No, I'm not trying to hold your hand. What am I, some sort of queer? Or Catholic?

[Dixon snorts, looking like he's getting fed up with the idea of having to walk a sixteen year-old through the very simple concept that in unfamiliar circumstances, adults try not to let teenagers wander far away. The fact that there's an element of uncontrollable chance - the teleportation - doesn't change that for as much as they can, they should stick together, as far as Dixon's concerned.]

Maybe the...whatever it is bouncing us around will slow up some. Ever thought of that?