terror over losing her son. It wasn't worth the constant reminders of losing Professor Lupin. It wasn't worth seeing the people who would lurk in Number Twelve but wouldn't speak with him. He lost so much more than what he originally thought. Ron, Hermione, he lost his entire family. The only person who could manage to say anything to him before scrambling away was Neville and that was just a feeble, "Hiya Harry."

A dark chuckle escaped before Harry could stop himself. Neville's attempts were too little too late, he couldn't find it in himself to care anymore. Rubbing a pale hand through his hair and over his scar, a scar that had changed as soon as Voldemort died, Harry sighed. Shaking his head he recalled the looks of horror as his friends and who he considered family watched as he salted and incendioed Voldemort's remains. When Kingsley tried to stop him, he cast an impenetrable shield around both himself and the corpse until nothing but ashes remained.

The hunters had it right. Take no chances for the bastards to return. It didn't matter that the war was over. The only thing that made the Daily Prophet was pictures of him 'desecrating and watching Tom Riddle's body go up in flames'. Ironic, before that he was Voldemort and everyone wanted Harry to kill him.

With a slight wave of his hand Harry shrunk Sirius' bike and headed to his portkey the Ministry set up for him to leave the country. He was being exiled and all the uptight British buggers he saved could take their wands and shove them up their ungrateful arses. He was going to Roulle, Louisiana to start a new life. He might be cleaning up behind people in some no-tell motel but at least this time it was his choice and he could learn what he need to learn to keep doing what this war had trained him to be. A hunter.

Roulle, Louisiana 2004

The loud bellowing of his name was how Harry was greeting as he opened the doors to main office of Motel 59 and despite the tone he couldn't help but smile at the woman huddled up behind the counter. She was just as mouse like as Hermione was but her Southern Belle attitude set her miles apart.

He took in Leigh's appearance and her aura as he slung his duffle bag over his shoulder hearing the metal clink together before it muffled from the impact along his back. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was in her motel logo tee shirt and jeans. Her face was paler and a bit more green than usual.

"Leigh, is there something you want to tell me?"

"Is there something you want to tell me, Harry?" She cocked a brow and nodded towards his bag, "Like say where you've been?"

"Nope, I'd rather talk about what's different with you."

"Fine, I can keep my secrets just as well as you can keep yours." She went to typing at the computer and Harry huffed at the action.

"So when are you going to tell me you're pregnant?" He flipped through the schedule they stashed behind the counter nonchalantly as he waited for some kind of reaction out of the woman before he was pelted with the guest sign-in book and he laughed.

"You know what? You can go and clean some rooms or something like you're supposed to." Leigh stood up and gathered up the book before she rearranged it on the counter top. "You know I hate when you leave on your little hunting trips. Thibodeaux makes me clean the rooms when you're gone."

"Right because it's not like he does anything around here at all." Harry snorted.

"He just owns the place." She completed the statement with an eye roll.

"Uh huh. Let me go change right quick and I'll get started. Oh and congratulations Leigh. It really is wonderful news for you." Harry squeezed her shoulder before he started towards the room he rented long-term when she stopped him with a small shout.

"Oh, a guy named Singer called. He said you would know how to get in contact with him."

"Right. I'll call him on my cell while I clean. Do you mind letting Tibby know that I'll probably need to head out soon again."

Leigh scrunched her nose and sighed as Harry's request, "I don't know why he lets you come and go like that. It really isn't fair at all."

"He understands." Harry shrugged as he answered her, trying to go with the least wordy answer as possible. He had learned that lesson a long time ago. The smaller the answer the better it was, especially when you weren't prepared to tell your life story

"Uh huh and another thing, he hates it when I call him Tibby." Leigh tapped her pen against the stack of papers in front of her. "So why does he let you get away with it?"

"Try saying his real name with my accent love. I can't get my mouth around it." Harry chuckled then headed towards his room to lock away his new toys.

He had recently acquired a sawed off shotgun with plenty of rock salt rounds to last the rest of the year and a beauty of an iron machete.

Once Harry had locked everything away nice and safe he grabbed the prepaid cell he used for hunter business and left a message with Bobby Singer, per usual, going over why he was contacting the man again. He was searching for a car with specialized storage that he could use for hunting before he wrapped up the message leaving his contact information and adding in that John Winchester gave him the number a few years ago.

Tossing the phone on the bed Harry tugged off the denim jacket and the V-neck gray tee and checked his handy work from his last hunt. The stitching held up pretty well and from the looks of how his skin was mending he'd be able cut them tonight.

Magic was wonderful, even if he didn't use it much. It always mended his skin and bruises quickly. He pulled on the Motel 59 polo and the sleeves were tight against his arms. He smirked to himself, guess he bulked up a bit since he crossed the pond.

Grabbing the cart from the end of the hall he started at room eight and worked quickly. It was simple and repetitive work so it was easy to complete. Living in Louisiana he had come across his far share of odd things, more than just your trashy guests. He had come across people who were into different types of magic and took severe protective measures everywhere they went. People were odd.

So when he got to room four and he felt the protective wards around the windows and doors it wasn't new. The only new thing was most people kept Do Not Disturb signs out so they could keep their paranoia discreet. Curiosity got the best of him and he couldn't just pass by. Using his key he first noticed the lines of salt on the floor then the windows. Salt wasn't common around here. It was brick dust or maybe a lovely mixture of Goofer dust but salt was a Hunter's tool.

Harry mentally ran the dates because hunters were popular around lunar cycles and they were smack in the middle of one. Tapping the door fully open he took in one empty rumpled bed, one used coffee cup and men's clothing in an open duffle bag. Newspapers were open to articles of mutilations that had started two nights ago and figured this guy had been here a little while. Reaching for the 'Do Not Disturb' sign he placed it on the doorknob and went on cleaning.

