When she'd pictured finally being in Dean Winchester's arms, this wasn't exactly how she thought it would play out.
Jo can still hear her own name ringing in her ears, as strong arms lift her like she's nothing more than air. Truth is, add stubborn pride into the mix and you've got Jo Harvelle in three words.
"Dangerous mission tomorrow… Guess it's time to eat, drink, and – you know – make merry."
Jo clings to Dean as he runs. The hell-hounds are right on their tail, if the growls are anything to go by, but somehow she drowns them out. Dean's breathing like the air is going, and the smell of sweat and gunpowder burns her nostrils. For a second, that's all there is – Dean's smell, Dean's breath and Dean's arms – and she thinks, this might work. She thinks, being carried like this ain't so bad. Jo thinks, I could let Dean hold me up. I could hold him up too.
"If I ran off with you, I think your mother might kill me."
There's something warm spreading across her belly. She doesn't want to think about it. There's a store up ahead. Jo leans her head on Dean's shoulder. She can't lift anymore. Can't? Won't? Doesn't want to?
"Am I gonna see you again?"
"Do you want to?"
"I wouldn't hate it…"
She'd spent last night with her self-respect. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she's starting to wonder.
Dean kicks the market door open, arms tightening around her.
What would it be like? The two of them, together on the road? She's been itching to get behind the wheel of that Impala ever since she sat in her the first time, and for a second, Jo let's herself picture it. Sam's in the back-seat, sleeping off their latest hunt, and Dean's tired, so he hands her the keys and she revs the engine, listening to Dean's baby purr.
She's being set on the ground, so gently she almost doesn't realize it. But then she's on the floor looking up into the greenest eyes –
-smiling at her from the passenger seat as she shifts the Impala into drive. She looks out the windshield at a pink-tinged sunset sky-
-and then she looks down.