Summary: Jo had patience, honestly she did. It wasn't her fault that lanky brunette tried her hand at Dean Winchester and lost. Not her fault at all.

Notes: I do not own the television show, Supernatural but if I did, well, there would be many a change. Of course, Mr. Kripke does have ownership, and as such, I can't really do anything about that. Oh darn... :) I'm so, so sorry for all the ridiculous typos and grammatical errors. I am deeply ashamed of myself and my lack of writing abilities. If you see anymore, please let me know. That is all. :D

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Inscribed As: Lessons Learned
Musical Accompaniment: Crazy Possessive | Kaci Battaglia

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I think I'm crazy, 

I think I'm going out of my mind.

You call me crazy.

I thought I saw you touching my guy.

Are you crazy?

Maybe I should take you outside,

And show you crazy.

Ooh, I got your crazy.

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If there was one thing Joanna Harvelle prided herself on, it was her patience. No matter the obstacle, she always tried her hardest to maintain some sort of understanding, even-tempered demeanor. From vampires to spirits, angels to demons, she was able to keep her cool and finish the job not matter the obstacle. Even outside of her occupation, Jo stilled most of her outbursts, deciding when and where to unleash them, waiting for the appropriate time. Be that as is may, it didn't mean she always acted so. A flirty brunette found that one out the hard way when she tried to get into the pants of Dean Winchester.

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Grimy and tired, four silhouettes warily trudged to a lone black Impala. Two figures, both male and around their mid to late twenties, opened the doors, one slipping into the driver's seat while the other plopped himself down on the other side. Another male figure and a young woman gripped at the back doors and once they were open, crawled in. Moments later, the Impala roared to life and they were gone in a kick-up of dry dust and graveled stones.

A rock ballad, one of the girl's favorites, blared through the speakers. The driver reached out to change the station (emo rock crap was for sissies and lonely people who had no lives) when the girl's hand shot out and slapped his shoulder.

"What the hell?"

"Oh, don't give me that shit. Change the station and I'll kick your ass straight to Hell and you can tell Lucifer hello for me."

Silence.

"I'd rather not."

"That's what I thought."

There was snickering on the adjacent side of the car before the sound of a punch and the whoosh of air being knocked out of a pair of lungs followed.

Wheezing, the younger man choked out, "Completely unnecessary."

"I think not."

As the three humans laughed and bickered happily (or as happily as they could), the sole angel watched the passing landscape, unease in his eyes.

"Hey, Cas, what's the matter?

The angel in question turned to look at the blonde girl, his gaze uncertain. Finally, he shook his head and gave her a gentle smile.

"Nothing, Joanna."

"Jo," she replied. Catching his look of confusion, she elaborated, "I call you Cas—not Castiel—so you should call me Jo, not Joanna."

Castiel nodded. Jo grinned at him. Suddenly, a bright, flashing sign caught her attention.

"Whoa!" she called out. Leaning forward, she tapped the man on the shoulder.

"What now, Jo?"

"Hey, smartass, don't speak to me in that tone," she chided.

"Whatever. What is it your majesty?"

"Better," she praised. "Anyway, I think we should hit the bar."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, Sam. Seriously. Why not?"

Sam sighed. "Jo, aren't you tired?"

She thought for a split second. Yeah, she sort of was but who wouldn't be after flushing out an entire vampire nest? True, she felt like crap and in desperate need of a shower, but, the idea of going home and wasting a perfectly good evening did not sit well with her.

"C'mon now. You can't tell me the little Winchesters are all pooped out and ready for bed, hmm? Or was I mistaken for thinking that you two boys could handle a night on the town?"

"Hell no!" Dean argued.

Smugly, Jo retorted, "That's what I thought."

And with that, Dean whipped the Impala around and sped back toward the inviting neon signs.

The four exited the car and sauntered to the bar; well, Dean and Jo sauntered. Castiel looked pained and Sam sluggishly followed, his eyelids beginning to feel heavy.

