Egos blossom just fine after the end of the world, and Owen's never heard you people from anyone with the best of intentions. You is just a way of saying not me, most of the time. Owen slots that in the usual shorthand for disagreeable, undesirable. Save it for later and keep one eye over his shoulder--new town, same story.

"Does it hurt," he asks, not quite hoping. More ill twinge than ill intent: he's still standing there, weighing how much help he thinks the man might need against what he'd be willing to give.