~Chapter Two~

In Which Dean Plays Fetch With A Werewolf

I've Been Running Through the Jungle;
I've Been Running with the Wolves,
To Get to You, To Get to You.

I've Been Down the Darkest Alleys,
Saw the Dark Side of the Moon,
To Get to You, To Get to You.

~Wolves, by Selena Gomez

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

Location: Wooded Area in Covington, Georgia

Time: 6:15 AM

September 1st, 1999

Seven Years Later

In the faint light of early dawn, Sam sleepily stumbled through the dense underbrush, big hands fisted deep in the pockets of his coat and broadening shoulders hunched against the cool wind. He yawned widely, still too tired to function normally; the Winchesters had pulled yet another all-nighter in search of the supernatural nasty (or nasties) responsible for the recent spike in weird activity in the Southeast region of the United States.

Random popping noises. Check.

Crowds of people wearing dark, hooded cloaks. Check.

Strange flashes of brightly colored lights, particularly of the green and red variety. Check.

It had taken them the better part of two and a half days (and sleepless nights, Sam grumbled to Dean, who muttered back, don't be such a whiny bitch, Sammy) to recover the trail; it had been colder than ice for a week. With a decent lead and general direction in mind, John, Dean, and Sam had squashed themselves into the Impala to snake down the coast of North Carolina and into Georgia, following Highway 95 to the Peach State. An hour from Atlanta found them standing near a small, abandoned castle in Covington, Georgia. Countless urban legends whispered spooky tales about it, though the building had only existed since 1990.

Everything about this case was weird, but of all the reported disturbances, Sam had been most bothered by the popping noises and, for the life of him, could not figure out why that might be so. The teenager might be a gentle giant, even with his background and his strict training in weapons and martial arts, but Sam could still kick ass! He, like most people, also enjoyed fireworks, as well as making popcorn, so why would the tiny noises bother him?

Sam stewed in silence, thinking back…

"Don't worry. We'll be seeing each other again, Sam! Just give it a couple of years." POP!

"Harry," Sam recalled and mumbled the forgotten name as the trio of Winchesters climbed the hill and ducked behind the small, brick fence that hugged the side of the castle.

"Huh." John paused, frowned in thought, and made his decision. He crept around it and to the back, motioning for both boys to stay back while the older Winchester scouted ahead for enemies. "You two stay put. Be back soon. Dean, you're in charge."

Dean smirked in victory, lording his leadership over the youngest Winchester by bumping his shoulder into his. Sam fought the urge to sigh at this order and instead chose to take a seat, finger loosely atop the trigger of his favorite gun.

Dropping down beside him with a soft thud, Dean eyed his little brother and teasingly hissed, "Hairy, huh? Only hairy things around here are my chin and your pits."

"Jerk," Sam grumbled at the twenty-year-old with a green-eyed glare. It really irked him that his big brother thought it funny to poke fun at his spots, his gangly frame, and his lack of facial hair. He subtly rubbed his hand down the soft, naked skin of his cheeks and chin.

"Bitch," Dean retorted and, knowing the coast to be clear for the moment, went straight for his head. Sam smelled him coming (figuratively, though Dean really did need to take a show after stepping in that pile of dog doo earlier…) and ducked down to avoid his grasp. He used his additional three inches of height to his advantage and tackled the older Winchester boy, accidentally causing them both to lose their balance and tumble back down the hill.

"Jeez, Dean, why do you always have to be so violent?" Sam muttered, rubbing at the back of his head and trying to smooth down his brown hair. Dean had thought it pertinent to get even with Sam by giving him a noogie.

"Me? Violent? Never!" Dean scoffed, "and you're one to talk, Mr. Hulk-Smash!"

Embarrassed, Sam opened his mouth to apologize for using too much force and knocking them down the hill, when the nearby bushes began to rustle, shiver, and shake. The Winchesters stiffened and turned to the side, as one, to stare suspiciously into the darkness. Waiting…

"BARK! Bark bark!"

(Hey! A bug!)

Several leaves parted to belch out a small lump of fur at their feet. It clamored to its four legs and quickly shook itself to get rid of the leaves hitching a ride in its tangled fur. The small, dog-like creature yipped happily. Dean and Sam blinked at it, and then each other, exchanging looks of confusion. What was a puppy doing this far out here?

"Yip! Bark bark! Bark bark!"

(Oh! New fwends! Let's pway!)

It barked excitedly and began to sniff its way over.