Jo threw open the doors and grinned devilishly at the atmosphere. It wasn't classy but no one ever said that classy bars held more "fun opportunities." Hell, when the bartender was wearing an eyepatch and has his mother's name tattooed on his bicep, you knew something good was about to happen.

It was dark; so dark Dean could barely see forty feet in front of him. Castiel scowled at those around him, mumbling a prayer occasionally for those he deemed "hell-bound sinners."

The front bar housed the lushes, their eyes watering as they chugged shots of whiskey and vodka, their mouths moving rapidly as they rattled off their life stories to the completely uninterested bartender. A few scandalously clad women meandered form the front to the back, every so often grabbing onto a man and disappearing into the darkness.

"Joanna," cam Castiel's warning.

"Oh, Cas, grow up, would you," Dean scolded, poking the angel in the chest.

Jo passed Castiel and gave him a friendly pat on the back before following Dean onto the desolate floor that housed only a few chairs and tables and a narrow platform.

"Easy there, Cas. It won't be that bad."

Castiel sighed but obliged, taking Sam's cue to find a seat at the bar.

Dean snatched a spot at a dirty table in the front of a small stage. The lights went down (though honestly, it didn't make that much of a difference) and the few men that were there and coherent whistled appreciatively at whatever or whoever was coming out.

Jo stared at the dusty-looking maroon curtains wondering if her hunch was correct. When music filtered through decades old speaker and a loud bass made it nearly impossible for her to hear herself think, she realized she was right.

"Oh great," she mumbled.

On cue, a spotlight flashed center stage, the dust in the air casting shadows on the ground. A vibrant red stiletto peaked out. The mens' hollering intensified. Seconds later, a long leg attached to the heel seductively slipped passed the fabric.

Jo peered down at Dean and saw him practically transfixed at the appendage. She rolled her eyes.

Boys will be boys.

A hip emerged, clad only in a pair of red panties as a thigh, hugged tightly by a black garter, rubbed itself along the thick curtain. A torso and then the rest of her followed suit.

She was young; maybe late teens, early twenties. Her dark curls were hanging lusciously around her shoulders, blue eyes and coral lips contrasting with her pale skin. Oddly, she struck Jo as a feminine version of Castiel. Her hips twisted proactively with the beat and her waist gyrated along. Jo, deciding she had seen enough, scoffed and turned away. Spotting Sam and Castiel, she walked over to join the them.

"You get your fill?" Castiel asked.

"Plenty, thanks."

Sam looked concernedly at Jo before offering, "Don't worry about him. He's been working on his integrity. Believe it or not, Dean isn't as focused on women as he used to be. Jo, he's changed or, at least, he's trying."

Jo stared him down disbelievingly so Sam continued, "Did you ever wonder why he hasn't tried to sleep with you?"

Laughing, she answered, "Because he knows he'll get his ass kicked ten ways to Sunday?"

Sam chuckled warmly at her response and Castiel nodded approvingly. "Well, besides that."

Jo shook her head, her gaze locked on the younger Winchester, waiting for him to proceed. He did moments later, his eyes warm. "Jo, to Dean sex is just a coping mechanism. For him, it's a way for him to feel like he's still alive; still part of this world. Flings are a way for him to stay distanced form the girl. He knows what this job can hold; one minute, you can be in love with the most amazing girl in the world, and in the next, your kissing your meat suit goodbye.

"He's not one for long-term relationships. Dean is afraid, Jo. He's afraid of what will happen if he falls in love with someone only to have them ripped away from him later on. He's also worried about what will happen if he has to leave them behind."

At his downward glance, Jo whispered, "Like Jessica."

Sam visibly winched at the mentioning of her name, but he swallowed deeply and looked back at the blonde. "Yeah, like Jess."

"I'm so sorry, Sam," Jo quickly apologized.

He offered her a small smile. "It's all right. I'm slowly putting myself together again, but, you get my point."

