Well, this is it guys, the REAL last chapter. I want to say a quick thank you for all of those that have reviewed and followed this story. You guys are near and dear to my heart, thank you all so much, you have no idea what all your support and kind words have done for me. This is my absolute favorite story that I have written and I couldn't have done it with out you. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy.

"Actions speak louder than words, and to know my father, you had to pay attention. He was a man of few words.

My father was a difficult man, if you could even say that. He was righteous, bold and often wrong. But I was a Daddy's girl through and through.

I was born Mary Ellen Honey Winchester, although I was called Honey, to avoid confusion, for those of you who don't know. My parents were Jo Harvelle and Dean Winchester.

In the right circles, I was almost famous. At least they were. Everyone knew them. Even now that I'm an adult, strangers will still come up to me and tell me something about them. That I look just like my mother, or my father, or how they had saved their lives once. No matter what it was, they new I was theirs. I was a Winchester and it was obvious.

I can remember being five years old sitting in Grandma's bar when I would hear it rush by. That familiar rumble of thunder only the Impala could produce. My head would snap up to meet my mother's gaze. She would wink at me and I would be out the door. Racing through the gravel cul de sac, past Grandpa Bobby's and behind Grandpa John's, kicking up pebbles the faster my small legs would go.

He would be gone for weeks with out a word. At that time all I knew was that my father was a hero, he was saving people. I would beg him to not to go, to stay with me, but he would just give me that look.

He would bow his head and take my small hands in his large calloused ones, "You know I have to. I never want to leave you. Don't make it harder Honey."

I would nod sadly and he would tuck one of my curls behind my ears.

"You'll see me sooner than you think."

This time had been longer. Too long. Even Mom was started to get nervous. I would here her on the phone when she thought I was asleep or out of earshot, "Where are you?" She would snap, followed by an exhausted sigh, "Well, just..." She would pinch the bridge of her nose, "Just please come home." She would beg. "I love you too." She would whisper before hanging up the phone.

I could just image Dad's face, his head bowed, a weary hand running down his features, saying that he'll be home soon.

I finally hit grass, and bolted behind Grandpa John's and toward the garage. Both of my Grandpa's had built a small apartment over the garage for Mom and Dad. Though when my brother, Anthony, was born Grandpa and Uncle Sam switched and we moved into the house. It didn't really matter though, in our sort of compound, I could stay at anyone's house and it wouldn't matter, they still shut the iron fence at night.

I turned the corner of Grandpa's house and long strong arms swooped me up.

"Uncle Sam!" I exclaimed panting for breath.

He tossed me high in the air, catching me he planted a kiss on my cheek, before he set me back on my feet and patting my bottom as I ran past him.

I could see him now, leaning over in to the trunk for something, "Daddy," I squealed trying to keep my balance on legs that were moving too fast for my body.

He turned around, a smile on his lips, "There's my girl." He knelt down and open his arms, and I fit perfectly. I wrapped my arms around his neck as tightly as I could, his arms engulfed me to his chest, as he left kisses in my hair. "Let me look at you," He would pull back, holding me up with one hand, and cupping my cheek with the other, "You look more like your mother everyday." He would say with a smile, "I missed you." He would whisper leaving a kiss on my forehead.

Mom would meet up with us eventually, Dad, never setting me down, would wrap his spare arm around her shoulders pulling her to his side, "I missed you too," He would smirk down at her.

She would hit his chest playfully, "Yeah, you better have." She would smile, all teeth, as he pulled her into a kiss.

Grandpa John had once told me that Dad loved Mom just as much, if not more than, Grandpa had loved Grandma Mary. Although, they never got married. Dad always said, "Why do I need a piece of paper for that?" Mom would just mutter something about it making him harder to get away.

There was no doubt though, my parents loved each other, even though Dad barely said it. At least not in front of anyone, I can count on one hand how many times I'd heard him say it. I asked mom about it once. She smiled setting down the glass she was drying at the time. "Your daddy loves us so much, that 'love' just doesn't seem a big enough word. So when he does say it, it makes it that much more special, because in that moment, he loves us so much that that's the only word he could think of."

