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. Both the title for this fic and the title for part one are lyrics 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 part two is a line from Hiding Place (© MCA Records & Bedlam. Off the 'Into the Coals' album). 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, about a year and a half ago, I had an idea which didn't pan out all that well. What was the idea? Why, having Remus raise Harry in the US, of course. Unfortunately, I couldn't get all the details to fall into place, but that particular musebunny wouldn't leave me alone. Eventually, it started talking with the musebunny which spawned the Once is Happenstance trilogy. This is what resulted. Though this is another SPN/HP crossover, I do hope it's obvious that it in no way pertains to the Once is Happenstance stories.

Story info/spoilers: This is an AU crossover between Harry Potter and Supernatural (I know I'm being repetitive here, but I don't want angry readers coming back later and saying I didn't warn them that this was a crossover). A choice made changes the story told in the Harry Potter books. There will be aspects of all canon books included, but no real spoilers; for example, I loathe the concept of the horcruxes, and so they will not be part of this tale. Likewise, with Supernatural, there may or may not be references later in the story to events as they were revealed in any of the thus-produced episodes of the series – this means all episodes from the Pilot right through No Rest for the Wicked might be spoiled. The timeline for this story diverges from that of either canon on November 1, 1981. This will likewise not be slash – any mention of slash will only be in passing and won't go into much, if any, detail. What there will be a lot of, especially once John Winchester makes his appearance, will be bad language; so if that sort of thing offends you, you can take yourself elsewhere. There will also be large jumps in time – I don't particularly like having to go over every single detail about how this person met that person, and so when this happens, just go with the relationships as I've presented them. There may or may not be flashbacks, if it becomes necessary.

Run for Your Life

Part One - No Time for Goodbye

November 2, 1981

Minerva checked the clock on her mantelpiece for what had to have been the hundredth time that evening – well… early morning, now. The clock read 'way past bedtime'. She knew what she wanted to do, but was having difficulty reconciling that with her previously unquestioned support of Headmaster Dumbledore. She sighed and resumed chasing her thoughts around her skull.

That 'family' – if it can rightly be called that, is… well, I don't even like thinking language like that, but I'm right. I know I'm right. If little Harry stays with them like Albus wants, I can only see two paths for the child, neither of which are promising. The first is that his aunt and uncle will end up spoiling the dear child as horribly as they've spoilt their own. A travesty Albus was trying to avoid in the first place by placing him in their care.

The second… I don't even want to think about it! Lily's told – no, used to tell me about her sister. Merlin, I'm going to miss her very much… She took a moment to wipe her eyes on a crumpled hanky. The second path is the direct opposite of the first. Lily had told me on numerous occasions how much her sister hated anything magical. I know that Albus likes to believe that everyone is really good at heart – except, maybe, for Voldemort – but the world isn't really like that. Just from what I watched today, well, yesterday, I know that what Lily's told me is true. I just can't see that woman accepting her nephew without holding some sort of grudge against the poor boy.

Minerva sighed again, and nodded at the clock. It now read, 'time to act'.

She pulled a tartan-colored shawl tightly around her shoulders and replaced her tall, pointed hat with the wide brim on top of her graying hair, which was still secured in its customary bun. Purposefully, she strode through the quiet hallways of the school, reaching the owlery in record time. Once there, she penned a quick note to one of her all-time-favorite students, using a scrap of parchment and a pencil stub she'd had in her pockets.

While the plain brown barn owl winged its way out into the night, Minerva hurried down the stone staircase and nearly broke into a run across the Hogwarts lawns. She apparated to her destination the moment her feet were outside the wards.

As she didn't have the benefit of Albus' Put-Outer, she made sure to appear in the deepest shadows she could find along the tall brick wall where she'd spent her day watching the goings-on of Number 4, Private Drive. Hidden by the shadows, she shifted to her feline form and raced through the yard to the front stoop. Letting out a cat-sigh of relief, she easily located Harry Potter in his bundle of blankets. She returned to her normal human self, picked him up, and apparated again, this time using the cover of the darkness of the front stoop in which to hide her magic from any prying muggle eyes.

Remus was pacing in the dilapidated ruin that once was the sitting room of the Shrieking Shack. He hadn't been able to sleep; who would have? He'd just returned from a mission for the Order when he received some news from Albus. Bad news. In two sentences, Remus' life had turned upside down.

"Remus, Lily and James were killed by Voldemort late last night. Sirius was captured after having apparently killed Peter this morning; the aurors say he was laughing."

Three of his four closest – in truth, only – friends had been killed, and the fourth was directly responsible. How could Sirius have done it? Remus wondered, yet again. He and James were like brothers! He'd said over and over again that he hated his family's view on the whole pureblood-thing. How could Sirius do it? And why? Why, damnit!

Remus growled and punched a hole in the cracked plaster wall. "Why, Sirius? Why did you betray your friends? Your family – you said as much yourself! God damnit, why?"

The tears he'd been trying to hold off all day threatened to escape his control, but he swallowed them down. Taking a couple of deep breaths to calm himself further, he righted an overturned moth-eaten armchair and gingerly lowered himself onto it. Just as his body made contact with the piece of furniture, he was startled by the appearance of an owl. He jerked, and that proved too much for the much-abused chair to take; its legs collapsed in a creaking crunch of tired wood and splinters. Remus ended up lying on his back, staring up at the moldering ceiling. "Figures."

Ignoring Remus' angered expression, the owl landed on his chest, dropped the fragment of parchment it carried, hooted, and took off again. Remus picked up the parchment, not even bothering to get up, and quickly read it.

Remus,

For all that I generally trust Albus' judgment, I believe him to have made a gross error in deciding to leave young Harry with his aunt and uncle. Meet me at the Shrieking Shack no later than five this morning, if you can. I will only be able to wait an hour or so.

