trans_9 | Peace of mind? Yeah, right. [Open, and probably R for language.]

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Peace of mind? Yeah, right. [Open, and probably R for language.]

In the past few days, Dean has: been manhandled by a bunch of animated vines, been called an incestuous homosexual, nearly gotten into a fight with Blondie, nearly gotten into a fight with a giant blue horse, watched his brother try to fix his brain, gotten beaten up by a girl, and had to listen to the same Blondie and a giant wolf argue. It has not been a good week.

So Dean is wandering the ship, drinking straight from a bottle of booze, trying to unwind. By the time he reaches the sensoriums, he's feeling a bit better, so he sits down in the middle of one of them, ignoring the open door, and lets Stacy take over.

What unfolds around him is, in fact, Bobby's house. The car junkyard is off to the side of where he's sitting, and Bobby's messy house is behind him, and he's sitting on the lawn, feeling the sun shine down on him. It's nice.

So to anyone wandering by? You'll see Dean, on the grass of the lawn, soaking up the sun and occasionally sipping from his bottle.

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Dean, in a much better mood than earlier, does hear her. Of course, because of the booze and his good conversation with Chaucer, he's a lot less pissy than before. So when she speaks up, instead of bitching back, Dean flashes her a grin, if she's paying attention.

"Hey, better Lord of the Asshats than nothing, right?"

He's a bit drunk, too, so give him a break.

Jo's brows lofted and she slowly turned around and stared at Dean.

"That's not something to be proud of." She eyed him, crossing her arms, but didn't make a move to get any closer. "So you done being a big cry baby?"

"Says you." Dean replies, taking a swig from his bottle. "And no, I'm not. Bite me."

Really, he will apologize eventually. Hopefully. He just has to mellow out.

"Don't think I won't whoop your butt again!" Jo growled, pointing at Dean with narrowed eyes.

Obviously she's not one with the whole bite me comment.

"Eh. Go ahead." He says, and he doesn't even sound cocky, just tired. But he will grin at her. Because he can. "I probably deserve it."

"Yeah you do," Jo grumbled, though she was completely taken back by him. Was he... admitting he'd been a complete jerkface?

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment. "How long have you been drinking?"

His grin widens. "A few hours."

He's not totally smashed, just a little buzzed. Sort of.

With a shrug of her shoulders, Jo crossed the lawn and plopped down on the grass next to Dean. So she forgives rather easily. But, she's not just gonna let it drop.

"First off, what are you drinking.... And secondly - why the hell did you act like such a big baby? Never get taken down by a woman before?"

"Uh. One, I dunno, but it's fuckin' delicious," Dean drawls; his accent comes out when he's drunk. "And two, I'm not a baby. I've gotten... I've been... uh. Women have taken me down before, just not in the way you're thinking."

Peeeeeerv.

Jo's nose wrinkles and she looks away, wondering if she should be embarrassed for him. And... It really wasn't something she wanted to think too much about.

Really Dean, TMI.

She looked back at him and shook her head. "Well thanks for that lovely bit of information, I'm more than sure that's something I never needed to know...." She motioned toward his bottle, feeling the sudden need for a drink, "Can I?"

That sets Dean off into a bout of drunken laughter! Hooray! When he's done laughing, he falls backwards and lets the sun shine directly on his face.

And if she's wondering, no, she shouldn't be embarrassed for him. If he was sober, he'd be patting his drunk self on the back.

"Nope. You can't have it. This," He waves the bottle. "Is my present to myself for not punching anybody on this godforsaken meatball."

Don't worry, Jo, if you just scoop it out of his hands, he won't protest.

"Hey you had your chance to try and punch me," Jo pointed out with a smug smirk before swipin' Dean's bottle. "I just kicked your ass first, so ha ha." OK, she's not mocking him persay, just stating a fact - a bit smugly.

