If Jo were anywhere else, with anyone else—and they weren't where they are, for the reason they are, and Dean wasn't missing in action—she'd feel the need to point out this whole thing sounded like the very worst opening to some probably equally lousy porn. But it's Cas. Cas, turning over, water dripping down his shoulders, looking at her with that guileless confusion.

Like she's the one who started talking crazy.

And the room didn't feel suddenly relatively smaller than a second ago.

"I mean, sort of?" Beat. "Generally?" Find your words, Jo. "It's a lot less public, for one."