Minerva

Remus had just enough time to wonder just what Minerva was up to when there was the popping noise of someone apparating in somewhere off to his right and behind him. He tipped his head up and saw an upside-down Minerva standing with a somewhat bemused smile on her face. She appeared to be holding something, but Remus wasn't sure what. "Somehow, I don't think that Moody would approve of your current position."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Moody can go bugger himself for all I care."

Minerva tutted, "Come now, Remus. Brave face and all that."

Remus sighed a little and levered himself out of the mess he'd made of the chair. "What's with the note?" he asked, brushing himself off.

Minerva took a deep breath and began explaining how she'd watched the Dursley family all day, and how when she'd voiced her opinions to Albus, he'd ignored her. "I thought that perhaps Harry would be best served with the one remaining person his parents counted as family." She held out the bundle of blankets she'd been holding. "Go on, Remus. Take him."

Remus' heart felt lodged somewhere behind his tonsils. "But… but…"

"But what?"

"What of the Ministry?"

"They needn't ever know. Take Harry, Remus. I know you, and I trust you."

Remus swallowed, "What about the…"

"I'm sure you'll manage, Remus. You're intelligent – you can and will figure something out for the full moons. I cannot, and more importantly, will not allow him to be raised by those disgusting examples of humankind I observed today."

Remus wanted to do what Minerva was asking of him – wanted nothing more, in fact. But something was holding him back. "Where would we go? Harry could hardly grow up here," he gestured to the squalor around them.

Minerva shook her head, "I don't know, Remus. And you probably shouldn't tell me in any case. Albus will likely fire me as it stands; there's no sense in giving him more information than necessary at this point."

Remus was now the one to shake his head, "No, Minerva. I doubt he'd fire you."

The bundle of blankets stirred a little and bright green eyes peeked out. "Moony!" Harry squealed and squirmed to get down. "Moony! Moony! Moony!" Since squirming wasn't getting him anywhere, he tried another tactic. He reached out with both arms and let out a long, drawn out, "Moooooooony!"

Remus' resolve broke and he took the toddler from Minerva. She smiled. "That's more like it." Minerva reached into her pocket and withdrew a small packet of papers. "Since being made Deputy Headmistress, I have often had to make decisions in Albus' stead – and not all of them have been for the school. I've made sure that Harry's legal guardianship has been transferred to you, Remus. It's all in these papers. All you need do is sign them and they become binding. They also become confidential, so no one but the two of us will ever know."

Remus took the packet of paperwork with his free hand and tucked them into his pocket. He came to a decision and met Minerva's eyes. "No, Minerva. You're wrong."

"How so?"

He deftly slipped his wand out of the pocket of his jacket and smiled a little. "You know the only way to keep a secret safe is to not tell it to anyone, right?" She nodded a little, confusion clouding her eyes. "And so, Minerva, I must say goodbye." He raised the wand and saw comprehension dawn in McGonagall's eyes. She smiled a sad, worn grin and nodded. After his whispered obliviate, he apparated Harry and himself to another safe location, not far from Diagon Alley in London.

The flat into which Remus and Harry arrived was little more than a closet above a small secondhand bookshop across the street from the Leaky Cauldron. It had a bed that pulled down out of the wall, a chest of drawers, and a tiny sink. There weren't even any windows, only the door to the hallway. Remus was an acquaintance of the squib-owner of the shop, and had been given permission to stay in the flat whenever he liked. Remus flicked the light switch and pulled the bed out of the wall. He sat Harry down on the bed's surface before removing the packet of paperwork Minerva had given him from his pocket.

He felt bad about altering Minerva's memory like that, but he really didn't have any choice. He had too much respect for her to allow her to lose any standing in Albus' eyes. He hoped that the memory he'd left her with – of wanting to check in on him, only to find that he wasn't at the shack – would be enough to cover for however much time she'd been gone from Hogwarts. If it wasn't… Well, he'd worry about that if it ever came up. To tell the truth, he thought, I wouldn't be at all surprised if my obliviation of Minerva didn't do more than buy us a couple of days' time – after all, won't Albus be keeping his all-seeing eye on Harry? Particularly since he left the boy at his aunt and uncle's?

Taking a seat next to Harry, he began reading through the paperwork. Despite Harry's earlier energy in sighting 'Uncle Moony,' he was already fast asleep once more. Basically, the paperwork – authenticated with Albus' own signature, provided by his deputy – was precisely what Minerva had claimed it was. Simply by signing the documents, Remus would become Harry's sole guardian, with all the obligations, duties, and benefits thereof; there was something to be said for the power of being the Chief Warlock of the International Confederation of Wizards. Per Lily and James' wishes, Harry's guardian would be provided with a sum of a hundred galleons a month to go towards Harry's care. That eased one of Remus' many worries – he wouldn't have to figure out a way to live on the meager funds he was normally able to scrape together. He would finish worrying about the rest of his concerns when he'd had some sleep. Regardless of his restlessness of earlier in the evening, he suddenly found himself rather tired.

He removed his threadbare jacket and toed out of his boots, grabbing the muggle ball-point he kept in his breast pocket before nonchalantly tossing the jacket into the far corner. He scrawled his name in the appropriate places on the guardianship papers, laid down next to Harry, and was asleep in moments.

The next morning, Remus awoke to the slightly-blurred sight of Harry peering into his face from less than a couple of inches away. The toddler had peeled back Remus' left eyelid and was staring at him.

Seeing that both of 'Uncle Moony's ' eyes were now open, Harry let go of Remus' eyelid. "Mownin'."

Merlin, he's a morning person, isn't he? Remus blinked several times to wet his dried-out eye and yawned. "Morning, Harry."

"Hunwy."

Remus nodded and headed to the sink, hastily scrubbed his face, and sighed. What now? "Moony! Hunwy!"

