As happy as she was to have a second chance at life with her family, Mary had begun to realize that her family couldn’t be her only occupation. When she’d first been married she’d poured her whole self into her new, normal life. She’d treated every meatloaf that came out of the oven without blackening into a charred heap as if it were a badge of honor, proof and validation that she was just as good as anyone else at being normal. Every fight with John was infected with epic scope beyond whose turn it was to do the dishes because she had given up everything for him, and if each moment wasn’t perfect, then did that mean she’d chosen wrong? It had taken years for her to calm down enough to realize that she couldn’t live her life confined entirely to the role of wife and mother, she had to have her own interests and activities or the emotional claustrophobia poisoned the family life she was trying so hard to protect.
Achieving that now, however, was easier said than done. Officially, she was dead. Her husband had been taken by the seal, and her children were constantly in danger. She’d been back almost a year, and now that John was gone again she hardly ever left the complex or talked to anyone besides Tenel Ka, the friend she’d managed to make. Lately, she’d decided she had to make more of an effort. In the Winchester family a balanced mind seemed to be a limited commodity, and if they were going to get through the apocalypse and have any kind of life afterwards (and Mary stubbornly believed in that “afterwards” trying emulate the John she remembered) someone needed to capitalize on it. She couldn’t afford to become withdrawn, an old lady at thirty and a burden on her children. She might not be a hunter any more, but she wouldn’t be helpless.
So she’d started going out every now and again. She had coffee shop friends, bookstore acquaintances, and now she was beginning to swing by the Roadhouse now and again where, if nothing else, Jo at least had the best adorable baby show in town.
That night found her perched on a bar stool, making casual conversation with one of the other hunters who had stopped by. She might not be in the field herself, but she knew her lore and the Campbell name had a certain cachet, enough so that even the younger hunters would often look to her for advice. The young man had just wandered away, muttering to himself about wards, when another, younger man took his place on the stool at the end of the bar. Mary held up her finger for another beer, her last one of the night since two was her limit before driving, and then smiled slightly at the young man as she realized she recognized him from the boards.
“You’re from the apartment complex downtown, aren’t you?” she asked, not wanting to be too explicit in case she was wrong and he had no idea about the enclave of the displaced.