vanillafluffy: (JW shadows)
Title: Summertime Blues
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: John/OFC (Nancy McGill)
Rating/Work-safeness: PG
Approximate word count: 500
Disclaimer: I own only the neurons and electrons it was composed with.
Summary: [livejournal.com profile] jdsgirlbev posted a song prompt, and this is what it inspired. This is pre-series and ties in with The Girl from Cassadaga and The End of an Era.

June 30, 1997 )


Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era


Comments are shiny.
vanillafluffy: (JW shadows)
Title: Summertime Blues
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: John/OFC (Nancy McGill)
Rating/Work-safeness: PG
Approximate word count: 500
Disclaimer: I own only the neurons and electrons it was composed with.
Summary: [livejournal.com profile] jdsgirlbev posted a song prompt, and this is what it inspired. This is pre-series and ties in with The Girl from Cassadaga and The End of an Era.

June 30, 1997 )


Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era


Comments are shiny.
vanillafluffy: (Going thru hell)
Didn't make it past the front door today...not even to the store. That may be a good thing, since I'm counting down til payday. In 24 hours, I'll have money, hooray, hooray. I'm particularly looking forward to June, which is a 3 paycheck month, AND---as my inbox has just informed me---GK (and offspring) will be coming down for a visit!

For anyone who might want to know, *cough[livejournal.com profile] sbjbcough* she arrives on Saturday the 17th and departs on Sunday the 23rd.

I spent today tying Nancy McGill in knots, metaphorically speaking. I haven't quite got the angst cranked up to Kripkean levels, but it's close.

Now to buckle down to the "real" workweek. (Tuesdays are more like a speed bump, honestly.)
vanillafluffy: (Going thru hell)
Didn't make it past the front door today...not even to the store. That may be a good thing, since I'm counting down til payday. In 24 hours, I'll have money, hooray, hooray. I'm particularly looking forward to June, which is a 3 paycheck month, AND---as my inbox has just informed me---GK (and offspring) will be coming down for a visit!

For anyone who might want to know, *cough[livejournal.com profile] sbjbcough* she arrives on Saturday the 17th and departs on Sunday the 23rd.

I spent today tying Nancy McGill in knots, metaphorically speaking. I haven't quite got the angst cranked up to Kripkean levels, but it's close.

Now to buckle down to the "real" workweek. (Tuesdays are more like a speed bump, honestly.)
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen 7/7
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None currently
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13
Approximate word count: 2500
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Kripke & the CW, etc. Season two spoilers through Houses of the Holy (Mostly In My Time of Dying.)
Summary: Two Winchesters and a psychic are snowbound in a motel....



Dean )
_________

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146652.html Seen and Unseen, Part Two
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/148999.html Seen and Unseen, Part Three
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/156387.html Seen and Unseen, Part Four
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/162160.html Seen and Unseen, Part Five
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/174208.html Seen and Unseen, Part Six


Feedback is love.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen 7/7
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None currently
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13
Approximate word count: 2500
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Kripke & the CW, etc. Season two spoilers through Houses of the Holy (Mostly In My Time of Dying.)
Summary: Two Winchesters and a psychic are snowbound in a motel....



Dean )
_________

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146652.html Seen and Unseen, Part Two
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/148999.html Seen and Unseen, Part Three
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/156387.html Seen and Unseen, Part Four
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/162160.html Seen and Unseen, Part Five
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/174208.html Seen and Unseen, Part Six


Feedback is love.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None currently
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13
Approximate word count: 2600
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Kripke & the CW, etc. Slight spoilers for Houses of the Holy
Summary: Sam's good deed is going to cause trouble.


Sam )
_________

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146652.html Seen and Unseen, Part Two
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/148999.html Seen and Unseen, Part Three
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/156387.html Seen and Unseen, Part Four
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/162160.html Seen and Unseen, Part Five


Feedback is love.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None currently
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13
Approximate word count: 2600
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Kripke & the CW, etc. Slight spoilers for Houses of the Holy
Summary: Sam's good deed is going to cause trouble.


Sam )
_________

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146652.html Seen and Unseen, Part Two
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/148999.html Seen and Unseen, Part Three
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/156387.html Seen and Unseen, Part Four
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/162160.html Seen and Unseen, Part Five


Feedback is love.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen 5/?
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None at the moment
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13 ish
Approximate word count: 2150
Disclaimer: All rights to canon SPN characters belong to individuals and corporate entities who are not me.
Summary: Sam assists Nancy with a problem of long-standing, while Dean tries to learn more about the mystery woman.


Nancy )
_________

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/140653.html What Fresh Hell
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146652.html Seen and Unseen, Part Two
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/148999.html Seen and Unseen, Part Three
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/156387.html Seen and Unseen, Part Four

Feedback is love.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen 5/?
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None at the moment
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13 ish
Approximate word count: 2150
Disclaimer: All rights to canon SPN characters belong to individuals and corporate entities who are not me.
Summary: Sam assists Nancy with a problem of long-standing, while Dean tries to learn more about the mystery woman.


