[There's almost always some kind of music going at the roadhouse during business hours, but it's been forty-five minutes since Jo announced last call, Ash doing his part to help her clear out the last of the barflies before disappearing into his room out back. Ellen had left the care of the place to the both of them for the evening, which left Jo handling the last of the cleanup on her own after she'd shooed the boy they'd hired to help out in the kitchen to head on home. Silence has had time to settle over the place-- which makes the music coming from out front that much more noticeable, and she almost drops a glass as it startles her, triggering her to let out a low sigh before she reaches for the revolver her mother keeps by door, just in case.

If someone's in here after hours, she can't be too careful. They've had plenty of unwelcome nighttime visitors in the past. She tucks it into her waistband to keep it out of sight, carefully pushing her way through the swinging door to the bar.

Of course. The song should have tipped her off, but hell, she hadn't seen him in months. She exhales, folding her arms across her chest as she ambles her way over to the bar, propping her weight against the counter by leaning against it with one hand.]

If it isn't Dean Winchester.

[Son of a bitch.]

Don't call, you don't write. Might be enough to make people worry about you, you know. [She's just saying.] We're closed.

[But they both know she's not about to kick him out.]