Jo sets a beer down in front of him. Dean is grateful; he doesn't think he'd have the energy to go get one himself. Jo settles on the barstool to his right and takes a swig from her own bottle. They sit in silence for a while. Dean doesn't have the energy to speak, and Jo is perfectly content to give him some peace.
After a while, the silence becomes pressing. There are a thousand things Dean needs to say, all of them unsayable. He starts with the simplest one.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"For what? Lying to my mom, abandoning Bobby, or trying to shoot me?" Jo asks hollowly.
"All of the above," says Dean.
He wipes his hands over his face, trying to clear away the muddle of his thoughts. The stress, exhaustion, and alcohol aren't making for a good combination. He feels like crumbling to the floor right now.
"Last time I'm ever goin' hunting with you," says Jo.
"Can't say I'm surprised," replies Dean.
"Wish I could say the same," she says.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"The way you acted," she says, "I've never seen you like that. It was…scary."
Dean winces. Jo is the last person he ever wants to scare.
"I really thought you were gonna pull the trigger, y'know," she said, "What the hell were you thinking, Dean?"
"It was a mistake," he says, "Sam told me –"
"Don't blame this on Sam! He's not the one who put the barrel of a gun in my face!" exclaims Jo.
"Would ya let me explain?!" demands Dean.
Jo is seething with anger, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. But she nods and lets Dean continue.
"Sam made a mistake, and we got confused. I thought…I thought it had possessed you," he says.
"Oh," she says quietly.
"Yeah. And I've – I've never dealt with anything like that. I still have no idea what the hell that thing was. If it was in you and we had no way to get it out…" he trails off.
The unspoken possibility hangs in the air between them. Dean is wracked with guilt, and the doe-eyes that Jo's giving him aren't helping anything.
"It's okay, Dean," she says softly.
"No, it's not. Don't, just don't look at me like that," he pleads, "I coulda killed you."
He's blinking a lot to keep himself from tearing up. He won't – he can't – cry in front of Jo. He doesn't have the right, not when he was the one who almost pulled the trigger.
"You didn't. I'm fine," she says.
Dean gives her a look.
"Well, I'm not exactly fine. None of us are. But I'm alive; that's what counts," she says.
Jo reaches for Dean's hand, resting on the counter. She squeezes gently and smiles.
"Stop beatin' yourself up, Dean," she says.
Dean chuckles bitterly. He says, "Been beating myself up for twenty-eight goddamn years. I ain't about to stop anytime soon."
She shifts over in her seat so that she's closer to him. Dean looks up at her, and he notices that she's a lot closer than she usually is. Her eyes are wide. She's got a small smile on her lips, her lips that are getting very close to his own.
Their hands still together on the counter, they kiss. Jo smells like smoke and sweat and mud, and Dean is pretty sure he smells more or less the same. He likes the smell, though. He tries to keep the kiss more or less PG, but Jo's got other things in mind. She kisses him as though she hasn't been kissed in years. She pulls Dean closer and closer and wraps a hand around the back of his neck.
Dean pries her away for a second. He says, "Jo, I don't…if this is just a case of 'thank god we're alive'-"
"Dean," she says, "Shut up."
And shut up he does. He's nothing if not a gentleman. Jo kisses him again, all hungry and needy like before. Dean realizes that it's been a good long while since he got any action after a life-threatening situation. He can feel exhaustion giving way to adrenaline, guilt giving way to hormones.
Jo shifts over onto Dean's barstool so that she's straddling his lap. Her hands are on his jaw, his around her back. Dean knows that he's absolutely fucked if Ellen walks in, but he's pretty sure she's already gone to bed. Besides, there's no dissuading Jo at this point.
He hears footsteps on the stairs. Jo pulls away, looking like a spooked rabbit. Dean, too, is about ready to piss himself from terror. If it's Ellen or Bobby, oh boy are they going to be in for it. Then he reminds himself, though, he's a grown-up and he's perfectly within his rights to kiss a consenting of-age girl. Yeah, he expects that argument to go over real well when the girl is Ellen's daughter.
He turns around. All of the panic melts away when Dean sees that it's only Sam, albeit a Sam with a thoroughly annoyed expression on his face.
"Come on, guys," he whines, "Get a room. I come down to get a beer and I see my brother practically with his pants around his ankles?"
Sam gives a loud sigh and goes back up the stairs. Dean's got his trademark cocky grin on. There's nothing quite like scarring his brother to make the day a little bit better.
Jo giggles. Dean turns around, pleasantly surprised. He can't remember if he's ever heard her laugh like that. She's got a giddy grin on, and she's giggling like the young girl she's supposed to be.
"What's so funny?" Dean asks.
"If that'd been my mom, we'd already be digging your grave," she says, giggling again.
Dean grins. He says, "Yeah, I suppose so. Good thing it wasn't."
"I'll say. But in the interest of keepin' you alive, what do you say about maybe taken this somewhere else?" says Jo.
"Read my mind," he says.
Jo climbs off of his lap and straightens her clothes. Dean stands up and winds an arm around Jo's waist. There's a slight swagger to his walk as they head toward the back, though it's mixed with a slight limp from today's hunt. Dean'll be able to compensate for the injuries, though. Hopefully, he'll be able to compensate for Jo's, too.