Nancy )
_________

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/140653.html What Fresh Hell
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146652.html Seen and Unseen, Part Two
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/148999.html Seen and Unseen, Part Three
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/156387.html Seen and Unseen, Part Four

Feedback is love.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen 4/?
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None at the moment
Rating/Work-safeness: pg-13ish
Approximate word count: 2100
Disclaimer: I own only the neurons and electrons I composed this with
Summary: Dean doesn't trust their new acquaintance, but in his attempt to learn more, he may have given her the ammunition she needs to do something drastic.


Seen -- Dean Winchester )

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/140653.html What Fresh Hell
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146652.html Seen and Unseen, Part Two
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/148999.html Seen and Unseen, Part Three

=====================

My apologies for having taken so long to update. Originally, I thought this was going to be a trilogy consisting of the previous three installments, but as I got into it, I realized otherwise.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen 4/?
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None at the moment
Rating/Work-safeness: pg-13ish
Approximate word count: 2100
Disclaimer: I own only the neurons and electrons I composed this with
Summary: Dean doesn't trust their new acquaintance, but in his attempt to learn more, he may have given her the ammunition she needs to do something drastic.


Seen -- Dean Winchester )

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/140653.html What Fresh Hell
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146652.html Seen and Unseen, Part Two
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/148999.html Seen and Unseen, Part Three

=====================

My apologies for having taken so long to update. Originally, I thought this was going to be a trilogy consisting of the previous three installments, but as I got into it, I realized otherwise.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen 2/?
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None
Rating/Work-safeness: Safe
Approximate word count: 2300
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Eric Kripke and The Doors. Nancy McGill is mine.
Summary: Ellen makes a deal with a visitor to the Roadhouse.

Seen and Unseen )
-------------

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/140653.html What Fresh Hell
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One

Feedback is love.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen 2/?
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None
Rating/Work-safeness: Safe
Approximate word count: 2300
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Eric Kripke and The Doors. Nancy McGill is mine.
Summary: Ellen makes a deal with a visitor to the Roadhouse.

Seen and Unseen )
-------------

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html The Girl From Cassadaga
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/140653.html What Fresh Hell
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One

Feedback is love.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen 1/?
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None
Rating/Work-safeness: Safe
Approximate word count: 2000
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Eric Kripke and The Doors. Nancy McGill is mine.
Summary: Bobby Singer has a visitor who wants to buy John's truck.


Seen and Unseen )
-------------

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/140653.html

Feedback is love.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: Seen and Unseen 1/?
Authored by: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: None
Rating/Work-safeness: Safe
Approximate word count: 2000
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Eric Kripke and The Doors. Nancy McGill is mine.
Summary: Bobby Singer has a visitor who wants to buy John's truck.


Seen and Unseen )
-------------

Previously in the John-Nancy 'verse....
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/140653.html

Feedback is love.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: The End of an Era
Author: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: John/OFC
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13
Approximate word count: 3000
Disclaimer: Sure, I own John Winchester. (And I can make you a really sweet deal on an antique bridge in Brooklyn, New York, too.) Nancy McGill (as introduced in The Girl From Cassadaga: http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html) is all mine.
Summary: After Sam leaves for Stanford, John seeks out an old friend for comfort and is faced with a difficult choice.

Originally written as a series of ficlets for mini-nanowrimo, parts of it were previously posted.

The End of an Era )
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
Title: The End of an Era
Author: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: John/OFC
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13
Approximate word count: 3000
Disclaimer: Sure, I own John Winchester. (And I can make you a really sweet deal on an antique bridge in Brooklyn, New York, too.) Nancy McGill (as introduced in The Girl From Cassadaga: http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/135447.html) is all mine.
Summary: After Sam leaves for Stanford, John seeks out an old friend for comfort and is faced with a difficult choice.

Originally written as a series of ficlets for mini-nanowrimo, parts of it were previously posted.

The End of an Era )
vanillafluffy: (Xmasbunny)
Today will be my first day of involuntary servitude mandatory overtime, meaning I get to go in two hours early. So for the next two weeks, my darlings, I will be disappearing around noon and not returning until midnight-ish. Joy. (And money. Lots of money. I'm staying focused on the money....)

I spent my days off this week gainfully pursuing a Nancy bunny. (About 5800 words worth.) This is getting into actual SPN canon, here: it's set after In My Time of Dying, and it's divided into a double trilogy. I've given it the title Seen and Unseen---in each section, someone encounters Nancy for the first time, and at the end, it shows what Nancy does afterward when she's alone. And I found something in John's truck---well, you'll see. It's still a rough draft, and I need to get a couple other things caught up first.

Nothing else going on. I need to grab some breakfast before I have to start getting ready for work. Wish me luck!
vanillafluffy: (Xmasbunny)
Today will be my first day of involuntary servitude mandatory overtime, meaning I get to go in two hours early. So for the next two weeks, my darlings, I will be disappearing around noon and not returning until midnight-ish. Joy. (And money. Lots of money. I'm staying focused on the money....)

I spent my days off this week gainfully pursuing a Nancy bunny. (About 5800 words worth.) This is getting into actual SPN canon, here: it's set after In My Time of Dying, and it's divided into a double trilogy. I've given it the title Seen and Unseen---in each section, someone encounters Nancy for the first time, and at the end, it shows what Nancy does afterward when she's alone. And I found something in John's truck---well, you'll see. It's still a rough draft, and I need to get a couple other things caught up first.