That speech used to be enough when I was little. I didn't really understand it, but I accepted it. That is, until I was thirteen. They were just words, I couldn't understand why he couldn't just say it. I grew angry at him, I hated him for awhile.

He was still hunting though, his body covered in battle scars and old bullet wounds. This time he needed everyone. All the adults, Grandpa John and Bobby, Grandma, Mom, Uncle Sam, and I was stuck babysitting.

"I've got better aim than Uncle Sam!" I argued following my father around the house as he packed. "I could help."

"Honey, I'm not having this discussion." He would hold up a hand to me, taking boxes of ammo off the top shelf of his closet.

"But Dad-"

"No buts." He turned pointing a stern finger at me. "We are going to be gone for a couple days, okay? I need you to watch the kids. Garth is going to be running the Roadhouse, and Rufus will be at Bobby's okay, and Sarah will be with Tyler at the house. Protect the kids, alright."

"All of them?" There were four little Winchester's running around at this point including myself, well minus Tyler, he was still an infant. My first cousin, my only cousin for a long time, was Tyler. He somehow came out with fire red hair, and Uncle Sam's blue eyes, he was my favorite. So sweet and kind as grew, smart as whip too.

But then there was my little brothers Anthony and William. Anthony was seven at the time, and challenged my every word, all the time, and Will was only four.

Dad would roll his eyes, "They're just your brothers, come on. I was watching my little brother all the time when I was your age. Younger even."

"Yeah, well, you only had one." I would say putting my hand on my hip, sighing. Dad would just laugh and tell me how much I looked like Mom.

Before he left he turned to me, "I'm trusting you," He said with a hand on my shoulder. "Keep them safe." I had never seen real danger at our home, never once had it made it past the gate. I knew all about them. I knew what they were, how to kill them, I could recite anyone of Dad's stories to the letter, but I had never been placed in any real danger. I knew that's how Mom and Dad wanted it, how they designed it. But there was something in Dad's eyes that made me listen. "Protect your brothers." There was a distinct possibility that something might happen. I could see it as the uncertainty bounced in his green eyes. A matching set to mine.

"I will," I whispered nodding my head, the seriousness of the situation finally dawning on me.

He was scared, I know that now. He was scared he was never going to come home again. He tucked a curl behind my ear, as his brows furrowed. "I love you." He stated it like it was a fact. Something irrefutable.

It was twenty three days before I saw him again. I watched from the window of Grandpa Bobby's house as the convoy arrived, racing down the steps I saw the old Impala crawl to a stop in font of our house with only three occupants.

Aunt Sarah bounded down the porch steps and into Uncle Sam's arms. He buried his face in her hair and I could see his shoulder's shaking from what I thought, just for a moment, was relief.

Then I saw my parents. Still in the front seat of the Impala, Mom reached over and ran her hand through his hair before she sighed and got out of the car. Will brushed past me racing through the yard to meet her, wrapping his arms around her knees as his little legs finally caught up.

I stopped Anthony before he could do the same.

"What? Come on." He urged pushing my hand away.

"Wait." I commanded, watching the scene unfold before me.

Dad leaned his arm on the door of the Impala, resting his face in his hand.

"Something's wrong," Anthony whispered, taking a tentative step off the porch, his eyes finally seeing what mine were.

Grandma Ellen's old station wagon pulled up in front of us, Grandpa Bobby and Grandma got out. My eyes darted in between them and their tired faces, and down the road. There were no more cars coming, they had already shut the gate.

I heard the screen door shut behind me. "Bobby?" Rufus half greeted, half asked the question I was too petrified to ask.

Grandpa Bobby sighed taking his trademark trucker cap off and ran a shaking hand through his thinning hair. He looked at Anthony then to me and shook his head.

Anthony looked up at me desperately. "Honey? What does that mean?"

I knew what it meant. I knew who left, and I certainly knew who didn't return. Anthony's brown eyes swam with questions as his hand reached out for mine. I couldn't speak. I couldn't be the one to tell him.

My head snapped up as I heard the trunk of the Impala shut. Mom hefted a duffel bag over her shoulder, as her free hand wrapped around Will's shoulder, ushering him inside. I caught her eye from across the way. She gave me a watery smile before she glanced back at my father. He just sat in that car.

