Dean about flinched when Jo went to touch him. He didn't like showing off his scars unless it was to impress a girl. And this one, well, it wasn't pretty in the least. A hand print that wasn't fading. A hand print from an angel that yanked him from the depths of hell.
He turned his head to look at her hand. It was so small upon his shoulder. And he hadn't been tenderly touched recently. He lifted his eyes to her. "Be easier to ask what I didn't do."
He sighed, "In short, sold my soul for Sam to live. Got a year. Time came up. I went to hell. Angel pulled me out because I had ... some kind of work to do." That was it. "It's been a hard year for me." He reached up, brushing a strand of blond back over her shoulder.