She awoke to a knock on the door, glancing dubiously around the room until she remembered her location. The credits on the black-and-white movie she had been watching rolled up the screen, cast a grayish glow on her nearly empty living room.
The knock sounded again, and she sat up, ignoring the resulting head rush and the way her bare feet nearly froze on the scuffed hardwood flooring, pulling her long blonde waves over one shoulder.
Cold air hit her bare legs and arms the moment she opened the door, and she wondered briefly why she hadn't grabbed some form of weapon as she usually did, but every question in her mind disappeared when she saw him standing there under the flickering porch light.
"Dean?"
His golden-green eyes shimmered in the dim light, his expression rigid, jaw tensed.
"I've got one month left, Jo."
She blinked at him. "What?"
"One month," he said quietly, ashamedly.
Realization struck like lightning. "You made a deal, Dean? Are you a complete moron or do you just look like one? I can't be—"
The intensity of his gaze clouded her mind just enough for her to forget what she was saying. Dean was dying. Dean was dying, and he had come to see her one last time.
At least she mattered enough for that.
"I love you, Jo," he said, his voice rough and thick, his words making her heart pound against her head like a steady drum. "I love you, and I should have said that the first second I realized it. I'm sorry I pushed you away, I'm sorry I ignored this for so long. Just… know that, okay? I just want you to know that."
She stepped forward, eyes locked with his, welcome mat prickly beneath her feet. And suddenly, his eyes changed. That beautiful gold-green was overtaken by black that devoured even the whites of his eyes, and the air grew thick with static. His mouth curled into a smug smirk. It was all wrong, all wrong.
And she awoke with a start to a knock on the front door.