Honest to God, I hate this car. I hate it so goddamn much. The faint rumble of the engine, the soft leather seats, and the little jumble sound the air conditioner makes when it's turned on too high, because of that damn Lego I shoved in the vent when I was six. Dean and his loud music beside me probably isn't helping my mood much either, and my two duffle bags are a bit depressing.

Okay, so maybe I can't blame the damn car for this one, but as whiny and typical as it sounds I still would rather be almost anywhere else. I should have just stayed. James and Tara would have forgiven me.

One day ago…

I claimed my school transcript was necessary as a distraction the day before, was now lying on the table next to the couch, which Dean was sleeping on. I decide to forgo the combat boots tonight, because the loud stomps would have woken him up. Converse tied tight and a jacket thrown on, I entered the cool Seattle night air, wishing once again I had taken Gracen up on his offer to convince someone into giving me their car.

The walk would only have taken twenty minutes if I had taken the shortcut, but I wasn't up for alleyways tonight. The warehouse where we meet is just outside of the city, maybe a mile or so. It wasn't anything special, it was small and dank but nobody else bothered with it and it was a good place for James to hole up when it got too rough to be around people.

I knocked in our pattern. We each had one, Morse code for our name. The door flew open and Tara stared back at me with a grin, James not too far behind her.

"Red!" Tara's voice was perky and happy, as always. She was the only cheery one between the four of us.

"Hey, Tarry, Jay." I nodded to each individually and they returned it. Both were younger than me and it showed. Little Tara is twelve, and Jay is fourteen. She's a shifter and he's a vamp.

I continued with Tara's small talk for a while, barely paying attention but enough for the kid to continue with her cheery chatter. It wasn't until she mentioned Gracen that my head snapped up from the rotten piece of rope in my hands I was twisting and knotting.

"What was that, Tara?"

She sighed at having to repeat herself, but said, "Gray should be here soon, he mentioned that he would be here tonight!"

"That's good, Tara." I had given a nod of consent and she continued with her mindless talking. Internally I was sprinting around to form a coherent thought that wasn't an expletive. Gracen. He would kill me, I hadn't finished the job. I never finished the job. Even Tara had killed her fair share of hunters, but I just couldn't. Dean, though, he hated. Gracen wanted Dean dead more than the rest. Maybe it's because of his reputation for killing demons or maybe it's some personal vendetta against Dean, because of me. Killing the people who have hurt me is Gracen's way of letting me know that, deep down, he loves me. It's twisted, but isn't everything about our relationship? Everything is so convoluted and destructive that I barely can keep up and that's the way he likes it.

My thoughts were interrupted by the variation of long and short knocks on the door. Tara squeals and runs to the door, practically pulling him in. Gracen picks her up and spins her around, laughing freely. It was a good day, I suppose, for him. Dead bodies and blood, I'm sure. He comes over to me after placing Tara back on her feet, and he kisses me sweetly until both kids shriek in horror.

Letting free another laugh, Gracen's face remains relaxed. The sharp lines from earlier eased from his soft features, blonde hair a disarrayed mess, and blue eyes full of light. He's the Gracen I love. After exchanging jokes with both kids, he turns to me and murmurs, "Did you finish the job, babe?" hope glints in his eyes and a darker part of me wishes I could say yes.

"Gray…" I always call him that when I know I've disappointed him. It fits. Red and Gray.

His features immediately darken and along with him, the atmosphere of the room seems to stiffen. "Tara, James, go on outside." I order and they start to follow my instructions. They knew of our fights, but like parents on the verge of divorce with little kids, I never let them witness.

"No. Stay right there." they freeze at Gracen's tone.

He stands up towering over me even more than usual. "What the hell Archer?" he's pissed, he used Archer, my brain frantically warned.

"Gracen, he's my dad, I can't just…"

"Yes, you can Archer. You know what he is!"

I remained quiet, staring at him from my new position on my feet.

He turned to Tara and James, who were only seconds from fleeing. "Did Red over here ever tell you? She didn't did she?" they visibly quaked. "Red over here has a hunter for a daddy, and she become a traitor last night when she let him live, didn't she?"

Both kids looked to me in hopes that I would deny it. I couldn't. They instantly turned cold. It was in their training to do so.

The beating lasted for what seemed like hours, because though my powers provided me eternity and healing capabilities, I am useless when it comes to matters of pure strength against a demon. I can shoot and stab, but it's hopeless against him.

I came into the house beat, bruised, and bleeding. Dean stared for only a moment before barraging me with questions. I simply stared, non-responsive. He finally stopped. He stared at me a while longer, as if judging me quietly, then he simply said we were leaving in the morning.

"Archer!" Deans snaps my name out, jolting me from my memory.

"What?" I'm tired. I'm tired, I'm sick of being here, and I'm worried about Alyssa, Tara, and James. Alyssa, because she's being subjected to the hospital's harsh cold turkey policy on drugs and Tara and James because they're being subjected to Gracen's fury. He won't take my leaving well.

"What do you want to eat?" he gestures to the drive thru line. McDonald's. Nice.

"Not hungry." I go back to staring out the window.

"You're already thin enough as it is, kid. What do you want to eat?"

I don't reply, because goddamnit I just want to be moody and difficult.

Still when we reach the front of the line he orders, "One bacon cheeseburger and one regular cheeseburger, both with a side of fries and two cokes."

I glare when he shoves the food in my lap. "I'm not hungry, Dean."

Ignoring my comment, he replies, "You know, that's not what you used to call me." it comes out almost as a taunt but I hear a slight twinge of longing in his voice and I almost real back in disgust. I haven't called him the "D" word since I was twelve.

"Don't even bring that up," I lace my tone with enough revulsion to make him drop it.

I sigh once more, and watch the road signs fly by.

Twenty miles to Sioux Falls.