De nada. A Spanish phrase that means "your welcome" in English. But, being more direct about it, it means "there is nothing to be thankful for". Garry remembered his Spanish 1 teacher mentioning something about that back in his Junior high years. The fact that sometimes you can't look at the direct translation, you have to tweak the phrase a bit to make sense between languages.
Most of the time, Garry thought of the direct translation when he says "you're welcome". Most of the things he does for others aren't a big deal, so he feels that "there is nothing to be thankful for" applies much more to the situation. Of course, no one else can tell that so it never really matters in the end.
He acted no different when it came to Ib, the nine year old girl he'd been traveling through a nightmare art gallery with. When she said thanks after he offered her the lemon candy in his coat, he still though of the direct translation. It was of no consequence, he didn't even like lemon that much anyways. It just helped him when he wanted to go back to smoking, and it wasn't like they were going to find any cigarettes there.
He was brought back to the present by a hesitant tug on the sleeve of his coat. He looked down at his young companion, who was clutching her newly reclaimed rose in a tight grasp. It was her life force in this disgusting place, so he couldn't really blame her for that.
"Thank you." She said softly. Her voice was hardly ever much more than soft though so it didn't make much of a difference. What did stand out was the rich sadness that saturated her tone of voice.
Garry smiled down at her. "You're welcome, don't worry about it." It was the same as always. There was no thanks necessary, really. It was hardly even a choice. In was 9, and he was 25. Sure, there was stuff he still wanted to do,and no he didn't want to die, but at least he got through high school. No elementary kids would be dying on his watch.
So, there really weren't any thanks necessary, none at all.