He puts his full weight on each leg experimentally and is rewarded by several stabs of pain up his spine. Tim winces.

"Yeah," he says, the word a pained scrape over his vocal cords. "Yeah, I'm good."

Sorta.

Kinda.

Mostly.

He plants one hand against the wall and starts hobbling forward, mouth set in a determined line.

"Okay," says Tim, trying to recover some of his missing wherewithal and authoritative outlook. "Let's get someplace not-here, then."