SPN fic -- July 1976
Nov. 3rd, 2007 11:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vanillafluffyThis is part of my "Putting the 'NO' in November" series...basically, I'm cleaning out my docs folder of WIPs that aren't making any progress because there are too many other bunnies and not enough time to write them all.
Title: July, 1976
Authored by:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vanillafluffy
Pairing: John/Mary
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13, language
Approx. word count: 1800 (This is unfinished, and will remain so, but I outline my plans for it.)
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Kripke, etc.
Summary: My version of how John met Mary, a reaction against all those cheesy "love at first sight" fics. And yes, I am actually old enough to remember the Bicentennial.
July, 1976
Nevada in July is just evil. Mary's tee is sticking damply to her and she's and thirsty and pissed off. There have been dozens of cars going toward Vegas for all the parties scheduled for the big Bicentennial weekend of July 4th, 1976 and they've all blown past her like she and the broken-down green Vega were invisible. And here she thought that leaving L.A. would solve all her problems. Yeah, right.
Now what? She's got a couple hundred bucks, probably enough to get her rotten car fixed, or get another car, but then she won't have enough money to get to Minneapolis. She could get a bus or even a plane ticket, but then she'd have to abandon everything she couldn't carry...all her books, the stuff from her apartment....
She'll bet it never gets this hot in Minneapolis. It's a good place for a career girl like herself. What was she thinking, going to Los Angeles to be an actress? That's such a demeaning profession for a woman! The things those male chauvinist pigs expected her to do to get a crummy walk-on part---what kind of girl would fall for that crap? The one good thing to come out of her three years in California is how her consciousness has been raised. Mary was a shy girl from the Midwest, and now she's a liberated woman!
With a dead car on the side of Highway 15 and her future in turmoil, Mary Pulaski thinks things can't get much worse. Then a dusty black car slows and eases onto the shoulder ahead of her car. It reverses so fast that for a horrified minute, she's sure it's going to pin her against the Vega's front grille, then jolts to a stop.
The driver gets out and swaggers over to her, and she detests him on first sight. Anybody who looks like that is probably full of himself---Hollywood has taught her that---and his smile doesn't reach his eyes as he says, "Hey, Baby, what seems to be the trouble?"
If it wasn't such a god-awful hot day, she'd tell him what he could do with "Baby"...but she's been out here for almost an hour, and right now, if he can get her out of this predicament, she'll put up with his sexist rhetoric. So she turns the key when he asks her to, and watches as he shakes his head. "Your engine is dead," he says. "It happens a lot with Vegas. The engine block is aluminum---"
"What will it take to fix it?" she interrupts. Oh God, are those dog tags he has on? Is he one of those baby-killers from ‘Nam? She protested the war; it was her sole claim to activism before she realized that the war for gender equality was just as important.
"Don't waste your money. It's a piece of shit."
Yeah, but it's her piece of shit. And it's got her whole life in it. "How do you know? You barely looked at it."
"I'm a mechanic," he says shortly. Like that means he knows it all. Arrogant asshole. "Trust me, 'Vega' equals junk. I'm going to Vegas. You want a ride?"
In the end, she throws two suitcases and a couple cartons of her most prized stuff into the backseat of the old Chevy and climbs in, praying he isn't a weirdo. As he peels out, she hangs on and prays, period.
==========================
His name is John Winchester, and he did two hitches in the Marine Corps. He dropped out of school and enlisted with fake ID when he was 17, because he thought defending the world from Communists was more important than a piece of paper. Anyway, he got his GED in his so-called spare time, and now he's a mechanic.
Currently, John's between jobs because his ex-boss was an asshole. Thought it was funny to sneak up on him and startle him, and John finally had to beat the living shit out of him, because Boss-man was on his last nerve. How many times did he tell the guy, "Just say something to get my attention. Don't grab my arm or my shoulder without warning me. Especially when I've got tools in my hand?" But no, Pat Fenton spent his war behind a desk; he doesn't understand what the constant threat of death will do to a man's reflexes. He's just lucky John was holding a wrench in his hand instead of a gun. Considering he's shot people who did that, the guy got off light.
