On one level Emma knew her dad and Sam were moving ahead quickly to put a final end to the Leviathans. The brothers had acquired the bone of a righteous mortal and washed it in the three bloods of the fallen: samples they'd retrieved from Castiel, the Alpha Vampire, and the demon Crowley. The problem was, her role in all of this had been to stay out of the way. Her father and uncle were determined to keep her out of their battle with Dick Roman. Bored and frustrated by her lack of participation, the hours seemed to drag by, tortuously slow. She didn't even have the dubious company of the ghost, Bobby. Dean and Sam had melted the old flask in a miniature hunter's pyre at Bobby's request when his spirit began to turn vengeful.

When Emma heard her father drive up in a new vehicle—as evidenced by the bass rumble of a big V8 engine—she jumped up from her seat at the table and ran outside to see. Her father had driven a number of different cars since she'd first met him in Seattle, some classic muscle cars, some uninspiring old clunkers. This latest one was definitely a classic, judging by its sleek lines and chrome trim.

"Nice one, Dad," she breathed as she circled it, impressed.

"Emma, meet my baby." Her dad was grinning as he tossed her the keys.

Emma gaped at him, then down at the keys in her hand. "The baby?" She looked at him with disbelief. "And you're going to let me drive?"

"For a little bit. On the back roads." Dean looked torn, as if he was having second thoughts. He collected himself and climbed into the passenger seat. "We'll see how it goes," he said gruffly.

Emma's heart raced as she started the legendary automobile and shifted it into gear, being careful to do everything as her dad had taught her.

"Whoa, don't over steer," and "Take it easy on the accelerator, Emma Jo," he warned as she left the unpaved road that led to the cabin and pulled onto a two-lane rural highway. "This engine has more power than you're used to."

After half an hour Dean had clearly had enough. They switched places at a rest stop on the interstate. Once back in the driver's seat, he ignored his own advice and put the pedal to the metal. Soon the Impala was pushing eighty.

"So where are we going?" Emma asked curiously. A hunt was too much to hope for, and her father and Sam had already collected everything they needed to take on Dick Roman.

"Just a little road trip. I got to thinking, we've never really had a chance to just take off and go do something fun."

"Like visiting the world's biggest ball of twine?" she asked, deadpan. "Or the second-largest cross in the northern hemisphere?"

Dean scoffed. "I said fun." He tuned in a classic rock station on the radio. "I've seen the world's biggest ball of twine and it ain't that big a deal. Don't worry, Candy Crush, you'll like where we're headed."

Emma nodded, trusting her father. The destination really didn't matter that much. It was enough to be riding in the old car she'd heard so much about, taking a trip her dad had planned for just the two of them.

"I keep thinking how things would have been different if you'd had a normal childhood. I mean, the normal duration," Dean said after a time. "I just wish I could have been there for you."

"But you were, Dad. I remember when you visited Mom, to get Bobby's flask back."

"Yeah." Her dad's tone was heavy with sarcasm. "I was a really involved father. All of five minutes, and at that point I didn't even know you were mine."

"It was more than any of my sisters had. The other initiates didn't even know what their fathers looked like. They had to look at surveillance photographs the matrons had taken, " Emma told him. "I'd seen you. I knew the sound of your voice."

"So you were ahead of the game when it came time to assassinate me," Dean said dryly.

"I totally was." Emma turned in her seat to grin at him. "In fact, I even got a private meeting with Mother Charlene so she could show me your police records. Yours and Sam's, so I would understand how dangerous you were."

"Huh."

Emma thought she heard a note of pride. She glanced over again to see her father preening.

"Yeah, Dad, you Winchesters are totally badass."

"We are. All of us."

Dean left the major highway and drove them down back roads, finally pulling into the parking lot of a restaurant. It was still at least an hour before dawn. The building was an old-style diner, all curved lines,stainless steel, and neon tubing, though none of the lights were on.

"They're closed," Emma pointed out unnecessarily.

"Not to us, they're not." Her father retrieved a sack from the trunk of the car, then led the way around the building to the back. A rat scuttled into the shadow of a dumpster as they passed by. Dean pounded his fist on the back door.

"Hey, Sharples. Open up."

Light from the kitchen spilled out as the door cracked open and an old man scowled at them.

"Oh, it's you, Winchester." The man's expression softened almost imperceptibly and he opened the door wide to let them in, tucking a pistol into the back of his waistband as he did so.

The old guy was a little paranoid for a civilian, Emma thought. Sam and her dad answered the door in exactly the same way, but they were hunters. They knew what might be out there in the dark. He must be the cook, she reasoned, taking in his white trousers and the grease-stained apron.

"Who's the kid? And what are you doing here? You hunting something in the neighborhood?" he asked, locking the door behind them.

"This is my daughter, Emma," her dad said with pride. "Emma, this is Mel Sharples, owner of Mel's diner. I helped him out, what was it? Nine or ten years ago, Mel? The guy accidentally hired a vetala," he explained to Emma.

"Crazy blood-sucking broad," Mel reminisced, "but she was a damn good waitress."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sharples."

