Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. This story is also based on characters and situations created and owned by Eric Kripke; various production elements including, but not limited to, Warner Brothers and the CW network. The title for this fic is a line from Get Out Alive (© Zomba Recording, LLC & Sony BMG Music Entertainment & Three Days Grace. Track 7 of the 'One-X' album) and the title for this chapter is a line from Bridge Over Troubled Water (© Columbia Records and Simon&Garfunkel. Off of the album of the same name). No money is being made from this intellectual exercise and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

A/N: So that I can get to the nifty parts of this world, I'm speeding through the wee!years. The next chapter will start out with all characters having a reasonably adult mindset (I don't like children, nor do I like having to think like one). Warning – there's some light wee!angst midchapter.

Run for Your Life

I Will Lay Me Down

May 4, 1987

It was hard for John to believe they'd been in South Dakota for three – almost three-and-a-half – years. It hadn't taken long at all for him to become friends with Bobby; not when there was so much in their lives which was common ground. Sure, Bobby may have not been a marine, but he'd served a stint in Vietnam – a full eighteen months and some odd days – so that had been the fourth point of connection.

The third had been that they'd both lost their wives to something supernatural – and for all that Remus objected to the term, saying that it wasn't 'super anything, let alone supernatural, just not muggle', both John and Bobby persisted in using the term. It was partially because to them, what had happened in their respective lives had been supernatural – something which ought not to have existed, let alone happened, but the majority of it was just light teasing at Remus' expense.

The second point had been cars. In fact, Bobby's first words that first night after they'd gotten the boys bedded down in the man's spare bedroom had been, "Nice Impala. She's a '67, right?" Of course, it hadn't passed John's notice that the sign above the man's drive had indicated he owned a junkyard.

The first and easiest point on which they connected had been the boys. For all that Bobby tried – and normally succeeded – to project the aura of a gruff man for whom the rest of the world could just 'go bugger itself', to borrow Remus' phrasing, he was the world's biggest softie when it came to the boys.

This isn't to say there hadn't been arguments – God knows, there'd been arguments, and one or two fistfights – but, for the most part, it had been relatively smooth. The feeling of 'safe' which John had first noticed at Missouri's home was present at Bobby's, but more than that – it was comfortable; comfortable in a way that Missouri's home couldn't be. The furniture was old, shabby, and worn out. The floors were dusty and scuffed. More often than not, the kitchen table was buried under car parts or books and papers rather than dishes and food. There was always beer in the fridge and aluminum foil on the rabbit-ears on the television in the living room. Where in Missouri's home there had been bundles of herbs tied with ribbon to hooks over every window and door, in Bobby's house there wasn't a single speck of anything that could be passed off as potpourri. Instead of the herbal sachets, on the ceiling of each room was a no-nonsense symbol of protection and only a couple of the windows could actually be opened – not because they'd been painted shut, but because years of layers of salt on the sills had solidified in the summer humidity.

It wasn't often that John found himself home alone, but today was one of those days. Bobby had gone after a spook in a town over by the Wyoming border that was turning its victims inside-out and wasn't due back for a good three or four more days yet. Remus had taken the boys down to Lake Oahe for the day, his battered blue pick-up truck loaded with kites and inner tubes, fishing poles and tackle-boxes, and a large cooler of sandwiches, fruit, chips, and sodas.

John stayed behind to 'mind the fort', as it were. What with Bobby out of town, someone had to, and Remus knew precisely jack about cars. Besides, it was about as far from a full moon as it could possibly get, so he knew his boys were safe. It wasn't that John didn't trust Remus – just the opposite, in fact – it was just that John was a firm believer in the Laws of Murphy; one of these days, unforeseen events would come about which would lead to a wild werewolf on the loose. Sure, they took all the precautions which Remus said would lower those chances to near-nil, but still… Like the fact that Remus took some sort of medication during the week prior to the full moon. What's it called again? Oh, yeah. Wolfsbane. John thought it smelled like ass, but he was sure it tasted worse, if the look on Remus' face when he took it was anything to go by. He still wasn't entirely sure who made it for him, only that it took a highly convoluted route to get to his friend each month. There was also a 'safe room' in Bobby's basement, a combination of concrete and silver-plated bars, which was a failsafe if his medication didn't arrive. Bobby himself was another failsafe. Rather, the man's .38 and a clip of silver bullets were the failsafe, though more often than not, it was Bobby who waited until morning to let Remus in.

John glanced at his watch, surprised that it was already four in the afternoon. He sat his book aside – he'd been studying, Damned if I'm gonna be the only one here who doesn't know that Latin crap – and headed for the kitchen, intent on a beer and a salami sandwich.