Remus was pretty sure that was toddler-speak for 'hungry,' though what he was supposed to do about it, he wasn't sure. He didn't have time to think about it, for just at that moment there was a knock on the door. Remus opened it to reveal his squib-acquaintance.

"Thought I heard you pop in this morning, Remus," Graziella stated, smiling somewhat crookedly. "Though I can't blame you for the hour. I'd just got back from Diggle's fireworks show, myself."

"Graziella." Remus' brain still hadn't quite kicked on.

"Ah. You must have just woken. Hope it wasn't me," her smile grew a little. She was very tall, towering over Remus, and had iron-gray hair that was still as thick and full as it had been when she'd been young.

"Ah, no, Graziella. You didn't wake me."

"That's good, then. I've some coffee ready downstairs. What with everything that's happened in the last two days, I've decided not to open until noon today. It's just half-past eight right now. Help yourself whenever you get that far." She turned to leave, but Remus' brain had finally switched into go-mode.

"Graziella? Can I ask you a favor?"

She turned back to face him, "Depends on what it is, dear-heart. You know that."

"Well… I need to get some things done in Diagon this morning – I don't know how long I'll be."

"And?"

Tired of being ignored, Harry chose that moment to pipe up with, "Moony! Hunwy! Now!"

Graziella hadn't noticed the other occupant of the flat until just then. Her eyes widened significantly. "As I live and breathe… That's him, isn't it?"

Remus sighed. I should have known this would happen. "Yes. Could you watch him for me?"

Graziella nodded, "It would be an honor."

After introducing Harry to Graziella, and promising Harry that the woman would be able to locate some breakfast for him, Harry quietly consented to being carried off by the unfamiliar person. Remus paused long enough to pull on his boots and jacket – making sure his pen and the paperwork were both safely ensconced in a pocket – before rushing downstairs. He paused again at the coffee pot and filled a styrofoam cup to take with him. Drinking the coffee quickly, he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley.

He went straight to Gringotts. His business there didn't take long to complete, and before an hour had passed, he had a new wallet into which his guardianship stipend would be automatically deposited as whatever type of currency – magical world or muggle – Remus requested. Tucking the new wallet into his pocket, he turned from the goblin with whom he'd been doing business and began walking out of the bank. Just before he reached the doors, he saw Lucius Malfoy step inside, looking uncharacteristically harried and stressed. Remus quickly stepped out of the older wizard's way as the man hurried past. A thought struck him just as he left the building. Somehow I don't think that the UK is a very nice place to be right now. There's bound to be Death Eaters who are more than a little upset over the downfall of their lord and master. The Ministry isn't capable of catching them all – James and Sirius, here he had to swallow a little to get the lump out of his throat, weren't the only aurors that… died… recently. That's not to mention the numbers of aurors who won't ever work the field again. Frankly, I'm surprised that Moody is still working, what with losing his leg like that. Remus kept his gaze focused at a point on the ground some six feet directly ahead of him, ignoring the people he passed, while he made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron.

By the time he returned to Dog-Eared Pages, he'd fully worked himself to the conclusion that he and Harry would likely have to leave Britain. After a couple of weeks at the most, he was certain that Albus, as well as any lingering Death Eaters, would be hunting Harry. It was his duty that they, the Death Eaters in particular, never located the boy.

The bell over the shop's door jangled merrily as he entered. "Graziella?" Remus called out.

"Back here!" came the reply. Remus followed the direction of the voice to a tiny kitchen tucked under the stairs to the second floor. There was a small table with two mismatched chairs. Harry was sitting on the table, slowly gnawing his way through a massive chocolate biscuit, and Graziella was sitting on the vinyl-upholstered metal chair nearest the door. "All done in Diagon, dearie?"

"Yeah," Remus replied, slumping down onto the hard, wooden chair that was missing one of the slats in the back.

"What's the matter?" Graziella noticed Remus' sober expression. "I'd've thought everyone would be extraordinarily happy – even you, Remus."

Remus reluctantly met Graziella's brown eyes. "Ignoring the fact that all four of my closest and dearest friends are now dead – or as good as dead – just what should I be happy about?" His tone was just a touch bitter.

Graziella winced, "Sorry, honey. I'd forgotten how close you were with the Potters, Pettigrew, and Black."

Remus rested his head in his hands, his elbows propped up on the table. He massaged his temples and tried to breathe deeply, hoping to forestall the headache he could almost feel. "Besides all that, I suddenly realized that they will be looking for Harry, wanting to finish the job Voldemort started."

Graziella flinched a little at the Dark Lord's name. "The thought had occurred to me, as well."

"I just don't know if I can do this," he motioned to Harry, who was still gnawing on the biscuit, blithely unaware of the conversation occurring right in front of him.

"Sure you can, Remus."

Remus let out a mirthless little chuckle. "Oh?"

Graziella grinned, "Of course. You will because you have to."

Remus barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the woman. "Glad one of us thinks so. I was prepared to be 'Uncle Remus' until the end of time. I am not prepared to raise him!"

Graziella gestured to the only picture on the wall – it was obviously a muggle black-and-white of a much younger version of herself with a tall man and three small children. "Few of us are ever really prepared to raise kids, hon. Most of us end up doing just fine in the end, though. I happen to think Amelia turned out rather well, don't you?"

Remus smiled a little. "Yeah. I heard she's next-in-line for the position of Head of the MLE. Merlin knows, she deserves it. She brought in how many Death Eaters over the last ten years? Sixty? Seventy?"

"Fifty-three; the seven she caught as a rookie don't count since she had Moody's help," Graziella replied. "But, like I said, there aren't too many people who are ready to be parents when they suddenly find that they are. You can and will do fine."