That was his fourth place of employment since his discharge almost two years ago, and he has one half-hearted reference to show for it, if he can even find the letter. He's never been to Vegas, but it sounds like a cool place to spend the big weekend that everybody's been making such a damn fuss about. For the last year, you could hardly turn around without tripping over cutesy Bicentennial stars and red, white and blue stripes and little bite-sized history tidbits about the heroic Founding Fathers---sure, their war was noble and glorious, but his war? They don't want to talk about that, they want to sweep it under the rug and forget about all the lives sacrificed.
What the hell, though---Vegas is gonna be a party and a half. He's already got a foxy blonde chick to keep him company, and he's not even in Vegas yet. She's scowling, but that's what happens when you buy cheap-ass cars. Screw the energy crisis; he'd rather pay a little more for gas than a lot more to fix some crappy car that's always gonna be breaking down at the worst possible time. Not that there's ever a good time, but her bad luck is his good luck, he hopes.
Word is, the casinos give out free food and booze so you'll stay there to gamble. Drop a few quarters in the slots, have a couple free drinks and go find a complimentary steak dinner, maybe some succulent shrimp cocktail for the little lady. Get her loosened up some, find a room and get naked. See how long those legs of hers really are.... "So, where were you headed, if you don't mind me asking," he asks her. "Moving to Vegas?"
"No. Minneapolis."
Minneapolis? John grew up in Detroit, which wasn't exactly God's country, but Minneapolis? He's been thinking Texas sounds pretty good, not that he's ever been there, but all those oil millionaires have Cadillacs, they're gonna need a good mechanic. He'll find something. "Got family there?"
"I have a lot of family," she says cautiously. Looks at him sideways. "They'll miss me if I don't show up."
Oh great, she's thinks he's some kind of headcase. "You can give 'em a call from Vegas," he replies, trying to hang on to his temper. "Maybe they can send you enough money to fix your car." Maybe if they're stinking rich. if they even exist. John's annoyed at the implication of her comment, but he smiles, because now he's twice as determined to fuck her brains out.
=======================
God, she's never felt so sick in all her life. Her head is going to fall off, or maybe explode. Explode that's it. There's a memory-bubble of fireworks against a night sky, and not a lot else, because it hurts to think.
There's a horrible noise somewhere behind her, like a, a---like someone being strangled. Okay. Maybe if she stays very, very still, it won't bother her. And right now, that's all she can do, because Mary knows if she moves, she's going to be sick. Her stomach isn't at all happy. She vaguely remembers Las Vegas: casino, restaurant, free food---just the thought of the rare steak on her companion's plate threatens to make her gorge rise.
John Something. The guy who gave her a ride after her car died. They'd had a fight over dinner, because he seemed to assume that she was going to fall into bed with him, and Mary Pulaski is not that kind of girl. Never mind that most of the people she knows think that sexual liberation goes hand-in-hand with women's lib, she wants to save herself for someone she cares about, as old-fashioned as that idea is these days.
Something died in her mouth, she's sure of it. It's the nastiest taste, like she's licked too many envelopes, gluey and a little bitter. She tries to scrub her dry tongue against the roof of her mouth and that's a huge mistake. The nausea erupts, and she just manages to find the side of the bed before she throws up. The taste of acid and the sour smell makes her retch some more, and her skull feels like her brain is swollen with dumb.
Mary is half in, half out of bed, hanging there, miserable, when a hand comes to rest on the middle of her back. Her bare back. She realizes two things simultaneously, and they're almost enough to sober her up completely.
She's naked.
And she isn't alone.
=========================
John jumps when she shrieks, and tries to cover his ears. It's a little late for that, though. His head is pounding, and his noisy bedmate has no reason to react like that. There's no use being nice to some people, though he has a recollection of some time---last night?---after dinner and drinks and fireworks and more drinks and a bottle brought back to their room---she was a whole lot nicer, although the details are hazy.
