"I'm thinkin' you're way off the mark, sister," Dean said. He spread his hands on the armrests, as if going you serious. "I wouldn't go around slashin' up my wrists or whatever because of that. I mean, I loved the guy, but that's not me."

Not when Sammy needed to be looked out after. If Kisugi had just switched Dad for Sammy, then she would have been creepily right on the ball there, only it had happened that way, it wasn't just speculation by some armchair Ph.D who thought she was hot shit. Dean wasn't proud of how he'd treated Bobby a few days ago but he'd meant every word he'd said to the other hunter back in that shack, with Sam's body only a room away: he hadn't cared what happened, and if the world burned, it wasn't his problem. Part of him still wasn't sure if it was because it was terrified he'd lose Sammy all over again hunting that yellow-eyed sonuvabitch...but Sammy was committed to the hunt and he sure as hell wasn't gonna let his brother go after the thing solo.

"So what's your story?" Dean asked, as if they hadn't been talking about suicide and dead parents. He reached out with a "may I?" for her neatly positioned pencil jar and took it without waiting for an answer, inspecting it idly as he lounged back in the plastic waiting room chair. "Obviously you're smart, attractive, and it looks to me you're bored outta your skull. I'm guessin' this wasn't your idea."