At Neal’s Tavern, O’s doing his Barfly routine on a new victim – a woman this time, talking to Mia the bartender (which is why I thought she was working for O).
In the hotel room Jo approaches Dean, saying she would never do this.
Dean: I know.
Jo: It’s his thing, I guess. Twisted eye-for-an-eye. You deserve better.
Dean: No, you did.
I have to say, I like that Jo was at peace. She died valiantly. And it would have been so unfair to her memory if she was twisted, rather than just being controlled by a twisted god.
Dean: He was right. You were a kid. You and Sam. Hunters are never kids. I never was. I didn’t stop to think about it.
His eyes are sad, his face drawn. There’s a heaviness to the moment, a sense of chances lost, choices made, and — on Dean’s part, at least — regret. I never thought they were well-matched. I always thought she was too young for him. Right up until she died. By that time, she’d lived a bit, seen somethings, and was more centered, had a better sense of self. If they hadn’t killed her, the person Jo became right before her death might have been a decent match for Dean.
He’s searching her face, trying to find ways to say sorry that she’ll accept, but all she says to him is that it’s not on him. It wasn’t his fault.
Dean: I didn’t want to do it alone. Who does? The right thing would have been to send your ass home to your mom.
Jo: I’d have liked to see you try. (small, shared grin) He was right about one thing.
Dean (crossing his arms and for a brief moment, looking like his old, cocky self): What, your massive crush on me?
Jo (grinning): Shut up. (sobering) You carry all kinds of crap you don’t have to. Gets a lot clearer when you’re dead.
Dean: In that case, you should be able to see that I’m 90% crap. I get rid of that, what then?
Well, shoot. I think that’s probably true of any number of us. Perhaps with lesser percentages. But as genuine as we strive to be, there is an element of crap within each of us where we play the part to keep the peace, to keep up the pretense, to keep the questions from being asked….
Jo: You really want to die not knowing?
That right there told me that Jo saw through him. Saw that he wasn’t fighting back. She couldn’t help what Osiris was compelling her to do, but she was challenging him to cowboy up and fight for himself.
But then, she looks aside, says it’s time, and suddenly, she’s at the stove and turning on the gas sans pilot light. Dean flashes to the explosion that killed her and his eyes fill with tears, as if saying, yeah, this is fitting…this is as it should be.
Jo crosses back over to him, stopping just outside the salt line, and says she was a hunter, she knows the tricks. She freezes up the window enough that it breaks the glass, letting in the night wind which scatters the salt. She reaches into his pocket and pulls out his lighter, saying, “He’s making me do this.”
Man, that Osiris is a piece of work. He sentences you to death because of your guilt, but ends up adding guilt to the person who takes your life. Messed. Up.
Dean tells her, it’s okay. Absolving her. Accepting it. Not lifting a finger to save himself.
Outside of Neal’s Tavern, O is ready to pounce on his latest victim, but just as he does, Sam stabs him in the back with the rams horn, turning him all black and…ash-like (and permanently scarring the woman he was going to take, I’m sure).
In the room, Jo reaches up and touches Dean’s face tenderly, drops the lighter, and vanishes. Dean is left in the empty room (that’s slowly filling with gas) whispering a confused, “Jo?”
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