So I've been studying a lot. Exam season just started and I still have seven or so weeks of school left. But this idea has been in my head for a while, and I've wanted to write it up for a while now. Anyway, It's just a oneshot so I hope you enjoy it!

"So how do we know that you're MI6? What would MI6 be doing out here anyway, in the middle of Idaho? This isn't even their jurisdiction," Sam asked, crossing his arms, and frowning slightly.

Potter, as that was his name - Sam had seen that when said man had flashed them his ID - simply smirked. The man was average in all parameters. He wasn't particularly tall, or small, had dark hair and was wearing a navy blue suit. That was basically the definition of most of the world population. Only his eyes were extraordinary; they were partially covered by his long fringe, but that did nothing to hold back the intense green colour. He was smirking, but his eyes were devoid of any positive emotion; he looked like a hardened warrior, he looked like a hunter who knew what it was like to once have been the hunted.

"Well, if you're really that paranoid, you can always call my field supervisor." He pulled out a card from his inner jacket pocket and tossed it at Dean who caught it easily, but scowled nevertheless. "She's nice enough - but whatever you do, don't try to ask her out on a date. Tried that once," He winced and rubbed his waist absentmindedly, "Won't try it again."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Thanks for the heads up, chuckles." And he moved aside to phone the supervisor. Sam's lips turned upwards slightly, it was amusing to see someone get under his brother's skin every once in a while.

"I've been investigating similar cases (he nodded at officer Harris' house) in the UK for a while now," Potter said in response to Sam's earlier question, "And the MI6 sent me to do some follow up questions."

"What type of cases?" Sam probed. Potter smirked again.

"Well, this and that."

"You checked out, Potter," Then turning to Sam he said, "Sherif Mac says we have to work with this dude, or loose our jurisdiction."

"And no fighting, boys," Sherif Mac had appeared behind the Winchester boys. One of his hands lay on his gun, the other at his waist. "Sorry boys 'bout waking you."

Dean shrugged, "It's the least we could do."

"Would you mind telling the FBI agents what you told me, Sherif?" Potter had spoken up, and had enunciated FBI particularly strongly, uncomfortably so. Sam folded his hands behind his back to stop from fidgeting; Potter couldn't possibly know, could he?

The Sherif continued talking, utterly oblivious to what had just transpired, "Deputy Harris didn't show up for work, so I came by her place, and found her husband Art who'd been shot point-blank in his face. Our main suspect is Harris. She was the last to see him alive and it's her bullet in his head."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, Amara again?

"Has her behaviour been… off lately?"

The Sheriff slowly shook his head, "Nah, nothing out of the ordinary… although she did call in yesterday night about some heavy fog."

"Fog? How could fog be possibly be anything of import?" Potter asked, but his very stance, and his stare implied that he believed the exact opposite.

"Yeah, well, tell us if you, uh, get any other fog reports. And you should set up a BOLO on Deputy Harris."

"Do you have any idea where she might be?" Sam asked, pursing his lips and staring hopefully at Sherif Mac.

Said man tapped a finger on his lips in thought before looking at the three 'government men' around him. "We could always try tracking her car or phone signal, in a town this small, it might even work."

The fog was everywhere; and Sam could almost feel its malevolence as he stood before it, watching helplessly as it advanced swallowing more and more people into it's thick folds. A couple standing by a car stumbled and fell, before coughing, and then ceasing all movement.

And then he saw Agent Potter from the MI6. He was leaning against a car; pressing hard on a wound he had acquired when trying to overpower Deputy Harris. For an MI6 agent, he was surprisingly uneducated in the art of physical combat.

Potter caught his eye and reached out a hand for help, eyes pleading as he took his surroundings, but before Sam could even take a step forward to help him, the fog swallowed him whole and he was tackled to the side by a familiar person.

"Sammy! We have to get the hell inside. Come on-!"

Oddly, the fog wasn't doing anything to him. It was the gaping hole in his stomach which pained him most. A hole made by a thin rod of metal that deputy Harris had somehow managed to grab from inside her open police car, when he had assaulted her.

This dying bit was always disconcerting; he always came back, Master of Death and all, but the dying was always odd. He could always feel himself slowly slipping away, before suddenly he was jerked back into a healed body.

So Harry pressed a hand on the bleeding body part, trying to relieve the pain, and let himself slide down the side of the car, till he was sitting against it with his knees pulled up to his chest. It hurt like a bitch. The thick fog surrounded him, and when he extended the one hand that had been wrapped around his knees, and stretched it out, he could barely see his fingertips.

And staring upwards, Harry was shocked to see that it looked as though the very light of the day had been swallowed by the fog. The dense fog covered everything in darkness and lay a coat of despair and hate over everything surrounding him.