For all of his mostly unvoiced certainty that the werewolf was, someday, going to cause a problem, even if he didn't mean to, John had to admit that life was somewhat easier having Remus around. Remus had done something to the windows that made the aging window AC unit in the kitchen actually manage to do its job in keeping the ground floor of the house somewhat livable. Remus had mentioned that if they didn't need the radio and television signals to get through, he could have done more to make the entire house a constant comfortable temperature, but no one save Remus seemed all too interested in losing reception. John didn't know why, but Remus' magic and electronics just didn't mesh well. Though that fact had helped John learn how to read an EMF reader a helluva lot quicker than he probably would have otherwise.

Hell, be honest, John. You owe that wolf a shitload. And not just 'cause he makes life easy. Who knows where you'd be if he hadn't showed up that night?

Remus had also, almost single-handedly, remodeled Bobby's house that first summer after they had all moved in. I don't know about the wolf, but I know I'd only planned on getting some information, but almost before I knew it, one day had just blended into the next and well… I'm still here, ain't I? Bobby had approved of the renovations and John had helped hammer in the nails, but Remus had done the majority of the work, especially since John was undergoing what Bobby had called 'Hunter Boot-Camp' at the time.

One evening that summer, when the addition was still mostly a frame of two-by-fours, John had asked why the wizard didn't simply magic the addition into existence. Remus had then spent nearly an hour explaining how, even with the most advanced conjurations, the magic would eventually unravel and be reabsorbed into nature; so, though he could use magic to move the pieces and keep them in place for a short time, he still had to actually use things like nails and plaster to make sure the place didn't just collapse one day. By the end of the summer, there was an addition along the back of the house which consisted of an extra bathroom and two more bedrooms upstairs and an actual library downstairs. Not that the library actually held all those two's books. But it did hold enough that we could walk through the living room and not trip. For a few months, at least. Even with that whachamacallit he showed me – that shrinking spell – I still don't know how he managed to carry all those books in his shitty little backpack.

Of the three adults, Remus was also the only one who could cook something that consisted of more than 'pierce film with fork and microwave on high for 5-7 minutes' – that didn't involve the barbecue grill, at any rate. Granted, the British-born man's idea of food was somewhat… odd, but Bobby and John had pooled together for Remus' twenty-sixth birthday the year before and gotten him a collection of American cookbooks. Now, they often had stuffed pork chops with a side of mashed turnips (which weren't quite as bad as John had assumed the first time Remus had made them), instead of whichever internal organ happened to be on sale at the Save-a-Lot.

Insofar as the boys were concerned, the three of them split duties. John made sure all three were learning the fine art of sports – things like baseball, football, and hockey, as well as archery, wrestling, and boxing – and how to camp, track, and hunt (even if they were still a bit young, in his opinion, to be handling firearms. He'd wait until they turned ten for that), and, of course, he also had his parental responsibility over Dean and Sam. Bobby taught the boys an odd mixture of science, history, folklore, and Latin, often simultaneously, while they were 'helping' him and John in the shop (once Bobby'd found out that John was a certified mechanic, he'd reopened that aspect of his business). Remus taught the boys about the magical world – his reasoning was that since Harry was going to have to learn it anyway, he may as well teach all three because, with as inseparable as they were, all three would eventually learn all about it anyway – as well as things the other two hadn't even considered, like manners, music, and, of all things, penmanship. Currently, the wolf was teaching them chess. He was also responsible for all guardian-whachahoozits for Harry, though he didn't often have to reprimand the kid. Either Harry's just not as into shit as Dean, or he's better at not getting caught.

Between the three adults, the kids were getting a helluva education. According to the tests they had to take every month at the local high school, Dean and Harry were reading at an eighth-grade level, with their math skills equivalent to a sixth-grader, and the rest of their subjects falling somewhere between the two. Since Sammy was only four, he wouldn't have to start doing the tests until the next year, but it wouldn't surprise John in the slightest if the kid ended up testing higher than the other two. Hafta wonder just where that comes from. Lord knows, I ain't dumb, but Sammy's got me beat, hands-down. Especially at that Latin crap.

Back when school first crossed John's thoughts, right around Dean's fifth birthday, it had been Bobby who suggested home-schooling for the boys.

"Why?" John asked, still under the impression that Bobby wasn't too happy with having his home invaded.

"Because they'd learn more, and it'd be useful, too. Not that pointless crap they shovel on kids now."

