"You're not real," he says, immediately, trying to lock his gaze rigidly away from him. "You're not real. You're not real."

He's just another product of some broken kid's broken head, and this is Tim's fault, he knows it, he knows it is, for letting this all get to him and leak through. He should be better than this. He should be, but he's not - he's letting it all bleed inward instead of pushing it out again.

This one doesn't even make sense. It's supposed to be something he knows. Something he'd remember. Not just some...person.