"What? What?" Swear to god, it's like talking to a cat, abruptly breaking off to stare into the distance at things that aren't there, but something prickles down his spine, a chill tickling the backs of his feathers, at that exact moment.

"I'm - I'm going home," says Tim, louder - trying to assert some relative normalcy over this, whatever this is, whatever's threatening to tip things abruptly into a world where no one else ever -

No one's supposed to be there, is the thing. Tim loses it, Tim sees things, but no one else is there alongside him when it happens.

(So why doesn't he want to look behind him?)