"What of the Death Eaters who will inevitably find some way to either evade capture or who have the political guff to buy their way out of prison? How on earth am I to keep Harry from them? They're ruthless…"

Graziella shrugged, "Simple: don't be where they are."

This time, Remus did roll his eyes. "Easy for you to say."

"Oh, come now, Remus. This world is much too large for them to be everywhere."

"And just where would you go?" he asked.

"Well," Graziella drew the word out, thinking quickly. "I've always heard that the US is a good place to disappear. Canada, too, for that matter."

"Hmm…" Remus suddenly realized that Graziella was quite right; the world really was too large for the Death Eaters to have agents everywhere, and not even Albus would be able to find a moving target in a country as large and heavily-populated as the US. "You might be right."

Graziella smirked, "Of course I am. Now, did you want some more coffee?"

Over the next day and a half, Remus used approximately a quarter of that first stipend payment – as well as his meager savings – to purchase some necessities for Harry. Fully half of the stipend went towards plane tickets to JFK International Airport in New York as well as passports for the both of them. He was reluctant to use the remainder of the money for any reason; he and Harry would need something to live on until the next payment or until Remus could locate a job. He'd already decided that they would be sticking to muggle venues as it wouldn't do for someone to recognize his lycanthropy.

When the plane finally landed, all Remus could feel was an inordinate measure of relief. It was about noon, local time, and the weather was brightly cheerful for all that it was early November. Trees were sporting leaves nearly every shade of the rainbow, despite the fact that they grew mainly in large planter-boxes or in specific park areas. Seeing the fees for taxi service painted on the side of one of what seemed to be hundreds of cabs outside the airport, Remus did some quick calculations and came to the conclusion that this misadventure was very poorly researched on his part. Carrying Harry, he set out on foot – their shrunken luggage had been in his pocket ever since Remus had packed earlier that morning.

It was nearing six o'clock and dusk before Remus finally located a park area where the people already present didn't make him nervous. Maybe I ought to have opted for Chicago or Houston, he thought. He bought a couple of hot-dogs from a vendor, a can of cola for himself, and a bottle of Yoo-Hoo for Harry. They both made short work of their meal. When he was done, Harry turned hopeful eyes on Remus, "Pway?"

Remus nodded and swung Harry onto his shoulders before heading towards some swings. There were several other people with children present, and he soon discovered that the oddly-shaped swings on one end were designed with toddlers in mind. He was absently pushing Harry in the swing, worrying about where they were going to stay for the night, when he heard a woman's voice right next to him. "That's something you don't see every day."

"Pardon?" Remus turned his head and saw a short woman with long, curly, dark hair and wearing patched jeans and a slightly-frayed, green sweater.

The woman smiled, "Ooh, and he's British, too! My day just keeps getting better and better."

Remus shook his head as though to dislodge water from his ears. "Pardon?"

She laughed, "Sorry, kid. Didn't mean to confuse ya. I'm Raven." She offered her hand.

Remus shook it a little limply, "Remus Lupin. What were you saying?"

She shrugged a little. "Nothing much. Just that it ain't all that often ya see a kid your age out with a baby. He yours?"

Remus grabbed the edge of the blue plastic swing and lifted Harry out of it. "Yes, but at the same time, a resounding no."

Raven quirked an eyebrow, "Huh?"

Remus' internal honesty – which, in truth had always been one of his strongest features – prompted him to reply before he could come up with something better. "He's the son of two of my best friends who passed away recently. So, in a way, he is, but really, he's not."

"Ah," Raven replied. "Lemme guess, you just got here today, and still ain't found a hotel yet."

Remus nodded. "How did you –"

"Come along, then. I ain't from here, just passin' through myself, but I have been here before and know my way around pretty well. I'll find ya somewhere ta stay for the night, an' if ya are nice, I just might give ya some good advice, too." She turned on her heel and began striding across the nearly-deserted park. Noticing that Remus was lagging, she turned her head and called over her shoulder, "Come on, Wolf! We ain't got all night!"

Alarmed, Remus hurried to catch up with her. "Why did you just call me 'Wolf'?"

Raven shrugged again, "It's your name, ain't it? Romulus and Remus. Lupin, lupus, wolf. Latin. I like word etymology."

Remus' pulse slowed back to the appropriate range. "Oh."

She stopped next to a massive, old, rusty, lime-green pickup truck which had a white shell over the bed and a small camper-trailer hitched to it. "Where's your stuff, or did it get stolen already?"

Remus bit his lip. He'd hoped no one would notice his and Harry's lack of luggage. "Um…" he stalled, reaching into his pocket with his free hand for his wand.

He'd just retrieved it when Raven laughed. "Okay, then, pro'ly a pocket, yeah?"

Remus blinked in surprise. "Um… Witch?"

Raven laughed again. "Not exactly, but I do know a thing or two 'bout it." She retrieved her keys from her pocket and unlocked the driver's door. "Go 'round the other side, an' I'll unlock Frank for ya."

Remus decided that Raven – most likely the oddest woman he'd ever met – was probably not too much of a threat and seemed genuinely honest. He hurried around to the passenger side of the truck and climbed in when Raven unlocked the door. "Frank?"

"My truck. Short for Frankenstein. Has the body of a '57 International, but has the engine of a Ford, and the tranny of a Chevy. Friend of mine down South Dakota way built 'im for me. No idea how he got all the dif'rent parts ta fit together, but he did it. Runs better than he looks, though." She started the truck, which backfired noisily before coughing into life.

"You're sure this thing is safe?" Remus asked nervously. Harry, for his part, giggled at the loud noise.

"Absolutely," Raven replied. "Lemme think a sec…" She glanced at her watch. "It's half-six, an' we're about an hour from any sort of affordable hotel… Hmm… You set on stayin' in the Big Apple?"

Remus shrugged, though in the gathering twilight it was hard to see. "Not particularly."