It had taken most of the following summer to pry the whole truth out of Bobby. Boiled down, it amounted to the fact that he knew that Harry wouldn't be safe going to a public school. When John finally got the whole story as to why that was out of Remus, the addition was done and Christmas was looming on the horizon.

"I'd think that it's more dangerous staying in one place for you two," John mentioned one snow-crusted morning, helping Remus chop and move firewood.

Remus laughed a little, "That depends on your definition of dangerous, John. Sure, we are more likely to be tracked down staying in one place, but moving around all the time makes it hard for me to get my Wolfsbane. There were a couple of close calls after we got to the US but before I ran into you. Besides, I can't see how moving all the time would be all that good for the boys. Stability and all that."

"Don't you worry?" John sat another log on the stump, but leaned on the axe instead of using it to cleave the log into firewood.

"Sure I worry. But there's a difference between worrying about what could be and what might be and letting that fear run your life. I refuse to live in fear." Remus glanced over to where Dean and Harry were playing in the snow. "Besides, I don't think the boys would be too happy if Harry left now."

"Uncle Remus! Come play!" Dean shouted across the yard.

"Go on," John nodded to the small pile of logs that remained. "I've got this." As Remus hurried over to help the boys build a snow-fort, John thought that, at least as far as Dean was concerned, if Remus and Harry did leave, it wasn't just Harry who'd be missed.

John pulled himself from his memories and finished his sandwich just as the phone rang. "Singer Salvage, John here," he answered. "Uh-huh. '82? Sounds like the alternator. Bring it by tomorrow and I'll take a look."

November 25, 1988

"Give it back!" Sammy shouted, chasing after Dean, who spun around and tossed it to Harry on the other side of the living room.

"You have to catch us first, Sammy!" Harry yelled back, racing out of the living room and through the front door. Dean went the other direction, through the kitchen and out the back door, nearly ricocheting off of his Dad and Bobby. Sam, intent on getting his toy back, tore after Dean, sure that he was being tricked.

"Do I want to know?" Raven asked, leaning on the cupboard where Remus was working on Thanksgiving dinner.

"Probably not," John, Bobby, and Remus replied simultaneously.

"So this is common, then?"

"Yes," another in-stereo reply.

"Oh-kaay," Raven shook her head, a little amused.

"What?" John said. "It's not like a little roughhousing ever hurt anybody."

Ignoring the byplay of looks between Bobby, John, and Raven, Remus prompted, "You were saying about Fort Douglas?"

Raven nodded, "Yeah, was helping Preacher with some research in Milwaukee when the articles caught my attention. Don't think it's urgent, but it does seem to be escalating. I called Jefferson, but he's stuck in Cali right now. You were the next-closest, what with Preacher buried in his books."

"What about Jim?" Bobby asked. "Or Bill?"

"Jim's in Albuquerque, visiting his sister and her family, and I'm not starting another argument between Ellen and Bill."

"Fair enough," Bobby commented. "So, you stayin' for supper?"

"Who am I to turn down free food?" Raven grinned.

By the time dinner was served, Sam had managed to get his toy back from Harry and Dean and the adults agreed that Remus and John would go check out what was going on in Wisconsin.

A week later, after speaking with the parents under the guise of CDC workers – the IDs complements of Remus' transfiguration skills – they checked the homes of the families who had children in comas in the hospital. Neither John nor Remus noticed anything unusual until the fifth house on their list of eight. John spotted a handprint in the windowsill. He took a picture with the cheap plastic camera he usually used to snap photos of the boys.

"Find something?" Remus asked.

John nodded and inspected the print a little closer. "A handprint."

Remus stepped across the room and stood next to John. "Hmm…"

"Whacha thinkin'?"

"Well, it looks a lot like a banshee," he reached down to tap the claw-like marks at the ends of the fingers. The wood disintegrated between the lines of the fingers, obscuring the print somewhat. "But a banshee doesn't have claws quite like that, nor would it have rotted the wood."

"Not to mention, none of the kids are actually dead."

"That, too." Remus furrowed his brow in thought. "Why don't you go get that film developed? I need to grab something from the house. Meet you back at the motel later."

Before John could reply, Remus spun in place and popped out of sight. I hate it when he does that.

Two hours later, they sat at the rickety table in their double-room with a black-and-white photograph sitting next to one of Remus old school books, open to a page titled 'Shtriga'.

John reread the entry for the fifth or sixth time.

