Video

[anewlanguage]

You know, Dean? Dean, you might be right. Maybe half right.

[Some six hours after Barbara's post, Cain is completely stinking drunk. But he's also feeling more sociable, and between swigs or statements he hums a song, occasionally mumbling the lyrics.]

...Hit her foot against a splinter,
Fell into the foaming brine...

I'm not rethinking stopping being a pacifist, but I oughta say I'm feeling like doing target practice, and the boat's not real steady under my feet, you get what I mean. So hurry on down, clear out my gun cache.

Knives, too.

[He takes a healthy swallow from the bottle.]

dreadful sorry, Clementine...

[The feed cuts about halfway through that chorus

Comments

[anewlanguage]

[It's the only comfort there is right now, apart from the kind that he keeps pouring out of a bottle, so he'll take it.]

Thanks. ...She'll need it, you know.

[tucky]

[She starts to reach out like she's going to pat his arm, then changes her mind and pulls back.]

... I'm sorry.

[anewlanguage]

You lost anyone?

[Here, at home; it doesn't matter to him right now, the lines are so blurry between it all.]

[tucky]

You mean to death? My grandpa died when I was four.

[anewlanguage]

[He nods, but that's hardly the same.]

Or someone you'll never get to see again. Someone you miss.

[tucky]

I don't know. I guess I don't have anybody like that.

[anewlanguage]

No one? Even here? No one you'd cut someone to protect?

[tucky]

... Here's different. I care a lot about some of the people here.

But I don't miss any of them because none of them are gone.