He falls back against the pillows on his side of the bed and waves at her to turn down the volume. She shuts up---she can't be feeling any too swift if she's barfing like that---but she's still looking at him all wide-eyed and horrified.
Over the tom-toms echoing through his skull, he hears her wailing that he's taken advantage of her. Too bad the only part of it that he remembers is a flash of that pretty blonde head lowered over his cock, but he's not about to let her know that. "Yeah, you were a real wildcat last night," he tells her, managing to grin because he knows it'll piss her off. She gave him an earful over dinner, about how she was a liberated career woman and he was nothing but a leatherneck savage.
Dumping her dinner all over her would've given him momentary satisfaction, but going by how frantic she is now, he's glad he chose seduction. Make love, not war, heheh.
The tears rolling down her cheeks might make him feel like an asshole if he wasn't so damn hung-over. So they fucked. So what. What's the big deal?
***
Well, no, actually they didn't...but they think they did.
However, during the previous evening, which neither of them recalls with any clarity, they got married. And because John *thinks* he lost all his money in the casino---he actually gave it to Mary for safe-keeping---and because she doesn't have a car, they end up traveling together.
Imagine their mutual consternation when the piece of paper that Mary writes directions on a couple days later turns out to be their marriage certificate.
Little by little (one of the reasons I'm not writing this whole %#$&ing thing!), she realizes that he isn't unscarred by his experiences, and he discovers that she can be reasonable. When the eventual fireworks happen, they're both surprised---it's Mary's first time.
There's some wrangling about where they're going to end up, until they reach a small town in Kansas. They're getting some groceries (to save money on restaurant meals) when there's a robbery. The would-be bandito is caught off-guard when he tries to grab Mary's bag. She screams in his face that all she has in there is tampons, and while he's gawking, John whacks him over the head with a big (glass!) bottle of ketchup and knocks him out. The couple achieves instant celebrity, and decide to settle in Lawrence.
The End
***
I'm only posting this here, but feel free to pimp if you like it.
Title: July, 1976
Authored by:
vanillafluffy Pairing: John/Mary
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13, language
Approx. word count: 1800 (This is unfinished, and will remain so, but I outline my plans for it.)
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Kripke, etc.
Summary: My version of how John met Mary, a reaction against all those cheesy "love at first sight" fics. And yes, I am actually old enough to remember the Bicentennial.
Nevada in July is just evil. Mary's tee is sticking damply to her and she's and thirsty and pissed off. There have been dozens of cars going toward Vegas for all the parties scheduled for the big Bicentennial weekend of July 4th, 1976 and they've all blown past her like she and the broken-down green Vega were invisible. And here she thought that leaving L.A. would solve all her problems. Yeah, right.
Now what? She's got a couple hundred bucks, probably enough to get her rotten car fixed, or get another car, but then she won't have enough money to get to Minneapolis. She could get a bus or even a plane ticket, but then she'd have to abandon everything she couldn't carry...all her books, the stuff from her apartment....
She'll bet it never gets this hot in Minneapolis. It's a good place for a career girl like herself. What was she thinking, going to Los Angeles to be an actress? That's such a demeaning profession for a woman! The things those male chauvinist pigs expected her to do to get a crummy walk-on part---what kind of girl would fall for that crap? The one good thing to come out of her three years in California is how her consciousness has been raised. Mary was a shy girl from the Midwest, and now she's a liberated woman!
With a dead car on the side of Highway 15 and her future in turmoil, Mary Pulaski thinks things can't get much worse. Then a dusty black car slows and eases onto the shoulder ahead of her car. It reverses so fast that for a horrified minute, she's sure it's going to pin her against the Vega's front grille, then jolts to a stop.
The driver gets out and swaggers over to her, and she detests him on first sight. Anybody who looks like that is probably full of himself---Hollywood has taught her that---and his smile doesn't reach his eyes as he says, "Hey, Baby, what seems to be the trouble?"