Nothing else going on. I need to grab some breakfast before I have to start getting ready for work. Wish me luck!
vanillafluffy: (Default)
Title: The Girl From Cassadaga
Author: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: John/OFC
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13
Approximate word count: 4500
Disclaimer: I don't own John Winchester, and I'm not making a profit from writing this. No harm, no foul, no lawyers, please!
Summary: Where does John go on his solo hunts? In 1994, a case takes him to Bike Week at Daytona, where he finds an ally. During subsequent visits (thru 2001), a relationship unfolds.

This was originally written as a series of ficlets for mini-nanowrimo: much of it was previously posted.

The Girl from Cassadaga )
-------------
Also in the John-Nancy 'verse....
Pre-series:
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
Season Two, post-IMToD
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146652.html Seen and Unseen, Part Two
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/148999.html Seen and Unseen, Part Three
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/156387.html Seen and Unseen, Part Four
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/162160.html Seen and Unseen, Part Five
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/174208.html Seen and Unseen, Part Six
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/178566.html Seen and Unseen, Part Seven (Conclusion)
vanillafluffy: (Default)
Title: The Girl From Cassadaga
Author: [livejournal.com profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing: John/OFC
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13
Approximate word count: 4500
Disclaimer: I don't own John Winchester, and I'm not making a profit from writing this. No harm, no foul, no lawyers, please!
Summary: Where does John go on his solo hunts? In 1994, a case takes him to Bike Week at Daytona, where he finds an ally. During subsequent visits (thru 2001), a relationship unfolds.

This was originally written as a series of ficlets for mini-nanowrimo: much of it was previously posted.

The Girl from Cassadaga )
-------------
Also in the John-Nancy 'verse....
Pre-series:
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/138894.html The End of an Era
Season Two, post-IMToD
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146321.html Seen and Unseen, Part One
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/146652.html Seen and Unseen, Part Two
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/148999.html Seen and Unseen, Part Three
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/156387.html Seen and Unseen, Part Four
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/162160.html Seen and Unseen, Part Five
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/174208.html Seen and Unseen, Part Six
http://vanillafluffy.livejournal.com/178566.html Seen and Unseen, Part Seven (Conclusion)
vanillafluffy: (Metallicar)
This is the end of the beginning; I have a whole lot more story in mind for Nancy, but because of The Job That's Eating My Brain, it's going to be a while before that gets written. (And at some point, I'll go through and organize November's output coherently, but for now, WYSIWYG.)

==============

There's a fragrance of coffee in the air when he awakens. Faint dawn-pink light touches the lace curtains at the windows, and John lies there for a moment trying to collect his thoughts. For the first time in weeks, the Sam situation isn't gnawing at him; Nancy put her finger on it: he's safe enough at school. What's that old proverb? Something about if you raise your child right, he'll be alright even when he's grown...it isn't like Sam doesn't know what's out there. He'll be okay. John will drop periodically to make sure of it.

The Nancy situation, on the other hand...when he started coming around, it was easy enough to think of her as a convenient piece of ass. He'd gotten used to her knowing about random things he knew he'd never mentioned, like the time he'd overheard her telling Tallboy not to call him Johnny, because that had been Mary's pet name for him. (He'd never shared that with her, though.) When she'd taken it into her head to start ghost hunting, he'd tried to prepare her for what was out there, and she turned out to have a knack with incantations, even if she still can't manage to stick a knife into anything that isn't already on a chopping block.

Nancy a danger to him. He's been avoiding the knowledge for years now, but today he faces it squarely. This woman is his refuge. During the long drive down from Jim's, all he could think about was how Nancy would welcome him, because she has from the first day they met. This house is where he comes for sanctuary; it has an air of stability that no rented room can provide. It's the home he hasn't had in nearly twenty years, and it disturbs him that he can tell just by the angle of the light coming through the windows what time it is. He can't keep coming back here; it's not safe. One of two things will happen: he'll lose his edge and get killed, or he'll bring something bad with him one of these days and get her killed. Neither one of these is a valid option.

John gets dressed. It's like putting on armor. Downstairs in the kitchen, Nancy is presiding over the stove like a domestic goddess, wrapped in one of those little aprons that always distracts him. (He doesn't remember Mary ever wearing an apron, but Nancy seems to have an endless supply of them.) She's filling a plactic container, and puts it into a brown paper bag, which she offers to him.

"What's this?"

"Some food for the road, and there's a thermos of hot coffee in there." She looks up, her pale eyes confronting him without accusation. "It's a long way to California. You may as well have some decent food along the way."

"Thanks, Nancy," he says, and gives her a long hug. A last hug.

"I'll see you when I see you," she calls from the back porch as he's climbing into the Impala. "You're always welcome here."
vanillafluffy: (Metallicar)
This is the end of the beginning; I have a whole lot more story in mind for Nancy, but because of The Job That's Eating My Brain, it's going to be a while before that gets written. (And at some point, I'll go through and organize November's output coherently, but for now, WYSIWYG.)

