Between the lack of halfhearted sarcasm that would ordinarily come floating his way and the worrying emptiness that follows, Tim wonders briefly if Jay really is okay, if only externally. 'Okay' is code for 'not'. But the smart remark makes its entrance as always, and Tim can't suppress his immediate urge to roll his eyes slightly as he lurches onto his side and starts to get up. It's slow going, mostly because Tim doesn't want to succumb to any more vertigo.

Ignoring Jay's comment on his appearance - he's fully aware he looks gross, thanks, no need to point it out, asshole - Tim wobbles to his feet and finally takes stock of where they disappeared to this time.

"Oh." He should have figured. Scuffed wood floors, dry and dusty from disuse, and dim lighting? This is where he always ends up. He's memorized the layout of this place by now, he's been over the footage so many times. "Fuck."

And Tim was so hoping he'd see Benedict Hall again.