Warily, Dean stepped back to stare down at the furry little menace – uh, cutie. "Werewolves? We thought it was a witch hiding out here and causing all of this trouble!" He hesitated, but ultimately decided to point his gun at the small, fluffy pup.

"NO, DEAN! It's just a puppy! You can't hurt it," Sam exclaimed, diving in front of his brother to shield the little pup, which had looked to them and, in its excitement, tumbled face-forward into a pile of dirt. It scooched back onto its bottom and shook its head back and forth with an adorable whine.

"Hurt it?" Dean repeated incredulously, "Of course not! I'm going to kill it! Kill it dead! You know that's what Dad would want us to do, Sammy!"

"It's Sam, you jerk, and what does that matter? Just because that's what Dad would want doesn't mean that it's the right thing to do! What kind of person chooses to hurt a puppy?" Sam demanded with his hands to hips. He painted quite the picture, standing there with pouty lips.

"Knock it off, Princess Sammy. Puppy or not, that thing is definitely a werewolf," Dean argued his point, "and it'll be better for everybody if we just kill the little beast."

"But, Dean…" Sam suddenly piped, decidedly ignoring the insults because the bookworm, as the smartest in the family, had made connections that Dean had yet to make.

"What now?" Dean demanded while pointing his gun and aiming right between its eyes.

The teenager, though tall, shrank into himself and hesitated. He finally cleared his throat and slowly said, "Well, if an adult werewolf is fully developed in size, then a puppy would be…"

All of the color drained from his face, and Dean hoarsely finished, "… a kid. Jesus fucking Christ."

"Yeah," Sam confirmed quietly, too stunned to even scold his brother for his choice of words.

The Winchester boys stared down at the little werewolf in silence. They watched it sway – and then stand, climbing to its two back legs. It wobbled in place for a moment and started to walk around the clearing, which, frankly, startled them. American werewolves looked humanoid. According to John and his network of Hunters, it was the European werewolves that, while bipedal, looked like actual wolves.

As Sam moved closer to it, and Dean grabbed the back of his coat to keep him in place, the little werewolf in question stumbled again and tripped into a bush. It growled at the bush and yanked at a smaller branch, tugging at it until, finally, it came off. It tumbled back with the force of the pull and tumbled down onto its fluffy bottom. It sat there, blinked, and then sneezed, dropping the stick. It stared at the stick, then lunged, causing both Winchesters to tense, but it merely picked the broken limb up and trotted to the two of them. It came to a stop in front of them, dropped the stick in front of Dean, and flopped to its haunches, looking pleased with itself.

"Dude, I think the werewolf wants you to throw the stick for him," Sam whispered to his big brother, shoving the words out of the side of his mouth like a cartoon character.

"Him?" Dean asked, somewhat hysterically, and tossed both hands out in front of him, palm-up in a questioning motion. "How are you so sure?!"

"Well, uh, I could check, but I doubt that I'll get away with lifting its leg to look…" Sam looked thoughtfully down at the little werewolf, and if it hadn't been for the twitch of his lips, Dean would have taken him more seriously.

But Dean only choked down a snort of hysterical laughter and glared daggers at his irritating little brother. "You're so damn funny," Dean grumbled. "Really, I'm dying here. You should totally be the next Bill Cosby!"

"Thanks," Sam cheerfully said, pretending to take his words at face value, before moving closer to the puppy and bending down to claim the stick. His hand had just touched the closest twig when –

"Nu-uh. No way. If anybody is going to throw the stick for the little bloodthirsty beast, it's going to be me!" Dean hissed and ducked down to swipe it out from beneath his outstretched hand. Sam made to snatch it back, but his big brother pushed him away with his other hand. "You know what they say – finders keepers, Sammy!"

"…Wow, I didn't know you were such a dog-lover, Dean," Sam announced, surprised with the intensity with which his brother had fought to keep hold of the stick.

"I'm not, but if it – he, whatever – decides to attack and maim somebody…"

"Aw, I'm touched," Sam said and fluttered his eyelashes at him.

"Yeah. In the head," Dean muttered the confirmation.

Accustomed to this sarcasm and pessimistic attitude, Sam ignored the grump in favor of cocking his head to the side and observing the little werewolf bounce around in place; its tiny rump twitched and his tail wagged in happiness. He barked eagerly – and impatiently – at Dean.

"Alright, alright! I get it," Dean said loudly in exasperation. The Hunter lifted his left arm up, pulled it back, and – acted like he had thrown the stick. The little werewolf shot off into the woods in search of the stick, oblivious to the fact that it had remained in the hand of the Winchester.

