Your words say thanks, your tone says 'tip's on the table sweetheart' Jo thinks and raises her eyebrows ( and that assessment's probably not fair or even accurate but she gets to be a little unfair today right?). In a way she's almost grateful because she hates that tone, that 'run along now' crap she deals with half her life serving beer to people who remember her in diapers, and it gives her an excuse to get mad. Mad is the opposite of scared right? Definitely.
...but then he's looking over at Sam and back to her with a mixture of apology and defiance and panic that's altogether too raw for her to feel anything but awkward, do anything but soften a bit. Stop doing that, she admonishes him silently, aware that her mental tone is distracted and cranky and ridiculous even as she's thinking it, I'm going to get whiplash. Then that all fades again into mild annoyance because she can tell he's feeling guilty about not wanting to help her when she's perfectly fine or she will be as long as no one looks at her like she isn't. She's fine, she's mad, she's doing stuff. Get on the train or get off the tracks. Still, much as she wants to storm around and gain some sort of catharsis by kicking the first thing she sees, Dean's just too beaten down to be her target and her expression finally settles on a half-smile, an attempt at reassuring through her own frayed nerves. “Look, it's fine--”
Then everyone's jumping and she's as PTSD as the next recently returned captive so she gets halfway through whirling to face the door (she's not sure what exactly her plan is once she's facing it but she's reasonably sure the threat is coming from that direction) before she hears Sam speak and sees Dean relax. Stupid. Mom and Ash wouldn't let anyone get in here, not again, she thinks (and that's emphatically not reassuring herself because she's sure, she is, no need for assurances) turning back again and looking a little sheepish herself.
>>”...hi” >>>“Mornin'...You alright, Sam? Jo's talking about us getting some proper food, that sound good to you?”
Sam gets a smile from her too and another concerned once-over, he's easier to deal with even with everything that's happened. 48 hours of piss-your-pants terror, torture, and sharing body heat tends to break the ice. “Yeah, plus the kitchen's probably the warmest room in the place,” she adds. Not that it's exactly chilly in here, nothing like Gordon's warehouse definitely, but she suspects she's not the only one who seems to have stored up cold so that its becomes its own kind of ghost, settling in somewhere around her bones and refusing to leave.