"That really all that surprising?" Tim can't help but flare back, though with considerably less rancor than his usual. Fuck, please don't let this become his mental theme. Don't flood his subconscious with a parade of dead or dying Jays, because he replays that footage often enough in his head, in his nightmares, in the quiet hours between coughing fits in his grubby hotel room, and he doesn't need this now.

Tim breaks off to scan the ominous clouded shadows between each stunted bone of a tree, breath still warm and heavy in his throat.

"C'mon." He glances over one shoulder at the nervous wreck that he wishes would leave his head alone. "We can't stay here."