"The Kid is good." Those were Caleb's exact words when he handed over the coordinates. Recognizing them as Bobby Singer's home base, he'd been surprised. He'd run into the man a few times over the years – he even helped him with a particularly nasty spirit in Oregon. John knew him to be a good hunter, not to mention reliable; but as far as he knew Bobby wasn't tracker. The fact that Caleb referred to a man with a sizeable chunk of years on him as "Kid" smacked of disrespect.

He hadn't questioned it at the time though. He'd dropped the boys at Pastor Jim's and if he left them there more then a week he knew Dean would come looking for him. His eldest son didn't like being left out of a job. His sixteenth birthday was a turning point for Dean. The boy considered himself a man now and John knew his son was more than capable of taking care of himself. He'd seen to that, but he was still his son. It was his responsibility to look out for and protect Dean, even if it raised the boy's hackles.

They'd fought over it of course, voices loud and harsh, while Sam stood back. At twelve he shot up like an oak, and would no doubt end up taller than his brother, hell maybe even him. He could still feel the weight of youngest's watchful eyes. It pained John to know that his son didn't know any other life – he didn't remember Mary's touch or voice, or the quiet happy time they all lived as a family.

Maybe that was best. Missing Mary was hard. Harder still knowing what normal was, thinking you knew what safety felt like. Giving that up as a man had been difficult. Dean had done it at four and John was certain he handled it better.

His boys were use to the night. To defending themselves. To being left. It wasn't ideal, it sure as hell wasn't how he pictured their lives when they'd been born, but the night that bastard demon took his wife changed everything. He'd find and kill it, but searching for it with Dean and Sam in tow was out of the question. If he could prevent it, that demon would never get close to either of his children again. That was a promise he made to himself; one he intended to keep no matter the cost. So the boys were tucked away, a might unhappily so, at Pastor Jim's while he had made the trek to Singer's place.

It wasn't until he got there that he understood Caleb's words. Kid. She was a kid all right, younger then Dean but older then Sammy. She was toned from hunting. It wasn't her age or even her sex that rubbed John the wrong way. It was wariness and knowledge in her dark eyes. Even when he looked at himself in the mirror he didn't see that kind weariness.

Then there was the way Bobby spoke about her – she was a tool. Not a child, not even a person, but a tool to be utilized. It angered him so much that his fists clenched and he lost Bobby's voice in a haze of red.

It was the cool feel of her hand on his that had the mad receding. The hand wasn't soft, considering the line of work they were both in that shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. Calluses and a girl's hand didn't go together in John's mind. Soft skin and gentle touch, that was the association he always had.

Looking up from where their skin connected he met her gaze. "Never tracked a demon before," she told him. "I think it can be done, but we'll have to start from the beginning."

All sorts of reservations were building up in him, but more then anything else, even his own conscience, he wanted to find the thing that killed Mary. So he told her where it all started.

"Lawrence. Kansas."

---

"Kid." That's what Bobby called her. "Come on, Kid." "Pipe down, Kid." "Got anything yet, Kid?" That's pretty much all the elder Singer said to his daughter for the past three days they'd been following the trail. Not that there was a visual trail to follow. She just seemed to know where to head. From Lawrence they headed to Michigan where they found news articles of a specious fire in the bedroom of a six-month-old little boy. From there they backtracked towards Oklahoma. He and Bobby were driving in shifts and in the middle of the night she woke up drenched in sweat and told him to turn around.

She curled into herself as he questioned the sudden change in direction. "Fresh scent so to speak," she answered, resting her head against the window.

She'd been right about Michigan and John was certain if they continued on into Oklahoma they'd fine more evidence of the demon. Still it wouldn't do him any good to track a decade plus old trail across the country and back. Not if he ever wanted to go face-to-face with Mary's killer.

The Buick slowed as he eased onto the side of the road and prepared to pull a u-turn. "Where to …" John stumbled over his question as he struggled not to call her 'Kid.'

"It's okay," she said, her voice low and fatigued, "everyone calls me Kid."

He figured out why during the long stretches of late night driving. Kid wasn't a fifteen-year-old girl with thoughts and feelings of her own. Kid was an asset, a tool. Better to see that, to use that than the pale slip of a girl in the rearview mirror. His stomach twisted at the thought. He hated what this life did to his sons, the effect it had on them, but he couldn't take it back. There wasn't a place to go back to; he'd been hunting too long.

Long enough to know that there was something different about Bobby's daughter, along the lines of Missouri Moseley, if he wasn't mistaken. Not that he ever saw Missouri affected the way the girl seemed to be. Was it the way she used her ability? Her age? John had mulled it over but he had no way of knowing.

A hunter had to be hard, focused. Unrelenting. He had that in him, but he was also a father. When they first found out Mary was pregnant with Sam, she talked about having a little girl and loving the idea of their daughter wrapping him around her little finger. "Tea parties," she had laughed merrily. "You'll be having tea parties and loving every minute of it."

Neither of them had been disappointed when the doctor informed them they were having a boy, but even as he watched his wife's stomach grow he thought trying one more time for a little girl; who he pictured being the spiting image of Mary.

