They reach Bobby's place some time after sunrise. Jo'd fallen into an exhausted slumber shortly after crossing into Iowa, but her dreams had been, blessedly, Lucifer free. She'd woken up just as they'd reached South Dakota and she's been staring blankly out the window ever since. Her tears had long since dried up. Now, she just feels numb, only the pain of her wounds reminding her that she's still alive.
Her mom parks the car beside the Impala. Jo gets out before the engine's even stopped working, moving towards the porch on auto pilot. She turns to look behind her when she gets there and sees her mom talking to Sam and Cas. Their voices carry, but she can't make out what they're saying. Then, Cas vanishes. Just like he'd done in Carthage. Jo can't help but wonder how things would have turned out, if he hadn't left them. Guess she'll never know.
She turns around again and opens the front door. Goes in. Finds Bobby in his study. He looks up when he sees her and beckons her closer, and she goes to him.
Jo can smell the whiskey from all the way in the hall. When Bobby offers her a glass, she reaches for the whole bottle. Takes a big swig, then puts it back down on the desk and goes around to hug the old hunter. He squeezes her back tightly.
"So glad you're alive, kiddo," he says, his gaze catching on her bloodstained bandage.
"You talk to mom?" she asks him, taking another mouthful of liquor. She pulls a chair over and sits down. "Or did you call Sam?"
"Ellen called me, not long after," is his answer. "I knew he was hurt, but thought you guys'd manage to pull his ass out of the fire."
"If we'd moved him, he wouldn't have made it," Jo wipes a hand up and down her face. Tears start to prickle her eyes again. "He was right about that. I see it now. Still wanted to kick his ass when mom told me he'd decided to…" her breath catches.
"Yeah," Bobby puts a hand on her good arm. "I know the feeling. That idjit was as stubborn as a mule when he set his mind to something."
Jo nods at that and reaches for the glass this time. She fills Bobby's up, too. They clink and drink. As she sets her empty tumbler back on the desk, she catches a glimpse of her bloodied clothes.
"I think I'll go have a shower," she says, standing up and patting Bobby on the shoulder.
"Sure thing. I'll tell Ellen to give you some space, if you want."
"It's okay," Jo smiles at his understanding. "Just tell her I'm getting cleaned up."
Jo climbs the stairs, clenching her teeth as she forces her body to obey. Every muscle feels stiff all of a sudden. Her injury burns. Memory flashing back to her conversation with Lucifer, she remembers his words. The hellhounds wound the very soul. And it fucking hurts.
By the time she gets under the spray of the shower, Jo's not sure what it is that's causing her more anguish, the physical pain or Dean's death. Or if what she's feeling is a combination of both.
She lets the water wash away the grime and blood. The cuts on her arm sting like a bitch, but she rubs them with soap nonetheless. Last thing she needs is an infection. Jo quickly dries off when she's done, not wanting to keep the others waiting. She isn't the only one who needs a scrub.
Deciding to let her wounds breathe for a bit—the bleeding seems to have stopped some time ago and they'd scabbed over slightly—she only puts on a tank top. Pulls on sweats for extra comfort. Then leaves the bathroom for where the booze is. Today, Jo intends to drink her sorrows away. To drink until she forgets, just for one day. Tomorrow, she'll cope.
When she gets back downstairs, she only finds Bobby and her mom. They fall silent when they spot her and Jo can't help but think they'd been talking about her. She looks around.
"Where's Sam?" she asks. "And where'd Cas go?"
"Sam went upstairs to clean up," Bobby says. He exchanges a look with her mom. "Cas went to Heaven, to see if Dean's… soul made it there."
Jo nearly stops breathing. Lucifer's words replay in her mind again and she swallows thickly. She doesn't say anything, just nods. No need to burst the bubble until they know for sure. And she's desperate to hold onto this tiny sliver of hope, because she can't bear the thought of Dean suffering in Hell again.