"You sure she's yours, Winchester? Kid's got manners," Mel smirked. "I ask again, what are you doing here?"

"You owe me," Dean said. "Believe it or not, I'm here for your cooking. Melvin, here, makes a halfway decent pie," he told Emma.

"Halfway decent? I make the best pies in the tri-state area! And you could have waited until I opened," the fry cook complained. "I got three pies in the oven right now."

"No deal. I want to see you make it. Fresh, from scratch." Her dad unpacked his grocery bag onto one of the stainless steel counters. "This ought to be everything you need."

"Organically grown apples, whole wheat flour, turbinado sugar? And what the hell is this? Certified organic fair trade cinnamon sticks?" Mel read the labels with scorn. "I never would have figured you for one of those hippie-dippy health food nuts."

"Hey, I worry about the dangers of high fructose corn syrup," Dean said seriously. "You should too."

Emma couldn't help but giggle. Sam would never believe it.

"You want hippie pies, you better get to work peeling and chopping," Mel ordered.

Soon both father and daughter were hard at work. Dean cut long, spiraling coils of apple peel with a paring knife while Emma hacked away with a small cleaver, trying to produce uniform slices. Both wore aprons and Dean had plunked one of Mel's sailor caps down on Emma's head. It was cozy in the kitchen in spite of the fry cook's abrasive personality. The scents of fresh coffee and baked goods hung in the air and Emma caught her dad casting longing looks toward the counter where the pies Mel had already made sat cooling.

Once Mel had put the finishing touches on their custom order and put them in the oven, waitresses and dishwashers began to arrive for the breakfast shift. Emma and her father moved to a booth by a window to drink coffee and watch the sun rise.

"This was fun, Dad."

"You haven't even tasted the pie yet," Dean chuckled. "Once we finish off Dick Roman, we'll take a vacation and have some real fun," he added. "I'd say we've earned it."

"That's the truth," Emma said earnestly. Her father and his brother had already lost so many friends. People who had been important to them. Bobby had just been the latest. They had so few allies left, and the ones they did have—Meg and Castiel—were hardly trustworthy, in Emma's opinion. She wished her father would see reason and let her help out. Emma drew a deep breath. That was a sore subject, but one she was determined to broach.

"About Dick Roman," she began. "I want in. I want to help, Dad."

"You are helping." Dean's expression had already turned stony.

"Yeah, by keeping out of your way. I can do more," Emma argued. "I've been trained. I've followed orders. What for, if I can't help?"

"This isn't about whether you've trained enough or not, Emma."

"More coffee?" A waitress bustled over, a steaming pot in hand. Dean nodded, offering a smile dazzling in its insincerity. It disappeared the instant she turned away

"We've been over and over this. Let it go."

"Is it because I screwed up watching the Alpha Vamp's 'special girl'? Because I swear, Dad, I've learned from that mistake. And I can't be any worse than Castiel! He's"—practically worthless, Emma wanted to say, but stopped herself —"lost his mind, or something. He can't fight. I can."

"It's got nothing to do with being a good hunter or being able to fight. Look, Sam and I were grown men when our dad finally got a lead on the demon that killed our mother. He took off without a word, kept us out of the most important hunt of his life. I get it, Emma, I do. I argued with him about it, tried to convince him just like you're trying to convince me."

"Then why try to keep me out of it? You're acting just like he did," Emma said, frustrated.

"Yeah, I am. Because, you know what? He was right. He didn't want to put me and Sam at risk. I know you don't understand. I didn't either, not really, until I had a kid of my own. Emma, you're sixteen." Dean shook his head ruefully. "You're a sixteen year old who hasn't even lived a full year. Your life can be measured in weeks. I've had a daughter for a few weeks," he said wonderingly. "If it was sixteen whole years it still wouldn't be enough."

"Emma, I need to know that no matter what happens, you'll be okay. I want to know that you'll live a good, long life. Or at least have a shot at it," he concluded with a humorless snort. "God knows if you go into the family business the odds of a long life are pretty low."

Emma wanted to argue, but the beaming waitress had returned with mega-sized portions of warm, fresh-baked apple pie. This might be their last meal together. She swallowed hard, pushing aside the morbid thought, and forced a smile.

"For a puny human, maybe. I'm going to live forever."

Author's note: This is the end of the first part of Emma's story. Thank you for reading. The next chapter is a teaser for the second part titled My So-Called Normal Life.

I want to acknowledge the original writers of Supernatural for the dialogue lifted from the show. In places where this story parallels the original series I have taken snippets of dialogue directly from the television show. Credit is of course due to the original writers!

Many thanks to nani'anela, CommChatter, Erotillectual, Lady Dawson, Nyx Ro, GrammarDemon, Misty, Olivia Crane, Dean's Dirty Little Secret, Fallen's child, American Soldier, AngelGemma, Catastrophic Carnival, I Believe In Fairytales 606, idiot9, jenifaui, jwoo2525, kb18142, kezztip, lolsmileyface6, missysillivan, murtaghxblaiseyum, opi, renaly, and TigerInTheMoonlight for their kind encouragement and reviews of this story while it was a work in progress. Thanks for bearing with me!