Raylan felt like he was losing the man to the drift pull of Mathis's madness, the thing that chased him into the woods, the thing that made Tim dig deeper into his wrists in the tunnel, that thing that spread their number across the ground - sharp sprays of blood on the cold, white, glittery snow.

So he didn't try to stop Tim's craning, keeping his hand along his neck as the Sniper looked and opting to not look himself. He would later come up and try to free Tim's body from the rubble, bury him the way the man deserved to be buried, despite life flesh and blood being in his arms. For now, the man that was alive mattered more.

Raylan's off hand flexed his fingers into Tim's back, making sure that lack of physical awareness didn't rock him too far from the safety of the older Marshal's arms, his own head more worried about trying to hook Tim into steady eye contact again.

"I wanna ask what they were drawin' but the rest of it tracks. It also doesn't matter right now. You're here," he declared, shaking the man softly with his insistence, his own desperation to not be forced to watch Tim slip down the same slope he could feel himself tightwiring across. "You're alive. And you're comin' back down this fucking shit hill with me."

One step at a time; one foot in front of the other, else - more death.