Albanian in origin, the shtriga is a subclassification of the vampire, though in this instance, the creature needs not blood, but life essence in order to survive. Shtriga prefer feeding on children, often targeting the oldest child in a family first, then working its way though to the youngest. There have only been three recorded instances of a shtriga attacking an adult, and none wherein the victim was younger than one year old. It is unknown just why this is the case, though most theories point to the fact that one's life essence grows stronger all through childhood, hitting its peak between the ages of eight and fourteen.

Shtriga also have a minor shapeshifting ability. They can disguise themselves to appear to be nothing more than a normal human. Most often, they will appear to be a feeble, old woman. It is believed that a shtriga is what spawned the tale of Hansel and Gretel. However, a shtriga is invulnerable to physical attack while in its human form.

Another ability of the shtriga is that its touch accelerates natural entropy. In short, it can rot nonliving matter, just by touching it. If what it touches is alive, this ability doesn't work.

Insofar as magical vulnerability, not much is known. In the annals of Roslyn D'Archer, D'Archer claims to have killed a shtriga by waiting until it was feeding and running it through with an iron blade, but this is in direct opposition to the journals of Andrew Wainwright, who claims he saved D'Archer from the shtriga by means of a simple blasting curse. Who was right remains to be seen, as no sign of a shtriga has surfaced for the last century.

"Well?" John asked, looking up from the book.

"Well what?"

"What else do you know about this?" John tapped the entry.

Remus shook his head, "Just what it says, John. Though I do know that the D'Archer/Wainwright feud is one of the most entertaining bits of wizarding world history I've ever had the pleasure to read."

"How's that?"

"They had been set up by their parents in an arranged marriage – this was almost a hundred-fifty years ago, mind – but they hated each other on sight. So, most of the tales they tell about the creatures they encountered in their lives have two versions – one where D'Archer plays the damsel in distress, and one where Wainwright is cast in that role. Personally, I think they probably spent more time vilifying each other than actually researching magical creatures, but they're entertaining, nonetheless." Remus stood and stretched, "When we get back, I'll loan you their books – you'll want to read them at the same time; chapter one in the first, then chapter one in the second and so on."

John leaned back in his chair and sighed a little, "Still doesn't tell us how to track this sucker down, though."

"Sure it does," Remus grinned. "It says they work their way through families."

"But the last kid was an only child."

"But the one right before isn't. The shtriga hasn't had the chance to go after the youngest one in that family because they haven't gone home since the older fell ill. All we need to do is go back and reassure them that the doctors at the hospital are doing all they can and that our 'tests' at their home came back negative. Encourage them to get some rest."

John looked at Remus as though the man had lost his mind. "You want to use the kid as bait? She's only what, four? Five?"

"She's also our best chance at tracking it down," Remus reminded him, gesturing to the map thumbtacked to the wall with pins marking the locations of all twelve attacks. There hadn't been a pattern they could see.

"I still don't like it."

"I don't, either. If you've got a better idea, I'm more than willing to listen."

Though neither man really liked the idea of using little Caroline as bait, neither could come up with anything better. It worked though, and despite her parents' confusion over what, exactly, happened, they were grateful to John and Remus for keeping the thing – which the dad had caught a brief glimpse of before Remus had shoved him out of the way – from harming their daughter; said gratitude was enough for the parents to overlook the bullet-hole in the wall.

John and Remus stuck around town just long enough to catch the morning news the next day. They found out that the kids who had been in the hospital were all recovering and would be released over the next few days. As an addendum to the main story, it was mentioned that the doctor in charge of the case appeared to have gone missing.

"You think…?" John looked to Remus.

The werewolf shrugged, "I don't know, John. But you have to admit, it makes sense in a weird sort of way."

March 14, 1989

Sammy sighed and scuffed his sneaker in the gravel of the path that ran from the back door to the shop. It was raining, washing away the last of the winter snow, and Sam was getting wet. He didn't care. Maybe if he got sick, someone would pay some attention to him, instead of Dean and Harry. It's not fair! It was bad enough that he always got hand-me-downs – and yes, he was purposefully ignoring the fact that Harry got hand-me-downs, too, and the fact that most of their clothes came from Goodwill to begin with – and the fact that Harry was all the time making weird stuff happen, and how Dean always got to do the fun stuff first, but now this.

It had started when Harry and Dean were playing catch in the bedroom all three boys shared. But they knew they couldn't do that with a real ball – they'd gotten in trouble enough to know better – so Harry had made a ball with his magic. They'd played catch with it before, always saying how Sammy was too little to join. This morning, however… This morning Uncle Remus had caught the older boys playing with the baseball-sized multi-colored ball of softly glowing magic and totally freaked. After telling Dean to throw the ball to Sammy, where it just sorta popped into a shower of sparkly glitter that melted away, Uncle Remus marched Harry and Dean downstairs to the kitchen. He had them show Dad and Uncle Bobby how they played catch. Then they started talking. A lot.