Grandma ran a hand through Anthony's hair and rested it on his shoulder, "Come on, baby, let's go say 'hi' to your mom." Anthony nodded numbly, reaching out for my hand again. I took it this time and followed them to the house.

Grandma gently ran a hand through my hair as we got closer to the house, pulling me close to leave a kiss on the top of my head. She took Anthony inside and I opened the passenger side door of the Impala.

I shut the door quietly and scooted over to the middle of the bench seat. I took my father's arm and put it around my shoulder's and burying myself in the crook of his arm, he smelled of gun powder and whiskey. He always smelled like that, even if he hadn't been drinking. The smell was just part of him now. "I'm sorry Daddy." I whispered after awhile.

He nodded slowly and I could see tears started to well in his eyes. He wrapped his other arm around me and held me tight to his chest, resting his chin on the top of my head. I could hear Will's wails from the house, someone must have told him. I let go of a shaky breath as tears of my own began to prick at my eyes. I turned my head into my father's chest and wrapped my arms around his neck, leaving a puddle of tears on his shirt.

We had a hunter's funeral later that day. Grandpa Bobby had asked me to come with him to get the logs and sticks for the pyre. Mom urged me to go with him as she watched my father sit solemnly at the kitchen table, a full glass of whiskey in front of him.

I remember following behind Grandpa Bobby on the warn path, kicking up rocks with my feet and watching the riffle bounce slightly on his back with every step he took. He glanced behind him to look at me and sighed as he turned back around, "I know that face. It's the same one your father gets." He stopped walking until I was in step with him and put his arm around my shoulder. "What are you thinking about?"

I ripped the small twig in my hands in half, "Is there a way to bring someone back from the dead?" I asked looking up at him.

He diverted his gaze quickly back to the path. "No." He answered flatly. "What's dead should stay dead. Don't be an idjit, you know that."

I nodded, "Yes, sir." I knew it was lie. I could read and Grandpa Bobby never locked up his books like Grandpa John did.

I had read about the crossroads, and the deals you could make there. I thought about it for a long time. Dad wasn't the same after Grandpa died. I would have done anything to make my father happy again. I would have sold my soul for him in a heartbeat. I planned on it, actually. I was going to sneak out after the funeral, after everyone had gone to bed.

Dad was still in the kitchen as I tip-toed to the front door. "There's nothing for him to come back to, you know." He spoke into the silence, his gravely voice filling the ground floor of the house.

I peaked my head around the corner and looked at him, readjusting the backpack on my shoulders. "What are you talking about?" I whispered innocently, cautiously stepping into the light of the kitchen.

Dad lifted his whiskey and regarded it for a moment before taking a large sip. "He has no body to come back to."

My brows furrowed as I stared down at the neon pink shoe laces on my sneakers. "They could give him one." I said naively. As much as I thought I knew, I still didn't understand.

Dad sighed, pulling out the chair to his left. "Sit." He demanded. I slid the back pack off my shoulders and set it on the table, doing as he said I took a seat in the chair next to him.

He moved his glass to the side and pulled the bag closer to unzipped it. He pulled out the books and my journal, a wad of cash I had saved up all summer from working at the Roadhouse, a burner phone from Dad's glove box, holy water, a rosary, a box of ammunition and a small revolver. Last was the small tin box with my school photo and one of Grandpa's fake ID's.

Dad sat back in the chair looking at all the contents that were once in my back pack. "Well," He chuckled sardonically as he looked back up at me. "You're prepared, I'll give you that." He sighed picking up his glass again and taking a drink.

"I just wanted to-" I tried to plead my case but Dad put a hand up to stop me.

"I know what you wanted to do." His tone had taken an immediate turn. It was hard and demanding, low and rough. The kind of voice father's use to strike fear in their children, whether they mean to or not. "Where did you get the books?" He began his interrogation.

"Grandpa Bobby's." I answered, bowing my head. I was in deep shit. "He doesn't know I took them."

"And the gun?"

"It was under the bar." I confessed, smirking at the memory of my ridiculous indecision from earlier, "The rifle was too big."

Dad shook his head, "And the money? Hunter's don't tip that well."

"They don't play pool that well either." I mumbled, not able to stop my mouth from running.