"So," Jo thought aloud, "Dean hasn't tried to get in my pants because he's afraid of dying again?" It wasn't as if she desperately wanted to be with the elder Winchester, but, over the years, she had begun to feel more and more deeply about him. Though he had a tough exterior, in those moments when he let her in—those moments were her most cherished memories. They were few and far in between, but, they were the rare times she truly was able to get a glimpse of Dean Winchester the man, not Dean Winchester the hunter. That was the Dean she cared for. Though she looked up to his spectacular tracking skills, she loved it more when he would look at her like she was a woman, not some naïve girl following him around for shits and giggles.

"Something along those lines. Jo, Dean doesn't want to admit his feelings because he's scared of losing you. I know he isn't going to go all Oprah on you and recite Shakespeare into the night, but he does worry for you. You're the closest he's ever been to actually letting someone other than myself in."

Jo was at a loss for words. Her mind reeled with the information before she caught herself. Dammit, I can't get all mushy because of this!

She flashed Sam a wide grin, her voice once again holding a joyful tone. "Thanks, Sam."

Briefly hugging him, Jo felt relieved. At least, now she had a chance to tell Dean the truth. She could only hope that he would understand it wasn't just a schoolgirl crush. She wasn't interested in him for his good looks alone. She admired his perseverance and bravery and the way he never backed down from a challenge.

Sam embraced her, his heart a tad lighter at sharing that information. He didn't know what he would have done had one of them died without him getting the chance to tell them.

"Don't look now," Castiel pipped up, "but it looks like your newly reborn gentlemen is going to be snatched away by that fatherless woman."

"What?"

True to Castiel's words, the dancer was standing between Dean's legs, her hands running through his dark hair.

"That bitch!" Jo seethed. With that, she stomped of.

Sam let out a large sigh. Dean...

Jo strode across the floor, each step full of purpose. Within seconds, she was at their side, hands on her hips and a glare that could kill.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, her voice radiating with well-controlled malice.

Dean, startled at her sudden arrival, jumped casing the younger girl to stumble back.

"J-Jo!"

"Yeah, it's me," she replied mockingly.

For once, Dean was speechless. The Harvelle women scared the shit out of him; he knew he was in trouble and that fact alone kept him silent.

Jo briefly turned her attention to the dancer, her lips a grim, flat line.

"Dean may be in trouble, but he's Dean so that's acceptable. You, on the other hand, shouldn't go around tossing your body on other people's men."

"Excuse me?" the girl timidly inquired.

"You heard me."

"Your man?" Dean asked, his voice intrigued. His brows shot up as he stared at Jo.

The blonde scoffed, her body and mind too far gone and set on revenge to realize what she was saying.

"Dean, you're such an asshole."

And with that, Jo grabbed a handful of the hunter's hair, yanked his head back, and crushed her lips against his. It wasn't the most delicate of kisses; more like a lioness attacking her already dying prey.

Dean sat still, his mind foggy as Jo moved her mouth with his.

The euphoria didn't last long—just lingering enough for Dean to think, What the hell?

When she roughly pulled away, she sent a meaningful look at the young dancer before calling over her shoulders, "C'mon, boys!"

Sam and Castiel, both momentarily stunned, snapped back to attention and shuffled after Jo. Dean was still motionless in the chair and Sam, fearing for his brother's life, snatched a nearby salt shaker and chucked it at the back of Dean's head.

"Shit! Sammy, what gives?"

The younger Winchester motioned to the three of them and Dean, quickly understanding, jumped up to follow.

As they walked to the Impala, no one said a word. That was, not until Dean tried to speak up. "Um Jo—"

"Later, Winchester."

Nothing more was said as they all crammed into the Impala.

It wasn't until twenty miles down the road that Dean suddenly shouted, "What the hell just happened?"

The other two men sighed deeply as Jo grinned to herself.

Well, at least he's got the basic idea now.

Yes, Dean Winchester learned his lesson that night: Don't screw with the Harvelle women because they don't get mad, they get pissed and then embarrass the hell out of you.

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