[Hank listens, taking a long drink. His frown isn't a disturbed one; he doesn't think he's gotten used to all the weird shit in this place - he hopes he hasn't - so that might be the booze, the fact that the words 'magical virus' only bother him a little, it might be starting to kick in. But part of it might just be the guy who's saying them; Barabas is so damn straightlaced, not in a shitty way, just... in a way. He's so matter of fact about this shit, just like he's matter of fact about the ways their shitty little team of superheroes need to actually get organized, just like he's matter of fact about keeping those notes. Maybe some of it's the fact that he's the one doing the explaining, why it's hardly bothering Hank.

Still, Hank gets up, walks over to the table next to Barabas to refill the little bit in his glass, and then he sets the bottle back down. Drinking might or might not be what's helping, but it can't hurt.]

Well. Good. I was about to ask if there was anything I could do but I guess it being all an internal thing's good. Here, I mean. Cause if you just needed, you know, a stable, structured environment or whatever...

[He hasn't drank enough to finish that with the actual words 'then we'd all be fucked,' but he does pull a face.]