When he realized he was being held, he started to settle down. There was an odd sort of comfort in being restrained. The invention of the straitjacket had been a sort of godsend for him even if others hated it. He found them comfortable, that they kept him from doing terrible things to himself. So his head settled against Cian's shoulder with no resistance.
Yes, of course, Cian went where he wished. He was older. He could do more. He--Tobias-no, The Confluence was soothed by this thought. A soft humming escaped him, his own form of soothing and protection. He lifted a hand to brush the backs of his fingers against Cian's cheek. It's okay, said Connie's voice inside of the Elder's head, even as he hummed away.
"What a sweet and innocent offer," he cooed, closing his eyes as he melted against the other man. "I don't think it would help. It's this... Smiler. He's getting in my head. I-I'm failing." His father leaned down in front of him and all Connie could see was his horrid, rotting face. Yes, he knew. Bartholomew didn't have to say anything this time. "You're not supposed to be here. I didn't eat you," he managed to force out to the spirit... Or was it a hallucination? It was hard to tell sometimes.