Jo frowned. Something was off. There was never a Dean without a Sam (except for maybe a back alley or a motel room at close to 2 am in the morning. With another woman, she might add.) and the fact that he didn't know set off the warning bells. It was like Ash without his computer. It just never happened (again, except for sex with women). Jo watched helplessly as Dean downed another glass of whiskey. She couldn't find the words to say. What could she say?
The thank you was a few months overdue. The other comment was not. She had to fight the urge to strip him down. "Dean," she said, sharply, drawing upon the voice of her mother that she knew she had some part of inside of her. "What do you mean by more?" She was fully ignoring the glass in front of her, full with beer. She would be needing something stronger, by the look of things. Dean always did have to bring grief with him.
Her hand was clenching and unclenching on her thigh. What should she do? Squeezing her fist tight, she finally made up her mind as she fully entered her Ellen mode. "Shirt off."