"You called the Hulk to help you? With drug cartel...of sorts?" Dean's voice was calm, not the good happy kind of calm. His fingers closed and opened on his thighs as he looked at her. He was silent for only a few minutes, but it could have been for hours - he wasn't happy, and he wanted to yell, scream, something. Yet...
"Okay." He reached over and grabbed his beer. He was still to tense to be really fine with it, but his attention was now back to the tv. The earlier relaxed and all's good with the world attitude was gone. He hadn't started the episode up again; instead, he just took a few sips of beer while looking at anything but her.
"No." He set the bottle down hard on the table in front of him, thankfully not breaking it. "You know what? No. No, that's not fucking okay. You know why? You don't have to guess what kind of trouble I get into. You don't have to worry about me going in unprepared. No. Because you fucking know, always, what I'm doing. I don't hide shit from you, or think, I'll get back to her about this later.
"I don't ask for you to text me every fucking moment because I'm not attached to your hip. I got a life outside you, but you call the fucking HULK before you call me?!? You go get yourself nearly killed because 'you didn't think it was a big deal to go into that asylum you were kept in when you first got to the fucking CITY!' Paraphrasing there. Now, now, you decide to get your costume upgraded?! Let me guess, big greenie said 'Lame costume, Birdie die.'" Yes, he was mad.
He stood up. "I don't get it. I just don't get it."