==============

There's a fragrance of coffee in the air when he awakens. Faint dawn-pink light touches the lace curtains at the windows, and John lies there for a moment trying to collect his thoughts. For the first time in weeks, the Sam situation isn't gnawing at him; Nancy put her finger on it: he's safe enough at school. What's that old proverb? Something about if you raise your child right, he'll be alright even when he's grown...it isn't like Sam doesn't know what's out there. He'll be okay. John will drop periodically to make sure of it.

The Nancy situation, on the other hand...when he started coming around, it was easy enough to think of her as a convenient piece of ass. He'd gotten used to her knowing about random things he knew he'd never mentioned, like the time he'd overheard her telling Tallboy not to call him Johnny, because that had been Mary's pet name for him. (He'd never shared that with her, though.) When she'd taken it into her head to start ghost hunting, he'd tried to prepare her for what was out there, and she turned out to have a knack with incantations, even if she still can't manage to stick a knife into anything that isn't already on a chopping block.

Nancy a danger to him. He's been avoiding the knowledge for years now, but today he faces it squarely. This woman is his refuge. During the long drive down from Jim's, all he could think about was how Nancy would welcome him, because she has from the first day they met. This house is where he comes for sanctuary; it has an air of stability that no rented room can provide. It's the home he hasn't had in nearly twenty years, and it disturbs him that he can tell just by the angle of the light coming through the windows what time it is. He can't keep coming back here; it's not safe. One of two things will happen: he'll lose his edge and get killed, or he'll bring something bad with him one of these days and get her killed. Neither one of these is a valid option.

John gets dressed. It's like putting on armor. Downstairs in the kitchen, Nancy is presiding over the stove like a domestic goddess, wrapped in one of those little aprons that always distracts him. (He doesn't remember Mary ever wearing an apron, but Nancy seems to have an endless supply of them.) She's filling a plactic container, and puts it into a brown paper bag, which she offers to him.

"What's this?"

"Some food for the road, and there's a thermos of hot coffee in there." She looks up, her pale eyes confronting him without accusation. "It's a long way to California. You may as well have some decent food along the way."

"Thanks, Nancy," he says, and gives her a long hug. A last hug.

"I'll see you when I see you," she calls from the back porch as he's climbing into the Impala. "You're always welcome here."
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
When they get back to Nancy's house out in the boondocks, it's been dark for a while, and fireflies are little blips of neon streaking around the yard. She blinks awake and looks at John, and for just a moment, he sees sadness on her face. Then she rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands, and her familiar crooked-toothed smile meets him, and he must've imagined that flicker of sorrow.

He still feels guilty for using her; he almost doesn't go in. Thinks about just saying good night and hitting the road, and maybe, this time, not coming back.

Nancy climbs out of the Impala, but doesn't close her door. Instead, she walks around to his side, headlights washing out the color in her clothing so that her sun-pinked arms are the brightest things about her.

Leaning in through his window, Nancy presses her mouth against his, the taste of chocolate lingering from the muffins. She rests her forearms on the door. In the glow of the dome light, he can see that her nose is going to peel in a few days.

"Y'know, John, all the time you've been coming around, I don't think you've ever asked for something you wanted. You'd rather do without than admit you need anything. Now, me...look, I'm a bossy bitch, and I know it." Her fingertips trace the crease in his cheeks, slinding down until her knuckles scrape lightly against the stubble on his jaw.

John opens his mouth to object. Nancy? She's real easy to get on with, and John knows damn well he's not.

"In all the time you've known me, John Winchester, have I ever had any trouble with plain-speaking about what I want or don't want?" Her voice takes on a sing-song quality, as she repeats some of the things she's told him over the years. "Rinse your whiskers out of the sink, tell me when you use the last of the milk, put down newspapers if you're gonna clean those damn guns on my kitchen table...." Another kiss, this one nibbling at his lower lip. "You think I won't tell you if you're crossing a line?"

"I'm sorry," he says hoarsely, the hardest words he knows in English or Latin.

"Just don't make a habit of it," she says in his ear, a sharp canine worrying his earlobe. "Now, come to bed and let me remind you why you keep coming back...and remind me why I let you."
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
When they get back to Nancy's house out in the boondocks, it's been dark for a while, and fireflies are little blips of neon streaking around the yard. She blinks awake and looks at John, and for just a moment, he sees sadness on her face. Then she rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands, and her familiar crooked-toothed smile meets him, and he must've imagined that flicker of sorrow.

He still feels guilty for using her; he almost doesn't go in. Thinks about just saying good night and hitting the road, and maybe, this time, not coming back.

Nancy climbs out of the Impala, but doesn't close her door. Instead, she walks around to his side, headlights washing out the color in her clothing so that her sun-pinked arms are the brightest things about her.

Leaning in through his window, Nancy presses her mouth against his, the taste of chocolate lingering from the muffins. She rests her forearms on the door. In the glow of the dome light, he can see that her nose is going to peel in a few days.

"Y'know, John, all the time you've been coming around, I don't think you've ever asked for something you wanted. You'd rather do without than admit you need anything. Now, me...look, I'm a bossy bitch, and I know it." Her fingertips trace the crease in his cheeks, slinding down until her knuckles scrape lightly against the stubble on his jaw.

