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. 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: This is another side-story set in my Run for Your Life universe and like with Caleb Forrester, you needn't have read RFYL in order to fully enjoy this particular fic. For followers of RFYL, this fic stands as a bit of backstory as to how, in RFYL, William Anthony Harvelle is still among the living in January of '03. (And no, this still isn't the fic I originally set out to write when I started CF – I tried working on it, only to find out I have to do this one first! Sigh…plotbunnies – can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em if I want a decent story.)

For anyone who hasn't yet read at least the first two chapters of RFYL, what you need to know boils down to the fact that Minerva McGonagall had an attack of conscious and retrieved Harry from the doorstep of number four, Privet Drive, (before Petunia had a chance to put out the milk bottles) and gave him to Remus Lupin to raise. Remus then took himself and Harry to the US in an effort to throw any revenge-seeking Death Eaters off their trail. He met John Winchester the night Mary died and, after spending a few weeks with Missouri Mosely, John and Remus and the boys went to Eagle Butte, South Dakota where they managed to make an odd sort of home with Bobby Singer.

This story takes place the first week of May, 1990, so this means that Dean is eleven, Harry is nine, and Sam turns seven during this timeframe. Jo is five, Remus is about to turn thirty, John is thirty-six, and Bobby is forty. Ellen is thirty-four and Bill is thirty-five. And lastly, Caleb is nineteen (which actually has more of a bearing on that stupid freakin' unwritten story that keeps spawning all these side-plots).

Ripple Effect

Tuesday, May 1, 1990
Odessa, Nebraska

Ellen Harvelle absolutely and without a doubt hated the first week of May. Bill did, too, for that matter, but at least he had something he could do to work out his frustrations. Like John Winchester had once said shortly after they met, 'There'll always be something to hunt.' It wasn't that Ellen disapproved of hunting; she actually threw her full support behind her husband (and had Jo not arrived, would likely have still been out there fighting by his side), but that first week of May was always a bad time for both of them and just once she would have liked it if Bill had simply ignored the articles in the paper and actually spent the time at home for a change. However, her hopes would have to be put on hold for another year.

Compounding the normal issues she had with the first week of May, Jo had chicken pox. It was generally hard enough trying to both run the Roadhouse when Bill was gone and keep an eye on their daughter, but having to deal with both while the girl was feeling miserable and determined to share her misery with anyone who sat still long enough was not something she enjoyed. She wished that the virus had decided to hold off for another week or two. She wished they could afford to just close the Roadhouse until Jo was better or that they had the spare cash to sink on hiring someone to help out. She wished again that she could either go with Bill or that Bill would stay home for a change.

But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. The old saying didn't help with any of her frustrations. Nor did it help with the fact that a hunt had finally shown its face that morning.

Almost the entirety of the month of April had been painfully quiet on the supernatural-nasty front, with only a single case showing up back on the twelfth (and that one had been one of the easiest hunts Bill had ever gone on; the drive to Corpus Christi had almost taken longer than the hunt itself). The only real event of any note was Jo's fifth birthday back on the seventh. The Roadhouse had been packed nearly beyond capacity; all four rooms above the bar had been rented out for a minimum of three days. John had the boys with him (something about a particularly nasty cursed object that Bobby had found on his last hunt in March) and they were sharing the largest of the rooms; Joshua and that teenage shadow he'd acquired a few years prior were bunked down in the smallest room (something to do with 'introducing the kid to the wider network'); Rebecca Connolly – one of the world's all-too-rare female professional truck-drivers and one of the very few people to frequent the Roadhouse who wasn't an active part of the hunting community – had been waiting for her rig to be fixed and had agreed to share a room with Raven (and she still didn't know just what Raven had been doing there); and the last room held a hunter by the name of Kubrick who had been waiting on a call-back to tell him his recently-ordered RV was ready to be picked up (Ellen didn't particularly like Kubrick all that much – he made her skin crawl – but she supposed it had more to do with the fact that even Preacher and Pastor Jim felt him to be 'too preachy' than for any other reason). Somehow, word had gotten around that the daughter of the Roadhouse's owners was turning five, and by eight o'clock that evening, chaos ruled supreme. Ellen was ninety percent sure that Harry had been the one to spread the news – all through the party, he could be seen wearing a self-satisfied little smirk that seemed far too mature an expression for the nine year-old.