And… as he watched, Harry saw the fog start to recede; a crack of sunlight broke through it, and shone straight upon Harry's face. He welcomed the light; he hadn't realised he'd missed it so much in the few moments it had been gone. It warmed his face and his body, and the pain slipped away, and he finally thought he was dying.

Then he opened the eyes that he hadn't realised he'd closed and saw that the fog was gone. That oppressiveness was gone. The malevolence was gone. Glancing down at his wound, Harry noticed that it was gone; his muggle suit was repaired and every sign of blood was gone.

Staring at his body with amazement, Harry only belatedly realised that someone had reached down to help him up. And when he looked up, he saw a small man with bright, kind eyes and a curly head. The crinkles around his eyes revealed that he was a kind-spirited man; his stubble was thicker and older than Harry's and his stance was more self-assured.

Grabbing his warm hand, Harry was gently pulled to his feet. They stared at each other for a few moments, emerald staring into grey. "You okay?" Said the man; his voice was also soft. Harry nodded slowly, swallowing when he had the oddest sense of deja vu - had he met this man before? His presence seemed very familiar.

He was still staring curiously at Harry when he frowned, "I don't remember creating you," He said absentmindedly; more to himself than to anyone else.

Harry snorted, "Well, unless my mother didn't have an affair, I don't see how you could have possibly been part of my creation." The man cracked a smile, revealing pearly white teeth.

"You just seem very familiar, but I-" He broke off suddenly as he leaned forwards, examining Harry's eyes, his voice was quivering when he spoke; "You know when people say the eyes are the window to one's soul," He paused and Harry nodded, "Yeah, well, you don't have a soul."

Harry jerked backwards in shock at hearing those words, "My soul is very much intact, thank you very much! Who the hell are you anyway?"

"My name is Chuck. Chuck Carver, I don't have a soul either. I created them you know," His eyes were filled with emotion as he stared at Harry, but Harry couldn't exactly decipher what emotion it was. "Only Demons and Angels don't have souls. You are neither for I have killed the former and created the letter. The only other possibility is that you are a Primordial Being - my brother."

Harry stared at him for a moment - who the hell was this guy to make such weird comments? Was he schizophrenic or something? "Look, mate, thanks for helping me out, I've been having a crappy day so far, but I have to report to my superiors. Thanks again for helping me up."

He was just turning around to head the other way, when he caught sight of the Winchesters, who had stopped a few metres before Chuck and Harry, the elder of whom was holding a glowing pendant in the palm of his hand. The taller of the two - Sam - was staring at Chuck with wide eyes and Dean's mouth had propped open in shock.

"…I take it you know each other?" Harry asked after a long moment of silence. Chuck smiled briefly and nodded before taking one step towards the Winchesters, and he spoke: "We should probably talk."

"The hell is going on here exactly?" Dean asked, voice deep and slightly panicked as he glanced down at the amulet and then back at Chuck. Harry blinked and stared between the brothers, the amulet and Chuck.

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm missing something?"

"I'm - uh - happy to fill in the gaps," Chuck said, gesticulating with his arms, "But - uh - maybe we should go some where where we can sit down-" He glanced at Harry who shrugged.

"I'm not going anywhere with you - Hell! How do we know if you're really Chuck, and not some spell or crazy manifestation-" Chuck had snapped his fingers and just like that, Harry felt the temperature drop and his surroundings change; they had completely changed location, probably even state. Dean had stopped talking, too shocked to even continue and was staring around.

The brothers knew this place, Harry realised, it was probably their home base. It looked like some sort of bunker slash library - the main hub? There were some antique recording devices and computers in the corner and and old, dusty record player which looked as though it might fall apart any moment.

Harry gently slipped away, and walked around a nearby table with a map of the US rolled out and different figurines placed around the place. Were these two brothers planning a war? Looking up, Harry saw that a fifth person had joined them - an Asian-looking teenager. He was eagerly speaking to the Winchesters who were staring at him with wonder and bemusement.

Harry only tuned into the conversation in time to hear Chuck's last words; "-You've been in the veil long enough, time for an upgrade," and with a wave of his hand, the teenager's visage shimmered and became a ball of blinding blue and white energy which twisted and swirled upwards until it had dissipated. The Winchesters and Harry watched it float upwards, Harry with confusion and the other two with sudden realisation.

And then Dean summed up exactly what they were all thinking; "Holy crap."

So Chuck was God.


Harry swallowed hard when he heard that one and continued to blink in shock when he heard Sam have his mini-ramble and Dean his argument with God. What had he said earlier? He didn't have a soul? Did it have something to do with him dying? Had Harry died and had his soul been left behind after that? Was his soul in Hell? He had, after all killed people during the war, he wouldn't be surprised if he was condemned to Hell by God.

