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Dean hates Kansas.

Dean hates Metropolis. It's got no right sittin' there in the middle of Kansas, out of place as a fuckin' donkey at a ball. He knows America and he knows the roads and the highways and he fucking hates that this world's twisted them all around.

Dean hates Lawrence. Sammy's still there. And Dean's not going back.

Dean hates himself, too, for that.

A surefire cure for angry emo bitterness is beating the shit out of people, however, and fortunately there's a lot of shit going round. Suburbs of Metropolis, clubs, late at night, there's always some chick he can bail outta trouble. That way he gets to beat people up and then gets laid.

Presently, Dean is in a back alley, glaring at a guy on the ground who thought he'd drag some naive little chick into the mens' room even though she was fighting. Jerk. And worse, not even a tough jerk. Dean's not even breathing hard. Waste of a fucking fight.

Yeah ... Dean hates Metropolis.

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"Bright and unbruised as a Georgia peach," Jo said smartly, the obvious sarcasm rife in her words.

(Because all well-adjusted people forwent crying and screaming, even once, at earned trauma for fighting and fucking.)

She frowned suddenly.

"They probably don't even have peach crops in this world. Not as important as the running and saving their skins. Bastards."

"They've had a few. That dragon chick at the farm brings'em back."

Helpful Dean is helpful!

Jo looked at him, blankly, before wrinkling her nose.

"That's disturbing. I actually had to consider whether it was worth going back to swipe peaches."

Beat.

"Dragon chick?"

"Oh, it is so freakin' worth it." Dean is lost for a moment in a food memory. "Those peaches, drippin' down your throat ... mmmmmmph."

Jo's was against the flicker of images that involved dripping and throats and Dean that suddenly took her brain space.

It did funny things her stomach before she could stop it. Which did even funnier things to her bitterness.

Thus he gets an expression decrying his sanity (and possibly hers).

"Maybe I'll get back down there when I pick up my bike."

Edited 2008-10-02 17:42 (UTC)

"Maybe."

Dean shrugs. He's got no reason to expect Jo to want to travel with him. Why should it spike suddenly in his gut like that when she makes it clear she doesn't?

Jo was cursing her very stupid, stupid jelly stomach as he mumbled his response. She wasn't going to be able to think (or not think) of peaches for a while now.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to punch something or be left alone in a bathroom because of it.

She settled sourly for forcefully reminding herself that he was still the ass than left her in Lawrence with the crazies, left her to the discovery of the Road House nearly alone.

Licking her lips, she blew a breath at her long bangs.

"Suppose you'll be out again soon."

It was a statement, and a question.

"Don't know how much longer I can stand this," Dean agrees, smirking a little. "And there's th'food back on the hippie commune. And this kid who wants t'make a deal."

Really that should have been a capital D on Deal.

Jo arched an eyebrow.

"What kind of deal?"

"His sister died."

Dean shrugs.

Other eyebrow joined the first.

(Not lacking the moment when she glanced away at first reaction.)

"And he thinks you can--?"

Dean shrugs again, looking away, leaning back against the alley wall and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

"He's a little too interested to make me completely comfortable."

And yet Dean's helping him anyway. Because ... siblings.

Jo frowned, stopping her pace but not near the wall.

Standing a few feet from him.

"Stupid interested?"

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