[ God help the person who has to explain to a fourteen year old girl what a yeast infection is, but no matter what it sure as hell ain't gonna be Dean. Not for all the chicken paste in the world, which is obviously the only viable form of currency Dean's interested in, unless someone manages to reinvent toaster pastries. Or toasters. Or pastries.

His head bobs absently and he shrugs, conceeding her point. Why are any of them running around here alone? Because there were clearly so many friggin' other options. It totally explains why he's having a communal slop dinner in a cafeteria with a tween. ]

Yeah, okay, fair enough.

[ He responds, distracted by the way goop is oozing through the prongs on his fork. He pulls a face. God, he misses beef. His liver for a burger, seriously, he'll trade internal organs for cows at this point. ]

I guess I'm just tryin' to figure out why you're hangin' around up here when there's, like, a whole subsection overrun with kids your age down on B level.

[ He mentions casually, dropping the information like she totally already knew it. Follows it by innocently shoveling another forkful into his mouth. God, shoot him now. ]