Some time later, Jo -- looking rather well put-together, herself, I must admit -- performs a little flashlight-fu of her own down through the underbelly of the dock while repeatedly dialing Dean's cell until she hears his distinctive ringtone somewhere off to the side. She finds his sodden form in a heap at the bottom of a slip and races down to drag him the rest of the way out of the water and onto his feet. They stagger back up to the dock and, after a quick cross-fade, back into the bar, where Jo uses a pair of tweezers to extract the bullet from Dean's shoulder while Dean manfully swigs tequila straight from the bottle to deaden the pain. "You're a butcher," he grunts once she's done. "You're welcome!" she shoots back as she presses some gauze onto the bloody wound. "Are we done?" Dean growls impatiently. "Would you give me two minutes to patch you up?" she snaps. "You can't help Sam if you're bleeding to death!" Point to Jo. While she continues to work on his shoulder, she manages to get him to admit he wasn't certain Sam was possessed, but he was certain Sam couldn't have been responsible for all of the recent actions attributable to him. Trust me, that made sense in my head.