Jo pulled away before he could really return the touch; his hand may have even trailed after hers a little as she pulled away. She'd touched him, but he knew ghosts could touch the living when they really wanted or needed to. He needed more proof that this wasn't some cruel joke.
"Your death. Nothing was ever...I never...You..." his head was bowed by now to hide the pain, tears, the struggle to keep himself contained. He had told himself he'd let her go, that he was okay; he even believed enough to move on, get by. He was a damn good liar, especially to himself, until he had to face the truth.
The hunter didn't say anything for a few moments, just sat there with his hand out ever so slightly to her, his head bowed, and his shoulders shaking a little. The City had found something Dean Winchester couldn't laugh, drink, fight, or fuck off.