Fighting the urge to just crash on the couch and curl up, Jo heads to the kitchen. She gets a beer from the fridge and tries not to think of how Dean hit on her in this very spot, a little over twenty-four hours ago. Despite her best efforts, she remembers the look on his face. A mix of attraction, desperation and nervousness. She finds herself wondering why he'd seemed anxious in the first place. She knows Dean is… was a smooth talker. Especially when it came to getting into women's pants. He'd had quite the reputation as a womanizer, even in hunting circles. So what makes her so different, that hitting on her put that expression on his face.
Shaking her head, Jo dispels those thoughts. She can't ask him now, anyway. It's too late for that. Opening her beer, she takes a long gulp and goes back to the living room.
Sam's back, sitting on the couch and staring into a glass of whiskey. When he notices her, he drains his drink and beckons her closer. Jo sees he has a first aid kit ready by his side.
"Did mom put you up to this?" Jo sits down with a sigh, but smiles at him.
"She wanted to do it herself," Sam says on the tail-end of a chuckle. "I suggested she go wash up first. You want her to do it?" He looks a bit uncertain.
"No, it's fine." She takes another mouthful of her beer. "I actually prefer you patched me up. Mom may be a mother-hen when she's worried, but she's not cut out to be a nurse."
That earns her a snicker. Sam then twists around to face her side and inspects the claw marks.
"You know," he says as he's applying antiseptic cream, "Dean said pretty much the same thing about you after you saved his hide in Duluth."
"I wasn't that bad," Jo retorts. She's surprized that Dean'd mentioned her at all.
"That's what I told him," Sam laughs, presumably at the memory of his brother's antics. "Told him to stop being such a baby. He didn't talk to me for a whole day."
They both laugh so hard that, by the time they can catch their breath again, they have tears in their eyes. But, for once, they aren't just sad tears. It's nice to remember the good times too. Jo squeezes Sam's hand and he seems to understand.
After they've composed themselves, Sam sticks a big Ace bandage over her wounds. Jo knew they wouldn't be needing stitches when she'd scrubbed them in the shower.
"Thanks, Sam," she says. "I know this is hard for you. I'm here if you need someone to talk to."
Her mother chooses that moment to rejoin them, so Sam merely nods and smiles at her. He picks up his empty glass and the first aid kit, and heads towards the kitchen. Jo settles into the couch and relaxes for the first time since the whole ordeal started. She's still in pain, though. So she decides to give her body a time out.
"I'm gonna go into town," her mom says, throwing a look at the room at large. "To get something to cook for dinner. Any preferences?"
They all shake their heads. Jo doesn't feel particularly hungry and she doesn't know if she can keep anything down. Especially in her current state of mind. But she knows it's her mom's way to cope and to make others feel better, so she keeps quiet.
"Whatever you'd like, Elle," Bobby says from where he's sitting by the fireplace.
Her mother nods, determined, and heads out the door. Jo hears the truck start outside and closes her eyes. It's quiet now. Before she knows it, she drifts off.
Jo wakes up with a jolt, some time later, to the smell of her mother's lasagna. She blinks the memory of Dean's pain-filled face from her mind's eye and stands up. Her stomach gives a loud growl, despite her lack of appetite. Looking around, she's glad no one is around to have heard it.
Entering the kitchen, Jo spots her mom and Sam laying the table. Bobby sits in a corner, opening beer bottles. She swallows the pang of hurt that rises in her throat at Dean's absence. Forcing her feet to move, she takes one step at a time and joins her makeshift family.
They eat, trading stories about Dean. They try to keep the crying to a minimum as they focus on the funnier parts of the late Winchester's life. Jo tells Bobby how she and Dean first met, and the older hunter laughs for almost five minutes straight.
Then, the drinking starts. Jo clings to her own whiskey bottle like it's her lifeline. And it is, to a degree. Because she wouldn't be able to do this sober.
Bobby and Sam, having spent more time in Dean's presence, keep recounting their most hilarious adventures with the other hunter. The more she finds out about Dean, the more her heart breaks, wishing she'd known him better. Hearing all these stories, all the hidden bits of Dean she'd never gotten to see—and never would—makes the sting of regret feel even worse. But Jo grins and bears it. She doesn't let the others notice how much this is affecting her.