"Real mature," Sam flatly said, lips twisted into a small frown, arms crossed in disappointment. His brother could be such a meanie! What if the little werewolf got lost? Sam repeated his line of thinking, mouthed the words, and mentally slapped himself. Some Hunter I am!

"I try," Dean back-sassed, to which Sam half-heartedly retorted, "and fail – miserably, too!"

"Eh, I leave the mature business to you, Princess."

The little werewolf returned before either of the Winchesters could voice another insult, and with some grace, it dropped another stick in front of them, though this one was already sanded and seemed to have a…design and handle? What?

"Uh…" Dean hesitated to pick it up and instead glanced from the strange stick to the equally strange retriever. "Good boy?"

"Yip!"

(Duh!)

"TEDDY!"

A yell echoed through the woods as a young man came crashing through the thorny bushes in pursuit of the werewolf. He stumbled out, muttered something about the Floo Network, and absently pulled the leaves and briar out of his thick, black hair. A scar, in the shape of a small lightning bolt, peeked out from beneath his bangs. And Sam recognized him instantly.

"Harry!" Sam exclaimed, ecstatic to see the other boy, though how the boy looked exactly the same after all this time baffled him. He was still short, thin, and wearing those bizarre black glasses, which had nearly fallen off the bridge of his nose as the boy raced through the woods.

Dean snorted, too tired to bother with being surprised. "You know, I think they should switch names – the wolf is hairy, and the boy is as cute as a teddy bear. Makes more sense, don't you think?"

"Aw," Harry cooed, "You really think I'm cute, Dean?" The Wizard fluttered his long eyelashes at the older (well, sort-of, but not at this moment) male, pretending to blush.

Dean made a face at him.

"You…named him Teddy?" Sam asked the smaller – but obviously not younger – male. He hesitantly continued, "You do realize that it's a werewolf, right? It's not a regular dog, or a pet…"

"Of course," The Wizard laughed at his concern and rolled his emerald-green eyes. His cheerful expression actually became stony and solemn for a minute. "His father was a werewolf and, unfortunately, passed it down to him. He and his Mum named him Edward Lupin, after his grandfather, Ted, but most of us call him Teddy."

"Lupin," Sam repeated with an incredulous look, and his big brain helpfully spat out the meaning of the word lupine. "Uh, not to be rude or anything, but doesn't that mean wolf in Latin?"

Far from offended, Harry snorted at his question, finding his good cheer again. "Oh, I know. His father was named Remus Lupin, which kinda makes him, like, the son of Moon Moon." A soft snicker escaped from between his lips.

Terribly confused, Sam blinked owlishly down at him and asked, "What's a moon moon?" But Harry was already ahead of him and had muttered, "Ah, I forget that you aren't going to be familiar with that internet meme yet…"

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't come out until 2013, so…" Harry shrugged his shoulders at the youngest Winchester.

"You mean you're from the future?" Dean asked, incredulously, and with his hands thrown up in the air. Sam refrained from telling him that he looked just like Dad. It would've made his head bigger.

"Kind of?" Harry said with another shrug. This was really hard to explain to Muggles, especially when the Muggles in question were also Hunters and could shoot his bollocks off. "I've been doing a lot of back and forth with Teddy, here, since the end of the War."

"Which war?" Dean demanded. "Yeah, right! Pull the other one, Doc Brown! You barely look a day over sixteen, like Sam! Just as cute and baby-faced." And Sam used aforementioned baby-face to give his brother his patented Bitch Face to hiss - "Dean!"

"I'm more of a Marty McFly, but to answer your question, the Second Wizarding War," Harry answered calmly, "but enough about that! Have either of you seen a small stick, about this long…?" The Wizard held his hands out to mime about the length of a ruler and a half. "It's wooden, and brown – uh, like most sticks."

"You mean the thing that the Big Bad Wolf here has been playing fetch with for the last ten minutes?" Dean sarcastically asked and pointed his thumb to the stick in question, which the little wolf had been quietly gnawing on as the three of them flapped their lips.

"TEDDY!" Harry shrieked in all capitals, as the boy always seemed to do when addressing his Godson, and dove for little-boy-turned-wolf. He tapped him on the nose repeatedly and muttered, "Drop it! DROP IT!"

"You know that makes you Little Red Riding Hood, right?" Sam snickered to him in an aside while watching the Wizard fuss at the werewolf puppy. Who'd have thought? The life of Sam Winchester is an interesting one!