She takes a swig of Dean's alcohol and winces as it burns it's way down her throat. Quickly she hands it back to him. "Holy, what the hell is that? PURE alcohol?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a gentleman, I don't hit chicks." He pauses, thinks, and then amends: "Well, chicks who aren't demons, anyways."

When she steals his booze, it's only right that it burns. Dean sniggers. "Probably. If you don't like it, don't steal it."

And he swigs again.

"So what are you trying to say?" Jo demands. "That you let me win?" Poor Dean, Jo might feel sorry for you if you hadn't been such a baby.

"I didn't say I didn't like it! I..." She trails off, her nose wrinkling again. "Just give it..." She swipes it again after Dean's swig and take another one herself.

"Nah, just. I don't punch chicks." Dean stumbles on his speech a bit. "Damn, you are such a woman. Reading into my words like that. Just take the damn words as they are. Jesus."

Dean looks smug, though. "Uh huh. Don't drink all of it, I only got one more bottle stashed."

Jo gives Dean a look. "Uh, in case you haven't noticed, I am a woman, and I do on occassion act like one. Sometimes I even wear a dress and make-up... Though obviously not here..." She frowns.

"You get this with your stuff?" She asks before taking another small sip and hands it back to him. "All I got were my guns... Not even coffee.." She pouts at that thought - what she'd give to have an actual cup of coffee...

Dean rolls his eyes. "No, I thought you were something other than a chick. Lady, I may be a douchebag sometimes, but I'm not stupid."

Why yes, he did just admit that. He really is drunk to say that out loud.

He blinks at her, and then shakes his head, bringing a finger to his lips in a shhh motion. "Not mine. I stole it. Don't tell."

Jo has to chuckle. Dean just admitted he was a douche, that was highly amusing. She clears her throat. "I do have a name ya know. And it's Jo, so stop calling me 'woman' and 'lady'."

Stretching her legs out before her, she leaned back on her elbows. "Oh yeah? And who did ya steal it from?" She's curious now.

Eh, it's not like he doesn't know. He just doesn't admit it. "Yeah, whatever. Jo. And I got a name, too. It's not King of the Asshats."

But he's not telling that secret! "Can't tell you. Blondie will have my ass on a platter if he finds out."

"Well ya could've fooled me," Jo muttered, though it was kinda good natured. "And I know it's not Mulder either... But I'm still gonna call you that."

Secrets? Didn't Dean know secrets were only good when you shared them with at least one person?

"Who am I gonna tell?" Jo asked. "I've only met a few of the crew - and the few I've met?" Sawyer. "Yeah, I'd never willingly talk with most of them."

Dean grins. "Damn straight. They based the X-files after me, y'know."

Silly Jo, of course Dean knows that. Sam knows! Probably. He's psychic, he knows these things. And such. Wow, Dean rambles more in his head than out loud.

"Y'sound like me. That's not a good thing." Dean lectures. "Y'can guess who it is, if you want."

Jo laughed again. "Whatever, Mulder." So Dean is amusing, as long as he's not whining or acting like a baby.

Jo's forehead wrinkled as she thought through the members of the crew she'd met, and who would be likely to have alcohol. "Saywer," she stated after a few moments. "Now he's a sleaze."

Dean just grins to that.

Oops, she got it right. Dean wrinkles his nose, and then sighs. "If you tell him I stole it, I'll cut your hair off." He threatens.

She closes her eyes, tilting her head back and enjoys the sun - even if it's not real.

"You do that and I'll really truly kick your ass," Jo replied before peeking over at him through an eye. "But seriously, don't worry. Your secret is safe."

He's got his eyes closed, too. The sun feels good, and Dean wonders when the last time he sat in the sun was.

And he wouldn't really cut her hair off.

"Good." He says sleepily. He's realized he'll be able to sleep today, because of the booze, and that's exciting. "Just like sleeping. Good like sleeping."

He's probably more drunk than he's letting on.

Peace of mind? Yeah, right. [Open, and probably R for language.]

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