[locked] i learned how to make a living out of making mistakes.

[yourwonderings]

Thing is, Jo's used to tending bar. She's a damn professional at it by now. She's used to tending bar for hunters. She's used to listening to their stories, used to the smell of nicotine and whiskey lingering long after they came in with a cocky swagger and a wound or two. Even after she'd left the Roadhouse and started working on her own, she'd

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[thehandsomeone]

After a year plus in Chicago, a year working at the Luna Bar, Dean's mostly gotten used to the pros and cons of the place. He likes the free drinks, likes the food, and occasionally relishes the opportunity to kick drunk morons out on their asses with a nod from his boss. The place comes with eye candy, and lucky for Dean, he gets fewer sob stories and more drunken flirting.

Which can be embarrassing all on his own considering the wide variety of clientèle, but there you go.

Thing is, though, Dean still gets bored. Serving drinks and settling fights is probably the best straight occupation he could find, but slow nights like this make it painfully obvious just how much it's missing, too.

And it's that, really, that makes him light up the way he does when he sees Jo, familiar face in an unfamiliar setting.

That, and nothing else.

He's behind the bar when she comes in, clunking down a beer for a guy who's on his last if Dean has anything to say about it (which he does). He moves toward Jo, expression a little more neutral now, easy grin curving his lips. "Finally decided to grace this place with your presence, huh?" he asks. "Sure you should be fraternizin' with competition?" Nice to see you also works, Dean.

[yourwonderings]

If Jo is honest with herself, she's curious to see Dean working on something that doesn't involve hunting. She's aware of how well-acquainted Dean and alcohol are, but he's usually the one being served the drinks. It'll be a nice change to have the roles reversed for once.

If Jo is feeling particularly honest with herself, she'd also just admit she wanted to see him. Unfortunately--or fortunately as the case may be--Jo's never really particularly honest with herself when it comes to this. It's worked for her just fine since she landed in Chicago.

She walks over to Dean once she spots him, all cocky intent and leather jacket and a smile that speaks for itself.

She lifts a brow that's meant to show how unimpressed she is with your greeting skills, Dean.

"That kind of attitude? Don't think you're much of a competition there, princess. Also explains why the place is empty." She slides onto the stool, leaning forward with a smirky smirk that smirks. "Figured you could someone to keep you on your toes and keep you outta trouble. You're welcome."

Her eyes scan the bar, taking one quick glance at the guy beside her. Jo may or may not be looking for a jukebox. In a subtle manner, of course.

[thehandsomeone]

Honesty and Dean don't get along too well either, Jo. Especially where women are involved. It's just one big party.

For example, Dean does a pretty terrible job at acting like he's at all offended at Jo's little verbal beating. He scowls, sure, but his eyes say something a little different. So Dean's sort of a masochist. Whatever.

"Aww, Jo," Dean teases, shaking his head, "you're always lookin' out for me. It's like you got nothin' better to do." Then he adds, matching her smirk for smirk, "Trust me, sweetheart, we do just fine most nights." Which is true - Dean just gets restless, and hey, it's Wednesday. Not the busiest night, even in Chicago.

The guy beside Jo does more than glance back, but Dean chooses to ignore that for now. He also does not realize what Jo's looking for. He does, however, use this moment to slide into his charming bartender act, mostly to see if he can get a laugh out of Jo. Or get her to glare at him - he's not all that picky. "So, darlin'," he says, leaning forward just a little, "What'll it be?"

[yourwonderings]

They can swim together in their rivers of denial, maybe get a nice tan while they're at it!

Jo's a little rusty on her tactics of verbally beating him black and blue whenever she gets the chance. Lately she'd been taking the physical route and it's hard to get any satisfaction out of it when he seems to get a kick out of both. That and her fist hurts.

Masochist indeed. Hobag, the narration is compelled to add.

"Don't read too much into it. I'm just doin' my good samaritan act of the day, is all. I got a few hours to kill and I'm here to collect," she answers without missing a beat. The guy in the corner gets pretty much ignored. That or Jo doesn't notice. It's hard to tell.

Her reaction is actually a combination of both. There's a narrowed glare and a small puff of laughter--she does not doubt many fall for the charming bartender act. Jo props her chin on one hand, a practiced, innocent expression on her face accompanied with a smooth drawl. "Gee golly, mister, what do you recommend?"

[thehandsomeone]

Poor Jo. If it helps, Dean's face didn't feel too great, either. He's just so good at pushing people's buttons, and he's always been the type to go with his strengths.

Hobag is not a bad description, either.

"Good samaritan, huh?" Dean asks, tilting his head. "You get badges for that?" Yes, Jo, Dean just called you a Girl Scout. Apparently his face didn't hurt enough last time.