And then God had gone on to say that he didn't recognise him; Harry hadn't been created by him. God had called him his brother. But that was preposterous, Harry was just Harry. He was 35 years old, and was probably the Master of Death, that was why he still looked like a twenty year old. God was millions of years old, he was all-powerful. There was no way Harry was related to him-

"Who the hell's he, anyway?" Dean asked, angrily wiping away tears as he jerked his head towards Harry who was loitering by the staircase, awkwardly trying to look inconspicuous. Sam's head swung his way and his eyes widened as though he hadn't realised that someone had come along for the ride with them. Chuck's - for he had reminded the Winchesters to call him so - expression softened as his gaze fell upon Harry, who stared back at all of them.

"That is my brother."

There was a moment of silence in which no one said anything, Harry rolled his eyes; he wasn't God's brother. He couldn't possibly be his brother, not to mention - just to even consider it was already quite arrogant.

"Come again?!" Sam exclaimed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear as he leaned closer to Chuck who was smiling contentedly. Harry took a few steps forward, smiling disbelievingly.

"Look, mate - uh - Chuck, sorry but you've got the wrong guy. I'm just 35, I grew up in Surrey, London, and went to school in Scotland. I now work for a special branch of the MI6. I'm not your brother. I don't know why I don't have a soul. I once died and then came back to life, maybe it's got to do with that. But mate - Chuck, I'm not your brother."

Chuck stood up, his facial expression patient and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I feel your power, brother," His hand cupped his cheek - Harry could feel the immense power radiating off of the man. "And you feel mine."

Harry took a step back, frowning angrily as he did so. Chuck's hand remained suspended in the air for a few moments, before he let it fall. "Look, I don't know what game you're playing, but I'm Harry Potter. Just Harry. Besides - I don't even know you. If I were your brother, I would remember you - and probably have millions of years worth of memories! Look I'm not obligated to stay here. Thanks for saving all of us, Chuck. Dean, Sam, pleasure."

And with that, he spun on his heel, intent on disapparating from the bunker as soon as possible and return to his somewhat normal life. A life where demons, angels and Gods didn't exist.

…But just as Harry was focusing on a clear image in his mind, he found himself toppling to the ground. He tried to break the fall with his hands and ended up rolling onto his back, groaning slightly when he felt pain radiate down his spine. He stood up angrily and faced Chuck who was staring at him emotionlessly.

"What the hell did you just do! Let me go!"

Dean and Sam were trading curious and confused stares. "Chuck? Would you - uh - can you maybe explain what's going on? If we're going to be holding Potter hostage, we're going to need to know whats going on." Sam said slowly. He was still in awe and fanboying over meeting God.

Chuck sighed and turned his back on Harry who glared daggers into his back.

"Before I created mankind, and the angels, or the Leviathans, before any of it, it was Amara, Harry here and me. We were good together, but I felt lonely, and created the Arch-angels, they kept me company, but Amara was jealous and she rebelled, she killed and maimed many of my new creations. With the help of my Angels we locked her into her cage.

"But before we managed to do that, she accused me of loving our brother Harry more, for Harry was neither the Darkness nor the Light. Harry is Balance. A Ying Yang if you will. As long as he is, balance between Light and Darkness shall prevail. She killed him for being my favourite. I had believed he was lost, and the entire time he was… in England under the name of Harry Potter."

By the end of his short explanation, Chuck had turned his celestial stare back at Harry who gulped as he saw the raw emotion in those eyes. They were sincere.

"That is why you cannot be killed by the Avada Kedavra, or why you can't be killed by a simple wound, Harry."

"…But I thought it was because I had become the Master of Death," Harry said slowly in a lost voice.

"Death has been dead for years," Dean had spoken up. He was staring at the scene with big eyes: a family reunion of to people who had only ever wanted to not be lonely.

"I don't remember any of it. Even if I am your brother, which I probably am not, I do not have any memories regarding you. I'm not powerful either. Yeah, I can cast a few spells, and I work for the Department of Mysteries, but I'm not anywhere near Dumbledore or Voldemort."

Chuck smiled at Harry, "So you're willing to believe me Harry? You're willing to try?"

Harry shrugged and glanced at the Winchesters. "What I've gathered from your conversations is that this… Amara, my potential sister, has been released (Chuck nodded glumly) and you need to defeat her so that the world and humanity isn't destroyed." Harry paused and swallowed uncertainly, "Well I guess if I can do anything to stop the world from ending, then I'll try my best."

Thank you very much for clicking on the fanfiction and reading it! I absolutely loved Don't call me Shurley and I had to write a ff about it! (Loved Fare the well too XD)