"There's pretty much nothing back home that would try to take me somewhere in an abandoned field that doesn't deserve a grenade to the face. But, uh, thanks. I know I ain't the nicest guy to meet in an abandoned field and you were just trying to help, so . . . thanks."

Being helped, actually helped, for no reason other than to keep him out of more trouble and because it was the right thing to do, by someone other than Sam or Bobby was . . . really unusual. And Dean wasn't used to it. So not-used to it, he'd almost killed a kid, but of course if anyone was going to mistakenly kill an innocent, helpful kid, wouldn't it be him?

"Which myths?" he asked, veering away from the self-hating train of thought. He needed to know the specific threats of this world, and soon.