Bobby's in the middle of a retelling of one of his hunts with Dean that went sideways, in a funny sort of way, when Cas reappears. Jo chokes on her drink and her mom jumps nearly a foot in the air. All eyes turn to the angel at once, but Jo can tell that no one wants to pop the question. After a few seconds of silence, she decides to bite the bullet.
"Did you… did you find him?" Jo's voice comes out very soft, barely a whisper.
But Cas hears her, it seems, because he shakes his head. Jo feels like someone's punched her. Tears sting her eyes again, but she fights them.
"He's not in Heaven," Cas says, regret thick in his voice. He hangs his head. "I looked everywhere, and there's no sign of him."
Jo rises abruptly from her seat and grabs her bottle of whiskey. Without looking back, she heads out to the porch. She needs to be alone right now, can't stomach to see the despair she's sure lines the others' faces. To her relief, no one tries to stop her.
Cas does follow her outside after a while, though. At first, he just stares into the distance, seemingly lost in thought. Then he turns his eyes on her, the sorrowful look in them driving home the reality of it all. Dean's gone. And he's not coming back. Jo looks away.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you," Jo's head snaps up at his words. "Maybe things would have been different, had I been there."
"Yeah, maybe…"
She balls her fists in an attempt to distract herself from where this discussion is going. And notices the bottle she's holding by the neck. For a moment, she'd forgotten all about it. She takes a very long swig. It burns all the way down her throat and to her stomach, but Jo welcomes the sensation. Anything that can make her feel something other than pain.
Cas studies her some more. His piercing gaze seems to want to scrutinize her very soul. He's probably doing just that. Jo fidgets.
"I can heal those for you," he points to her bandaged arm. "Without the full power of Heaven at my disposal, it won't be complete, though. You will have some scars."
He waits for her permission and Jo thinks about it for a bit. It would be nice to have full range of motion again. And she has plenty of other scars, will probably collect more in the future. So what's another set compared to everything else?
Jo nods and sets her bottle on the ground, turning to give the angel access to her arm. Cas gently peels the bandage off her skin and presses his right palm to her cuts.
A warm light emanates from the point of contact and a tingling heat radiates through Jo's arm. Her fingers twitch. When feeling returns to them, the realization hits her that they'd been numb. Thinking back on it, she figures it must have been like that at least since Lucifer smacked her into that tree. Must have pulled something.
Frowning in concentration, Cas holds his hand there a couple more seconds. When he removes his touch, the angel slumps slightly and Jo motions for him to sit in the chair next to her. He does so. Jo twists her arm to have a look, and sees that the gashes now resemble year-old scars. Angry red, but smooth to the touch.
"I don't have enough power to heal the damage done to your soul," Cas says after a while. "It will do so on its own, yet it takes time."
"It's okay," Jo says. "Thank you, Cas. It feels much better now."
It's not a complete lie. There's still a deep ache there, one she feels all the way to her bones. Tendrils of it extend through her shoulder and chest, reaching to her very core. But, for now, the pain has lost some of its intensity.
"I'll keep trying," Cas speaks up after a few minutes, pulling Jo from her thoughts. "If there is a way, I will get him back. I did it once, so I might be able to do it again, even if it takes a while. Dean taught me to never give up."
"Guess he had a way of inspiring others," Jo says.
She smiles wistfully at the bittersweet memory of her first real hunt. One where her mom didn't have to come save her ass. And she'd had to do that a few times, because Jo'd always wanted to be like her father. A kick-ass hunter. She'd never wanted a normal life, always struggling under her mother's overprotective streak. For some time, she'd almost given up. Until she'd met Dean.
Her father had inspired her in the first place, to want it. Dean had shown her that she could do it, even if he'd tried to convince her otherwise. After that hunt in Philadelphia, she'd done it just to spite him. Then, when she'd heard of his death, the first time, it was to honor him. He'd been a driving factor in her choices these past few years, in a few different ways. She can acknowledge that now.
