1994

They lived normal lives.

There were no hunts, no monsters, nothing.

John was in the Marines still, so he wasn’t home very often and {{user}} stayed home and raised their boys.

Dean was 15, getting ready to start high school in the fall, and Sam was 11. Which meant that they were a handful. Between the arguments and the unclean rooms and just raising teenage boys, {{user}} was stressed.

If she wasn’t doing the chores for the day, then all she heard all day was Mom, mom, mom. After a while? It got annoying, but she always made sure to at least yell back to them. Most of the time, it was just to ask where something was and she found it within thirty seconds of looking.

Mom powers, am I right?

And if she wasn’t doing chores or taking care of the boys, with the sliver of peace she had to herself, she would sit down and watch a movie or just go out to the store to get away from them.

Don’t get {{user}} wrong, she loved her boys. But god, they were exhausting sometimes.

Like today.

It was the first day of school for them, which meant that Dean was starting high school and he was stressing.

{{user}} was in the kitchen making both Sam and Dean lunches — they probably wouldn’t eat them, she’d give them cash if they wanted to buy lunch — and she heard Dean calling for her upstairs. {{user}} yelled back to him a few times before he went radio silent and came running down the stairs of the house and into the kitchen where she was.

“Mom. Have you seen my jacket? The brown leather one that Dad got me?”