~No one's family is normal. Normalcy is a lie invented by advertising agencies to make the rest of us feel inferior."~

On a particular hot sticky August night they found themselves lying down on a patch of dry grass in front of the motel room. The heat inside the room had become unbearably hot so rather than suffering inside of the room, the four had decided perhaps going outside would fare better.

"I bet hell isn't even this hot," moaned Henry who was flopped onto his stomach with his face in the grass.

The only response he got was a pile of grass being thrown at him. None of the Winchesters were particularly enjoying the heat. It was damp and moist. Their clothing was sticking uncomfortably to their sweat coated skin. They'd spent their afternoon rotating fanning one another and attempting to fix the busted air conditioner. All attempts at that had gone horribly wrong only making them even more frustrated. It was the second night in this town, their father, said a week top. In a week they'd be melted puddles of sweat.

"Look a star!" Sam cried pointing to the small twinkling little orb of light, "make a wish. I wish for Dad to get home safely and stop hunting."

For a few moments the only sound that could be hear was the low murmuring of the crickets. It was a wishful thinking, but highly reasonable.

"I wish the air conditioner worked." Henry muttered breaking the silence.

"I wish that Dad would stop leaving us behind and just take him on the hunts." Dean said.

Nobody spoke for a few moments as they all silently starred at the rising full moon. The stars looked so oddly different from place to place. Some places they were abundant and shinning brilliantly in others only a little shone. They all liked it better when they did shine. Since they were young they'd often point out different shapes in the sky, it started out innocent enough, circle, square, triangle, but turned more and more perverted as they grew older.

"What about you Kenzie?" questioned Sam.

Mackenzie sat away a few feet away from her brothers. Her black hair tied tightly into a bun that rested above her head, her hands resting on her stomach, she heaved in a deep sigh.

"I wish that there's a purpose for us." She admitted softly.


Coming home or rather to whatever motel they were staying at was often a much more joyous experience than going on one. The fear that it could be his last hunt was always pressing in the back of his mind, in constant replay that he may never return home to his kids. Some days he'd reason with himself that the kids weren't so young anymore, Dean was fourteen, the twins twelve and Sam was ten, they could all cook, and drive, but underlying he never wanted to leave them. Some days he has to fight himself to go back on the road to the hunt where innocent people who needed him. Or the monster that killed Mary, that still needed him.

Life on the road was never easy. Not with four wildly different kids, and especially not with Henry. Whose mastermind schemes and plots had landed all of them in the E.R. The boy was a genius, an evil genius.

Sometimes he wondered if his children were raised in a stable home if they would turn out the way they were. Would Dean be as committed to his siblings as he was now? Would Henry be secretly plotting planks against everyone? Would Mackenzie be as serious and as practical? Would Sam want nothing more than to be different? If, if, if, there was no way he could ever truly know if they'd turn out that way.

Years of coming home to complete surprises had braced himself for the most unexpected things, but he never thought he'd find his children asleep on the grass outside of the motel. His boys all shirtless, dressed only in sweats, his daughter was wearing a thin white t-shirt that was quite a few sizes too small, and a pair of shorts so short he wasn't quite sure they qualified as shorts.

An idea spurred on him, he pressed hard down onto the horn of the car, emitting a long honking sound. His children spurred awake almost instantly, jumping upward and glancing around, with wide sleepy eyes. It was Dean who'd pulled a knife from out of his pocket and was starring around with murderous eyes.

"Oh it's only you," scoffed Henry.

John felt himself smirking at the notion that he'd caught the prankster off guard. Sam was the first to stagger to his feet, evidently his sleepless state hadn't completely worn off as he began to walk forward.

"I thought you'd be gone another few days."

"The hunt was a hoax." John answered simply.

Just a nut job in the woods, John thought bitterly to himself. All the times and dates and info sounded like a Wendigo, but when push came to shove it was just another lunatic's story.

A/N: To continue or to Not?