That's when he did something I never expected. He smiled at me. I don't know if it was the whiskey or just the events of the day that made him tell me this. But I never forgot a word.

He reached over and encased my small hand in his. "I know you want to bring him back for me. You wouldn't be my kid if you didn't at least think about it. But that would be worse than loosing my father. You are everything to me. You and your brothers are the only reason I keep doing what I'm doing. I go out and I make the world safer for you three. And if I lost one of you..." He trailed off rubbing a hand down his face before he looked me dead in the eye. I was frozen in my spot. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. "I wouldn't be able to survive." He let go of my hand taking a deep breath and told me to go back to bed.

When Mom found out I was grounded for three months and Grandpa Bobby started locking up his books.

When I was sixteen, I went with Dad to take Anthony shooting for the first time. I had gone when I was ten, so it was his turn now. I remember sitting on a blanket on the hood of the Impala baking in the summer sun, the breeze offering the barest of relief. I played with the fringe on my jean shorts as my long, gangly legs layed out before me.

Anthony stood in front of Dad, the same small revolver that I had tried to steal once, in his shaking hands. He had never even held a gun before this. Dad leveled his arms with his shoulders whispering instructions in his ear calmly. I knew them by heart. I repeated them every time I ever shot a gun, still do. "And then when you're ready, take a deep breath and squeeze."

BANG. A shot rang through the air, birds fled from the forest yards away and into the sky. The empty beer bottle on the old fence post stood stubbornly still.

"That's alright," Dad reassured him at the disappointed frown that painted Anthony's small features. "Try again. Just focus on the bottle."

Anthony nodded, squaring his shoulders and glaring at the bottle. Determination seeping into his stance. He took a deep breath. BANG. The bottle shattered.

Dad clapped Anthony on the back with a bark of laughter, "Yeah! Atta boy!" Anthony beamed up at my father. It was then that I realized I was not the only one vying for Dad's pride and love. Anthony was too, and in that moment, he gained a bit of it.

Dad waved me over, "Bring over some more bottles, Honey." He called. I slid off the hood, picking up the box of empty glass bottles and set them up on the posts. Anthony hit every one. Dad smiled down at his eldest son, "We'll make a Winchester out of you yet." He laughed as he put an arm around Anthony's shoulders. He smiled over to me, "Come on, Honey, why don't you take a few shots. Make sure you're not rusty," He winked at me.

I just glared at him as I set the bottles back up, stacking two on top of each other.

Dad smiled, knowing exactly what I was doing. He handed me his silver gun as I passed him and he pulled Anthony off to the side. I checked the clip and took the safety off, taking aim I hit the top bottles first and then made my way down to the bottom ones. I didn't miss a one.

Anthony whistled, his eyes wide. He had never seen me shoot before. Dad just smiled, his hands planted firmly on Anthony's shoulders.

I squared my shoulders and puffed out my chest as I looked at my father. I had been trying to prove to him for three years that I could be a hunter. Each time his answer was the same. An angry and resounding no. Still I studied and took kick boxing classes at the YMCA, and stole a gun at least once a week to practice shooting, that is if I could manage sneaking it out. Still Dad's answer was the same.

That is until I graduated high school. I passed by him as he sat in the kitchen, a beer sat covered in condensation to his right. "Sit." He demanded.

I rolled my eyes, instantly feeling patronized. Still I did as he said. He pulled a wooden box from the chair across from me and set it down on the table.

"What is it?" I asked looking from the box up to my father. It was just a little smaller than shoe box.

Mom came to lean in the doorway. "It's your graduation present."

"Open it." Dad urged, a ghost of a smile on his face.

I looked at both of my parents before I slid the top of the box. The same revolver I had stolen to sell my soul with sat on pink tissue paper, a protection charm necklace wrapped around the handle, the initials E.H.W. engraved onto the metal beneath the thin silver chain.

"I'm gonna make you a deal." Dad smirked at the irony of his words. Mom just rolled her eyes. "You go to school, you get a degree, and I'll teach you whatever you want to know."

"Are you serious?" I asked, my heart beating faster in my chest.

Dad nodded, "But you gotta do it, or I won't teach you shit, and trust me, I'll make sure no one else will." He added with a raised eyebrow as he pointed a finger at me.

