As Dean calmly pulled away, Jo knew that this was it. The very thing she had been afraid of from the night her daddy had died and every night since, now lay bared to the world. She swallowed hard, bracing herself against wall and the night closing in. Her dark eyes darting on the ground, blinking, trying to think, trying not to think, trying not to sink in the flood of memories, or feel the Siren’s pull of riotous waves of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her; if that levy should break, Jo didn’t know if she could stop herself from drowning.
She wanted to run, to scream, to cry until she rebelled and ruptured, until there was nothing wet left inside her, but gradually, the stark soul-crushing realization settled in: Home, and all that entailed, was in ashes and nothing she could say or do was ever going to bring it back.
But in that one moment, it was as if all her doubts, troubles, and fears had materialized into one assailable form; and she hated him for it: For looking being so damn calm and methodical, for being the bearer of bad news, for laying his troubles across the door like a time bomb. In a blink of an eye, her fist had landed, squarely knocking that look off his face with a hard crack.
All things considered, she took it better than most-
"You idiot!" she screamed, white-knuckled and shaking, her voice raw and eyes burned with unbidden tears. "Why?! Why would you ever--" She turned away, trying to mask the devastation emblazoned across her young face, frantically struggling to steady herself-- to find equilibrium-- and all the while biting back bitter tears and violently wiping away those that came.