They spill out across the ground in an uncoordinated sprawl. Jay begins to cough, and the scratch of clothes Tim can finally recognize as his own, not the too-soft, light, cotton garments of a hospital. The sensation of fingertips around his wrist and shoulder fade; gone is the sting of antiseptic from his nostrils.

They made it.

He gets himself up on one elbow, winded.

"Jay. Jay." His heart is still thudding sickeningly in his throat, but he manages to get the other man's name out. "Hey. You okay, buddy?"