… yeah, he knows that tone. Sam's rapidly becoming a master of it, the tone which dares you to contradict them, the defiance subtly distinct from Dean's reluctance to disappoint. Jo's not one of his, of course (not the same way, at least) so he hasn't the right to push – or, more accurately, pushing isn't his responsibility in quite the same way (which is half of what was so liberating about the Harvelles, why he could do the 'Uncle' thing in a way he'd stopped being able to 'Father') – and so he doesn't. He listens to her account of the day as if she's still Bill's kid (still babbling to her Uncle John about what she learned at school and who visited the bar and what hideous breeches of her human rights Ellen had perpetrated this week), laughs and frowns and makes the appropriate oh right, that guy noises at all the right junctures, while he's picking the account apart for what it tells him about the boys (the fact Dean can joke about it, can sleep, means Sam's got to be okay, right?).
She pronounces them 'cool', and he gives her a small, sad smile. In another lifetime...
> So Kubrick's just...up at his house?
If this were Dean, he'd be able to say something like Sure, what's left of him. But it's Jo, and she's not his, and he hasn't the right to decide what she's allowed to know even if it seems ridiculous to try and shelter her from any of this now – if he knows Ellen, she'll still try, and that deserves to be respected – so what she gets is what he hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder as they reach the door, and a brusque “He's not going to be bothering you.”