Letting the act fall with a quiet laugh and a smaller, but more genuine smile, Dean says quickly, "Grilled cheese, if you're hungry. Fries. Drink's up to you." Dean sincerely doubts Jo goes in for the girly drinks, but so far, he's only seen her drink beer. Either way, it's on him - a very late birthday present, of sorts.

[yourwonderings]

Her hand furls and unfurls in her lap, though she keeps smiling, smiling, smiling at him.

The extent of the violence Dean sometimes manages to evoke within her is nothing short of remarkable. "Nah, our charity work often goes unnoticed. Just the way life goes."

Her stomach rumbles quietly, alerting her she is, in fact, hungry. She laughs again, shaking her head. It's also more genuine and she slips her jacket off, placing it on the empty stool on her other side. "Haven't eaten all day so I'll take you up on that. I'll have a beer, thanks."

She taps on the bar counter, idle hands steady. Her knuckles are faintly bruised, telltale signs that she lives a certain sort of life that comes with its little souvenirs. "So what've you been up to? Aside from chasin' off customers with your so-called charm. 'course."

[thehandsomeone]

That Dean notices, though he doesn't comment on it. Hilarious as it would be, he doesn't really want Jo to hit him just now. Not in front of customers, anyway. He has a reputation to uphold.

"What a pity."

Dean nods, leaving for a minute to place the order with the cook. If Jo listens hard enough, she'll hear the cook shouting obscenities at Dean, but he comes back like nothing happened. He grabs Jo a beer, using his ring to pop the top off before sliding it over to her.

"So-called?" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow. "I'm hurt," he says, and then after a beat adds more seriously, "Not a whole lot." Aside from getting bombarded with more information that made him what to drink. "What about you, you stayin' out of trouble?" Like that's possible in Chicago, Dean.

[yourwonderings]

The narration would like to say Jo's got enough self-restraint to keep that kind of thing just between the two of them, but the narration also knows better. Once Jo's temper's flared up, there's no stopping her.

"I'd call it somethin' else."

Oh, she hears the obscenities. Jo leans over the counter, just so she doesn't miss a word. She laughs and laughs and laughs at you, Dean. "Is that your friend you were tellin' me about?" Jo asks with a cheeky grin, not even bothering to hide the fact she was eavesdropping or that she was laughing at his expense.

She looks up at him, regarding him thoughtfully at his answer. Her features shift, only for a moment, once the question's thrown back at her. It's barely noticeable, unless you were looking for it. Dean...doesn't need to know the mess she's potentially in. They latch on to her throat, the words, and they don't leave her.

Jo ends up shaking her head and shrugging a shoulder. "Not much. You know how it goes in this place. Gives you one helluva time. Think we'll catch a break soon?" Yeah, no. Tough luck, kids.

[thehandsomeone]

In that case, Dean will really have to behave himself. For now, anyway.

"Oh, yeah," Dean says with an easy shrug. It's been a year; he's pretty much used to the constant venom that comes with the cost of good grilled cheese. "You think I'm a charmer, you should meet that guy," he adds, gesturing behind him with a thumb.

For as much as an insensitive ass as he can be, Dean's pretty good at reading people, and the shift doesn't go entirely unnoticed. He lets it slide, though - there's plenty he keeps to himself, after all.

He scoffs, both eyebrows going up and expression saying c'mon now. "The hell would we even do with a break, Jo?" It's meant to be teasing, but a tiny scrap of bitterness finds its way in at that. Dean's been kept on his toes, waiting for the next thing, since nearly as long as he can remember - conditioned as he is, it's when things get quiet that he worries.

[yourwonderings]

"I don't know, Dean, I think maybe his problem's just with you. Pretend he's a hot woman. I'm sure things'll go uphill in a sec." Jo grins sweetly while she looks right behind Dean's shoulder, just in case the cook's looking in on them. She doesn't need him spitting on her grilled cheese because of her association to Dean. She's loyal--she is not that loyal.

Jo tends to keep things close to the vest herself. Especially when it comes to pulling someone into something that'd be her fault in the first place. She doesn't need a guilt complex on top of everything else. The Winchesters always have enough to deal with to take on Jo's crap.

It also may have something to do with the fact she's incapable of asking for help, and nearly incapable of realizing she may need any. She's totally got everything under control.

Jo opens her mouth and closes it. "Good point," she grumbles, not so much because it's true, more so because it's almost physically painful to admit Dean may be right. She's already half-done with the sandwich, nodding her head approvingly. "Good stuff. Remind me to come here more often."

The free sandwich and beer isn't happening every time you decide Dean needs a visit, Jo.

[thehandsomeone]

"Not possible," Dean scoffs. "No hot woman has ever been that abusive to me." Well, except for Jo, but Dean chooses not to add that. Dean's charms, or impeccable lack thereof, are generally limited to those with fewer brain cells. The cook is pretty smart - Dean's pretty sure the guy never uses the same insult twice.