John opens his mouth to object. Nancy? She's real easy to get on with, and John knows damn well he's not.

"In all the time you've known me, John Winchester, have I ever had any trouble with plain-speaking about what I want or don't want?" Her voice takes on a sing-song quality, as she repeats some of the things she's told him over the years. "Rinse your whiskers out of the sink, tell me when you use the last of the milk, put down newspapers if you're gonna clean those damn guns on my kitchen table...." Another kiss, this one nibbling at his lower lip. "You think I won't tell you if you're crossing a line?"

"I'm sorry," he says hoarsely, the hardest words he knows in English or Latin.

"Just don't make a habit of it," she says in his ear, a sharp canine worrying his earlobe. "Now, come to bed and let me remind you why you keep coming back...and remind me why I let you."
vanillafluffy: (JW reward)
With the end of mini_nanowrimo in sight, I thought I ought to get back on track with my original project. More John and Nancy, this time from John's POV.

=========

Nancy is curled up in the passenger seat as John wheels the Impala home from Daytona Beach. They're cruising toward the sunset, vivid with shades of red-orange and plum. The light glints off her dusty hair, and John wonders, not for the first time, why he keeps coming back to this woman. She's not even a pale copy of Mary--- Mary could've been a model. Her smile lit up a room. Nancy reminds him of those photos of raw-boned farm women during the Depression; stoic, pragmatic...maybe that's why. He doesn't want or need a courtesan---a decent meal, a quick tumble, no strings attached, that's all he asks for, and that's what Nancy gives him.

It's been...he has to think about it...it was right after than business with the minor demon possessing a biker and infesting his pack with imps...a nasty piece of work, that was. How long ago? Seven, eight years? But it isn't like he hangs around her a lot, he hastens to reassure himself. Sometimes he hasn't seen her for a year or more, and the longest he's ever stayed was five days---and that was only because it was an easy drive from her place to Ocala, where he was hunting.

Two years ago, he took her along when he went after a poltergeist in Savannah, and she was a real help, even though she still hasn't learned to throw a knife properly. (She sticks it maybe once in five hundred times, and John can't understand it---her aim is dead-on, but her form is terrible.) Although Nancy's psychic abilities didn't sit too well with him in the beginning, she's been right more times than he can count, although a lot of the time, it's about little things---who's on the phone, how John tore his shirt. Or he'll walk in the door after a day on the road, without calling ahead, and the table will be set with two places and she's pulling a pot roast out of the oven.

Even today---John's grip tightens on the wheel. There's no excuse for the way he treated her when he arrived. Even when she's willing, a woman deserves more than being bent over and done like that...but not a word of protest from Nancy, just her own brand of practical sympathy: a crooked-toothed smile and something to eat. She's never made any demands on him, not beyond ordinary stuff like changing the oil in her old station wagon, or helping her paint the hallway that time. Nancy never clings, doesn't ask him where their relationship is going or any of that talk-show horseshit.

Maybe she already knows.
vanillafluffy: (JW reward)
With the end of mini_nanowrimo in sight, I thought I ought to get back on track with my original project. More John and Nancy, this time from John's POV.

=========

Nancy is curled up in the passenger seat as John wheels the Impala home from Daytona Beach. They're cruising toward the sunset, vivid with shades of red-orange and plum. The light glints off her dusty hair, and John wonders, not for the first time, why he keeps coming back to this woman. She's not even a pale copy of Mary--- Mary could've been a model. Her smile lit up a room. Nancy reminds him of those photos of raw-boned farm women during the Depression; stoic, pragmatic...maybe that's why. He doesn't want or need a courtesan---a decent meal, a quick tumble, no strings attached, that's all he asks for, and that's what Nancy gives him.

It's been...he has to think about it...it was right after than business with the minor demon possessing a biker and infesting his pack with imps...a nasty piece of work, that was. How long ago? Seven, eight years? But it isn't like he hangs around her a lot, he hastens to reassure himself. Sometimes he hasn't seen her for a year or more, and the longest he's ever stayed was five days---and that was only because it was an easy drive from her place to Ocala, where he was hunting.

Two years ago, he took her along when he went after a poltergeist in Savannah, and she was a real help, even though she still hasn't learned to throw a knife properly. (She sticks it maybe once in five hundred times, and John can't understand it---her aim is dead-on, but her form is terrible.) Although Nancy's psychic abilities didn't sit too well with him in the beginning, she's been right more times than he can count, although a lot of the time, it's about little things---who's on the phone, how John tore his shirt. Or he'll walk in the door after a day on the road, without calling ahead, and the table will be set with two places and she's pulling a pot roast out of the oven.

Even today---John's grip tightens on the wheel. There's no excuse for the way he treated her when he arrived. Even when she's willing, a woman deserves more than being bent over and done like that...but not a word of protest from Nancy, just her own brand of practical sympathy: a crooked-toothed smile and something to eat. She's never made any demands on him, not beyond ordinary stuff like changing the oil in her old station wagon, or helping her paint the hallway that time. Nancy never clings, doesn't ask him where their relationship is going or any of that talk-show horseshit.