"Bad puppy! You know better than to chew on my wand!" Harry scolded him by shaking his finger in front of his cute little face. The little werewolf hung his head and, much to their amazement, changed into the form of a two-year-old little boy. A human boy.

Teddy pouted at him, lip jutted out and two big crocodile tears trailing out of his brown eyes as a whimper bypassed his teeth – "Sowwy, Hawwy. Didn't wanna make you mad. Just wanna pway."

Harry blinked, and his frown melted away. The Wizard snatched the little boy into his arms, squeezed the life out of him, and cooed into his blue hair, making soft hushing noises. "Aw! You're just too cute! Come here, you!"

"What are they doing?" Sam asked, and Dean snorted, "I think they're having a moment." The two Hunters watched in morbid fascination as the pair interacted; Teddy yawned and dropped his head onto Harry, tiny cheek pressed to his thin shoulder.

"I think it's naptime," Harry crooned down at his Godson, petting his blue hair with gentle hands, hoping to soothe him to sleep. Good puppy!

"'m not sweepy," Teddy whined around his yawn and, to the delight of his Godfather, stuck his thumb in his mouth and began to suck on it.

"Uh-huh," Harry said with amusement, "Most certainly not." He smirked down at the gently snoring boy. "Anyway, I think it's about time Teddy and I get out of here. Thanks for finding Teddy for me! Oh! My wand, too." The Wizard flashed them the peace sign. "See you two around!"

POP!

Before either Winchester could protest, Harry and Teddy were gone.

"So cool," Sam mumbled to himself and, thankfully, too quietly to be heard because just seconds later, John Winchester stomped back around the brick wall and down the hill.

"Damn witches," Daddy Winchester growled fiercely around his lit cigarette. He dropped it to the ground and rubbed it out with the sole of his boot. "There were two of them squatting in there, I could tell, but by the time I got through their wards, all I got was this note!"

"A note?" Dean asked, his words laced with his curiosity. "What did it say?"

"I don't know!" John threw his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated and done with the whole damn situation. "It's addressed to Sam, and I can't get it to open! I even tried burning the goddamn thing! No luck!"

Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed by this little trick but unwilling to admit to it, especially to his Dad, of all people. "Huh…"

Meanwhile, Sam had snatched the letter from his hands and easily opened it, since it had been addressed to his signature with Magic. While John Winchester continued to rage and throw his little temper tantrum, Dean stepped forward to peek around his shoulder, too short to actually stare over it.

Sam (– and Dean, too, because you're like the barnacle to his whale),

If you're reading this letter, then I win AGAIN! Bow down before your QUEEN! Why queen, you ask? Well, it's a really long story – one that I don't have time to write about at the moment. Don't worry! You'll find out what I mean in about, oh, seven years?

Anyway, I solved that case you were working! A couple of Dark Wizards escaped Azkaban. Again. You know, you'd think they would have heightened security there before this rot, what with all the break-outs and everything, but what do I know? It's not like I battled and beat a Dark Lord! Nope. Not me!

So yeah, I only knocked them out, but I shipped them off back off to Azkaban, and this time, I have the promise of the Minister that they will STAY there! Kingsley even got two dragons to guard the place! Isn't that wicked?!

Here, the pen – or whatever it had been written in – suddenly jerked off the page. A couple of ink smudges dotted the next three inches of parchment. The rest of the letter was written hastily, like the author had suddenly had good reason to fear for his life.

Blimey! Hermione just found the biting teacup I stashed in her cupboard two weeks ago. She's on the warpath. So I gotta fly. Accio, Firebolt, anyone?

Sorry about all the trouble! Tell John not to get his panties all in a twist, yeah?

Oh, before I forget – Teddy says, "Hi, Uncle Sam and Uncle Dean! Don't forget to bring me a souvenir next time!"

MUCH LOVE from your favorite Wizard and the President/Queen of the Hard-to-Kill-Club,

Harry J. Potter

Dean and Sam both stared down at the crinkled sheet of paper. The older Winchester rubbed at his weary eyes and muttered, "Ugh, I really hate Witches."

"And werewolves?" Sam asked, stunned but amused.

"YES."

***Author's Note***

Long time, no write, I know. My life has been chaotic since I became an "adult." Nobody let on that that Life doesn't give refunds! :P

Much like Harry couldn't resist traveling back in time to meet the Baby Winchesters, I couldn't resist playing around with the idea of a Baby Teddy. He is the inspiration for this chapter. All bow down before Teddy! :D Isn't he adorable?

Up Next: In Which Dean Adopts A Wizard

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