"And trust me," Mom said with a bitter tone, "That's not a bluff, he's done it before." She looked over my head and glared at my father for a second, before she took a seat across from him and next to me. "We want you to have options. I know hunting is something you've always wanted to do but you can't blame us for wanting more for you."

I nodded slowly looking down at the gun in the wooden box. I placed my hands on either side of it and brought it closer to my chest. "Okay." I nodded more enthusiastically looking back up to them. "Okay, I'll go to school."

And I did. I got three degrees, a Bachelor's in nursing, and an Associates in Mythology and Latin. It only took me three years. I overworked myself and took night classes and summer classes. I filled all my time with school. The faster I finished the sooner I could be on the road.

The day after I graduated Dad took me on my first hunt. He had briefed me on the job for three days prior and our plan was to leave the morning after graduation. Little did I know, it was a test.

Dad, Uncle Sam and I took a three hour drive out to a cabin in Montana. I only learned later that it belonged to Rufus'.

Dad and Uncle Sam had set this whole fake job up, just to test me. There was supposedly a poltergeist terrorizing and old woman, Annie. She ended up being an old hunting partner of Grandpa Bobby's.

I had done everything by the book, my adrenaline was running, nothing was coming up on the EMF detector and I was starting to get nervous. That is until I noticed a protection charm painted on the wall hidden behind a book shelf. I knew immediately.

I turned around and glared at my father. I tossed the EMF detector on the couch, grabbed my back pack and stormed out of the cabin. "Honey!" I heard him call after me, but that just made me walk faster, "Honey!" He called again, this time closer. His hands wrapped around my wrist. "Where are you going?" He demanded turning me around to face him.

"You lied to me!" I yelled at him. I had never raised my voice to my father before. Even through all my bratty teenage years, I had never dared to shout at him.

He stepped back as if I had hit him, just as shocked by my volume as I was. "Honey, it wasn't like that," He pleaded. "I just wanted to make sure you were ready. I was testing you." He explained.

This only aggravated me more. "I'm ready!" I shouted ripping my hand from his grasp. "I've been ready since I was sixteen, but you're never around long enough to notice!" He bowed his head in shame and I knew I had hit my mark. "I've done everything you've ever asked me to and you can't keep one promise!" Tears streamed down my face as Uncle Sam came galloping down the path.

Dad took another step back from me looking up at me in shock, before turning on his heel, brushing past Uncle Sam as he made his way back to the cabin, the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind him.

Uncle Sam shook his head as he turned back to me. He opened up one of his long arms and gestured me to his side, "Come here, kiddo." He rubbed a hand up and down my arm as I wrapped mine around his waist. "You are just too much like your father." He whispered against the crown of my head.

"I would never treat my kid like this." I pouted as the anger still bubbled under my skin.

Uncle Sam just laughed, "Yeah, that's what he said too."

I was angry with Dad for months. I didn't asked to go on a hunt with him again. I would ask Uncle Sam or Grandpa or Rufus, hell even Garth, but I refused to ask him. My pride and stubbornness, that I surely got from him, wouldn't let me.

Until one Christmas, I was twenty five, and I hadn't been home in almost a year. Mom and Grandma fussed over me the whole time, suffocating me. Anthony just laughed at me, "Maybe if you around more often it wouldn't be that intense." He was right of course.

He had gone through the hoax hunt too just days before I arrived home. Although he was tipped off, he knew it was a fake. He did everything wrong just to piss off Dad, who finally couldn't take it anymore and called the whole thing off. He knew I told Anthony all about it.

Will wasn't so lucky. Dad had sworn me and Anthony both to secrecy. And when it was time, Will was pissed we didn't tell him. Said it broke some kind of sibling pact.

Mine and Dad's relationship was strained after the first 'job'. The words I had said to him stuck and we barely spoke. My mother had told me years later that he was just angry with himself. He felt like he had failed me. He wasn't around much of my childhood and was gone more often after Grandpa John died. I wasn't much better, though. It's not like I tried to fix things. After all, I am my father's daughter.

He called me the night before he died. I could tell in his voice that something was wrong, but it was a tone I had heard numerous times over the years.

