Dean beamed at the reception, no longer tense. He took the offered seat, sprawling as he pressed an arm upon the table, leaning back into the bench. Emerald eyes gleamed as he again studied her, noting the absence of crutches she'd held at her sides yesterday morning. If her injury had healed that quickly, then his burns might be gone in the next forty-eight hours! ... Or so he hoped.

Interest peaked by the mention of 'creatures', he sported an engrossed expression; the kind he used to display when brainstorming with Sam. It would certainly assist the patients if a clandestine record of monsters were available.

"I think we should worry about our defenses before delving into that department." He recalled the gun Reno had pilfered from the boy last night. If the Institute handed them out to patients under Special Counseling...

He drummed his fingers on the table in deliberation. "Hey, what exactly happens with Special Counseling anyway? I mean," he looked pointedly at the girl beside him, "Do the patients have memory of the... spellbinding process or whatever? Would there be a chance that any of us could be immune to it? What I'm getting at –" he lifted a hand to impede any interruption – "Is... they give them weapons. Stuff we can use against the ugly sons of bitches. Would those patients have been informed where the weapons are stored, d'you think?"

That was Dean for you; gun-toting to the finish.