Ellen pushed aside the memories of seeing hardened hunters act like six year-olds on sugar highs as Bill hung up the phone with a sigh. "Definitely something we should deal with," he said without preamble. "Still no clue exactly what it is, though."

Ellen nodded to show she'd heard him and glanced at the clock on the wall of their kitchen. It was just coming up on eight in the morning. She still needed to get Jo slathered in a layer of calamine before heading over to the Roadhouse for the day, but that could wait another ten minutes. "Tell me what you found out, honey."

Bill flipped to the beginning of his notes on the case – as he was more than a little compulsive about being orderly, the notes had their very own manila file-folder. When he finished the hunt, he would type up the notes he'd jotted down on a yellow legal pad and add the folder to the filing cabinet dedicated to his hunting that stood right next to the filing cabinet of records for the Roadhouse in the tavern's tiny office. "Well, you read the article, same as me." Ellen made an 'uh-huh' noise, recalling the details of the article in their three-days-late (courtesy of the USPS) Los Angeles Times and poured the last of the coffee into their mugs.

Fifth Body Found at Devil's Gate

P. Parker – Associated Press. Late last night, Rachel Munez of Altadena was out walking her dog and discovered yet another mutilated body hidden in the brush of Devil's Gate Reservoir. This marks the fifth such body found at that location since the remains of Edna Graves were discovered two weeks ago.

"I took Kimmy out for her last walk of the day," said Ms. Munez, "and though we normally circle the block a couple of times before heading home, she just took off for the park. It was all I could do to hang on to the leash – she may be a mutt, but she's a big dog, you know. Anyway, I kept trying to get her to heel. Normally, she's the friendliest and most-obedient dog I've ever owned, but she just wouldn't listen and was barking and growling louder and louder the closer she pulled me to the park."

As the dog in question is indeed quite large, later Ms. Munez revealed that it is part Saint Bernard, and Ms. Munez is of a rather petite stature, it is very easy to see how the forty-six year old woman could be pulled along by her pet.

"When we got to the park, Kimmy headed straight for a clump of scrub-brush. I had no idea what she was after, she'd never acted this way before; and I don't really follow the news all that much so I didn't know about the bodies that have been found there. At the time I thought she might have scented a coyote or something."

The body discovered by Ms. Munez and her pet has yet to be identified, but Los Angeles County Coroner, Dan Gabriel, did confirm that the individual had not been dead very long when found, "Without checking further, I'd say the time-of-death was probably no more than an hour before the dog found it. Likely less, but this is just based solely on how fresh the remains seem."

When asked if he could clarify that statement or offer a possible explanation as to the cause of death, Coroner Gabriel declined, citing the need for further investigation. When asked if this most current body matched the state of the previous four located at Devil's Gate Reservoir, he further declined comment, though he did admit that state officials "have expressed concern regarding [the incidents] and have the full cooperation of all local offices."

Bill drained half of his mug of lukewarm coffee before answering his wife. "The local cops are convinced it's a pack of feral dogs, but according to the coroner, the bite-patterns on the remains are 'inconsistent with any known canine'. The LA County sheriff's department has called in California Fish and Game to look into what it might be, but the deputy I spoke with said that the Fish and Game people probably wouldn't be able to look into it for at least another week or two – they're all tied up in the Cascades, looking for that rabid cougar that was in the news a few days ago." Seeing Ellen about to ask something, he held up his hand in a 'stop right there' motion. "And, yes, before you ask, we've already confirmed that the cougar is exactly that. Joshua called last night – he's taking the kid out to Wyoming to work on his tracking – and said one of the hikers caught it on tape, and it's no sort of were or demon, just a cat with some horribly bad luck."

"You taking anyone with you on this?" Ellen asked, changing her question when Bill answered the first one without her even having to ask.

Bill could tell from her tone of voice that it wasn't a question, more a wifely demand. He shrugged. "It'd be nice, but like I said, Joshua is showing the kid how to hunt jackalopes out in Wyoming."

Ellen snorted in amusement. "I know you and Joshua go way back, honey, but he's not the only other hunter out there, you know."