When Cas stands up, Jo's attention is drawn to him again. His stance seems tense and his gaze is distant once more. He's staring at the horizon. Jo turns her head in the same direction and notices that it's nearing sundown.
"I'll let you know when I find something," he says.
Then there's a sound like the flutter of wings and Jo is, once again, left alone. She doesn't mind it, though. She welcomes the solitude so she can begin to sort out her thoughts and feelings. And she has an almost full bottle of whiskey calling her name. So she drinks. And thinks.
Sam sits on Bobby's battered couch and drinks his whiskey, and thinks. Of his brother, who's gone. Not even a body left to bury—or burn. His brother who is, more than likely, being tortured in Hell. Again. Before his thoughts go to even darker places, he shuts them down. He can't think of Dean now, or he'll lose his mind. Can't bear the pain.
Shaking his head slightly, Sam takes another mouthful of liquor and turns his attention to Bobby and Ellen. The two older hunters are sitting by the fireplace. Bobby's in his wheelchair while Ellen is occupying one of the armchairs that are always in that spot. He's not particularly interested in their conversation, until he realizes who they're talking about. It's Dean and Jo. That gets him to listen in.
"...a few years ago," Ellen's saying. "After we left here, she was pissed at me for weeks. Even after we talked it out and started hunting together again."
"I still think you shouda told her," Bobby replies. He takes a swig out of his flask and sighs. "The way she cried the night she got here… it was obvious that there was more to it than just a crush. At least on her end."
"I know. I've known that for a long time, Bobby." Ellen runs a hand down her face. "There was something there from the very beginning, when they first met."
"So why didn't you tell her?" Bobby frowns, seeming downright perplexed.
Sam's known for a while that his brother had had a soft spot for Jo. They'd even talked about it, when they were both really drunk, a couple of years ago. So it comes as a surprize that Jo had been way more into Dean than he'd thought. He holds his breath and doesn't move, not wanting to miss Ellen's answer.
"Because it was a complicated situation," she says. Sighing, she rakes a hand through her hair. "It would have only broken Jo's heart even more to know what was about to come. To see it happen…" she pauses, taking a sip of her drink. "I know my daughter, Bobby. I didn't want her running off to look for Dean or get involved in that mess. You know that she'd have wanted to do everything in her power to save him."
"Yeah. That kid of yours can be quite stubborn. Just like you."
That earns Bobby a swat over the brim of his cap. Sam has to suppress a snort at the annoyed look Ellen throws the old hunter's way.
"I'm being serious."
"I know, Elle."
The atmosphere grows thick again. Everyone's silent for a few moments. Sam takes the opportunity to refill his glass.
"I guess I just wanted to protect her," Ellen says. Her voice sounds like she's struggling to hold back tears. "Both physically and emotionally, because seeing that…"
There's another beat of silence, the two staring into their respective drinks.
"And then, she ended up seeing it anyway," Ellen continues. "I hate that she had to witness that. And I wish I could erase the pain she's feeling, but all I can do now is be there for her."
"That's all any of us can do now," Bobby says. "Both for her and Sam."
The two turn to look at him then, but Sam quickly looks away and pretends to be deep in thought. He acts distracted, as he gently swirls the whiskey around in his glass. When they begin talking again, Sam looks up. He notices that Bobby has wheeled closer to Ellen's chair. His voice still carries across the room, nonetheless.
Sam doesn't catch what he says next, though. His attention is diverted to the doorway, where he sees Jo turn to go up the stairs. He wonders how long she'd been watching them, or listening. Hoping Jo'll be alright, he leans his elbows on his knees and goes back to eavesdropping on the older pair's conversation.
"I wonder if Dean knew," Bobby says. He'd taken his cap off and is now scratching his head. "If he returned Jo's feelings."
"I have no idea." Ellen scrunches her eyebrows in thought. "But I remember being impressed that he didn't make a pass at her the first chance he had. Especially considering his reputation." She empties her glass and pulls a face. "Although, come to think of it, his dad'd just died. So it's not all that surprizing."