Nodding, Raven put the truck into gear and turned on the lights. "Alrighty then. I can work with that. I s'pose ya have some sorta cash with ya?"

"A bit, yeah."

"Good. You can pay for some of the gas. Was on my way south for the winter. Spent most of the summer up in N'England. Thought I'd check if a friend of mine was in Charleston, then head 'cross to the Sou'west. I was thinkin' on maybe stayin' in New Mexico or Arizona this winter."

Remus vaguely recalled his world geography lessons from primary school. "Isn't that rather far?"

"Not really. I s'pose it all depends on perspective. The US is a big place; it ain't uncommon for someone to drive a thousand miles or more just for vacation. Personally, I don't really have an address. I live in the camper and make my way however I can. Modern gypsy, I s'pose."

"Ah, I see."

While deftly navigating the New York traffic, Raven chatted brightly about most anything that came to mind. About the same time that they exited the Lincoln Tunnel on the Jersey side, Remus knew that she'd managed to see something she really shouldn't have when she was fifteen, and had been 'on the run' ever since, but the details of that encounter were, either by accident or design, hazy. She also implied that Raven wasn't her real name, but Remus didn't press the issue. He fell asleep about halfway across New Jersey, still listening to her chatter.

Part Two – Show Me a Hiding Place

November 2, 1983

For all that the night had been lit by a full moon, it was obvious that the sky was getting lighter; dawn was fast approaching. I should start thinking about heading back, Remus thought, but returned his attention to the corpse in front of him. It was a cow. Probably brown-and-white, or maybe black-and-white. Remus had found her as she was, lying mostly on her side, her legs stiffly held at angles to her body. It was the fourth such corpse he had located that night. An odd smell lingered in the air, an unappealing mix of ozone and sulfur and… Yes, Dark magic.

What is going on here? Remus trotted away from the cow-corpse, cutting through pastures and wheat-fields on his way back to town. There was Dark magic on all four of those cows, but it didn't smell like wand-magic. Reaching the outskirts of Lawrence, Remus stuck to lingering shadows between buildings as he wormed his way to his destination. The digital display on a bank clock appeared to be broken, as its temperature display kept flickering between 47 and 49 degrees. Remus ignored it and poured on a little more speed. He really should have been back an hour ago, but had gotten side-tracked by the dead cattle.

He finally made it to the house he needed. "You, Mr. Lupin, are late." Remus whined in apology, and the door was held open for him. "But, yes, I see you've got a good excuse. Hurry yourself up to the guest room. We'll talk when you wake up."

Thanks, Missouri, he thought at her before doing precisely what she told him to.

A couple of neighborhoods over from where Remus and Harry were staying for a few days with their good friend, another house was just starting to rise to greet the day, ignorant that this would be the last time they did so as a family.

They were a normal family – even if they hadn't yet gotten around to putting up the white picket fence and were holding off on getting a dog until their youngest could appreciate it, too. Mom woke up first, just like always, and checked on her baby and then the older boy before getting dressed for the day and heading downstairs to put together breakfast. About half an hour after she got out of bed, Dad followed, but his first stop (after checking the boys, of course) was the bathroom. Usually the older boy, Dean, woke up about the same time Dad was finishing up, and the two of them went into the baby's room to say 'good morning'. Today was no different.

The three men of the family then went downstairs to join Mom for breakfast. Dad would read the paper while Dean dug through the box of Chocolate-Frosted Sugar Bombs for the toy. When breakfast was over, Dad left for work and Mom set about cleaning the kitchen before moving on to clean up her boys and get them dressed.

Mom spent the morning playing with Dean and the baby, Sammy. Dean was getting really close to being able to go through the whole alphabet without help. After lunch, the three of them went for a walk, down to the small grocery store a few blocks over, and back – Mom had needed to pick up a few things for supper.

Though the paper had forecast a clear, sunny day with a high around sixty-two, sometime when Mom wasn't looking, thick clouds had rolled in. It was warmer than the paper had said it would be, too. At work, Dad turned to one of his coworkers and mentioned something about how 'those idiots couldn't forecast yesterday's weather and get it right'. Neither Mom nor Dad knew, but it wasn't a weatherman's shortcomings behind the unseasonable warmth of the day, nor the heavy, low clouds which flashed through with intermittent lightning, promising rain, yet not delivering on that promise.

After the boys' naps that afternoon, instead of going to the park like they did on sunny days when it wasn't too cold, Mom and Dean worked together on a batch of chocolate-chip cookies. Sammy, too young to help, sat in a swing in the corner of the kitchen and watched, gurgling to himself.

About the same time that Dad was on his way home from work, a particularly loud thunderclap startled Mom and Dean and made baby Sammy giggle loudly. Mom saw how the thunder, though amusing to the baby, was scaring her oldest and gave the boy a hug. "Don't worry, sweetheart. It's just the sound of the angels bowling." She couldn't possibly have been further from the truth.

Something was winding up the dogs in the neighborhood. Remus couldn't blame them for their bout of nerves – he was feeling decidedly uneasy, too. He'd woken just a few minutes before and the clock on Missouri's guest room's bedside table said that it was already half past four in the afternoon. The amount of light filtering into the room, however, was much darker. Remus felt as though it was seven or eight at night, and that feeling, at direct odds to the actual time, had him even more in conflict with himself. He wandered over to the window and stared out at the ongoing lightning flickers. They made the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge.

"Harry's been asking for you."

Remus startled and spun around, seeing Missouri standing in the doorway. He nodded, "He always does."

"Before you ask – yeah, I can feel it too. And no, I don't know what it all means. Never felt anything like this before and I can't say as I like it. It feels…"

"Wrong," Remus supplied.

Missouri nodded, "It does at that." Giving herself a little shake, she let out a huff of air and said, "Supper's just about ready. Beef stew."