Sammy may only have been five – almost six! – but he wasn't stupid. While Dad and Uncle Bobby and Uncle Remus were having Harry and Dean play catch and talking, talking, talking, he heard what they said.

Dean was special like Harry.

Sammy wasn't.

It's not fair! Dean's the oldest and Harry's always been special, but what about me? I'm just the littlest. Too small to play with Dean and Harry most of the time and always the last to do new stuff and by the time I get the toys and clothes they're all worn out. It's not fair.

Sammy didn't know how long he'd been sitting in the rain when someone sat down next to him. "What's wrong, Sammy?"

Sammy thought about ignoring Dad, but knew it would just get him three laps around the property or ten push-ups or something like that. So he shrugged.

"Come on, kiddo. Don't give me that. Something's got a bug up your ass."

Sammy shrugged again.

"Sammy." Okay, so that was an order.

"I wanna be special, too." He whispered it, hoping that the rain would be enough to drown out his words. Can't get in trouble for not answering if he didn't hear me. 'S not my fault if he can't hear.

Dad heard. Dad heaved out a big sigh and pulled Sammy in close. "What makes you think you aren't?"

Sammy shrugged again, but when Dad glared down at him, he sighed heavily. "I couldn't catch the ball Harry made. Dean can and just now Uncle Remus said he was." Sammy scrunched his forehead up at his own words. "That didn't come out right."

Dad chuckled a little, his side twitching against Sammy's, "It's okay, sport. I knew what you meant. But you thought what Remus said meant that you aren't special. Right?"

Sammy wasn't crying. He wasn't. He just had to wipe some of the rain off his face and was probably getting a cold – that's why he sniffled. He nodded to answer Dad.

Dad heaved out another sigh, bigger than the last. "Stand up, son. I wanna make sure you hear this."

Sammy didn't know what standing had to do with hearing, but he did like Dad told him and stood on the gravel path. He was eye-to-eye with Dad. "You are special. You can read and do math and all that, just the same as Dean can, and he's four years older than you. I know you don't really understand, but it's a really big deal that you can do all that at only five." Dad's face split into a rare grin, "Besides, you're better at all that Latin crap than I am."

"Mitte ioca," Sammy muttered. That's not special. It's just normal stuff.

"See? That right there is what I'm talking about. You could've just told me to go to hell and I woulda had no clue." Dad's eyes narrowed a little, "You didn't, did you?"

Sammy felt a small smile on his face, "No. It means 'stop joking'."

"But I wasn't joking, Sammy. It doesn't matter that Dean can do some of the things that Harry and Remus can. Everyone has their strengths; you gotta remember that you do, too."

Sammy didn't know about that, but for the time-being, he was willing to take Dad's word for it.

January 24, 1990

Remus, Bobby, and Harry were in town, getting some groceries and 'a few other things', which Dean was pretty sure meant that either Remus or Bobby had forgotten his birthday was today and needed to pick up a present. They took Harry with them to get his opinion on what gift to buy. While they were gone, the mail arrived, and much to Dean's surprise, there was an envelope with his name on it.

Dean held the letter from the Midwestern Magical Training Academy and reread it for the third time.

Dear Dean Winchester,

The Midwestern Magical Training Academy would like to extend an invitation to join us for your next school year. We understand that this is a difficult choice, particularly since ours is a boarding school, and hereby would like to invite you and your family to our open house this spring, to be held May first through the fifth; accommodations, travel, and meals are provided.

As you are currently registered as receiving home-schooling, should you desire to continue in that track, a list of fully accredited tutors is available from our office.

We require your R.S.V.P. on the invitation to the open house no later than six o'clock in the evening on April twelfth of this year.

Sincerely,
Jonah Hopkins
Dean of Admissions
MMTA

The return address was for Kansas City.

"Whaddaya think, Dean?" John asked, "You wanna go see this school?"

Dean looked up at his dad and started to nod, but stopped himself. He could see Sammy lurking on the stairs, looking like someone had just run over one of Bobby's dogs. A flood of memories flitted though his mind.

He was four and Mom and Dad had just brought his little brother home. He didn't quite know where from, only that storks and cabbage and a hospital were involved, but he decided it didn't matter. His mom had him climb on the couch and sat down next to him. She introduced him to his brother, "This is Sammy, Dean. I know he's a little smaller than you were hoping, but he'll grow up faster than you know it. You wanna hold him?"