Maybe she already knows.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
The first time Nancy McGill sees an angel, she's nine years old, and Nona is pruning her rose trellis and singing softly nearby. The melody is familiar to the girl, and she hums along softly, because it sounds so much nicer when Nona sings it.

It's early on a Saturday morning---she slipped out of the house before her brother and sister got up for their habitual squabbling over who gets to pick the cartoons and who's having which cereal---and now she's here in her favorite place in the whole world with her favorite person in the whole world, and it's going to be a pretty day. The sunlight is as soft as a kiss, and she isn't too cold or too warm, and Nancy wishes she could stay in this moment forever, because it's just so perfect.

You can, something tells her. It isn't the inner voice she's always heard, but it isn't someone talking to her, either. It's music, a song, but it wasn't Nona singing it. She looks around, and just behind her right shoulder is a brightness. The only thing Nancy can think of to liken it to is when Glinda floats away like a soap bubble after she talks to Dorothy in Oz, but this isn't round, or a bubble, it's just...bright. Not hurt-your-eyes like a flashbulb bright; more like cut-glass making a rainbow when the light hits it just so. It's white, but it's colorful white, and for a moment, she just gazes at it, enraptured.

You can always call on this memory if you need it, the voice tells her calmly, or on me. The beautiful sound meets the shining light, and it pulses, fanning her with a motionless wind and a sense of joy so fierce that tears twinkle down her cheeks.

That was an angel, Nancy thinks with wonderment. An angel just came and talked to me.

She can't quite fathom why such a magnificent being would single her out---it isn't like she's anybody special. She fights with her family all the time, especially Walter, and she and Karen Bailey copy each other's homework a couple times a week, and Sunday school makes her itch.

"You had a visitor," Nona says quietly as she's standing there, looking at the morning dew still on the leaves and noticing how the sunlight creates tiny prisms and infinitessimal rainbows.

"It was an angel," she whispers. Maybe it isn't good manners to talk about them when they aren't there.

"How lovely for you," Nona says, sounding pleased, but not as if it's anything out of the ordinary. "There, that's better. Let's take all this loose stuff to the compost heap. Mind the thorns."

Nancy sees her angel several more times before Nona's death, then it becomes something else that's locked away in her heart through many long, dark years before she dares to call on it again. She's well past forty when she sees her first demon, but unlike her first angel contact, she goes looking for the demon.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
The first time Nancy McGill sees an angel, she's nine years old, and Nona is pruning her rose trellis and singing softly nearby. The melody is familiar to the girl, and she hums along softly, because it sounds so much nicer when Nona sings it.

It's early on a Saturday morning---she slipped out of the house before her brother and sister got up for their habitual squabbling over who gets to pick the cartoons and who's having which cereal---and now she's here in her favorite place in the whole world with her favorite person in the whole world, and it's going to be a pretty day. The sunlight is as soft as a kiss, and she isn't too cold or too warm, and Nancy wishes she could stay in this moment forever, because it's just so perfect.

You can, something tells her. It isn't the inner voice she's always heard, but it isn't someone talking to her, either. It's music, a song, but it wasn't Nona singing it. She looks around, and just behind her right shoulder is a brightness. The only thing Nancy can think of to liken it to is when Glinda floats away like a soap bubble after she talks to Dorothy in Oz, but this isn't round, or a bubble, it's just...bright. Not hurt-your-eyes like a flashbulb bright; more like cut-glass making a rainbow when the light hits it just so. It's white, but it's colorful white, and for a moment, she just gazes at it, enraptured.

You can always call on this memory if you need it, the voice tells her calmly, or on me. The beautiful sound meets the shining light, and it pulses, fanning her with a motionless wind and a sense of joy so fierce that tears twinkle down her cheeks.

That was an angel, Nancy thinks with wonderment. An angel just came and talked to me.

She can't quite fathom why such a magnificent being would single her out---it isn't like she's anybody special. She fights with her family all the time, especially Walter, and she and Karen Bailey copy each other's homework a couple times a week, and Sunday school makes her itch.

"You had a visitor," Nona says quietly as she's standing there, looking at the morning dew still on the leaves and noticing how the sunlight creates tiny prisms and infinitessimal rainbows.

"It was an angel," she whispers. Maybe it isn't good manners to talk about them when they aren't there.

"How lovely for you," Nona says, sounding pleased, but not as if it's anything out of the ordinary. "There, that's better. Let's take all this loose stuff to the compost heap. Mind the thorns."

Nancy sees her angel several more times before Nona's death, then it becomes something else that's locked away in her heart through many long, dark years before she dares to call on it again. She's well past forty when she sees her first demon, but unlike her first angel contact, she goes looking for the demon.
vanillafluffy: (Big John)
The floor lamp casts a 100-watt glow on the shirt Nancy is mending. Her needle eases through the worn plaid flannel, drawing together edges that have been rent and frayed. From time to time, she glances through to the dining room, where John stabs at the keyboard of her computer with two fingers, a scowl of concentration on his face. The machine is new since his last visit, and she's surprised that he seems to be more familiar with its use than she is.

