Tonight was the night. With his hair combed into a neat respectful fashion, his shirt tail tucked in, and the slightly overwhelming scent of aftershave on his skin, John Winchester set out into the evening. It was twenty minutes past six when he left, and since the Campbell House wasn't too far a walk from the Winchesters', he found himself bearably on time. At six forty-five, on the dime, John knocked on the Campbell's door to pick Mary up for their first date.
John prided himself in being a gentleman. Growing up with an absent father and having to watch his mother struggle to make ends meet made sure that he was. He was a ladies' man at that, and treated all of the girls he courted with the utmost respect. To say that he got attention from a large quality of girls, however, would be a stretch. At the age of nineteen he'd only seriously dated a handful of girls, each having been what his mother would've described as 'a lovely girl'! Never before had even considered becoming romantically involved with a girl like Mary Campbell.
Mary was blonde and loquacious, as well as extremely fierce. She'd had a reputation in town since she turned sixteen, and single-handedly beat Dickie Richards, legendary quarterback at Lawrence High School, in an arm wrestling match. Dickie was huge, had rounded muscles that scared the living daylights out of most grown men when he was ticked off enough. Honestly, John despised that kind of girl. 'Lovely girls' were modest, frequent dinner-party going types; not brutally honest, and extremely forward.
When his date opened the front door, he was quick to notice her curls and photogenic smile were in place. She looks cocky, but not overbearingly so, and it reminds him very much of their first met.
It happened at a diner, the best one in town actually. John had eaten dinner there with his mother, and Mary just so happened to be there, spending the evening with one of her few actually friends. When John left for a moment, to go to the bathroom, he had turned around and walked straight into the departing person that was Mary Campbell. The minute she realized who had walked into her, she turned on her infamously god-awful smirk .
"Watch where you're going, spaz."
Her words had been playful, though as insulting as ever. John himself was dumbfounded. He stumbled over his words in shock, stepping backwards to quickly give her back her personal space, all the while trying to maintain his gaping mouth.
"I- I didn't.." he starts, eyes wide and trained on the blonde girl.
She put up her hand, flexed her pointer finger towards her, in a gesture for him to come closer. She then wore a knowing smile. When he did as she instructed, she leaned closer to his ear.
In a voice that comes only when you've said the same thing at least a million times, she spoke;
"Take a picture. It'll last longer."
With that, she was gone. The Winchester boy could see her through the window, watched her giggling down the street with that same friend. In a sense, John was gone too. He was hooked, and could feel the line start reeling him in; escape a futile dream. In mere days, he found himself going crazy for her.
He doesn't know how he did it, but he got her t say yes. The proof was there, John now stood on her doorstep, a bouquet of flowers behind his back. They were going on a date.
She was clad in her normal type of clothing, consisting of bell-bottomed jeans and a loose shirt. He, instead, wore a nice shirt, complete with a tie to match his strictly gentleman behaviors. Next to each other, they looked a little off. Ask anyone on the streets, though, and they'd tell you that the way they smiled at each other made up for that, times a million.
As soon as the door was firmly shut behind her, Mary rushed up to him, throwing her arms around him. Only when she pulled back from her date did she raise a pair of old silver keys, attached to a strip of leather. Her smile was prideful, and with the way that Samuel, her father, stared them down from the window, it was only too obvious that they belonged to the Station Wagon parked in front of the Campbell house.
They had a wonderful evening together, running through the town, high on the prospect of new love. Upon undeniable request (undeniable, because Dickie Richards was twice his size, and if Mary could beat him in arm wrestling, he didn't want to know what she'd do to him), Mary was the designated driver. They had gone out to eat, back to the very diner they had first met at. Later, they spent time in thrift stores, trying on different clothing, playing with fancy shades and ridiculous feather boas. Mary told John he looked groovy in a leather jacket. John told her he found her compellingly beautiful.
She smiled at that, a nervous blush crossing her cheeks. They were sitting on a park bench when he'd said it, watching the darkness take the sky and letting the soft, cool breezes rush over them. She shook her hair, tossing it over her shoulders, eyes shut in blissful peace.
"I know, Johnny-boy." She teased.
If there had ever been a better moment, John wouldn't have taken it. They had fallen silent, goofy grins on their faces and Mary would swear it was the mushiest thing to have ever happened in her life. He leaned in and kissed her for the first time. From that moment on, they knew they were perfect together.