Title: no man could best me, ever

Chapter: IV

Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Sojourner Truth.

Warnings: AU; dark!Winchesters

Pairings: John/Mary

Rating: R

Wordcount: 1890

Point of view: third

Notes: this is would have been the fourth and final chapter, but it will never be finished.

The first time John Winchester killed a man was not in Vietnam. He was twelve and he killed his father's brother with a steak knife. Uncle David liked playing rough and touching places on boys he shouldn't, and John didn't care when it was him, but Uncle David started leering at Mark, and that would not be allowed.

He and Uncle David were home alone while Dad and Mark went fishing and Mom was visiting Grandma. John made sure Uncle David knew why and then stabbed him in the throat. Once Uncle David bled out, he arranged it to look like an interrupted robbery and went upstairs.

When he screamed and ran to the neighbor's house, talking too fast to be understood and covered in blood, everyone bought it. After all, John Winchester was such a sweet, polite boy.

o0o

He didn't kill again until the Marine Corps paid him for it and it was just as much fun as he remembered. When they finally sent him home he was decorated war hero, adored and respected. He spent a month with his folks and Mark before the urge to make someone bleed welled up, hot and sharp, so he left. He loved Mom and Dad, and worshipped Mark, and he never wanted to hurt them, ever. Better to leave.

John wandered through towns, looking for someone to hurt. He sat at bars, waiting for somebody to pick a fight. He didn't kill them, but left them crying on the ground, barely alive, and it was enough.

Then he met Mary.

o0o

Mary Campbell was beautiful and funny and so very dangerous. She was cold and savage where he was rough and ruthless. They were the same age, though he felt older, and when she smiled, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

It was a Friday, his third night in Lawrence, and he was at a diner, thinking about whether to get fried chicken or a hamburger. He'd just about made up his mind—he had chicken the night before—when he glanced up and met the huge hazel eyes of a beautiful blonde. She was on the arm of some jock and she smiled as they went by.

John ate his supper and left a large tip. He wandered through Lawrence, his car back at the diner. He wanted to hurt someone, preferably that jock. So when he ran into the kid coming out of a bar just after midnight, he decided it was providence.

o0o

On Sunday, a body was found outside of town. Looked like he'd been beaten, carved, and left for dead. As a drifter who'd been seen fighting Jake Wilson, John was brought in and questioned, but his good ole' boy charm got him off the list pretty quick.

He was told not to leave town, but until he saw that pretty blonde again, he was going to. On Tuesday afternoon, as he worked on his Impala, he heard someone walk up behind him and then a soft female voice said, "I owe you some thanks."

He straightened and turned to face the girl from the diner.

"You made it easier to restrain him," she said, smiling. "Though, that also made it less fun."

He studied her, long blonde curls and huge hazel eyes and plump pink lips. She waited him out, just blinking those long lashes innocently up at him.

"John Winchester," he said suddenly, holding out a hand. He smirked when she startled a little.

"Mary Campbell," she replied, taking his hand in her much smaller, though calloused, one and grinning.

o0o

They were inseparable for the next few months. They told each other their hunting stories and danced and watched movies and lay together beneath the stars.

She took him to a spot in the woods near her house, the night of her graduation. She stretched out next to him and placed her head on his chest, one of her hands slipping into his shirt.

"I killed a boy here," she whispered.

Unlike others, John had known from the moment he saw her how dangerous she could be. "Did he deserve it?"

Mary smiled. "He thought he was good enough to be my first."

"And he was your first?" John asked.

She leaned down to kiss him. "My first kill."

That night they made love and John said, "Marry me."

Mary nodded.

o0o

Mary's dad hated John, he knew. Thought Mary could do better, which John knew to be true. But Mary's mom kept touching him whenever he went to her house. Kept offering him drinks and cookies. Kept smiling at him.

Mary watched with cold, unforgiving eyes, and John knew that soon she would strike.

Three nights after graduation, Mary said, "It's time."

She took him to her house, her movements fluid and loose. They had talked about what their first kill together would be like, what they would do. On the porch, Mary kissed him and told him, "Love, do what I say."

John nodded. "Followin' your lead, babe."

She smiled and opened the door.

Samuel Campbell died quickly, throat slit by Mary's favorite knife. Mary told John, "Make Mom hurt, baby," and so John did.

They left town singing Zeppelin at the top of their lungs, laughing.

o0o

They went anywhere Mary wanted to go, stayed as long as they could before someone got themselves killed, and moved on.

In Phoenix, Mary gave birth to their first boy, named for her mother. In Boston, she had Sam, named for her father.