It was late - the kind of late where even Sam Winchester was sleeping quietly in his cheap hotel bed, and the street lamps had long been turned off. Dean knew it was probably too late, but he couldn't help himself as he flipped Sam's laptop open, wincing at the brightly coloured homepage of bustyasianbeauties that popped up, and clicking away from it quickly.

Barely letting himself hope, he opened Skype (something Sam had spent a painful two hours teaching him how to use), clicked on a familiar name, and pressed call, head whipping round as he did so to check the room was completely covered, that no one could look in. There was a long few seconds, before-

"Dean?" Jo Harvelle's whispering voice crackled through the speakers as her dimly lit face lit up the laptop screen. Dean let out a small sigh of relief at the sight of her, before he smiled, properly.

"Jo," he said, his voice cracking. She snorted quietly, and he tried again: "Jo. Hey."

The corners of her mouth turned upwards. "Hey. What's up?" Her voice was all business, but her eyes betrayed her worry.

These Skype calls were often infrequent, and far too short (they both knew it was dangerous, and far from practical, but Dean said nothing about his work besides the stark outlines, and Jo didn't ask), but they came between long hunts and hard days, and neither of them would admit to the other how much they meant. Jo was Dean's stolen sense of home, and though he often berated himself for his self-appointed selfishness, he knew he could never give her up. For what it was worth, he would do anything for her - but that would come in time, and for now, they both lived through grainy computer screens, and quiet conversations they pretended were about working, refusing to read between the lines.

"I..." Dean struggled for a moment, trying to think of something, then gave up. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

Jo nodded solemnly, like she understood this. "It's a great voice."

Dean chuckled, smiling properly for what felt the first time in decades, though it could only have been a few hours since Sam did something stupid. "It is."

"Yours isn't too shabby, either," she replied, and though they both laughed, their red cheeks hinted at the hidden words. "How are things out there?"

Sighing heavily, Dean shrugged. "Fine. We got this."

"You always got it," Jo rolled her eyes. "Don't die, okay? We can't afford a trip all the way out there."

Dean grinned, and Jo watched the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. "Who says you're invited to my funeral?"

"Who says I want to go?" Jo countered. They both laughed together for a moment, before Jo yawned, and Sam's bed creaked as he turned over in his sleep.

"You should go to sleep," Dean said heavily, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

"I should do a lot of things," Jo argued.

"Jo," Dean's tone was final, and Jo couldn't deny that her eyes were half-closed by this point.

"Dean," she tried one last time, and that was why Dean was so in love with her, he supposed. She didn't take his bullshit.

"Look after your mother, you hear?" His voice was gruff, and Jo raised her eyebrows.

"I don't need you to tell me," she said, but her eyes were bright, and Dean just shook his head at her. "Look after yourself, Dean." He nodded, closing the screen quickly before he could think better of it.

Seeing his face go black, Jo sighed, and finished her sentence: "I don't know what I'd do without you.