Remus squashed that sense of wrong and Dark in which his mind had been bathing and grinned, "So that's why I dreamt of an army of carrots and onions all day." He strode from the disquieting dark of the window and followed the black lady down the stairs to the kitchen. "You know, Missouri, if you were fifteen years younger…"

Missouri allowed herself to laugh, "Oh, shush you!"

And so the evening played out, both the adults in the house filling in the long, uneasy hours with forced chatter and bantering. The act melted quickly after Harry fell asleep, cuddled on the lap of his 'Grammissouri', halfway through a child's version of the Arthurian legend.

Remus, hoping that a walk would help clear some of the sense of impending doom from his heart, slipped into a light jacket – the late evening had proven just as unseasonably warm as the day had been – and was assured by his good friend that she would see Harry safely to bed.

Back at the completely normal – for a few more hours, yet – white, two-story suburban home just a few small neighborhoods away from Missouri Mosley's house, the totally normal – for a few more hours, yet – family was preparing for bed. It was only a few minutes past eight, but it was more for the benefit of four year-old Dean that the entire house was going to bed. Mom would only stay up another hour or so – baby Sammy often woke several times in the night for one reason or another, but it was getting better with every week that passed by. Dad would nearly always stay up until eleven or midnight, watching old movies on the television. Tonight was really no different.

Mom gave Dean a bath and dressed him in his favorite pair of blue-and-brown checkered flannel pajamas, then carried him to his younger brother's nursery. "Come on," she said, flicking on the light. "Let's say goodnight to your brother." Mom sat Dean down on the floor.

Dean hurried up next to Sammy's crib, climbed up on a small wooden stool that was there just for that purpose, and kissed the top of little Sammy's head. "'Night, Sam," he said.

"Goodnight, love," Mom cooed to the baby, leaning down close and caressing Sammy's wispy baby-hair.

Dad arrived in the nursery, smiling indulgently at his family. "Hey, Dean," he said.

Dean scrambled down off of the stool and raced across the room, "Daddy!"

Dad scooped Dean up with a playful little bounce, "Hey, buddy. So, what do you think? Think Sammy's ready to toss around a football yet?"

Dean grinned, he knew his daddy was just joking, "No, daddy!"

Dad echoed Dean's 'of course not' tone, "No."

Mom, smiling at the antics of her boys, paused next to them and patted Dean's back. "You got him?"

Dad nodded, "I got him." After Mom left the room, Dad, carrying Dean, gave the older boy a hug as he directed a 'sweet dreams, Sam' to the crib before exiting the nursery, flicking off the light as he went.

When his family was out of the room, baby Sammy gurgled contentedly to himself, watching as the baseball-themed mobile spun above him, regardless of the fact that no one had wound it. A clock, straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, decorated with cars and airplanes, ticked and tocked on the wall, a biplane pendulum rocking back and forth over the twelve. The clock stopped.

A crescent-moon nightlight started flickering a little in the corner, making the shadows of the stuffed animals on a neighboring shelf dance.

Sam giggled.

An indeterminate amount of time after lying down to sleep, Mom woke up to faint crying on the baby monitor which sat next to her side of the bed. It was a little hard to hear because of all the static on it, but she'd been meaning to replace the batteries and so thought nothing of it. She reached up and flicked on the bedside light, "John?" He wasn't there. It didn't happen often, but sometimes the baby monitor woke Dad before Mom. Again, Mom didn't think anything of it.

She got out of bed and sleepily walked across the hall to the nursery. It wasn't very bright in the room, and she could see Dad already at the crib. "John, is he hungry?"

Dad shushed her with a raised finger. "All right," Mom replied and turned to go back to her interrupted sleep. Before she could get back to her room, she noticed the hall light at the top of the stairs flickering. She wandered over to it, thinking it might just be a loose bulb or something like that. She tapped on the shade a couple of times, but that didn't fix the problem. I'll have John take a look at it tomorrow, she thought, turning to go back to her room.

Before she could, however, she noticed a blue glow filtering up the stairs, along with faint television chatter. She mentally sighed and promised herself that she would scold her husband in the morning for forgetting to turn the television off. Still more than a little sleepy, she went down the stairs, stopping suddenly at what she saw in the living room.

It took a moment for her mind to process it, but when it did, all vestiges of sleep fled from her mind. Dad was asleep in his armchair, snoring softly, the remote dangling limply from a hand that hung off the side of the chair, fingertips nearly brushing the carpet.

She turned and raced back up the stairs. "Sammy!" She came to a panicked halt just inside the nursery.

Moments later, Dad was ripped from his snooze by a shrill scream of, "No!"

"Mary?" Dad shouted, nearly falling out of his chair. "Mary!" he shouted again, sprinting up the stairs. He shouted it a third time as he rushed down the hallway. He burst into the nursery and looked around. What the hell? Was it just a nightmare? He let himself calm down a little and approached baby Sammy, still safely tucked in his crib. "Hey, Sammy," he whispered. "You okay?" He reached into the crib to caress his baby boy, but halted suddenly as something dripped onto the back of his hand.

In the low light, it took a moment for Dad to figure out what it was.

Blood.

Half-convinced he was still asleep, Dad looked up. What he saw was impossible. It didn't make it any less true, though.

Mom, still wearing her white nightgown, was pinned to the ceiling, splayed out, almost as though her personal gravity inverted after an accidental slip on a wet tile floor. A line of red crossed her abdomen; it is from there that the drops of blood fell. Dad, startled backwards, nearly falling to the floor. "No, Mary!" it wasn't another shout, but it wasn't for a lack of trying on Dad's part.

Dad saw Mom breathe once, twice, and then the ceiling erupted into flame. Dad watched in horror for a moment before instinct managed to convince him to run. He snagged baby Sammy out of the crib and staggered out into the hall, nearly tripping over Dean. The shouting had roused the four year-old, but he was confused.

