Dean licked at his lower lip, which, pleasantly, now tasted like whiskey. The whole world should taste like whiskey right now. That'd be nice.
He thought about how to answer, and decided that he owed Jo the truth. If whatever they had was really going to work, he always had to talk to her, right?
"I really don't," Dean said. The Winchesters didn't talk about these things. They just developed alcoholism and anger problems, quietly. Or banged demons. He looked at Jo, waiting to see the disappointment on her face.
"You don't really wanna hear about what I saw in there. Short version? Sam as king of Hell, and happy to be the one in the crown."