Dean nodded and Mom put the squirmy bundle of blankets in his lap. "Hi, Sammy. I'm Dean."

"You gonna help me with Sammy until he gets big enough to do things on his own?" Mom asked.

Dean, not looking up from Sammy, nodded vigorously. "Def'nit'ly."

Mom laughed, "I'm going to hold you to that, you know."

Dean didn't care. When he made a promise, it was always the forever-kind.

Then there was heat and smoke and Dad shouting at him to take Sammy outside as fast as he could.

And then there was cookies and milk and a black lady trying to get him to talk to her, but even though he didn't say anything she knew that he wasn't eating the cookies because Sammy didn't have any, so she ran to the store and brought back a box of special cookies just for Sammy.

Grammissouri, what Harry called her, was busy with her customers and Remus – or was it Moony? Harry never said for-sure one way or the other – was running errands and Dad needed to stop by work. He was only gonna be gone a few minutes, but Dean knew his dad was worried. It wasn't that he'd forgotten how to talk, it's just that there wasn't anything to say. But Dad sat Sammy in his lap, just like Mom had, and told him that he needed Dean to promise to look after Sammy and go get Missouri if anything was wrong.

"I promise, Daddy," Dean had replied.

And then there were the little things; showing Sammy how to tie his shoes, helping him learn to read and count, both of them playing with Harry…

Though his brother could be a royal pain-in-the-neck, he hadn't forgotten those promises; one to his mother, the other to his dad. When Dean made a promise, it was the forever-kind. So, Dean shrugged a little. "What can they teach me that Uncle Remus can't?"

He pretended not to notice Sammy's grin.

August 6, 1991

In almost a rerun of the events on Dean's birthday, Harry received invitations to both the MMTA and Hogwarts. Like Dean, Harry opted not to go to either school; particularly since he and Dean were already partway through Remus' old third-year textbooks. He'd already told Remus his decision the preceding week, and so when the letters showed up – one by owl, the other through the regular mail – Harry had already drafted his replies. Remus was not at all surprised when Minerva McGonagall showed up almost a week to the day after Harry's birthday. He'd even warned John and Bobby that it was probable that someone would come to confirm Harry's choice in not attending his parents' old school.

After the furor her sudden appearance in Bobby's front yard caused died down, Minerva took the time to dispatch with her official duties before relaxing somewhat into the close friend Remus left behind. Remus' comfortable attitude with her further relaxed both John and Bobby – though, in the latter, it may have had more to do with the fact that he'd made the iced tea with holy water than any behavioral cues from the werewolf. John and Bobby left Remus to his guest when Minerva asked that they speak privately.

"I must say, Minerva, you're taking this a bit better than I'd imagined," Remus added some sugar to his glass and stirred it. "Not to mention, I was rather surprised that Albus didn't come with you."

Minerva laughed outright, "I'm sure, had certain events not happened, he would have come."

"What events?"

Minerva handed Remus a newspaper clipping from her pocket. It was muggle in origin, obvious from the way the small black-and-white photo accompanying the short article didn't move. The article itself described how a couple from Surrey were being charged with child neglect. Remus looked up, confused.

"The family is Harry's aunt, uncle, and cousin – the family which he was to have been left with, had I not placed him with you instead," Minerva replied.

Remus' confusion doubled, "But…"

"Unless you're very well-trained or exceedingly lucky, the obliviate spell can wear off on its own – you know this. In my case, it was about two years after you left. I didn't tell Albus until Arabella Figg flooed this article to him last month." She chuckled again, "Far from being fired, as I had feared would be the case for what I'd done, he actually talked the Board into giving me a pay raise for knowing when to supersede his decisions."

At Remus' prompting, she went on to explain how the Dursleys had allowed their son far too much free rein – the boy was a regular hooligan, bullying other children, stealing, vandalizing property, and so on – without so much as a lecture, let alone something even remotely resembling a grounding. It had finally gone too far when a policeman caught the boy spray-painting profanities on a brick wall during school hours the previous May.

About the same time she was wrapping up the latest gossip on Harry's only living blood relations, the boys tumbled into the kitchen. They were sweaty, dirty, and laughing like a pack of jackals as they attacked the refrigerator, practically gutting it in their enthusiasm for lunch. Minerva watched, her amusement showing plainly, as the three boys – aged twelve, eleven, and eight – moved seamlessly around one another as they assembled sandwiches, got cans of soda, and raided the fruit for apples and bananas. They didn't even notice her until Remus cleared his throat, "Hey, guys!"

