I don't own Farscape or Supernatural.
A/N: For trystan930 who wanted "Dean/Aeryn (they can talk about their toys. Just don't tell Crichton)"
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Dean woke up to find her studying his gun. "Whoa! Sweetheart, put that thing down before you accidentally hurt someone."
The look she gave him was one of pure scorn. It wasn't a bad look on her (then again, in the twelve hours since he'd almost run her down when she appeared out of thin air in the middle of the road, he hadn't seen a bad look on her). "I been trained since birth to handle weapons far more sophisticated than this," she said, but she handed the gun back to him. "Far more sophisticated." She reached over and picked her own gun--some kind of laser that he'd thought was a toy until she used it to cut down the nahuale that had been chasing him. "My people stopped using projectile weapons centuries ago."
"Good for them." She'd mentioned 'her people' a couple of times but wasn't forthcoming with details. She'd also mentioned 'her ship', and Dean wasn't going to think too hard about that one since they were in the middle of the motherfucking New Mexico desert. "Though I have to admit, with mine, whatever you shoot's going to have to dig the bullet out, and that's even more pain."
She got his point--he could tell by the slight arch of her eyebrows, the small pursing of her lips. She tapped the laser against her leg a few times. That too wasn't a bad look on her...not a bad look at all.