He'd showed up on her doorstep late that afternoon, just in time to wash up for dinner. He had a story about another hunter he'd run into, some guy named Sweeney who had a knife that John had a feeling about. "Not that kind of feeling," he said when she'd teased him. "I recognized one of the symbols on the hilt."

Now, he's trying to translate the rest of the Japanese kanji from the knife's hilt from a rubbing he made on the back of a sales slip while Nancy does his laundry and sews up the evidence of her lover's hazardous profession. She's always thought that he comes here for quickies, although after five years of intermittent visits, she's equally inclined to wonder if it's the stolen domesticity he craves. She's careful not to cling or demand anything from him; she's patient, savoring what she does have instead of begging for more.

A sharp intake of breath from the other room---"That's it!" John says. He's studying the screen fixedly, and she settles the shirt on the ottoman and goes over to take a look. There's a scan of what looks to be an old sketch of a long knife. The background of the sketch is some kind of parchment that's yellowed with age. There's a heraldic device of some kind on the pommel of the weapon---a grotesque face of some kind---kanji engraved on one side of the hilt, and the piece of paper propped against the base of the monitor certainly looks like it's the same.

"Okay, so what is it?" she asks him. He's barely keeping some strong emotion in check, and there's goose-flesh on his forearms.

"That...is a sixteenth century Japanese knife." He sounds entirely too calm. "Do you know what that says?" John points to the characters on the hilt. He doesn't wait for her answer. "It names the sword-saint---literally considered to be a divinity when armed---who used this weapon to kill a number of demons who were terrorizing his province. It was forged to kill demons and consecrated for that purpose." He snarls at the monitor. "That stupid fucker doesn't know what he has---his father looted it from a dead Japanese during World War II. Steve thinks it's a goddamned samurai sword."

There's not much Nancy can say when he begins to swear inventively and at length, so she goes back into the living room and returns to her task. At least she can fix the shirt.
vanillafluffy: (Big John)
The floor lamp casts a 100-watt glow on the shirt Nancy is mending. Her needle eases through the worn plaid flannel, drawing together edges that have been rent and frayed. From time to time, she glances through to the dining room, where John stabs at the keyboard of her computer with two fingers, a scowl of concentration on his face. The machine is new since his last visit, and she's surprised that he seems to be more familiar with its use than she is.

He'd showed up on her doorstep late that afternoon, just in time to wash up for dinner. He had a story about another hunter he'd run into, some guy named Sweeney who had a knife that John had a feeling about. "Not that kind of feeling," he said when she'd teased him. "I recognized one of the symbols on the hilt."

Now, he's trying to translate the rest of the Japanese kanji from the knife's hilt from a rubbing he made on the back of a sales slip while Nancy does his laundry and sews up the evidence of her lover's hazardous profession. She's always thought that he comes here for quickies, although after five years of intermittent visits, she's equally inclined to wonder if it's the stolen domesticity he craves. She's careful not to cling or demand anything from him; she's patient, savoring what she does have instead of begging for more.

A sharp intake of breath from the other room---"That's it!" John says. He's studying the screen fixedly, and she settles the shirt on the ottoman and goes over to take a look. There's a scan of what looks to be an old sketch of a long knife. The background of the sketch is some kind of parchment that's yellowed with age. There's a heraldic device of some kind on the pommel of the weapon---a grotesque face of some kind---kanji engraved on one side of the hilt, and the piece of paper propped against the base of the monitor certainly looks like it's the same.

"Okay, so what is it?" she asks him. He's barely keeping some strong emotion in check, and there's goose-flesh on his forearms.

"That...is a sixteenth century Japanese knife." He sounds entirely too calm. "Do you know what that says?" John points to the characters on the hilt. He doesn't wait for her answer. "It names the sword-saint---literally considered to be a divinity when armed---who used this weapon to kill a number of demons who were terrorizing his province. It was forged to kill demons and consecrated for that purpose." He snarls at the monitor. "That stupid fucker doesn't know what he has---his father looted it from a dead Japanese during World War II. Steve thinks it's a goddamned samurai sword."

There's not much Nancy can say when he begins to swear inventively and at length, so she goes back into the living room and returns to her task. At least she can fix the shirt.
vanillafluffy: (sheep woman)
On her first visit to her new house, Nancy found generations of clutter, but the impression she got from it all was benign. Walking into the parlor to the right of the front door, she knew at once that she'd be giving readings in there---it so perfectly epitomized the kind of antiquated room that clients expected from a medium that all she needed to do was dust, air it out, and add a couple props of the crystal ball and black lace variety and she was set.

Downstairs would take a little feng-shui'ing---the front door opened on a hallway that ran back to a small room that was clearly where Clara had been sleeping the last several years. On the right-hand side of the hall were living room, dining room and kitchen. On the left, the parlor, which was a good-sized room, the stairs leading to the second floor, a comfortably-sized bathroom (probably remodeled from something else when they got indoor plumbing, circa 1920-something), and Clara's little room.

It was going to take a lot of work to get it liveable, much less pretty. Clearly, it had been too much for Clara for quite a while. The little bedroom, the downstairs bath, and the kitchen were the only rooms that weren't a half-inch thick with dust.

