[Hank's not looking at him. He had to look away the moment he heard the word 'detoxing', pressing his hands together in tight little balls in his lap. He's too laid open right now to play along with the joke about wanting to shoot Barabas - Barabas, who actually genuinely gives a shit, who said what Hank couldn't stand to explain without a single hint of judgement - just because Hank doesn't know how to handle weird shit. He talks in a shamed little mutter, aiming his answer down at the floor.]

I wouldn't shoot you.

[He's quiet a second. But, fuck, it's not like he has any dignity here anyway, so he goes on before he can think too hard about it in exactly the same tone of voice.]

Having, uh- having people around, that makes it easier not- not to-

[He sighs and interrupts himself, his voice a little stronger.]

Fuck, I don't know. You've got stuff to do anyway, I know you can't sit around babysitting my stupid ass. You think you could just knock me out? For like, a couple months? That'd be great.