Dean's already got an impressive guilt complex, and if he finds out what Jo's up to, there's a good chance that's going to manifest with a vengeance. Really, it's not looking good.

"I know it," Dean says, smirking because he knows the reason for Jo's grumbling perfectly by now. "Well, I don't know about that. I'll have to see if I can pencil you in." Normal people mention that they're glad to see their friends, that kind of thing. This is not Dean's way.

Right, like Dean pays for any of the things at this place anyway. You just try to pay him and see what happens, Jo.

[yourwonderings]

Jo's long since been convinced she's more or less chopped liver when it comes to all things Dean Winchester. At least, in that sense. She doesn't bat an eyelash. She does, however, nearly choke on her grilled cheese sandwich. "Did you ever actually open your mouth in their presence?"

She considers how this may sound, and immediately after she makes sure to add, "For conversation." Considering she's witnessed firsthand his innate talent to talk for five minutes alone and evoke violence, she finds that hard to believe.

Do things ever look good in Chicago? If by some chance things to look up, there will undoubtedly be some other life-altering event that spins it back 180. So are the days in the Rift~.

See Jo smirk again, Dean. "Sure you can. Who else is gonna put up with your ass?" she asks, finishing off her grilled cheese sandwich. It's Jo's way, to make it seem like instead of just the fact she likes to check in on him every now and then. It's what friends do, okay?

Oh, she'd want to pay him, with that pride. Even if it's something ridiculous as a grilled cheese. Jo cranes her neck again, inspecting the bar. "They got a jukebox here?" Or a pool table. Or a dart board. She's not picky.

[thehandsomeone]

After making sure Jo doesn't actually choke, that verbal misstep earns Jo a smirk, Dean's eyes lighting up with it. Before he can say anything, though, Jo corrects herself, so he shrugs again. "Not a lot," he admits. "'least, not in any kind of..." he gestures vaguely. It's not like Dean's incapable of what passes for normal conversation, but until he found himself stuck in Chicago, there wasn't much of a point - hooking up was damn near justified when he had no intention being anywhere for more than a night or two.

Then he adds, to get them back into more familiar footing, "Even if I did, not everyone's got your temper, Jo." Which is a shame, really. For all his talk of damsels, Dean prefers girls with a little fire in their blood.

Dean gives a little nod, understanding just fine. "That's probably a good point."

There is a jukebox, but since Dean's still stuck behind the counter for a little while yet, he doesn't want to tell Jo this if he can't veto her taste. Instead of answering, he says, "Dart board's across the way if you're feelin' up to it. Pool table, too."

[yourwonderings]

Jo's brow arches high in the air, waiting for him to finish his sentence. Instead, it trails off into something inconclusive. Her eyes follow the vague gesture with the sort of expression that's hard to read. The kind of life they lead, the kind of person he is, it's not like she expected anything different. He's the kind of guy that says he'll call even if he won't. He doesn't really pretend to be anything else.

There is no way Jo could refute the fact she has a temper. Not with a straight face, anyway. She just smirks up at him while lifting a leg, placing her combat boot over her knee to tie it back up.

"Quit while you're ahead, Winchester," is all she warns.

Her taste is not to be vetoed. Her taste is to be glorified because she listens to what sings to your soul. "Shame I don't got any cards on me. I'd verse you. Guess I'll just have to kick your ass at darts since we already covered pool." Well, once his shift ends. Not that she's waiting around for that or anything.

[thehandsomeone]

Dean is, before just about anything else, a hunter, and if he's learned anything outside of shooting and sparring, salting and burning and hell, even bow hunting, it's that getting attached in this line is a stupid move. It's asking for heartache on one end or the other or both, and anyway - anyway, after getting ditched by Sam and then Dad, there's maybe a part of Dean that likes being the one who gets to leave.

Besides, he has a good time.

One look at the boot and Jo's warning and Dean's chuckling a little, shaking off the rest of what's going on in his head.

"We keepin' score?" he asks. He sure hopes not - he's definitely losing.

"Yeah, I just bet you would," he says, shaking his head and grinning a little. "I'm not drunk this time," Dean points out. "Might actually give you a run for your money."

[yourwonderings]

She gets it. She did do a whole lot of growing up in the year alone she's been hunting. She gets it more than she did the first time around. It allowed for a nice little do-over where she can stop poking around needlessly. That and she's felt firsthand how hunting consumes a person.

"Damn right we are. And I'm not saying that just because I'm winning." Jo just needed to throw that in there. As a reminder. In case he'd forgotten.

Competitive? No, what would give you that idea?

She's almost done with her beer, but she keeps it in hand, pointing it toward him. She grins back, against her better judgment. "I ain't worried, and that sounds an awful lot like an excuse, Dean."

Or a legitimate reason. Whichever.