Twenty bottles of beer on the wall

Summary: Dean philosophizes on his intelligence, women, and alcohol. Based off of the purple nurple scene in "Tall Tales." Mostly angst.

Nurpled

So that's what Sam thinks of him. A drunken idiot who'll chase after any ditzy bimbo in a skimpy skirt.

Dean likes to think of himself as kind of smart, though he knows that Sam is smarter (which is a given, since the kid's a friggin' genius), but he's not a complete retard. Dean never graduated high school, but he's got a GED. Well, it's not in his legal name (the paper says Bruce B. Wayne, actually), but Dean took the test, and he's the one who received the envelope containing the congratulatory letter and the certificate from Bobby, whose mailing address he'd used.

Not-Starla was a classy chick, and she was smart. She sure didn't think he was dumb, did she?

After all, she hadn't blown him off when he'd sat down next to her and started talking to her about the strange happenings in the college town. They'd gotten to discussing contemporary cultural myths and legends, which happened to be what her master's thesis was on, and he'd offered up examples from some of his own experiences…um, stories he'd heard while on the road.

Anyway, in his experience, straight women who have both good looks and brains like to converse with equally attractive and brilliant men. It's a proven fact, with plenty of "scientific" data (gathered with care in the back of his Impala and other romantic getaways) to back it up. It's not an accident that most of his conquests in high school were fellow students in his science classes.

Dean can be smart when he wants to show it.

The women Dean likes fall into three categories: fun to talk to, fun to, you know, be with, or both. Because Dean loves fun, he really does.

That's where the alcohol comes in. Alcohol makes a pleasant buzz in his head, turns him on when he's in the mood, and numbs the pain when the stress of the hunting gig (and what Dad told him) gets too bad. Sex is good for forgetting shit too. And as a combination—whoo! that feels awesome.

So can you really blame him if he gives in to his base instincts and drinks, beds, and makes merry in general? Does that really make him a dumb lush?

Eh, maybe it does. Dean kind of does work hard to hide his smarts from Sam. Because alright, so he had been pulling Sam's leg when he said that chick in the bar was oh-so-mesmerized by his stunningly good looks, but dude, it's not like Dean's gonna tell Sam about how much he geeked out with the girl. No, because he does have some sense of self-preservation from little brother's teasing. Besides, "book stuff" is Sam-land, and "cool stuff" is Dean's territory.

Sam's supposed to be the big geek playing walking encyclopedia and straight man to Dean's sarcastic straight-shooter suaveness. Sam smart puppy-eyes, Dean dumb womanizer, people talk lots. That's how it goes.

Those purple nurples were really good though. They're actually just grape jelly shots, made with plenty of alcohol. Dean loves grape, especially that grape-flavored lip gloss a lot of girls like to wear. He likes the way the tingle of the alcohol slips smoothly down his throat, and all the way down to his—well, wouldn't you like to know?

And what's that Sasquatch brother of his talking about? He totally blahs. All the damn time. When he's in the car, when he's in the shower, in his sleep, all the time, right in his ear. Blah blah-BLAH blah-BLAH. Blah.

Seriously.

Dean needs a drink.