Tim makes a face, which has the same effect as saying fantastic in a deeply deadpan way, and then he rubs his eyes with his thumb and middle finger so that he doesn't keep staring at the blood on Jon's face. There's a concern there, even if he was the one that caused the damage in the first place. Mostly, the color of the blood and Jon's relative ease about the whole thing was pinging everything that Tim hates about the last several months. Several years, really. Since Danny.

"Well, you can buy me a drink, then," Tim says, resolutely. "And get a damned napkin to clean yourself up while we're at it, because I'm not looking at your face while you fill me in on my not being dead anymore."