"Hell, lady, I don't know. You could come out and I won't be here because the damn shop has moved." Yes, Dean had just said that to the sweet, crazy and probably demonic old lady. "I could be dragged away by some dick of an angel. You could decide to go on some whack job killing spree because you didn't get your tribute..." As he continued, he realized that the woman looked a little confused, worried, and then some. That look was familiar, and it actually turned his stomach. Not that he was possibly scaring the shit out of some old lady, but that he knew the old lady.
"Son of a bitch." Dean was already patting himself down for his Colt or the silver knife. "What the...no..if you...no. I.."
"I don't know what's going on here, but I'm going find out." That wasn't a promise; it was a threat. Dean had approached as close as the little old lady would let. She was one of his favorites, and that concern in her eyes. The possibility that the concern could turn to fear as he probably did sound like he was more than half insane. Oh, he didn't want it to be real, but he'd rather it be real than some asshat of a god or demi-god wearing that particular face to con people. It was too kind a face for that. It wasn't that he was a fan exactly, but when someone stayed up late watching tv, or used the tv as a companion, said someone was going to get to know that face. "I'll find out."
His jaw worked before he stepped back; he was either going crazy, really looney beyond talking to doctors who weren't there looney, or the City was kicking reality's head in. It was certainly doing a number to him.
"I need a drink." He stood up as if receiving a moment of clarity before turning and walking away, mumbling about being too old for this shit.