Something in Raylan's eyes hardened a little, not unkindly, against Doc's insistence. The Gunslinger, however bitterly realistic he could be, failed to understand the kind of man he was sitting across from. Raylan knew what it was to hold a life in your hand, consider it, and snuff it out without a flinch of humanity. He knew what it was to watch someone else string a life out for the fun of it.

It was justified.

"Henry, it matters why. Context matters and half the time, the context makes it worse and cements the position," he replied, tapping his finger on the table in emphasis of 'cement'. "He's not going to go feral on Malcolm, Malcolm is under the umbrellas of his people, and it's the same danger anyone else here poses. He already knows that if he even glances that way and I catch wind of it, he will suffer 15 different kinds of hell."

Hell he was sure Doc would help with, if it came down to it.

"If someone walked into your town and killed all the people that you were protecting, would just shootin' 'em be enough? You think you'd have any place in that head of yours for thinkin' about lessons, or do you just kill 'em all and keep walkin'?"

Either way, it didn't make them much better than Negan.