Bill could further tell from her tone that she had someone in particular in mind, but he wasn't exactly sure who it might be. "I know," he agreed, "but Pastor Jim's stuck overseeing the remodeling at his church and Preacher's visiting relatives up in Alaska. No one's heard from Elkins for going on five years now, and I know you know what that probably means."

Ellen's light smile at her husband's state of obliviousness broadened slightly. Teasingly, she said, "I'm thinking of a name, Billy-boy, and it starts with an 'L'."

Bill wrinkled his forehead and tried to match up any of the hunters he knew with the initial. After half a minute, he blinked at Ellen and asked, "Who?"

"Lives in South Dakota?" Ellen clarified. "Rather over-polite whenever he's here? English accent? Single-handedly broke up that fight between Kubrick and Carl last summer? Any of this ringing any bells there, hon?"

Now she starts to make sense. Bill rolled his eyes. "There's a reason I didn't mention Lupin, Singer, or Winchester. All three of them look after those kids of theirs – hell, to be honest, I'm not real clear on which kid belongs to what adult in that crew – and none of them are all that known for working with someone outside their little clique." Besides, he mentally continued, I've only met the man twice. Always happens that he shows up at the Roadhouse when I'm not there. If I were a more suspicious sorta guy, I'd be worried – but I know I got nothing to worry about. If Ellen and me stuck together through all that shit in '77, I don't think Mr. Education stands a chance, and that's even if he's interested…which I kinda doubt. He strikes me as the kind of guy that bats for the other team.

Ellen finished her own coffee and placed the empty mug in the sink. "And who's bothered asking them to help? I mean, if any one of them needs a hand on a job, they don't have to go too awful far for assistance, now do they? But how many other hunters have bothered asking any of the three to help out?"

Bill did a passing impression of a guppy before he was forced to admit that Ellen had a point. "Huh. Never really thought about it like that before." He hadn't. "Suppose it can't hurt to give them a call."

"Worst they could do is say no," Ellen agreed, heading out of the room to see about getting her cranky daughter up for the day.

Bill scanned the bulletin-board hung on the kitchen wall next to the phone for the slip of paper that had the number on it for Singer Salvage. It rang three times before a gruff voice answered, "Singer Salvage, Singer here."

"Hey, Bobby. It's Bill Harvelle."

"Hey, Bill. How's things? It as quiet down your way as it's been up here?"

"Jo's got the chicken pox, and up 'til this morning, yeah, it's been real quiet," Bill replied.

"'Up 'til this morning'?" Bobby asked. "Whacha catch wind of?"

"Don't know yet. Did some quick legwork, and I'm pretty sure it's some sort of creature. Joshua's out training that kid he took in, so I can't reach him. How are you with critters, Singer?"

Bobby chuckled, the sound full of gravel. "Not all that great, Bill. Not really my area of expertise. You said Joshua's unavailable?" Bill made an affirmative grunt. "Then if you want my opinion, you'll wanna take Remus with you – he's probably one of the best trackers I've ever met."

"Better than Joshua?" skepticism laced Bill's question.

"I don't know if 'better' is the right word; I'd say they're probably dead-even, though. Hell, if the two of them ever decide to work together, I'm sure they'd figure out how to track a flea through a zoo."

Bill laughed outright at that. "I'll take your word for it, old man."

"Watch who you're callin' old there, boy. I'm only five years older than you."

"Yeah, but my age still starts with a 'three'."

"In the words of Dean, 'eat my shorts' there, Billy-boy."

"You let the kids watch The Simpsons?"

"Why not?" Bill could practically see Bobby shrug over the phone line. "Just a cartoon. Ain't none of my business anyway. John's the one who says what the kids can watch on TV." Bobby cleared his throat and redirected the conversation back to its original topic. "You wanna talk to Remus?"

"Sure," Bill replied. "Go ahead and put him on."

"Just a minute," Bobby replied, followed by the sound of the phone receiver being sat down on something. Faintly, he could hear Bobby ask one of the kids to run and get Lupin.

Two or three minutes later, the phone was picked up again. "Hello, Bill, are you still there?" Lupin's well-cultured voice said.

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"Bobby said you might want some help on a hunt?"

Though he'd only met Lupin twice, the directness of the query remained consistent with his prior interactions with the man. "Yeah, could do. Got a line on what's probably some sort of creature out in the LA area. I could use a hand in tracking the sucker, if you're interested."

