Dean and I continued to talk for a few more minutes before my father came back into the room. He stopped when he saw me, I think that he had hoped he had somehow daydreamed my arrival. Dad walked over the bed I was sat down and and sat next to me, it was strange seeing my dad like this.

"I'm sorry," Dad said to me as he looked at me. I was confused by his apology, I didn't understand what he was apologising for.

"About what?" I asked.

"About dragging you into a hunter's life, I always thought that when I had children that I would somehow be able to keep them away from the horrors that we have to face. I failed. I'm sorry that you never had a normal life," Dad explained. I looked at my uncle Dean and realised that he understood what my dad was saying. I decided then it was better to tell my introduction into hunting than to let them feel in such a way.

"I had a chance at a normal life, I rejected it," I told them honestly.

"You did what?" my Dad almost yelled in surprise at my statement. I smiled slightly at hearing him yell at me. It was a sound that I thought I would never hear again from my father.

"When you were murdered I was given the chance to get away from the hunting scene. A close friend of the family called Gianna offered to look after me. She offered to take me away from the bloodshed. Uncle Dean didn't want me out of his sight but he also knew that you would have wanted me to try live a normal life. I refused to go. I was nine when I rejected the offer and I have never regretted it. I made a promise to myself to hunt down, slowly torture and kill that Langoran bastard," I told my father, I could keep the edge of rage that hit my voice when I spoke about the bastard that had ruined my life. The bastard that had taken away my father.

"You really want to kill this guy," my uncle Dean said to me.

"I almost did kill him but he got away. I was left with a few souvenirs after that fight. I have gone up against him two three times and each time his little lackies came to his rescue."

"By souveneirs you mean the scars covering your body, we saw them when we got you changed into clothing that wasn't covered with blood. You have so many," my dad said with worry in his voice.

"I have been in a lot of fights, when I was doing my training with Dreyden, I was taught to take pain, to channel it and control it. I learned not to let pain stop me in a fight. I can let it through when I'm on my own but not in battle. Pain is the one thing that connects us all. Some people let it cripple them, I let it give me strength. Every scar shows that I never gave up, I'm proud to have them," I explained to them both.

I got up from my bed and walked to my bag, I decided to show them the future. I decided to show them why they had to help me fight for it. I pulled out my red journal and walked back over to the bed. I handed the journal to my father. He opened it and his face instantly went into a small smile when he picked up a bundle of photos that I kept of the family. He picked up the first photo, I smiled as he looked at it. It was one of my favourite pictures, it was my father a holding me as a baby a few months after I had been born.

"This is you and that is me," he smiled. My uncle Dean walked over and sat next to my dad, his face cracked into a smile slightly when he saw the picture.

"I'm six months in that picture," I told them.

"Where is your mum?" my dad asked me. My heart felt heavy, I didn't want to tell him what had happened. I knew I had to though, I couldn't keep secrets from my father.

"You had to raise me alone, my mum died in childbirth. I came back to try save her as well."

"She died," my dad said in a small whisper, I think he was in shock from hearing that the mother of his child never really had the chance to be a mother. Uncle Dean decided to move the conversation to a lighter point. He took out another photo of me, I frowned when I saw the photo. It was the last photo that had my father in it, he died a few weeks after it had been taken. They continued to look at the photo's, my father burst out laughing when he saw Dean asleep in the impala with drool down his face.

They both stopped when they came to a picture of me, John and Adam standing in front of the impala smiling with shotguns and knifes in our hands.

"They are your sons," I told my Uncle Dean.

"They are definitely your children Dean, you can see it," my Dad smiled.

"They also share your annoying habit playing pranks," I chuckled.