He relieved Leigh well before sundown so she'd be safe at home and he heard the growl of a classic muscle car he'd die to get his hands on and that's why he had been playing phone tag with Bobby Singer. The man had cryptically offered to help Harry rebuild a Chevelle of his own. Harry watched the sleek black Impala parked in front of room four and he ground his teeth as a leather jacket clad man got out then stopped and stared at the door. It was almost as if he knew something was wrong.

Harry waited a grand total of five minutes before the guy burst into the office and he finally got a good look at him. He definitely was a hunter. He held himself with an air of confidence and a cockiness that you only find in a few businesses and hunting was one of them. But there was something underneath it all that Harry knew all too well. There was weariness underneath it all. The man had light green eyes and was tan beneath his leather jacket that was probably used to conceal a weapon more than anything in this heat. His jeans though, they made Harry want to step between the guys legs and really show him what a good time was.

"Uh, who cleaned today?" His voice was rough and calloused, just like his hands.

"Missing something?" Harry looked up, his fringe pushed back revealing his scar. A snaked entwined around the lightning bolt.

"Dude, you go crazy and give yourself a tat?"

Anger flooded Harry's veins and the lights flickered throughout the office from the guy's offhanded comment. They both looked up at the light fixture before fixing each other with a curious look and Harry finally answered him, "No is something missing?"

"Not, really," He looked like he was searching for something to say, to explain what was really going on but he couldn't quite figure out how to go about doing so.

"I cleaned today," Harry interrupted when he saw the struggle in the man's eyes. "You should remember that 'Do Not Disturb' signs are meant for more than not disturbing the occupants in the room. It's so I won't go in your room and see what you've got in there." Harry leaned over the counter to get a read on the man's aura and he got flashes of a tall, shaggy haired man calling out for a Dean; a severe darkness surrounding the both of them. Heaving a breathe Harry continued, "Look, just don't be stupid."

The clipped tone was enough to send the hunter walking but Harry stopped him. Hero complex be damned. "Are you Dean?" He watched as tension flooded his shoulders and back. A hand pressed against the glass door. "Who ever Sam is, he needs you. Dark times are coming and you need each other."

"Right."

Roulle, Louisiana 2006

It took a year and seventy-three shot glasses of holy water from Bobby Singer before Harry finally had his car. A 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle Super Sport, it was black with enough compartments in the trunk and the interior Harry could probably loose a few handguns or boxes of ammo in there and not know it. Bobby had claimed it a beauty, but Harry had to get it repainted and fixed the leather seats and then she was beautiful.

Pulling into work he headed straight for the cart and started to clean. Outside of room number four things started getting weird again. He could feel more intricate protection wards then before but again there wasn't a 'Do Not Disturb' sign in sight. He spotted the salt lines in the window before he opened the door but as soon as the door opened images assaulted his mind. Brothers fighting over which bar to go to the night before, how to draw a certain symbol, and where to store the weapons. That's when he realized this was the same Dean from two years ago and the added shaggy haired companion had to be Sam. He filched Dean's machete from underneath the pillow and smirked to himself. This was going to be fun.

He hurried to relieve Leigh from front counter duties for the night so she could get to baby Anna. Harry smiled at the picture he had tacked up on the wall of Leigh, Anna, Thibodeaux and himself. Hearing the growl of the Impala he waited a few moments until the glass from the door he cleaned of fingerprints an hour ago slammed into the wall. The hunters flew in as if hellhounds were nipping at their heels.

"Who cleaned today?" Dean barked.

"Dean calm down."

"Fuck calm Sammy!" The way the tall guy, Sammy, ground his teeth, closed his eyes and took a deep breath made Harry hide a smile.

"I distinctly remember telling you last time not to be stupid." Harry met furious eyes.

"What last time?" Sam asked, pulling his khaki jacket tighter. Harry eyed the jacket, in this humidity jackets were used to hide weapons.

"Ah, you don't remember me do you Dean?" Harry stood and Thibodeaux came from the back. Bald headed, biker built and pajama clad.

"Take hunter business out to the parking lot." Thibodeaux barked out. Dean and Sam's eyes shot towards Thibodeaux in surprise. "Oh I'm sorry, let me speak in code. Harry, take your friends and fight outside. Is that better?" He folded his hands in an 'I'm sorry' gesture then held the door open for them to walk through.

"So," Sam said interrupting the silence and the staring contest going on between Dean and Harry. As soon as the silence broke Dean attacked, he moved fast an efficiently. Jabs and punches landed and were dodged as Sam backed away and watched in fascination. Harry gave a good kick to Dean's knee and had him pinned face down in the gravel. Harry was straddling Dean's waist holding his hands tight to his side against the ground.

"Now, you'll get your machete back but you need to learn to put do not disturb signs up. The two of you together left more information out about demons and spirits than any sane person ever needs to see. And it was more than you did the first time."

"Okay, when was this first time." Sam asked and Harry couldn't hold back the laughter that overtook him. Dean shifted his head so he looked at Harry.

"Makes it sound like sex." Harry said between laughter as he noticed a slight blush on Dean's face and he looked back at Sam to explain.

"It kind of looks like it too." Sam pointed out, making Harry blush and Sam snickered. Harry couldn't deny it both of the hunters were sex on legs and wouldn't mind getting naked with them but he'd keep that a secret for now.

"Sammy! Not helping." Dean yelled against the gravel.

"Going to kill me if I let you up?" Harry taunted.

"I want to, but no." Harry shifted then let Dean up to get a right hook to the jaw.

"Bugger," He popped his jaw in and out of place relieving pressure. He looked both men up and down. "Right, so Winchesters? I kind of thought you'd be smarter."

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