[Dean's sitting on the hood of the Impala, grease and sweat on his grey t-shirt and on his face, and a few other cars in surprisingly good condition can be seen parked up a short distance behind him. He's got a
bandana wrapped and tied around his left bicep, and a small trickle of blood can be seen dried on his sweaty, dirty skin but it doesn't
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I certainly know who to call if any of my cars ever break down. Thank you, Dean.
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[Or, in other words, Helen hit right where it hurts and he's deflecting.]
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To answer the very deflective question? No. My "thing" is helping the unfortunate creatures of the world. No matter waht that world might be, it seems.
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I don't think I count on the list of unfortunate creatures that need help.
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It certainly seems as if you are someone who needs help, Dean.
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Oh yeah? What kind of help can you give me?
[Even in text, his defensive tone is obvious enough.]
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Beyond medical aid? Perhaps being someone you can talk to. Only if you feel like you can impart information, of course. I'm hardly going to press any issue other than your reckless behavior of being healthy.
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[A few moments later:]
Thanks.
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You're welcome.
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