If it wasn't such a god-awful hot day, she'd tell him what he could do with "Baby"...but she's been out here for almost an hour, and right now, if he can get her out of this predicament, she'll put up with his sexist rhetoric. So she turns the key when he asks her to, and watches as he shakes his head. "Your engine is dead," he says. "It happens a lot with Vegas. The engine block is aluminum---"
"What will it take to fix it?" she interrupts. Oh God, are those dog tags he has on? Is he one of those baby-killers from ‘Nam? She protested the war; it was her sole claim to activism before she realized that the war for gender equality was just as important.
"Don't waste your money. It's a piece of shit."
Yeah, but it's her piece of shit. And it's got her whole life in it. "How do you know? You barely looked at it."
"I'm a mechanic," he says shortly. Like that means he knows it all. Arrogant asshole. "Trust me, 'Vega' equals junk. I'm going to Vegas. You want a ride?"
In the end, she throws two suitcases and a couple cartons of her most prized stuff into the backseat of the old Chevy and climbs in, praying he isn't a weirdo. As he peels out, she hangs on and prays, period.
==========================
His name is John Winchester, and he did two hitches in the Marine Corps. He dropped out of school and enlisted with fake ID when he was 17, because he thought defending the world from Communists was more important than a piece of paper. Anyway, he got his GED in his so-called spare time, and now he's a mechanic.
Currently, John's between jobs because his ex-boss was an asshole. Thought it was funny to sneak up on him and startle him, and John finally had to beat the living shit out of him, because Boss-man was on his last nerve. How many times did he tell the guy, "Just say something to get my attention. Don't grab my arm or my shoulder without warning me. Especially when I've got tools in my hand?" But no, Pat Fenton spent his war behind a desk; he doesn't understand what the constant threat of death will do to a man's reflexes. He's just lucky John was holding a wrench in his hand instead of a gun. Considering he's shot people who did that, the guy got off light.
That was his fourth place of employment since his discharge almost two years ago, and he has one half-hearted reference to show for it, if he can even find the letter. He's never been to Vegas, but it sounds like a cool place to spend the big weekend that everybody's been making such a damn fuss about. For the last year, you could hardly turn around without tripping over cutesy Bicentennial stars and red, white and blue stripes and little bite-sized history tidbits about the heroic Founding Fathers---sure, their war was noble and glorious, but his war? They don't want to talk about that, they want to sweep it under the rug and forget about all the lives sacrificed.
What the hell, though---Vegas is gonna be a party and a half. He's already got a foxy blonde chick to keep him company, and he's not even in Vegas yet. She's scowling, but that's what happens when you buy cheap-ass cars. Screw the energy crisis; he'd rather pay a little more for gas than a lot more to fix some crappy car that's always gonna be breaking down at the worst possible time. Not that there's ever a good time, but her bad luck is his good luck, he hopes.
Word is, the casinos give out free food and booze so you'll stay there to gamble. Drop a few quarters in the slots, have a couple free drinks and go find a complimentary steak dinner, maybe some succulent shrimp cocktail for the little lady. Get her loosened up some, find a room and get naked. See how long those legs of hers really are.... "So, where were you headed, if you don't mind me asking," he asks her. "Moving to Vegas?"
"No. Minneapolis."
Minneapolis? John grew up in Detroit, which wasn't exactly God's country, but Minneapolis? He's been thinking Texas sounds pretty good, not that he's ever been there, but all those oil millionaires have Cadillacs, they're gonna need a good mechanic. He'll find something. "Got family there?"
"I have a lot of family," she says cautiously. Looks at him sideways. "They'll miss me if I don't show up."
Oh great, she's thinks he's some kind of headcase. "You can give 'em a call from Vegas," he replies, trying to hang on to his temper. "Maybe they can send you enough money to fix your car." Maybe if they're stinking rich. if they even exist. John's annoyed at the implication of her comment, but he smiles, because now he's twice as determined to fuck her brains out.
=======================
God, she's never felt so sick in all her life. Her head is going to fall off, or maybe explode. Explode that's it. There's a memory-bubble of fireworks against a night sky, and not a lot else, because it hurts to think.
