"Hit?" He opened a second clean wipe and started to clean off the scrape itself, being careful with the broken flesh. Despite all the feeling that was running through his body, he was still undisturbed by the sight of the blood and flesh before him.
He cared, for some reason, that she'd been hurt and was bleeding. He wanted to put a bandaid on it and make sure that she felt better. He wanted to help her home and maybe make her some tea.
Tea?
This was the most bizarre thing he'd been through in his entire life. Even since coming to this place. Through everything else, nothing had made him feel anything. He'd been cursed with that knife, and he'd just been given more freedom. The ability to kill with abandon. Still, he hadn't felt. Something in him knew that it wasn't right. That this shouldn't be possible for him. But the rest of him was so confused at this new sensation, he didn't care.
"I don't have any band-aids." He made a face at himself. The wound was fairly clean now, but there was nothing to cover it. Nothing to keep out the infection.
So distracted he was by the feelings and trying to clean this woman's hurt knee that he didn't even think about his answer before he said it. He was far less guarded than he normally was.
"A little bit, yeah." Dexter blinked suddenly, and looked up at her. How had she known? Did it matter?