[There are so many things she's saying that are so far off base it actually hurts to listen to. He has no idea why she thinks his leaving meant he gave up on them, or that he didn't believe in them anymore. He'd given up on himself, but not them. Never them.
He presses his lips together, because she has no idea how selfish he can be -- that he's been all along, since the beginning. That he'd dragged Scott out into the woods one night to find half a dead body because he'd been bored and had a morbid fascination with murder and death, and wanted to play detective. (Even if part of him had also done it because Scott always complained nothing interesting ever happened and he wanted to entertain his best friend. That hadn't turned out well for anyone.)
She has no idea for the longest time, he was thrilled when the supernatural shit would hit the fan because it was exciting and gave him something to occupy his mind that he didn't grow bored with in five minutes flat.
She has no idea that when the nogitsune had possessed him, he'd enjoyed the chaos and misery on some level -- because he's never been able to tell if it was just the demon or if it was both of them taking pleasure from it. They're all words he's never muttered aloud to a single soul, but they haunt him every night in the form of guilt-laced nightmares of Allison. Aiden. The officers at the sheriff's station. The people at the hospital. The Nemeton itself.
He rubs a hand over his face at the angry, upset way she's speaking about who she thinks he'd been once upon a time.]
It's never been about me not caring.
[His voice is quiet. He won't let her think he doesn't care -- about her. About Scott. About his dad. Everything he's been doing has been to return the one person to them who means more than anyone else. The person they lost that they need back so badly. The person who should never have died in the first place.]