"He was also kinda terrified of you," Sam says. He gets up and moves closer, settling into the other chair. "Thought you wouldn't hesitate to shoot him if you disapproved."
"Damn right, I wouldn't." Ellen grins as she says it.
"I was kinda puzzled too, when he didn't make a move," Sam says. He smiles sadly at the memory. "So I asked him one night, over a couple of drinks. He was pretty sloshed, so he actually talked about it. Said he didn't want to drag Jo into the crap that followed us around. Even on that hunt in Philadelphia, he didn't really want her there."
"When was this?" Ellen asks, looking confused.
"Before he made that deal. A while after that incident in Duluth, when a demon possessed me and used Jo to try to get Dean to kill me." Sam runs a hand over his face and then drains his glass. "Dean never wanted her to get into this life. That's why he never sought her out, especially after the deal."
"He was trying to protect her…" Ellen says, tears gathering in her eyes again.
"Yeah. He wanted her to have a different life… a different choice than he'd had."
Before either of them can say anything else, the muffled sound of something crashing upstairs reaches them. They all look up for a second. Sam jumps to his feet, but Ellen puts a hand on his forearm.
"I saw Jo go upstairs," he says.
"I'll go check on her," Ellen murmurs, giving him a gentle squeeze. "It's okay."
She rises and puts her glass down on the mantelpiece, then turns towards the hall. Sam retakes his seat. As Bobby leans over to grab the bottle of whiskey, Sam looks down into his empty tumbler.
"Makes you wonder how things would've turned out," Bobby says, handing him the bottle, "if those two idjits hadn't been so pigheaded."
Sam snorts as he takes the offered drink and fills his glass again. There's not much left in this particular bottle.
"I think Dean was scared," Sam muses after a while. "He didn't often let people get close. And over the past few years, he was terrified of losing anyone else."
"Ellen said that she saw them kiss before you guys hightailed it outta there."
"Yeah, didn't see that coming," Sam says. He rubs his chin. "But Dean did seem interested the night before. By the look on his face after they talked in the kitchen, though, I think she shot him down."
Sam takes a few gulps of liquor, then stretches for the bottle and empties the remainder of its contents into his glass. His eyes are drawn to something on Bobby's lap. Upon closer inspection, he realizes it's the picture they'd taken a couple of nights ago. Bobby notices and follows his gaze down to the photo.
"I took a few more… candid ones, while you knuckleheads were getting drunk under the table by a freakin' angel."
Bobby holds them out to him and Sam sees that there's a whole stack of them. He takes the pictures and starts looking through them.
"Like I said," Bobby mutters into his flask, "I'll need somethin' to remember ya idjits by."
Sam swallows and nods, still rifling through the truly impressive stack. He comes across one where it's just Jo and Dean. He remembers the moment. Jo was laughing at something Cas had said and Sam recalls laughing along with her. Apparently, in doing so, he'd missed the look on his brother's face.
In the picture, Dean is looking at Jo. There's a small smile on his face, the kind Sam's never seen before. It seems almost content. But his eyes tell a different story, one Sam's all too familiar with. Dean's gaze has an air of sadness to it, mixed with a tinge of longing and fear. The expression he used to get when seeing something he wanted, but knew he couldn't have. It almost breaks Sam's heart and tears prickle at his eyes.
"Can I keep this one?" he asks.
When Bobby nods, he puts it aside. Tears spill over as he goes through the rest. The last photo is another of the pair.
Dean's talking to Jo in this one, his face the definition of mischief. Jo's expression, though, mirrors Dean's in the previous photo, somewhat. She's looking at him with wide eyes and a grin, the undertone of longing slightly less visible than it was on his brother. Probably because they were face to face. Sam hadn't been present for the conversation they'd had, but he thinks it was just before everyone'd gone to bed.
Without a word, Sam adds it to the other one and hands the photos back to Bobby. The old hunter takes them, wiping his own tears with his free hand. Sam sticks the two pictures he's picked out into one of the books he'd previously been looking through.
Picking up the empty whiskey bottle, Sam gets up and sets it on Bobby's desk. Then he takes the huge tome Bobby had left there and moves back to his seat by the fireplace. Cas' return, though, almost makes him throw the book in the air.
