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BOBBY: “And you? How are you doing?”
DEAN: “Seriously, Bobby. It ain’t like he’s hexed, you know? I mean, what if this is the kind of crazy you can’t fix?”
BOBBY: “Yeah. I’m — I’m worried, too. But… humor me for a second. How are YOU?”
DEAN: “Who cares? Don’t you think our mailbox is a little full right now? I’m fine.”
BOBBY: “Right. And weren’t you pissed at him when he said the same thing just a couple hours before spilling his marbles all over the floor?”
DEAN: “Yeah, well… I’m not Sam, okay? I keep my marbles in a lead friggin’ box. I’m fine. Really.”
BOBBY: “Course. Yeah. Just lost one of the best friends you ever had, your brother’s in the bell jar, and Purgatory’s most wanted are surfin’ the sewer lines, but yeah, yeah, I get it. Right. You’re — you’re FINE.”
DEAN:”Good.”
BOBBY: “Course… If at any time you want to decide that’s utter horse crap, well, I’ll be where I always am — right here.”
DEAN: “What, you want to do couples’ yoga or you want to get back to hunting the big bads?”
BOBBY: “Shut up. Idjit.”