"Hobbes. Stop." He's grabbing him, arms around him and pulling him back. It's reflexive. Instinctive. And the little part of him that's clinging to sanity knows that this is wrong, this isn't how Tom is supposed to be.

"We'll find him." Whispered against the sweaty nape of Tom's neck, holding onto him like he's all that's left, because he is. "C'mon, we can't... look at him, he doesn't know anything."