Tim watched Raylan pour himself a coffee. The cowboy made the simple act look so easy, reaching out for his mug, the coffee pot presented no terrors, but it hadn't always been like that.
Tim took another swallow of his own coffee. Remembering the events of that night was something he preferred not to contemplate on an empty stomach.
The VFW, Tim had got them in the door. Raylan there to talk to his father at Art's behest, Tim couldn't really understand why. From what he knew about Raylan's father, and what he knew of his own, this seemed like a really bad idea.
Arlo gave Raylan short shrift, as Tim thought he might, he could feel the anger and disappointment radiating from Raylan but the cowboy was holding on to his temper. They were getting to their feet. Raylan said something, Tim fixed his eyes on Arlo's face, this cold, evil, triumphant glint in his eye.
Everything went south so fast, that Tim had barely taken a step towards them, Art's hand came up to stop him, Arlo's fist came up and slammed into Raylan's temple. Raylan went down hard. Tim dived towards his friend.
Raylan was unconscious, Tim could see the beginnings of a reddening bruise. "Art, we need an ambulance." Tim loosened Raylan's collar, took his tie off, tried to make him comfortable while trying to hang on to the cold sick feeling that something had happened here that had changed the game.
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The doctor who examined Raylan broke the news, the blow to Raylan's head was one too many times. The swelling was pressing on his optic nerves. It was hard to tell if the damage would be permanent or not.
Raylan had reacted badly, and Tim found himself volunteering to go in there.
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Tim opened the door and walked in. Raylan was sitting on the bed. One leg hanging down over the side, balanced on the edge, hands fisted in the sheets. His eyes bandaged.
"Ray."
Raylan didn't even flinch, "what are you doing here?" His snarl less than gracious.
"Seems I'm the only one who ain't scared of you." Tim drawled. "I'm here to help."
"Well, y'can just go right back out again."
"I ain't doin' that." Tim moved closer, the cowboy was practically quivering with rage, "the hell you ain't." Raylan lunged, Tim got right up close and hauled Raylan hard up against him. Pulled him in so that Raylan couldn't get an angle to punch.
Raylan struggled, but Tim wasn't letting go, ignoring the string of curse words in his ear, he managed to free a hand to rub Raylan's back a little, trying to calm him.
He was still fighting and struggling to break away, then suddenly he relaxed into Tim.
Tim wasn't fooled. He held on, because you never leave a man behind. Finally Raylan seemed to fold. He didn't cry, and lord alone knew getting Raylan to talk about his emotions was like getting blood out of a stone. He just leant into Tim, and Tim held his friend. Made him understand that whatever the outcome when they removed the bandages, Tim would be there for Raylan.
And that was how it started. At first Raylan would only let Tim help him, it was slow and frustrating for both of them.
At first it was because Tim wasn't scared of Raylan's temper and he was genuinely worried for his friend. So he turned up to all the therapy and lessons Raylan had to adjust to his blindness. He kept the lid on Raylan's frustrations, he had never meant to get that deeply involved, but when they were done at the hospital he took Raylan home with him.
He had never really had the chance to find out about the nightmares at the hospital, he'd known Arlo was a bastard, after all the man had just blinded his own son, but hearing Raylan beg in tears in the depths of a nightmare for his father not to hurt his mother nearly broke Tim's heart.
Arms-length friendship was not possible after that. Tim went to Raylan, and stayed, laying side by side on Tim's spare bed, Raylan's hand wrapped around Tim's wrist even in sleep.
In six weeks Raylan trained himself to walk around Tim's tiny cottage without missing a step.
They were just settling to a routine, when Winona arrived and things took an interesting turn.