Sam and Harry stopped in their lunch preparations, but Dean, who was slicing the apples, didn't bother looking up, "You want something, Uncle Remus?"

"A-hem," Remus fake-coughed.

Dean still didn't turn around. "Whacha need?"

Harry leaned forward a little and caught Sam's eye around Dean's back. Sammy grinned and, as Remus and Minerva watched, Harry held up a hand and silently counted down on his fingers. When he reached 'one', both Sammy and Harry elbowed Dean.

Dean dropped the knife with an outraged shout of, "Ow! You twerps!" He spun around, ready to grab Harry into a well-deserved noogie – Because it's always his idea – but was brought up short by the sight of the unfamiliar woman sitting at the table with Remus.

"Vos duos es sic mortuus," Dean muttered. (1)

Ignoring Dean's poorly-conjugated threat, Sammy smiled and stepped across the kitchen, "Sorry 'bout Dean, ma'am. Elleboro indiget." (2)

"Hey! I do not have a screw loose!"

After the laughter at Dean's expense died down and introductions were made, Remus told the Winchester boys to go work on their schoolwork while he and Minerva spoke with Harry.

In stead of doing like they were told, Dean and Sammy headed out to the living room, but lingered in the general vicinity of the door.

Over the course of the next hour or so, the brothers learned a few interesting facts about their 'uncle' which they'd not learned before; but, perhaps most importantly, they learned that their best friend was in some form of danger – a group of evil wizards was trying to track Harry down because of how he'd survived an attack from their leader. They knew most of that story, but the fact that they were still pissed off about something that had happened a full ten years earlier was new. Sam and Dean also learned that Harry was to originally be placed with his mom's sister's family because living with his blood family would have made some weird bit of magical protection for him. They also learned that though the bad guys didn't yet know where to look for Harry, it would only be a matter of time before they found him. Before the conversation in the kitchen had finished, however, Sammy got an odd look on his face and wandered off, a low 'hmm…' noise trailing after him.

About a month later, after Minerva had gone home and Remus was about at his wits' end in researching what he should do about increasing protections around Harry – just in case, mind – without stopping the television and radios from working as they should, Dean, Harry, and Sam showed up in the library. Dean was carrying a folder that Remus recognized as being the one the boy normally kept his math homework in.

"What can I do for you three?" Remus asked, somewhat grateful for the interruption.

Dean glanced at Sammy and Harry shoved the older boy forward a step. Dean cleared his throat a little, "Um… We know you've been looking for a way to make Harry here safer," he stopped and looked down at the folder before glancing at his brother again.

Sammy rolled his eyes, snatched the folder and all but ran up to Remus. "Here," he said, shoving the folder into Remus' hands. "We think – that is, I think," he amended on seeing the 'we may have helped, but this is all on you' looks on Harry's and Dean's faces. "I think we found out how." It wasn't a good idea to leave out the other boys' work in their project – not if it actually worked. Sure, it wasn't really that fair that Sam would get all the blame if it didn't work, but had to share credit if it did, but that's just the way things were. In all honesty, Sam didn't really mind so much this time around. He knew his idea would work.

Remus smiled tiredly and opened the folder. It wouldn't hurt to see what the boys had come up with – even if he'd already ruled out whatever it happened to be. Twenty minutes later, he was engrossed. The notes were in a mix of Dean's haphazard scrawl, Harry's spiky cursive, and Sam's neatly precise printing, but that wasn't what was so interesting. The first few pages were Sammy-print excerpts of a handful of legends and stories, followed by a page or two of Harry's writing detailing the lighter uses of blood magic – including a description from one of Remus' advanced books on the nature of blood wards – followed by pages of diagrams and arithmancy in Dean's hand, showing how what they wanted to do would actually work.

After a further half an hour, Harry cleared his throat, "Um, Moony?"

"Yeah, cub?" Remus didn't look up from the notes.

"Whacha think?"

Remus made a 'hmm' noise.

"That a good 'hmm' or a bad 'hmm'?" Dean asked.

"Definitely a good 'hmm'," Harry answered, "can't you tell by how he's ignoring us?"

"Or by how he's kinda got that focused look he gets when Uncle Bobby finds a new book," Sam commented.

"I'm not ignoring you," Remus still didn't look up from the packet of papers. "Just… thinking."

"So, you think it'll work?" Dean pressed.

Remus shook his head, "I'm not sure. I'll want to double-check your sources and go over the math you've got here, but so far, I'm not seeing why it wouldn't."

