Disclaimer: As always Josh & Co own all.

A/N: Just a brief note for anyone who didn't realize, Trey and Ryan are reflecting back, in the seconds after Trey has been shot.

I could feel him pull away from me, his eyes no longer shocked, sadness was creeping in. The blood was pooling on his shirt, dripping on to me. Atwood blood. I had seen it many times before.

I got up and I walked away, my cheek still stinging, my hands shaking as I brought the cigarette up to my lips. I was used to being hit, my Dad, my Mom, her boyfriend, the kids at my old group home, but somehow I never expected it from Trey. Never expected that look of hatred and sadness in his eyes, the look that made him just like Dad.

I didn't know where I was going, or how I was going to get there, so I just walked. I ambled onto the main street just as the bars were closing. Just as all the blue collar drunks were stumbling out, stumbling to their cars, stumbling back to their houses and their kids.

I didn't even know them, but I hated them for all the hurt everyone of them was causing.

I had taken a drink from that bottle because I wanted to know what was so special about it, yet one case of the spins, two hours of puking, and a light sensitive hang over didn't enlighten me any further. It was horrible, it certainly didn't solve anything. I certainly didn't understand how alcohol could so successfully replace your children, just as it did with my Mom. She loved it, better than she did us, and I just didn't get it.

I passed the bars, walking by the occasional jeer, telling me I should be home, in my bed. I kept my head down, my fists clenched. Who would miss me at home? My Mom had already been sloshed by the time she had put a slop of half cooked hamburger helper on our plates at dinner, and both Trey and I knew it was all downhill from there.

As far as Trey went, he was mad, he was disappointed. I was worried in the pit of my stomach that this would end our alliance. Our pact of us against the world, the pact we had sealed with many cigarettes in our old abandoned house. Our allegiance against group homes, school, teachers, Mom, booze and violent boyfriends. But then the voice in my head told me, it was already gone anyway. Trey was selling drugs, stealing, going nowhere fast, he was becoming everything that we decided against. So maybe it was for the best, that I was just walking away.

I was passing the closed; barred and chained, stores now. The streets eerily silent, all I could hear were my own footsteps and the distant snarl of the freeway, that even at 2 am was always busy.

"Well look at this little thug. Shouldn't you be at home in bed puto?"

I looked up too late, realizing that I had been walking with my head down, focusing on nothing but my shoes and the cigarette in my hand, I had walked right towards them.

Three of them leaning casually against a wall, none of them much older than Trey, wearing baggy jeans, wife beaters and bandanas.

I couldn't just go by these guys, I knew how to play it cool, after all I had spent months dodging attacks just like this.

"I'm going." I replied in a low even voice, not an ounce of fear making it in to my voice, determined to just walk by.

One of them put their hand on my chest, forcing me back.

"You ain't going that way, there ain't nothing but factories and freeways that way. Go home kid." It was the last place I wanted to go, and having a sixteen year old thug telling me, made me not want to go there even more. What did I have to go home to?

I took a step towards the one telling me, the leader of this little posse.

"Maybe I ain't got one, and maybe I got shit to do, and you should get out of my way." I knew it was dangerous, but right now I was more welcome to a fight than more advice.

"Look at this little white boy." He sneered to his friends. "Says he ain't got no home, says he got shit to do."

The other boys were nodding at him, a hand on each of my shoulders keeping me rooted in place.

"You think you can talk to me that way?" He sneered at me, his oily skin just inches from my face.

I knew it was coming, and I knew for the good of my own health that I should just roll over, and wait it out. But I had done that too many times, just let myself get beat and never fight back. Trey wasn't here to fight my battles, so damnit I was gonna do it myself.

So I leaned in closer.

"Chinga tu Madre." I whispered to his face, if nothing else, a group home was good for one thing, to learn Spanish taunts to insult other peoples mothers.

He smiled for a moment, shook his head, reeled back and punched me.

I had three guys on me, all that were bigger, stronger, and faster than me. But I didn't care, so I kicked, and I punched, giving a few good blows as they rained down on me.

Their insults were getting far away, my retaliations more feeble, my eyes getting fuzzy with blood and sweat.

I heard him step away.

"This fucker has had enough, they'll be more time, were gonna see this fucker again." Their footsteps receded, I pushed the hair out of my eyes, feeling my face for broken bones.

I didn't know where I was, or how to get home. My eyes felt heavy, with the weight of tiredness and pain beating down on me.

I wasn't going home tonight.