"He's either at the house--" Her house. Their house. The house, singular. It amends in her head, unable to change when she's still speaking. Still on the same sentence she'd been on. Words were bothersome around him. How hadn't that changed. "--or he's at the Flagon. But I don't think he has a shift today."

He didn't mention it. Not that they were anything like bosom buddies because Jo decided that fresh from hell deserved not being alone. Which. Actually, it's why she doesn't walk and why she ends up looking back up at his face, whether that's a brilliant idea of not. She can shove through her own shit. The riot parade in her chest could just be stomped on until it soured into silence. Sam deserved better, and Dean deserved to know before he got there.

Which means starting from the top. Being logical about it. She could that that, right.

"When are you from? What year was it before you woke up on the boat?"