Fondness floods him, and Tim can't find it in himself to feel bad for feeling comfort in his own gesture. His body moves on its own accord and Tim's hand touches the back of Malcolm's head just for a moment before he pulls back, a loose grip, a connection, still on Malcolm's shoulders. The others might be alive. "Maybe," Tim agrees and he doesn't say that maybe not.

l̵o̸n̴e̵l̷i̵n̶e̷s̷s̶ ̸+̴ ̸a̶l̸i̶e̴n̴a̷t̶i̵o̴n̷ ̵+̷ ̷f̸e̷a̷r̸

George is dead. There is no death until you see the body, though.

d̴̡͙̝̘̩͍͇̈́̇̽ȩ̶͇̹͍̯̻͆̏͘s̶̝̦̥̞̾̒̚͠p̸̡͓̬̱̪̌̀̔̊̊́͘ȃ̷͈ͅi̵̬͎̪̲͒͊̀́̊r̶̫̍̈͊ ̷͙̙̋͠͠+̷̫͐͊̄ ̵͓̹͚͑͜s̴̡̲̩̤͈͆͐̈́̃̑̀͠ͅĕ̴̡̻̱͛̌͑̒̿̅l̷̝͖̫̦̤͈͈̈́̓͌̀̓f̴̘̲͇̝̝̪͋͑̌̈̉̈́̕-̶̛̤̯͉͇̍̍͑͊͂̆w̸͓̌͛̍͆ṏ̴̲͉̦̬́͗̃r̶̼̬̳̿͂̅́͗͘̚ͅt̵̗̤̼͝ẖ̷̫̌̅͝ ̴̝̱̞̌̃̀̌̈́̒̔÷̸̨͍͍̟̈́̈́́̑̕͠ ̷̮͚̻̘͉̻̙͗͒͋m̷̱̯͛̋̂̂̃̚͠o̷̟̦̜̎̈́̑̓̏͜c̶͚̺̳̺͇̙͚̓̂͋̍k̴̯̠̽̂̽͜e̵̝͋͛͛͜͝r̶̙̉̄̚y̶͇͓̞̅͐̈́ͅ ̶̫̦̘̙͍̫̪͆̑÷̵͚͂̿̌͜͝͠

And sometimes not even then.

Tim can't get the image of Conner out of his mind for a second and he has to look away, remember to breathe. A big fight, a big hero, a bigger sacrifice. Tim can't even say this man's death was for the greater good because, well, he's missing some big details here.

At least the man's at peace. In a better place: unconscious.

But that's just callous, man, Tim's not gonna say it.

c̸̡̹̬̊̀͊̉͂̚ọ̶̲̹̦̾̓͝ͅn̶̢̧̖͎̰̝̞̺̦̎̃̿̋́̆̃̈́̕d̷͙͚̘̄͗́̽͛̕͝͠é̶̢̧̤̦͕̰̠̬̻̩̬̊͛m̴̧͎̬͈̘̞̱̣͇͕̫̌́̃͌ņ̵̨͍̯̏̆̍́͋̈̀̒͌a̸̢̛̫͙̟̪̬͍̰͈̐͆̆̿̆̒͐̇̿͠t̴̳͆̓͐̓̉̽̈͘i̵͍̳̺̲͗o̸̯̪̾͒ͅͅṋ̴̢̼̯̘͓̜̖̃͂̈̒̈́̂̿̂̓ͅ ̷̳̺͚̥̊÷̵̡̱̘́̒̌͌̽̒͜ ̴͍͔̪̼̙̹̺̔̓͋͝m̸̺̞̝̖̬̰̺̖̪͉͛̅̉͗̾i̵̢̬͓̩̳̦͈͓̻̹̾̾̆́̀̓̈͗̇̈́͝s̷̤̳̮̅͌̀̎̓̐̍͑̆̃ȕ̸͎̗̲̀́̊ň̸͎̞͑d̴̰͔̻͗̿̍̎͗́̌̕̚͝ḛ̵̃͝r̷̢̦̱̳̖͇̜̈́̆̊͋͌͆̐̈́̎̈ş̷̛̱̆͆̒́̌̑̄͘͠ț̶̡̢̰͕̤̰̓̎̿͒͑̈́͜͠a̴̛͇͍̼̞̗͎͙̗̔̾͑̆͘ņ̶͇̣̽̈

"It feels different, doesn't it?" he murmurs.