By the end of September, Remus had verified that Sammy's idea was a valid one, and made sure that Harry's and Dean's contributions to the work checked out. It took a little time to gather the ingredients needed, not to mention convince John to allow it to happen, but by the time Halloween rolled around that year, all three boys had small, identical tattoos on the back of their right shoulders. The design was a combination of the runes Elhaz and Gefu. Elhaz looked rather like a letter 'Y' with a third fork straight up from the stem, and its simplest meanings included that of protection and friendship. Gefu was an 'X' shape and meant gifts and partnership. Four Elhaz made the crosspieces of the Gefu, and when taken together meant 'brother'. The primarily black ink was a potion, most of the ingredients of which were traditionally used for protection. It had a slightly metallic shimmer, courtesy of the crushed zodiac birthstones used to represent the boys; sapphire dust for Sam, garnet dust for Dean, and white onyx for Harry. The potion-ink also included blood from all three boys to bind it together.

What this meant was that Dean, Harry, and Sam 'adopted' one another as brothers – it didn't change the fact that Remus was still responsible for Harry, nor the fact that John was Dean's and Sam's dad, only that according to magic or whatever controlled it would recognize Dean and Sam as Harry's kin, his blood. It didn't change how they looked – other than the tattoos, which were roughly an inch to a side – nor did it have any other effect. But the protections set in place so long ago by Lily Potter recognized the kinship the three boys now shared and by the morning after the completion of the blood-brother ritual, the wards had settled over Bobby's house.

May 24, 1992

"Dean!" Bobby took one look at his microwave and knew immediately who was responsible for the… thing it had become. "Get your ass down here NOW!"

Dean knew he was about to get a thorough chewing-out and came running. "You bellered, Bobby?"

"Watch your mouth with me, boy. You ain't too old for a spankin'," Bobby glared at the thirteen year-old. "You care to explain just what you did to the microwave?"

Dean grinned, "Fixed it."

"It wasn't broke."

Dean shrugged, "Maybe not, but it works a hel- um, heck of a lot better than it did."

Said microwave was in its customary place on the counter not far from either the toaster or the sink. It had lost its power-cord and grown an odd cylindrical drum on its top, though. The cylinder was about three inches high and had a small dial, what looked to be the needle-meter off of a voltmeter, and a row of lights along the edge facing the room.

"What. Did. You. Do. To. It." Bobby's patience was wearing thinner than normal. All I wanted was to reheat my coffee, damnit.

"Like I said, I made it better," Dean walked over to stand in front of the appliance. "See this dial? It sets your power-level. Zero for defrost, all the way up to ten for high. This," he tapped the little needle-meter next to the dial, "will confirm that the dial's doing what it's s'posed to. And the lights let you know if it needs charging. They'll all glow green when it's fully-charged, and as it looses power, they'll slowly turn from green to yellow to red. When you're really close to loosing the power altogether, the lights'll drop from five to four to three and so on."

Huh? "What was wrong with how it was before?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Took too long. Besides, this way, it won't add to the electric bill." He could tell that this was going to take forever unless Bobby had his coffee. He took the cup from Bobby, sat it in the microwave, cranked the power to ten, and turned it on for six seconds. When it dinged, he handed the now-steaming cup back to Bobby.

I'll be damned, thing actually works. Bobby sipped the caffeinated sludge and, just before Dean could disappear out the door, he remembered to ask, "Hey, what d'ya charge it with if it ain't got the cord?"

Dean's grin made a reappearance, "Just let it sit – it'll charge on its own, just offa the magic in the air."

There wasn't much Bobby could say in response to that.

Somehow, it didn't surprise him when similar little cylinders, each one looking a bit more refined than the last, began showing up on other appliances, starting with the coffee maker.

A/N2: I repeat, I don't much care for writing children, so this chapter hit the highlights of my combined SPN/HP world for those years. It was a necessary evil, in my opinion, to illustrate how different this world is from that of either cannon – particularly SPN (because how it's different from HP cannon is blatantly obvious).

I'm not really happy with the segment with the heading of August of 1991, but I didn't want it to run too long. There was so much else to get through in this chapter. If too many of you have questions about it, I may write out the whole reasoning I had behind it and put it in my bio page or at my LJ.

The next chapter is going to skip ahead a little bit – just enough to get us to grown-up thinking in our boys (and I know I'm skipping the teen years, but if anything important comes up, you'll see it, either as part of a conversation or in a flashback).

1. "Vos duos es sic mortuus." – Word-for-word translation of 'you two are so dead'; hence why it's referred to as 'poorly-conjugated'.

2. "Elleboro indiget." – Roughly translated, it means 'he's got a screw loose'.