"Daddy!" Dad knelt quickly, shoving baby Sammy into his brother's arms, "Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back!" After Dean hesitated, Dad barked, "Now, Dean, go!"

Clutching tightly to his brother, Dean hurried to do as his daddy told him.

Spinning around, Dad went to go back into the nursery, to save his wife, but even as he shouted her name one last time, the nursery became so engulfed in flame, it was impossible to see through them.

Dean, once he finally reached the outside, stopped in the front yard to look up at the flickering light coming from Sammy's nursery window. "It's okay, Sammy," he said to his brother.

Out of nowhere, Dad came running, not even stopping as he scooped up his sons, "I've gotcha." The windows exploded outward just as the three of them reached the sidewalk.

It was amazing, really, how quickly 'normal' could go up in smoke.

Remus' walk wasn't doing much to remove that sense of doom from his mind. He had wandered aimlessly for hours to no avail, and then, just as slowly as it had built up all day, it suddenly disappeared. Looking up, even the clouds were now absent. Sirens were coming closer, however. Remus took a good long look to see where his feet had led him, and saw a house, the top story of which was giving off flickering light and more than just a little smoke, just a couple of blocks away.

Remus sprinted the short distance, hoping that no one was hurt and vague notions of lending a hand to the firemen – not that they'd know, mind – chasing each other through his thoughts. He stopped short when he saw the family who undoubtedly belonged to the house. A man wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants with bare feet sat on the hood of an old, black car parked across the street, clinging to a small, blanket-wrapped bundle and being clung to by a boy who was still in his pajamas and barely older than Harry. He watched as one of the early responders to the 911 call wrapped a thick woolen blanket around the family.

He crept closer, not wanting to alarm them, but wanting to get a little closer, so that when he sent his spell to tame the inferno raging within the house, it would hit its mark. He was only a few feet from the family as the fire trucks pulled up, along with an ambulance, but none of this seemed to make any difference to the dad. He stared, with glassy eyes, at the fire.

The boy, though… He noticed Remus. He stared at the werewolf with wide, solemn eyes. Remus was a little torn, he couldn't help if a muggle was watching, but the fire was burning too hot just at that moment for the firemen to be able to put it out easily. He raised a finger to his lips in a 'shh' gesture and aimed his wand at the house. The boy nodded a little. Remus whispered the spell and its effects were almost immediately apparent, though there was no connecting flash of light connecting wand to fire. The flames, which had previously sported hearts of white or blue, cooled to normal red and orange.

Turning his attention back to the family, now that his help had been applied, Remus noticed a lingering touch of Darkness, not unlike what he sometimes still caught from the remains of the scar on Harry's forehead, but not totally similar, either. Without a doubt, this family was the reason behind the day's uncomfortable sense. He didn't know why, but he aimed to find out.

John didn't respond the first two times the rescue workers tried to get his attention. He was still trying desperately to make sense of what had just happened, but his mind kept coming back to a single word. Mary. Therefore, he didn't notice when a somewhat scruffy, tall man spoke with one of the police officers who had shown up. He also didn't notice that man returning to a spot on the sidewalk, mere feet from him and his boys. For all John knew, the man was simply another of their neighbors, pulled from their beds by the sounds of sirens and the macabre human tendency to want to know who and what before going home to a sense of thank God it's not me. He could hear the neighbors whispering things like the Winchesters' place and hear Mary didn't make it and hope John's gonna be okay, but they didn't really register. They weren't important.

The tall man in the somewhat threadbare jacket stepped a little closer, "John?"

John didn't reply, just like he'd ignored the rescue workers.

"John, don't you think you ought to get your boys in out of the weather? Since those clouds cleared off, it's going to get cold tonight."

Looking back on it years later, John often wondered if it was the man's obviously un-Kansian accent, or the fact that he managed to drag his attention to his boys that made him pay attention to the voice, or if it had been something else entirely, but it didn't matter at that moment. The soft, polite tones in an accent that brought to mind late-night public television broadcasts actually caught John's attention. He looked to his sons, the baby fussing, but no longer crying, and the older one clinging to his sleeve with a white-knuckled grip.

"Yeah," his voice was almost soundless, but the other man could still hear it. "Yeah," he repeated, this time a little louder. "Should get the boys out of the cold."

"This your car?" the other man asked, not unkindly. John nodded. "Okay. The keys inside?" John nodded once more – the keys were where he normally kept them, tucked between the visor and the ceiling of the car. His own coat was in the car, too, his wallet still tucked in the right-hand pocket where he'd stashed it after buying lunch that afternoon.

It didn't take at all long for Remus to tuck John and his boys into the passenger side of the car and let the officer he'd spoken to minutes earlier know that John had taken him up on his offer. Silently praying that the car wasn't a stick – he still hadn't quite gotten the knack of shifting – he slid into the driver's seat and found the keys.

It was a short, but silent, drive back to Missouri's house.

Missouri, as Remus had been expecting, was waiting for them on the porch swing. Before John could even begin to object, she'd taken both boys upstairs, speaking softly to Dean all the while. Remus led John to the back of the house, to the brightly-lit kitchen. He helped himself to a cup of tea; the fact that it was still fresh spoke volumes regarding Missouri's abilities. He poured one for John, too, and sat it in front of the man, who had sunk onto one of the chairs around the breakfast table. "Drink it, John, don't just stare at it," Remus gently chided. "It may not help much, but maybe it can melt a little of that numb I know you're feeling."

John took the cup and let the heat warm his hands. The man was right – it didn't help much, but it did quiet his thoughts enough that a little sense was starting to sink back in. "I didn't catch your name."

"Remus Lupin," he replied. "My apologies in not giving it sooner."