There's a horrible noise somewhere behind her, like a, a---like someone being strangled. Okay. Maybe if she stays very, very still, it won't bother her. And right now, that's all she can do, because Mary knows if she moves, she's going to be sick. Her stomach isn't at all happy. She vaguely remembers Las Vegas: casino, restaurant, free food---just the thought of the rare steak on her companion's plate threatens to make her gorge rise.
John Something. The guy who gave her a ride after her car died. They'd had a fight over dinner, because he seemed to assume that she was going to fall into bed with him, and Mary Pulaski is not that kind of girl. Never mind that most of the people she knows think that sexual liberation goes hand-in-hand with women's lib, she wants to save herself for someone she cares about, as old-fashioned as that idea is these days.
Something died in her mouth, she's sure of it. It's the nastiest taste, like she's licked too many envelopes, gluey and a little bitter. She tries to scrub her dry tongue against the roof of her mouth and that's a huge mistake. The nausea erupts, and she just manages to find the side of the bed before she throws up. The taste of acid and the sour smell makes her retch some more, and her skull feels like her brain is swollen with dumb.
Mary is half in, half out of bed, hanging there, miserable, when a hand comes to rest on the middle of her back. Her bare back. She realizes two things simultaneously, and they're almost enough to sober her up completely.
She's naked.
And she isn't alone.
=========================
John jumps when she shrieks, and tries to cover his ears. It's a little late for that, though. His head is pounding, and his noisy bedmate has no reason to react like that. There's no use being nice to some people, though he has a recollection of some time---last night?---after dinner and drinks and fireworks and more drinks and a bottle brought back to their room---she was a whole lot nicer, although the details are hazy.
He falls back against the pillows on his side of the bed and waves at her to turn down the volume. She shuts up---she can't be feeling any too swift if she's barfing like that---but she's still looking at him all wide-eyed and horrified.
Over the tom-toms echoing through his skull, he hears her wailing that he's taken advantage of her. Too bad the only part of it that he remembers is a flash of that pretty blonde head lowered over his cock, but he's not about to let her know that. "Yeah, you were a real wildcat last night," he tells her, managing to grin because he knows it'll piss her off. She gave him an earful over dinner, about how she was a liberated career woman and he was nothing but a leatherneck savage.
Dumping her dinner all over her would've given him momentary satisfaction, but going by how frantic she is now, he's glad he chose seduction. Make love, not war, heheh.
The tears rolling down her cheeks might make him feel like an asshole if he wasn't so damn hung-over. So they fucked. So what. What's the big deal?
Well, no, actually they didn't...but they think they did.
However, during the previous evening, which neither of them recalls with any clarity, they got married. And because John *thinks* he lost all his money in the casino---he actually gave it to Mary for safe-keeping---and because she doesn't have a car, they end up traveling together.
Imagine their mutual consternation when the piece of paper that Mary writes directions on a couple days later turns out to be their marriage certificate.
Little by little (one of the reasons I'm not writing this whole %#$&ing thing!), she realizes that he isn't unscarred by his experiences, and he discovers that she can be reasonable. When the eventual fireworks happen, they're both surprised---it's Mary's first time.
There's some wrangling about where they're going to end up, until they reach a small town in Kansas. They're getting some groceries (to save money on restaurant meals) when there's a robbery. The would-be bandito is caught off-guard when he tries to grab Mary's bag. She screams in his face that all she has in there is tampons, and while he's gawking, John whacks him over the head with a big (glass!) bottle of ketchup and knocks him out. The couple achieves instant celebrity, and decide to settle in Lawrence.
I'm only posting this here, but feel free to pimp if you like it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-04 04:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-04 05:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-04 06:58 am (UTC)And also, everyone thinks that Mary saved John emotionally after the war...What if it was the other way around...what if it was John who saved Mary? I have a fic here...somewhere..*rummages* Maybe I'll polish it up a little and post it.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-04 01:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-04 02:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-04 02:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-04 07:55 pm (UTC)