This was the worst thing that could have happened and Dean knew it. It wasn't the fact that they both had been knocked unconscious, not at all; it was the mere fact that they had been hunting a spirit of a serial killer, one that had a fetish for young blondes. And the young blonde they had used as bate? Jo. Of course it was Jo. She was the only woman that had been on the road with Dean Winchester for so long. And the worst part? Dean had actually told her the previous night that he loved her. Not such a bad thing, right? Wrong. Dean wasn't one of those sucky romantics, like some people thought he was. No, he was more of a "keep everything bottled up" guy. And Jo knew it. She honestly had been surprised when he told her this; she wasn't expecting him to say it at all, even if she could tell that he felt it. Jo wasn't a romantic or hardheaded, either. She was more of a mix between and she could muster up the courage every once in a while to whisper it to Dean. It wasn't hard, but it took the right moment for her to say it. It wasn't something she said every day or to his face, but it was something for them to build on, and at that moment their whole world was only hanging on by a thread.
Sitting with his head resting in his palms and near-prayer on his mind, Dean watched the life support machines work. It was the single scariest thing for him to see. He had fought demons and angels, vampires and werewolves, even his own brother, but nothing had scared him like this, or at least in a long time. The worst part of it all was that Jo hadn't changed all night or all day. Or so said the doctors. He knew that the paranormal could do pretty messed up things to a person, he had firsthand experience, but he wasn't mentally prepared to lose the only person he had in this world that could keep him from raising his colt to his temple. Dean wasn't ready to lose Joanna Beth Harvelle.
He raised his head from his hands and leaned back in the seat, his finger tapping along the metal of his I.V., eyes transfixed on the blonde mess of curls scattered across the disposable hospital pillow. This place was a place of death, not life, and the Jo Dean knew was full of life and laughter and joy… The thought of her being held up in this
He had come to a conclusion, one he hadn't had to make in over two years. Dean pulled out the needle that pumped the clear liquid into his flesh and stood. Walking to Jo's bedside, reassuring himself there was nothing to lose in this deal; he presses his pale lips to her forehead and sighs.
"You'll be just fine, Jo. I promise."