Sometimes, John forgets that not everyone hides from suffering behind nonchalance and gallows humor. “Good. Good, then he still knows his place.” He swallows hard and clears his throat as she collapses into herself, and though her tears are inevitable, and probably better in the long run, he winces. “Tara...” John is as bad at other people’s feeling as he is at his own, but even he can put his arms around a grieving friend, and he does, sliding his stool closer to hers and squeezing her shaking shoulders. “It’s all right,” he murmurs, and puts his hand over her injured one to steady it - his hand that was never really hurt but used to shake something awful. “Even if it’s just for now, okay?"