Something was wrong, but would he would be okay, I kept thinking.

He was Dean Winchester. Nothing could kill him. My father was invincible. Even all grown up, the thought of Dad dying some day never crossed my mind.

People used to say he must have an angel on his shoulder to make it this far. Mom would just smirk and say, "Who knows? Maybe even God himself."

But God must have gotten tired, always having to watch my father's back. He must have had enough.

Dad told me to be strong and to protect my brothers. To take care of Mom and to look out for Will, whose only nineteen. He told me he loved me and that he was sorry. He said that Mom, me and my brothers were the best thing he ever did. He told me he was proud of me and said that I would see him sooner than I thought.

I wanted to apologize, I should have apologized, for all the years I wasted being angry with him. I know it will be a long time before I see him again. This time I don't have a back pack for the crossroads.

I love my father. He was a difficult man. But he was a hero. He was my hero." I looked up from my speech into the sea of people in front of my father's pyre. They had come from all over, hunters and victims, friends and family. Just to say goodbye to him.

My mother stood in the middle, stone faced staring at his body wrapped in burlap. She hadn't said a word in three days. She wouldn't have even come outside if Grandma hadn't practically dragged her. Anthony stood to the left of her his arm draped around her shoulder, not even bothering to brush the tears from his face. Will stood to her right, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at the ground. He had stayed like that for the whole service.

I was the last one to talk. The idea of a large funeral had been Aunt Sarah's idea and I had hated it at first, but now, looking at all the people in front of me I knew, we all needed this. Most hunter's don't get this much. But she was right, my father was different.

Uncle Sam handed me a torch and Anthony took a step forward lighting his own.

I refused to move until the pyre was ash. Mom and Will went inside as soon as the fire touched the pyre and Anthony stayed as long as he could bare it. I was the last one. I watched as my father burned. He deserved that much from me.

All the years I hated him, all the things I said to him weighed on my shoulders as the flames licked against his body. Tears continued to stream down my cheeks all through the night. I didn't blame my mother for not wanting to speak. He was her everything.

The way she would look at him sometimes would blow me away. Even as a small child, I knew there was no equal anywhere in the world to the love my parents had for each other. Grandma used to lean over to me when she caught me staring at them and tell me that was what fairy tales were made of. My heart broke, not only for myself, but also for her. I had no idea how she was going to survive this.

She had once told me that what ever happened in their lives she knew it was right, that every thing was how it should be. Grandpa Bobby said it had to do with something that happened on a hunt before I was born. He said all three of them, Mom, Dad and Uncle Sam, had come back changed somehow. No one would ever tell me what happened.

As the sun peaked through the clouds on the horizon, just barely rising, I felt it. His hand on my shoulder. I knew it was his, the smell of gun powder and whiskey blanketed over the stench of burning flesh. I closed my eyes fighting the urge to call out to him. I felt a warmth spread through me and I knew it was okay. Everything was as it should be.

I heard footsteps in the gravel behind me and a man came into my peripheral vision. He was an average man about the same height as me. His hair wasn't as red as Tyler's, but just as messy. "He was a good man." He said nodding over to the pile of ashes that used to be my father. "One of the best." He added.

I nodded silently.

"A very important man." He smiled, he spoke as if he was just thinking out loud. "Who finally gets to rest."

I turned and took the man in completely. He wore a wrinkled white button down shirt and worn jeans that frayed at the bottom. There was nothing about him that had any sort of distinction. "Did you know my father?" I had never seen this man before, but for some reason I knew that I must have.

He turned and smiled at me. "Very well. He was a brave man. You're a lot like him."

I turned and smiled at the sun. "Well, I am a Winchester after all."

I heard the man's chest rumble with a chuckle, "Yes, yes, you are." He turned, stuffing his hands in his pockets and started walking away.

"Hey," I called out to him, "What's your name?"

He turned and smiled at me again. "Chuck." He answered.

So that's all folks, please let me know what you thought! I was a little nervous going into Part III and wasn't sure what I should do or how I could some it up. And then I thought of this and I hope you think it's just as perfect as I do. Thank you again for sticking with me on this one, till next time!

xoxox

Go ahead leave me some love ; )

**Update** Check out the sequel to this story, The Beginning.