He stares at her for a moment, brows knit and eyes narrowed. She doesn't seem quite like the woman he thought he knew right now. Maybe that's because of her own internal conflict, but he has no way of knowing that yet, only that she seems both worried about him and strangely cold about the potential end results of this. It's not a normal-human kind of reaction. Actually, it's a little unsettling.

"Marie?" He speaks quietly, gently, "Ain't no reason to be like that. I mean, if one of us comes back carryin' the Thing, it ain't gonna be us comin' back. So you shouldn't hesitate, and I reckon we all know that. Actually, it's not a bad thing, knowing someone here'll keep an eye out in case this gets out of hand."

He folds his hands in his lap. "Listen, you probably ain't gonna like this, but let me explain. The worst thing that ever happened to me wasn't gettin' killed. It was when I was in my own house at gunpoint, listenin' to my best friend get beat half to death outside my front door. Crying for mercy, and I couldn't do a goddamn thing. And then when they'd had enough blood, I had to get up and get out and go see if he was dead, and put him back together and listen to him refuse to go to the hospital, an' then walk him a mile and half back to Blackwater Station, and come back home in the dark alone."

"Ain't gonna happen again. I'm never gonna sit by and let a friend face danger without me if I get the choice. And I've got the choice. And that's all there is to it. Ain't tryin' to be a hero. I just made a decision where I gotta take a stand, is all."