Jo has no problem meeting his eyes from the other side of the stools. Drink still not picked up yet, even though it's starting to filter into the things she can smell, tugging at her with little razor spiked hooks to down it hard. But that's exactly what he's doing. Was. Before he looked over at her question. There's no flinch in her expression for it. It's its own challenge.

She's proved she wasn't cowed by bigger people than Dean Winchester.

Her gaze is so much steadier than it was earlier. She doesn't look away.
If he has to stay, she gets to ask. She'll burn the whole bush down.

There's only a shift to Dean when he opens his mouth, and instantly Jo rolls her eyes with an annoyed flare of her nostrils at the very first word. She doesn't want a long-winded joke where Dean pretends he's an excellent comedic mediator when it comes to laying down bullshit instead of facts. Jo doesn't want to be defused like a child who will come around once made to smile, instead of someone with every right to ask. She half into the thought, when Geralt's the one who tells him to stop. A single word, and her brown furrows.

Not liking that they're on the same page,
not even when she slices that with,

"At least he's not stupid."

This said as though Jo was speaking to Dean while looking at Geralt. Third person. Almost dismissive, like he isn't there while staring right at him. Except. Her eyes narrow a touch, and it turns on a pin the very next second. Because she hasn't looked away. Because he said no to the bullshit distraction before she could.

It's to him, to Geralt, as though Dean said nothing instead.
"I wasn't kidding. You want me to play at all, shoot straight."