Dean closed his eyes and listened to the rain on the tin roof. He had been pushed to his limits, physically, mentally, and he was sure with Jo here, emotionally. She'd looked like hell. Her hair was sprayed with blood, a sign she'd had a dark run in. She hadn't said anything about her travels since she'd been there, just listened to Sam tell her of theirs. She seemed worse off than Dean, minus the life expiration. The thought hit him like a train. He was expiring. Three weeks now and he was gone. And one wrong move until then and Sam was kaput. He had come to hate this job.

Jo came into the shed and Dean was relieved to see her clean and bandaged. Still, part of him wished he would've been the one to do the patching up. He stood up and walked over to her. Without warning or expectation, he reached out and brushed a lock of hair away from her freakishly large bruise on her cheek. There was an awkward silence as Dean lowered his hand. Not one for uncomfortable quiet, Dean went back to his work but made light conversation. "You look a little better than hell now."

Jo grinned sarcastically and nodded. "Gee, thanks. What are you working on?"

Dean handed her the outline of his woodcarving. "I did some woodshop as a kid and it helps me pass the time a lot."

Jo stroked the wood with precise care and affection. It was smooth and sanded well. She was almost sure of what it was, but asked for clarity. "What is it?"

"A dove. Those marks on his wings are on purpose. He's supposed to be broken. Sensing his end."

Jo looked into Dean's eyes and he looked back, not normal of Dean. She saw he didn't have the time for them to dance around this thing between them. It was either now or never for them, and Jo wanted it to be now. So she set the dove on the workbench and started toward the door. She looked back at Dean and cocked her head at him. "Coming?"

"Coming where?"

Jo bit her lip playfully, out of character for her, and kicked up some dust. "You'll see.

Jo opened the bedroom door and led Dean in. He had his eyes closed and swore he wasn't peeking. Finally, at the foot of the bed, Jo gave him the go-ahead to open his eyes. Dean looked around and immediately cracked, "Charming crib. Your grandma's?" Jo laughed and punched him in the arm. Their laughter died off and they caught each other's stare again. Dean was apprehensive , she could tell that much. So was she. But she would rather have one night with Dean than a lifetime with someone else. She wasn't desperate. She was hurting, and Dean was the only one who made that go away, in his own way. Some of it he'd instilled, some was from their pasts colliding. Most was from her alone. Dean saw the weight of guilt in her eyes. He didn't know everything about her, but he wanted to, which surprised him. He was doing things he'd never done with anybody. He didn't have time for a someday-later complex. His time was running short.

Jo reached into the trunk behind him and pulled out an old sepia photo of an old couple. She sat down on the edge of the bed and Dean sat next to her. "Who's that?"

"My grandmother and grandfather. They were hunters. You know why they were exceptionally great?"

Dean shook his head.

"Because they were the only people they could trust and love the way they did."

Jo put the picture down and turned to Dean. "That's what I want to feel with you. I want to trust you. Forget the past. We're not our parents."

Dean scoffed out of anxiety. "Speak for yourself."

Jo turned his face toward her. She made sure their eyes were locked. "You are not your father. And you do not deserve to go to hell. I'm going to do whatever it takes to save Sam from this deal. And you. Save you."

Dean didn't hesitate to lean in for a kiss and Jo accepted it openly. They held each others' lips and held each other. Dean slipped his hand on her neck and caressed it as his mouth massaged hers. Jo held his wrist and his jacket as if gravity would negate itself at any moment - or he would walk away and not look back.

Jo pulled back and winced as Dean caressed a sore spot on her ribs. Dean retracted and immediately and lifted up her shirt before she could stop him.

"Jo, what the hell happened?"

Jo took comfort instead of pain in his feather light fingertip caresses on her wound. "Perks of the job."

Dean rested his forehead against hers. "I wish I could protect you from this. Getting hurt."

Jo kissed his cheek and cuddled him closer. "You can't. But you saved my heart tonight. You made me a little less bitter. A little less angry. A little less cold. And that's enough to change me forever. So shut up and kiss me, short bus."

Dean grinned and didn't wait to fulfill her request.

Dean laid in the bed, looking at his feet, not knowing why he didn't take his boots off, because he wanted to feel Jo's wonderful feet on his. Jo played with his fingers as she laid in the crook of his arm, smelling that scent that sent her whirling. He rubbed his nose in her hair, intoxicated by the smell. They hadn't made love. They didn't need to. It wasn't the time. He promised himself he would make love to her before he died, and make it memorable and meaningful. But not now. It was a fragile journey with Jo. Not a year had passed since Ash had gone in the bar fire, her mother would barely speak to her, and she had been out there fighting this thing alone. Dean had Sam, Ellen had Bobby on speed dial, but Jo spoke to few of them.

Dean caught Jo staring out the window, a glint of tear in her eye. He tilted her head up to face him and she bit her lip to hold back from crying.

"Jo, what's wrong?"

Jo nudged a tear back from the corner of her eye and twiddled her thumbs. "I - don't know what I'm going to do when you're gone. Now that you're mine."

Dean leaned down and kissed her hard, passionate, long. He wanted to kiss away all her worry, but he couldn't even erase his own.

A shot echoed into the warehouse. Jo felt Dean get heavy in her arms. She saw a dark image disappear behind the curtain and felt hot liquid run over her hands. She pulled back lightly and Dean collapsed onto the floor. Jo fell on her knees beside him as he tried to breathe. "Dean, oh my, hang on, what- no hang on!"

Dean reached around his neck and pulled off his necklace with everything in him. He put it in Jo's desperate hands and stroked her cheek one last time. He whispered something, and his eyes drifted shut. Jo gasped for air in shock and sorrow. She looked at the pendant necklace he handed her. Through the tears she barely made out the inscription. "I'm not dead." Jo sobbed uncontrollably over his body. It was the one motto he had dubbed to keep himself going, to remind himself he wasn't a monster, even if his body became one. Hell couldn't steal Dean's soul, spirit, heart, no matter how much time they had. And now, it was there to remind her of him. She could still feel him. He was inside her, living. He wasn't dead.