There were bedrooms upstairs no one had gone into for years, maybe decades---and those had some interesting energy. When she got to the head of the stairs, Nancy went exploring---there were two modest connecting bedrooms to her left---boys' rooms; she would've known it from the lively atmosphere even they hadn't still looked it---cowboys in one room and ships in the other. Across the hall that ran the length of the house was another bedroom, this one in neutral blue stripes---someone's uncle or widowed somebody---tired, but nothing menacing---then a big room that was hers at first sight.

The wallpaper was faded, but it was so pretty and so exactly right that she hugged herself. Yellow cabbage roses on a black-and-white lace design, and already she longed to be painting the old chipped green bed-frame with white enamel and pictures white lace curtains veiling the windows. A place that was hers, all hers, no damage deposits, nobody to answer to for her choices---the excitement rose in her like a song. It would be worth all the time and effort to finally, for the first time in her 29 years, have a place that was really home.
vanillafluffy: (sheep woman)
On her first visit to her new house, Nancy found generations of clutter, but the impression she got from it all was benign. Walking into the parlor to the right of the front door, she knew at once that she'd be giving readings in there---it so perfectly epitomized the kind of antiquated room that clients expected from a medium that all she needed to do was dust, air it out, and add a couple props of the crystal ball and black lace variety and she was set.

Downstairs would take a little feng-shui'ing---the front door opened on a hallway that ran back to a small room that was clearly where Clara had been sleeping the last several years. On the right-hand side of the hall were living room, dining room and kitchen. On the left, the parlor, which was a good-sized room, the stairs leading to the second floor, a comfortably-sized bathroom (probably remodeled from something else when they got indoor plumbing, circa 1920-something), and Clara's little room.

It was going to take a lot of work to get it liveable, much less pretty. Clearly, it had been too much for Clara for quite a while. The little bedroom, the downstairs bath, and the kitchen were the only rooms that weren't a half-inch thick with dust.

There were bedrooms upstairs no one had gone into for years, maybe decades---and those had some interesting energy. When she got to the head of the stairs, Nancy went exploring---there were two modest connecting bedrooms to her left---boys' rooms; she would've known it from the lively atmosphere even they hadn't still looked it---cowboys in one room and ships in the other. Across the hall that ran the length of the house was another bedroom, this one in neutral blue stripes---someone's uncle or widowed somebody---tired, but nothing menacing---then a big room that was hers at first sight.

The wallpaper was faded, but it was so pretty and so exactly right that she hugged herself. Yellow cabbage roses on a black-and-white lace design, and already she longed to be painting the old chipped green bed-frame with white enamel and pictures white lace curtains veiling the windows. A place that was hers, all hers, no damage deposits, nobody to answer to for her choices---the excitement rose in her like a song. It would be worth all the time and effort to finally, for the first time in her 29 years, have a place that was really home.
vanillafluffy: (Keep the Faith)
It's barely December, and her mail carrier has just handed Nancy a box wrapped in brown paper. She wasn't expecting anything, and she regards it with some bemusement. The postmark is smudged: Somewhere, Wisconsin. It's about the size of a shoebox, weight at least ten pounds, and dense. Nothing rattles. The address was inked with a thick-tipped black pen...that's John's writing, although the return address is T. E. Ford...she chuckles. Once in a while, Big John shows a fine sense of humor.

Carrying it into the kitchen, she wields a pair of scissors against an overkill of packing tape. Inside is---a shoebox. Even before opening it, she knows it no longer contains a pair of black athletic shoes, size 11 1/2 wide. There's a folded sheet of ruled notebook paper on top when she lifts the lid, the left edge still confetti where it was torn loose from its binding. The unsigned note reads, "Merry Christmas. Keep practicing."

The contents are wrapped in newspaper and cushioned with plastic grocery bags. The fine hairs on the back of Nancy's neck are prickling, and she's very careful as she unrolls the papers. Knives. Her own set of throwing knives. She shakes her head. Some men buy their girlfriends slutty lingerie. Or jewelry. Or home appliances. Hers favors deadly weapons. Lucky her. It's the thought that counts, she reminds herself. Looks at her gift. Sighs.

The wrapping is interesting---there are three separate sheets, not all from the same newspaper. One's from Indiana, the second from Ohio, the third from Minnesota. There are articles circled, probably what John's been doing lately. She rolls her eyes at his method of updating her. Some people send out holiday newsletters. Of course, this is John Winchester, so forget trying to peg him alongside Average Joe.

He may be driven and cryptic and the least sentimental man on the planet---at least it seems so at moments like this!---but Nancy recognizes this as John's version of a good, practical gift. This is what he believes she needs, and when she handles one of the streamlined projectiles, she acknowledges the craftmanship behind it. Some guy named Melvin or Myron...hand-forged...quid pro quo for whatever John settled for him....

Not that she's ever tried to contact him, but she could always send a present care of that preacher he's mentioned. Nancy grins, and wonders if a fifty-pound bag of rock salt would be an appropriate Christmas gift. What the heck, if nothing else, they can always use it to salt the church sidewalk when it snows.

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