This definitely isn't helping matters any. Of course, if Tim weren't burning up with a fever and some crazy amount of paranoia, then he wouldn't blame Cougar a bit for doing what he's doing. If the roles were reversed, Tim would probably just punch the other man in the face and be done with it, knocking him out cold rather than trying to deal with him conscious. He should be grateful that Cougar's taking a more graceful route.

But he's not. Instead, he's twisting and struggling and grinding his teeth in pain at having his arm wrenched behind his back.

Cougar probably isn't very heavy, truthfully. But the fever has Tim weak, and the wooden porch is cool against his forehead, so he's still for a second, breathing heavily, feeling vulnerable and attacked, despite the fact that the only other person there is someone he actual feels some amount of trust towards. He's beginning to calm, just a touch — logic fighting its way through the fever and paranoia.

"You could try not sittin' on me," Tim says, turning his head to press his cheek against the porch instead. "That might help."