I do think he'd come off as creepy to some women, and it would be kind of neat to see that.

I know this is fantasyland and everything, but, surely there ARE hot women in this universe who DON'T go home with total strangers. Give him her phone number, yes; maybe even fool around, in a semi-public location; but go home with, or allow into her own home? Duuuuuumb.

(Even if he's not a serial killer, he could easily be a scam artist or a thief intending to knock you cold the minute you unlock the door.)

You're right, not all serial killers are drifters. But... where I come from, being a drifter is definitely a non-starter, and being somebody charming and with a not-noticeably-lacking personality, and still being a drifter, is a very, very bad sign. Like, if you're that charming, why aren't you a pharmaceuticals rep or a car salesman? It sets of major alarm bells.

Serial killers were a fact of Seattle life growing up, just like the threat of nuclear attack and the reality of being at Ground Zero for one.

So very true.

As I recall, most famous serial killers (we grow them like weeds up here) have a seemingly-normal outside life.

Yes. Every serial killer I've read about have a normal facade. It's part of what makes them so dangerous. Sure, everyone knows to be kind of wary of the obviously crazy or the drifters. There's a reason for that "But he seemed so normal" cliché.

You're right, not all serial killers are drifters. But... where I come from, being a drifter is definitely a non-starter, and being somebody charming and with a not-noticeably-lacking personality, and still being a drifter, is a very, very bad sign. Like, if you're that charming, why aren't you a pharmaceuticals rep or a car salesman? It sets of major alarm bells.

As I recall, he usually gives a cover story. A stupid one, but a cover story none the less. Even so, and this is probably my subculture showing, a 20-something on a Peter Pan jobless roadtrip wouldn't set of major alarm bells for me. Most of the ones I've known have been charming, and harmless in small doses.

(I mean, it's not that Goths and PNW Sci-Fi Geeks are slow to mature, it's just that, umm... okay, a not-very-small percentage of us are slow to mature.)

this is probably my subculture showing, a 20-something on a Peter Pan jobless roadtrip wouldn't set of major alarm bells for me.

I thnk this would sell considerably less well in, say, Butt End O' Nowhere, Ohio than in a big city. (And, since nobody under the age of 50 goes on a pilgrimage/spirit quest to Boston, it wouldn't sell here, either.)

(Considering, they've hit quite a few cities: Philly, Chicago, LA, SF, New York if you count Bela's Queens apartment, Buffalo, St. Louis, Cleveland, Milwaukee, Minneapolis. I presume Duluth and Sioux Falls and Rapid City would not count as "cities" for this purpose.)

But Dean usually doesn't say that. He says he's a reality TV producer, or a forest ranger, or whatever. Or at least I assume he says that to the women he meets.

Growing up in NJ (and I love NJ, I'm not disparaging it), I met a million Deans in bars. Charming, good-looking, definitely on the prowl, but harmless. The kind of guy who looks like he works a factory job or maybe construction, who's going to be a little obvious about wanting to get you into bed, but isn't going to push it if you say no.

I also met a million women (young, usually) who would have taken him home, or gone back to his motel room or to his car, in a heartbeat.

I don't want to get into a class thing here, but I think it exists underneath this. And it's not really class so much as the kind of subculture that goes along with a certain socio-economic level. Madison, for instance, an educated young women with a good job, clearly didn't go for Dean at all. Whereas the waitress in Bumfuck, Wherever the Hell, at the opening of Dead in the Water, was clearly coming on to Dean. I think there's a certain thrill for a small-town girl in that excitement, that risk.

I don't know that I'm being completely clear about the difference, which may exist only in my head. And while I freely admit I'm a Dean girl at heart, and don't get a creepy vibe from him at all, I probably would have only gone home with him, after only an hour's acquaintance, a very long time ago, when I much younger and more reckless.

Aaaaand there's the TMI portion of this discussion.

It's the blue-collar thing, again, maybe. Dean is so solidly blue-collar, his appeal to professionals like Madison is negligible. Which is why it was such an event when he looked like Bond in a tux.

Sam could blend in in a working class bar, or in an off-campus haven for grad students and undergrads. He's believeable as a young professional. The only time Dean reads right in a suit is as a fed or a cop.

Which isn't to say that JA can't rock a suit. I'm talking about Dean. Who really can't.

I thnk this would sell considerably less well in, say, Butt End O' Nowhere, Ohio than in a big city.

As a resident of Butt End O' Nowhere, Ohio, I think a Dean could do quite well here. He's got a natural charm (to a certain extent, perhaps), but it's a believable, down-to-earth charm. Given a proper cover story, he'd fit in quite well here.

Plus, we don't grow 'em that pretty here. Women wouldn't know what hit 'em.

But Dean usually doesn't say that. He says he's a reality TV producer, or a forest ranger, or whatever.

Given a proper cover story

But... haven't we come to a general agreement that Dean Winchester is the worst liar in the world? His cover stories are complete nonsense! He has an ID template that lists its official capacity as Bikini Inspector!

I don't think the women he meets usually ask for his ID, though. And I don't think he's the worst liar in the world -- I think he's a smartass who likes to have some fun and call himself James Hetfield or Detective Plant, and you have to admit most of the time no one bats an eyelash.

We can agree to disagree, though! It doesn't strike me as at all out of the realm of possibility that a girl at a bar with a few hurricanes already to her name would believe -- even be impressed by -- a story about being a reality TV producer or a forest ranger or what have you.

I will happily give you that anyone who believed Dean was an art dealer needed a reality check.

(Actually I'd be much less disturbed if someone in a bar showed me his bikini inspector ID than if he flashed an ID at me in the middle of, say, a murder investigation, and later I got to scrutinize it and realized what it said. Because there's a standing urban legend in this area, borne out by reality about once a decade, of a creep faking up police ID in order to get into women's homes or pull them over on deserted highways.)

I will happily give you that anyone who believed Dean was an art dealer needed a reality check.

Or an antique doll collector!