He is speared, caught like a rabbit in the lights of an oncoming car. It hurts more than he'd imagined to hear that. To hear it from York. One thing to tell himself that he doesn't care, that none of it matters to him, and another to have York slap him in the face with it.

And he doesn't even know half of it. If he knew, Wash thinks now that York might very well just shoot him. Treacherous ground.

"Fine,"he grinds out after a moment, everything in his posture defensive. "I'm an asshole. I'm a- a monster. If not giving a fuck is how I survive, that's how I'm going to do it. It's better than the alternative." Which was seeing everyone you cared about die over and over again. "I'm not David anymore. I'm not the rookie. I'm- I can't be him anymore."