"Sorry," the angel murmurs.
Sam waves him off and grabs hold of a rickety old table that's been shoved to the left of the fireplace. He drags it closer and sets the ancient tome down on it.
"You okay, dude?" he asks Cas, now noticing the latter's soot covered face.
"Yes," Cas says. "Although, trying to break into Hell without being at full power was… not a good idea."
Sam doesn't ask him what he'd been trying to do there. He knows. But Cas' failure to force his way into the Pit gives him an idea.
"Crowley owes us anyway," Sam says, "seeing as his plan didn't work. It should be easy for him to get in, since he's a demon."
"What makes you think he'll agree?" Ellen asks as she rejoins them, apparently having heard some of their conversation.
"Is Jo alright?" Sam frowns at the tear tracks on Ellen's face.
When she nods, he turns back to the book he and Bobby had been looking through. He tells them his plan of trapping the demon and threatening him if he doesn't cooperate. If he won't help at least look for Dean in Hell, Sam can and will rat him out to Lucifer.
If Crowley won't give them a hand, Sam thinks, then there'll at least be one less demon walking around.
Having an idea is the first step. The four of them start working on a strategy and contingency plans. If there's even the slightest chance at getting Dean back, Sam's going to take it. That hope is all they have left now.
Jo's halfway through her whiskey bottle by the time it's dark. She wants to curse her high tolerance. Because the liquor isn't doing much to dull her thoughts and senses.
When the wind picks up, she rubs her hands along her exposed arms. It's November, though, so the cold is to be expected. Deciding to go to her room to get a jacket, she screws the cap back on the bottle and sets it by the chair.
On her way through the hall, Jo sneaks a glance into the living room. Her mom and Bobby are talking in hushed voices. Probably about Dean. Sam's on the couch, staring into a glass. She's not surprized that they're all drinking, as that's what she'd been doing too. So she leaves them to it and heads for the room she shares with her mother. The one she hasn't slept in during her whole stay at Bobby's. The door to Dean's room is slightly ajar, but she decides it's for the best to not go in there just yet.
Reaching her destination, Jo rummages in her bag until she finds her spare jacket. It's darker and slightly longer than the one she'd worn earlier today, but it'll do the job. Especially since it's a bit thicker, too. She puts it on and turns to leave, when she notices the t-shirt thrown haphazardly by the nightstand.
She bends and picks it up. For a moment, she doesn't recognize it. It's a faded gray, well worn and seems to be a men's size and shape. And then, the smell reaches her nose and Jo's assaulted by memories of what she'd thought would be her last night on Earth. It's Dean's shirt. The one she'd put on and slept in. The one she'd decided to keep, because it's comfortable. Dean's musky scent still clings to it, a combination of aftershave, sweat, leather and gunpowder.
Tears flood her eyes and Jo lets loose a sob. She bends her knees and tries to sit on the bed, but misses and ends up on the floor. Her elbow snags the cord of the bedside lamp and it crashes.
Jo doesn't care. All she's aware of is the damn shirt. And all she can smell is Dean as she presses her face into it. She cries like she'd only ever done twice in her life. Big, heart-wrenching, snot-filled sobs tear from her throat. She tries to rein them in, muffles the sound by pressing her face into Dean's shirt. But every time she thinks she's got them under control, she starts again. Can't seem to be able to stop. For what feels like a very long time.
When she can finally breathe again, Jo looks up and notices that her mom's kneeling in front of her. Her arms are wrapped around Jo's stiff shoulders. She lets go and they both sit on their haunches, tears lingering in both their eyes.
"Oh, honey," her mom says and uses her thumbs to wipe at the tear tracks on her face. "I was wonderin' when you'd let loose."
"I just…" Jo shows her Dean's shirt. "I found this by the bed and it finally sunk in." She sniffles. "God, Mom. This is so much worse than last time."
"I know, baby girl," she pushes Jo's hair behind her ears. "I know it sucks. 'Specially when you lose someone you care about."