John looked up from the teacup and realized that the man was far younger than he had assumed. From how easily he'd managed to get John to focus on his boys and not the burning house, John had assumed the man was older than himself by a good margin. The almost too-polite tone to Remus' voice had also led him to believe this. But Remus was far from old. At least, physically. John pegged the man to be somewhere between twenty and twenty-five, but even as young as he appeared, Remus had old eyes. The man's light brown – nearly golden – eyes spoke of having seen far too much of the bad side of life. Despite the fact that John knew the man couldn't possibly have been old enough, it was almost like sitting with a fellow Vietnam vet.

Some of the tension melted from between his shoulders. "John Winchester," he replied, offering his hand and waiting for the inevitable 'like the rifle?' comment. It didn't come.

Instead, Remus reached across the table and shook the offered hand. "Pleasure."

Before the room could descend into an uncomfortable silence, Missouri appeared. "The boys are bedded down with Harry, Remus," she said.

Remus nodded, "Good. Thank you, Missouri." He turned his attention back to John. "John, this is my good friend, Missouri Mosley. Missouri, this is John Winchester."

Missouri shook John's hand, unable to hide her slight wince at the mental pain the man was in. John noticed and asked, "What?"

There were a dozen, maybe even a hundred, questions packed into that one little word. Missouri was at a loss as to where to start. Remus could hear the multiple tones in the question and stepped in, "Missouri's a psychic. She can… I suppose 'see' is the only word that fits, even if she's told me on numerous occasions that it's not precisely accurate, some of what you're thinking."

Once more, John couldn't say why, but he believed Remus. Really, though… After seeing his wife pinned to the ceiling, how could he disbelieve in something as mundane as a little thought-reading?

"You're not crazy," Missouri said, taking the chair next to John's. She had yet to let go of his hand. "You know what you saw, and what you saw was as real as can be. Now, I don't know what caused it, mind, but it was real."

"How…?"

Taking it in turns, both Remus and Missouri stayed up late that night, answering John's many questions to the best of their ability.

Over the course of the following weeks, John and his boys continued staying with Remus, Missouri, and Harry, despite offers from John's friends to put them up until they got back on their feet. Even visiting at his friends' homes, John didn't really feel safe. Not like he did at Missouri's.

John didn't hold out hope that the investigation regarding the fire would pull up any leads; he knew, from speaking with Remus and Missouri, that what had started it wasn't an 'electrical short'. Every day that passed saw a growing conviction in John's mind – he needed to hunt down whatever it was that had sundered his family so effectively. He needed to kill it. But he could also see the sense in Remus' advice to wait until things settled down.

So John waited. He had long talks with Remus and Missouri about what was really waiting in the dark. He read many of their books. He slowly reconciled the fact that not only were the monsters of fairytales real, but that magic was, too – and not just the tricks that Remus could do with that wand of his, but older magics.

Between learning about everything he'd always dismissed as legend and answering never-ending questions from the police and fire marshal and trying to go to work at the garage, was it any wonder that Christmas managed to sneak up on him without warning? But he managed. He got his boys gifts. Harry, too. Remus and Missouri also got a token from him, but no one else that year. He supposed that Mike might not count on that front, though. John had sold his half of their garage to the man, unable to listen to one more 'you've got to get over it, pull yourself together' lecture.

Yeah, Remus and Missouri both knew a hell of a lot about the things that stalked the night, but neither could tell John with any certainty what had killed his Mary. So, on January first, John bade them a fond farewell and promised to keep in touch.

He was about ready to back out of Missouri's driveway when the passenger door of his car opened and Remus slid in, holding Harry on his lap. Sammy was buckled in his car seat in the back, Dean amusing the baby with a brightly-colored plush thing that rattled when shook.

In response to John's glare, Remus chuckled. "Think I'd let you go off on your own, old man? You'd get yourself killed inside a month."

"Hey," John objected, "a little less with the 'old' if you don't mind." John put the car in reverse. He didn't bother trying to argue with Remus – he had yet to win one with the younger man.

"So… Any idea where you're going?" Remus twisted and deposited Harry next to Dean in the back seat. "Be good, you two," he warned them even as they started whispering and giggling together.

"No clue."

Remus grinned, "Well then. The way I see it, we've got a couple of options. We could head down to Arizona, see if we can't find a friend of mine who might know a little more about what happened here, or we could head to another friend up in South Dakota and see if he's got any info for us."

John maneuvered his car through the light traffic, thinking. He pulled to a stop at a red light and asked, "Who'd be more likely to know?"

Remus shrugged, "Either. Bobby's got a home-base, though, so he would be easier to locate. Raven doesn't stay in one place longer than a week."

"Why's that?"

Remus shook his head, "I'm not altogether sure, but most people who know her think she's being hunted by the one thing you can't kill or banish."

John shot a sharp look at Remus. "Memories," the younger man clarified.

"Oh," John replied. "So… This Bobby lives in South Dakota?"

"Yes, about two hours west of Pierre."

By the time Dean and Harry fell asleep leaning on each other, the car was on I-29, heading north.

A/N2: And that's the prologue. I hope it intrigues you all enough to continue onwards.

I suppose I ought to take a moment to say that the dates I give for the full moons in this tale are in no way accurate. This is a conscious choice on my part, as I looked up several of the more important dates with which I'll be dealing (at a website called stardate-dot-org) and found that none of the moon phases listed were compatible with my vision for this story. Just thought I ought to point that out before someone else decided to call me on it.

The updates for this – as with any of my WIPs – will continue being erratic. I write on whichever story's musebunnies are screaming loudest. I don't know, from day to day, which story will beg my attention.

And yeah, I'm a longtime fan of Calvin and Hobbes – yes, the cereal Dean had for breakfast was a total homage to C&H.

Remember to let me know what you think of this by dropping me a review – or, ya know, if you've got questions or whatever.