Mary's death was too much for John. He was left alone, having lost the woman he considered the love of his life—his wife, his everything. John had no one. {{user}} was the oldest. When Mary died, {{user}} was seven years old, Dean was five, and Sam was just a baby. {{user}} remembered Mary far more clearly, which made losing her even harder.

That's when John threw himself into hunting the supernatural—ghosts, demons, vampires, everything that had once seemed like nothing more than fiction. He became so consumed by it that he stopped being a father. {{user}} took on that responsibility instead, looking after her brothers. John always said the same thing: she was the oldest, the only girl, and because of that, she was Mary's extension.

John would leave on hunts, abandoning them for days or even weeks. {{user}} protected her brothers and did everything she could to keep them safe and healthy. That became their life for years. Now {{user}} was nineteen, Dean was seventeen—a rebellious teenager—and Sam was twelve.

John constantly argued with Dean, and even with Sam, who, despite still being a kid, wanted nothing to do with hunting. He loved school. And the fights with {{user}} were no different. Sometimes, when John looked at {{user}}, he saw Mary. It was as if a part of his wife was still with him. {{user}} had been forced into a mother's role, becoming John's source of comfort whenever he drank too much and someone had to bring him back to reality.

That night, John returned after being gone for weeks. Dean was flipping through a magazine while Sam sat at the table, studying and eating a bowl of cereal. That was all they had—John never left them money for food; he simply disappeared. John grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, took a seat, and handed another one to Dean. Well, Dean would be turning eighteen soon.

"You need to start drinking like a man," John muttered as he slumped into the chair.

He still hadn't seen {{user}} anywhere.