Remus let out a small laugh, and Bill reflected that even the man's laughter somehow sounded more intelligent than most people's. "I think we probably stumbled on the same article, Bill. The thing out at Devil's Gate, yeah?"

"That's the one," Bill confirmed. "I called the sheriff's department out that way and found out that the vic's bodies all have the same weird bite-pattern. They've called Fish and Game, but aren't expecting any assistance on that front until that cougar in the Cascades is tagged and bagged."

"Any real details?"

"Only that the patterns aren't consistent with dogs or coyotes. Couldn't find out what made them different, though."

Remus made a 'hmm' noise. "Not much better than my own research. You said you called down that way?"

"Sure did. Said I was a reporter with the Chicago Tribune."

"That's probably why they weren't too forthcoming with the details. I've yet to meet anyone in law enforcement who views the press as anything but vermin akin to mosquitoes."

"Yeah, blood-sucking little irritations about covers my view of the press, too. Doesn't mean they don't have their uses. Anyway, Ellen's insisting I run with some backup on this, so you interested?"

"Not an issue. When can we expect you?"

"Say…four hours or so. That should gimme enough time to get my shit together and drive out that way. Oh, before I forget, do you know if Bobby's got a distributor cap that'll fit a '79 El Camino? One of the barflies has been looking for one and promised me a ten-dollar finder's fee if I came through."

"Honestly? I have absolutely no idea. I'll ask him for you, though. See you at noon, then?"

"Or thereabouts. See ya in a bit." Bill hung up the phone and quickly gathered his notes into an old leather messenger bag he'd had for years. He double-checked to make sure he had numerous spare pens and at least one empty legal pad before heading upstairs. He paused by the open door to Jo's bedroom to see his wife daubing pink calamine on the innumerable little spots that were in the process of making the five year-old miserable.

"Daddy, I itch. The pink stuff don't help," Jo whined as soon as Bill showed in the doorway.

"Sorry, catling, there ain't a whole lot I can do about it. You just make sure not to scratch, and you'll start feelin' better soon. Promise."

Somewhat mollified, the five year-old quit squirming as her mother added more lotion to her skin.

Ellen glanced up, "Well?"

"I've got backup. Happy?"

The corners of Ellen's mouth pulled back in a tight smile. "Be happier when you get back."

"I know. I'm gonna head out, soon as I get my shit together. Call you when we get to LA, okay?"

"Whatever."

Bill sighed internally. He knew how much Ellen hated that she had to stay behind with Jo. Come on, hon, don't be that way. Only another year or two, and I'll take a turn to stay with the munchkin while you run up the mileage on the Dodge. He crossed the room and captured his wife's chin with his hand. He tilted her face up to look at him and gave her a quick kiss. "Hey, how about you, me, and munchie here head over to Kansas City once she's back to her usual self? Take a week and visit Worlds of Fun and get sunburned and sick on cotton candy and vendor-dogs."

"The Roadhouse?"

He gave a nonchalant little shrug, "I'll figure something out by then. Preacher's honest enough and should be back from Alaska by then. Would likely run the place for us in exchange for that antique rifle I can't find parts for."

Ellen's expression morphed into a true smile. "God knows she's offered to buy the damn thing often enough."

"That she has." Bill gave her one last kiss before ruffling his daughter's hair. "You be good for Mom, kiddo, and if you are, I'll bring you back a present."

"Promise?" the girl's eyes lit up at the mention of presents.

"Promise. Just remember not to scratch, no matter how much it itches. Deal?"

She grinned, "Deal."

A/N2: I know from additional resources (the computer-based bonus features on the S2 DVD of SPN, specifically Jo's blog) that I fudged the timeframe for the hunt which killed Bill Harvelle in Show, but I don't particularly care all that much – the only canon I tend to follow is what's available in the actual episodes of Show and what was published in the Harry Potter books (ignoring those freaking horcruxes). According to SPN ep 2.06 (No Exit), Jo says, 'I was still in pigtails when my dad died,' and I take this to mean anytime from age four through twelve…just to let y'all know, of course.

This tale is complete and will run nine chapters. I will update every two or three days.

Thanks for reading and remember to let me know what you think!

Edit 9/18/09: caught and corrected a typo.