>”If? When, Mister.” Like she’s so sure they’ll get out, like she’s sure there’ll be somewhere left to go, after. Like she’s sure the world won’t end while they’re trapped in here, unable to do anything to help stop it. He wants to believe that, too - it’s not gonna happen right away, but he’ll try.
>” And I’ll...” She falters, and he looks back up at her, and then away hurredly when he sees the way she looks uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to make it worse by watching her. “...um. I’ll hold you to it. You blow me off and I’ll be gunning for you next. So, um, don’t.”
He assumes whatever awkwardness was going on has passed at the poke to his chest, offers a grin in response, I won’t and it’s sort of funny that he means it. Not that he wouldn’t, not really, it’s just that the old Dean who used to flirt and hide behind bright smiles was rarely serious about these sorts of things - not that this is exactly like that, because then it was offering dates or something, and this clearly isn’t a date, it’s just an offer of pie (because he knows where to get the best pie ever, some tiny little bakery states away from here).
If everything went his way, it’d be him and Sam and Jo driving around in his car, singing along to his music, the freedom of open windows and highway speeds; sitting around eating burgers and pie together while the world kept on turning and Lucifer went ahead and sent himself back to Hell where he belongs...
It’s wishful thinking, of course, because even if they manage to fix all this, the odds of all of them coming out unscathed from it are worse than his odds of winning the lottery without buying a ticket. And who’s to say Jo would even want to drive around with him and Sam, anyway? She might have her own plans, her own places to be after she gets out of here. She probably has a home and a family waiting for her. But it feels nice to have even that impossible hope, anyway.