Malcolm definitely drops off, despite the suit, to the sound of York's breathing, however hitched it might be. Limbs all tangled up with York. It is not a soundless sleep. His subconscious is still churning in overdrive to sort through all the memories dumped into him, then tried to slosh back out. It's dreams that are memories that are mixed of all of them, and giant beasts tearing at them, and all he wants is York's warm, warm, warm, but it's nothing but cold. The cold loss of a parental death, cold loss of innocence, cold water engulfing. It's a lighter flickering out and the feel of a link fence under his hands of a place that's most definitely restricted.

And when he does wake, no idea how long or how short it may have been, none of it feels real, and could just be another memory when one of them woke up here. Assess. Assess the situation...