He couldn't admit anything about threads - He didn't know what came after they snapped. There was no short form plan for how to proceed when you couldn't take anymore and had nothing to point that towards. Not when he knew just how much damage and pain he could inflict if the wrong someone got in the way. Raylan was hardcoded in such a way that breaking down into tears and inconsolability wasn't an option for him, not without a total shutdown.

There was too much to protect for a shut down.

But for right now, Mathis hadn't found a way to stick a claw down the tunnel and mix them around like scrambled eggs, Tim wasn't dead, neither of them had broken anything and if he did die down here, it wouldn't be alone.

Raylan's off hand finally fell from his face to momentarily fist into Tim's shirt before sliding around a few inches to a better hold, though said face was kept safely hidden away in the shelter of Tim's shoulder. He wasn't supposed to be seen like this, and especially not seen like this by someone he was supposed to be a support for. Their age gave them a natural hierarchy, however Tim might argue it, however often he might take point, it was more often than not Raylan out there pushing things, driving them on, taking a lead in it.

Mathis, and their relationship in it, what Raylan had already seen and know to be true of the sniper, was starting to equal out that footing in a rough but needed kinda way.

"Not by half," he agreed, eyes closed as he focused on calming down and reigning his bullshit back in. Small vents to stop whatever came after that last thread snapped. "If we all didn't feel so goddamned useless, we wouldn't be pullin' this shit, would we."

It wasn't really a question. He knew the answer was yes.