Jo was still gasping air, but it was more shock than anything like pain. Pushing herself up as Sam fell, and the girl, said something to her side, clinging to the bed, and Jo's shock was still greater than any part of her rather vast and far reaching confusion. "What the bloody fuck was that?"

"What did you-How-" There were words, but they weren't making sentences, as Jo looked between them. The girl holding the bed edge -- with ears? Had she had ears earlier? Jo did not need to know these things about what Sam did or did not do in bed -- and Sam. Sam, who had fallen over. And she pushed herself forward, half sprawl to catch herself on her hands, which didn't hurt up her shoulder anymore. "Sam?"

There was a bit of concern split through that one.
The last thing she needed to do was make him hate her more. (Or Dean.)