Neal knows why Malcolm wants Raylan to sit down. He knows why Raylan does it, and there's some small part of him that registers the fact that Raylan's willingness to give up his physical advantage means that things aren't broken here beyond repair. But seeing them sitting together still hurts, like a little knife-twist in the neck of something half way to dying.

He tilts his head back to rest against the wall, staring at Glenn on the other side of the room, silent and staring back, with that one half-popped eye. At least he's not trying to talk. Neal isn't sure he could keep himself from answering, or at least telling him to shut up.

Maybe if he stays quiet. Maybe if he ignores them for long enough they'll leave, get fed up with waiting for him to do something. Wash their hands of this whole thing.

He can feel dampness against his knuckle and glances down--Negan's careful bandages have little spots of blood blooming on them where he beat his fists open again on Raylan. It's easier to watch that happen than to think of anything to say.