Jo merely nods then, more tears running down her cheeks as she does so. Her mom wipes those away too.
"If I'd only been faster, then maybe…" Jo tries to swallow past the lump that's formed in her throat. "Maybe he'd still be here."
"Don't do this to yourself," her mom says. "It'll drive ya nuts to think 'bout the what ifs." She pulls Jo forward into another embrace. "And I don't think Dean'd want you to blame yourself."
Jo presses her face into her mother's shoulder and cries again. Dean's shirt is still clutched in her fist. Her mom runs a hand up and down her back and that helps, for a bit. When she feels like she can, Jo pulls away from the tight hold.
"I wish I'd called him myself," Jo whispers after a while. She's gripping the cotton garment to her chest now. "If not after Duluth, then at least when I found out that he was back. Wish I'd swallowed my pride and just called him to see how he's doing." She wipes her nose on one of the jacket sleeves. "Shouldn't have pushed him away for something that wasn't even his fault."
"You were angry, honey." She grips Jo's shoulders. "I was too. Thought I was keeping you safe. Maybe I shouldn't've said anything."
Her mom looks guilty for a moment, like she regrets having said those things almost three years ago. Jo shakes her head, but her mom releases her and holds up a hand. Jo keeps quiet.
"Maybe then," she continues, "you two wouldn't've drifted apart. Even at the time, I could tell you felt something for him." She studies Jo, eyes darting across her face. "You still do, don't you?"
"Yeah," Jo's answer is barely louder than a breath. "Even after all these years… I still do. I can't help it. I don't think I can stop."
"You don't have to, honey," her mother says. "We don't quit loving people just 'cause they're gone."
Jo drags a hand over her face. She puts Dean's shirt on the bed, can't be in its presence any more tonight. So she pushes herself to her feet and helps her mom up too. They hug one more time, and then head down the stairs together.
Parting in the doorway to the living room, Jo spies Sam and Bobby poring over a huge old book. Cas is back too. Her mother joins the bunch and distracts them so she can sneak back out. Which she's grateful for. One heart-to-heart is more than enough for now.
Jo recovers her whiskey bottle from the floor and sits down. The air is even colder than when she'd gone in. The liquor she swallows just about warms her up, so she drinks some more. And then more. She'll drink as much as she needs to, to drown out those treacherous thoughts of the past that keep sneaking to the forefront of her mind. Like her mom said, she can't think of what ifs. It'll only further break her heart. And she can't change what's happened, anyway. She wishes she could.
The sound of an approaching car pulls Jo from her musings. She looks up and squints at the headlights visible at the other end of the property. It's too dark to make out what kind it is, so Jo waits for it to get closer. Putting her bottle by the chair again, she reaches into her jacket's left pocket, where she'd stashed her dad's old knife.
The car comes to a stop right next to the Impala. When the driver cuts the engine, the lights go out, leaving only the meager illumination from the porch. Jo stiffens as a man stumbles out of—what she can now recognize as—a truck almost identical to her mom's. He leans against the Impala, runs a hand along its hood in a manner so similar to Dean, that it sends goosebumps down her spine. She pulls the knife out and hides it behind her back.
When he turns and spots her, he takes a quick and clumsy step towards the house. Then stops to regain his balance. It reminds Jo of a drunk, until he moves his hand to clutch at his side. The left one. Jo swallows and her pulse quickens.
The man starts moving again, more steadily this time, and Jo grips her knife tighter. He gets closer and she stands up, ready to pounce. When he reaches the first step leading to the porch, the light falls across his face. Jo's weapon slips between numb fingers and embeds itself in the floor with a dull thunk. He gives her a tired smile and sways.
Without even thinking twice, Jo runs to him, catching his weight. Barely. He goes to his knees and grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching his side tighter. Jo steadies him, then pulls the silver flask of holy water out of her jacket's other pocket. When she presses it into his left hand, the skin doesn't blister. She swiftly unscrews the cap and he raises it to his lips, taking a few long gulps.
"It's really me," Dean says.
And then he passes out.