Jo pushed the door open and crept silently into the room, crouched low. Fortunately, Dean had taken the twin bed closer to the door, and was laying on his side, facing away from Sam. She quietly crawled up beside the bed, reaching to cover Dean's mouth with her hand before waking him, when his eyes suddenly flew open, his hand closed around her wrist, and his other arm snaked from beneath his pillow with a chrome revolver at her head.
Jo half expected it, clamped her free hand over her own mouth, but not before the tiniest squeak escaped from her lips.
"Dean?" Sam's voice, instantly alert, called from the other bed.
"S'okay, Sammy, go back to sleep." Dean assured, and Jo ducked low to make sure Sam couldn't see her.
Sam shifted on the bed, trying to find some position where he wasn't hanging off in all directions.
Dean released Jo's arm and put his gun back under the pillow.
Jo gestured toward the salvage yard with her head and held up ten fingers.
Dean nodded slightly, the stubble on his cheek rustling against the crisp sheets.
Jo waited until Sam stilled and his breathing evened before she crept back out of the room.
Dean rolled over, watching the minutes tick by on the alarm clock between the beds before he quietly stood, pulled on his jeans, and made his way downstairs.
Sam lay still, eyes closed, and pretended he had not just heard two sets of footsteps leave the room.
Bobby remained still in his own bed, pretending he didn't hear the front door open and close twice.
Ellen watched out the bedroom window as her daughter, and then minutes later, Dean, rounded the corner of the house. She poured herself another shot and sat on the side of the bed.
Jo waited in the back seat of the Impala, door left ajar in invitation. Dean slid onto the worn seat beside her, pulling the door closed with as little sound as possible.
Jo turned to face him, smiling up at him sadly, one hand coming up to cup his rough cheek, and the other resting lightly just above his knee.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked, laying one of his own hands over the one she rested on his face.
"If it's our last night on earth, you bet your ass." She smirked.
His hand moved down and back to cradle the back of her neck, pulling her lips toward his. His other hand closed over her thigh, tugging her into his lap as he settled back into the seat.
There were no words; no hollow promises of a future they couldn't guarantee, no sappy endearments that would have been an insult to their hardened hearts, no extraneous chatter that would have sounded like the soundtrack of a bad porno. There was only the union of two souls who can be who they really are with one another, without artifice or shame.
When Dean returned to his bed three hours later and twenty minutes after Jo had come in the house, Sam sighed.
"Just don't, Sammy." Dean pleaded in a voice that was exhausted on more than a physical level.
Sam let the matter rest, intending to give Dean the brotherly lecture later, after this was all behind them.
The next morning, the other three in the house pretended not to notice how Dean and Jo caught one another's eye then looked away, how his hand rested just a bit too long on the small of her back as he passed behind her, how her voice was laced with regret when she said "Cas and I will ride with Mom."
Fifteen hours later, Dean placed the detonator in Jo's hand.
"Okay, this is it. I'll see you on the other side. Probably sooner than later." He looked at her, taking a moment to memorize the face he would never see again.
There were things he could have said, but that wasn't who he was, and wasn't who Jo was. His eyes told her the only thing that mattered.
I would take your place if I could.
"Make it later." She answered, handing him her shotgun in a symbolic gesture that had them both biting their lips.
Her eyes spoke back to him, the only words that mattered from her.
I'd do it all over again.
He leaned in, kissing her forehead, and then her lips. He leans their heads together for a moment, then moves away, not looking at her, afraid that if he does, he wouldn't leave.
He owes her this. It's the last gift he could give her. The chance to die in battle, a fallen soldier on the hunt. He's going to be strong and walk away, letting her face her final moments on her own terms.
She would have done the same for him.
Sam never mentions Jo's name again, unless Dean brings it up. He knows that some things were just meant to be left alone.