"Where to, Evie?" he asked again, using the name he'd seen painted across the door to her room before they left.

Her gaze met his in the mirror. Her eyes were wide and shimmered with something akin to tears. "I can't pinpoint it yet. East of here, though."

---

They'd driven through Illinois and into Indiana as his week deadline closed. Bobby hadn't questioned the change in direction; instead he took the wheel without comment, leaving him to rest. His respite was fitful, more so than it had been in years. Images of Mary, of his life before and what could have been mixed with what was – the jumble of images and clash of feelings had him sleeping in short pockets of time. Each time he awoke he felt more restless then he had before drifting off.

He was in the middle of reliving the night Mary died when Bobby shook him awake. "Pit stop," the gruff voice said as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Where are we?" John asked getting out of the car.

"Nowhere, Ohio."

A chuckle escaped him, easing some of the tension he felt. It was an old joke hunters made, with all the back roads they traveled they were more often then not in some nearly forgotten little town that was just eking by. John stretched as he watched Bobby move towards the single restroom on the back corner of the building. He had a mind to stop in the store for something to drink, but with his first step her voice sounded.

"It's nearby." Every muscle in his body constricted at her words. Stone-faced he turned and was surprised to see her at driver's side door, her hand poised over the handle. "We go without him."

"Bobby's backup," he argued.

"I'll cover you," she said sliding into the car.

"No offense, Evie," he said, annoyed, as he ducked down so they could be face-to-face, "but I want someone with experience."

Her eyes flashed hot, but her voice was calm when she retorted. "I've been at this all my life, I can handle it."

"Bobby should come with us," he insisted.

"Either get in the car or it's not happening." He sputtered at her statement but she continued, "He might not need me, but I still need him."

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her eyes pleaded him with him. John had no doubt that Bobby would be pissed. Royally pissed. More so for being left out of the hunt than him putting Evie in danger, which was the only reason he found himself getting into the car without further protest. "I know I'm going to regret this," he growled as the engine purred to life.

---

She sneered at him. Everything soft about her features had gone hard as yellow overtook her dark eyes. John lifted the gun, but was unable to pull the trigger. He hesitated for a split second because the demonic eyes shown out from a familiar face.

"You're not going to shoot me, John," the thing within Evie said. The voice he'd come to know had a mocking tone. "This body takes a bullet and it will die once I leave it. Bothersome little Evelyn Singer will be dead all because she wanted to help you."

The harsh words and the reality of the danger he put her in made him flinch – except he couldn't. His body would not move. He tried to flex his hold on the gun but nothing happened. His muscles weren't complying. His entire body was stiff. Panic tore its way through him, as did anger, but the torrid emotions did nothing to cure his immobility.

He could hear the demon talking in Evie's voice, "Not that her Daddy will mind. He'll probably beat you senseless for the loss of such a useful tool, but otherwise he won't miss her. One less mouth to feed and no reminder of the beloved wife who died birthing her. Hell, you'd be doing him a favor in the end, so go ahead, John-Boy. Shoot me," it taunted.

"Shoot me, but know you won't be avenging your wife because things like me – we don't die. Not like your lot, all soft and fleshy," it said running a hand down his cheek. He tried recoil from the touch, but he still had no control over his body.

"Shoot me if you must, but it won't stop me from taking Sammy when I'm ready. He's mine, like all the other children I've selected. You all might have created them, but they'll do my bidding before all is said or done, no matter what you do. Shoot me, John," it continued to goad as his mind raced with thoughts of his youngest son, of protecting him. "Let out the rage; end this poor forgotten girl's misery. Save her from a life of feeling everything thing she tracks – their dark thoughts and innermost awful desires. Save her from the nightmares they cause. Save her from remembering what it's like to have me inside her – controlling her – showing her the true meaning of Hell."

It let those words hang heavy between them for a moment before stating, "You like saving people, John. Other than revenge and your boys, it's the only thing that keeps you going." Lips twisted in predatory smile. "Shoot me and save her. No one else will."

John felt the hand around his gun flex as control over his body returned. Yellow eyes sparkled in front of him, glinting with smug satisfaction. Seconds dragged by like hours for him as he held the gun but did not fire.

"I didn't think so," it said before a cloud of dark smoke was expelled from Evie. He watched as, gasping for breath, she fell to the ground and vomited.

---

"It's like he said?" John asked they made their way back towards car. Their arms were around each other, offering the other support when it was needed.

Dry, wrecked eyes met his own before being cast back down to the uneven ground. "For the most part … I don't mind."

It was a lie. He could hear it in her voice and sensed it as her body shuddered. This life was killing her little by little, and she'd let it, all in hopes that her father would wake up one day and see her as his daughter first. John was certain that she would be long dead before that would happen.

Save her, no one else will. Those words kept circling around his mind. Proof that demons didn't always lie. What a bitch that was to learn; to know that Sammy was in danger of becoming some kind of puppet. He'd damn himself before he let that happen. He would save his son, no matter the cost, he'd save Sammy. But first he'd save Evie because, without her, he'd be living in ignorance.