Jay struggles against Tim's grip for a second, but then he forces himself to hold still. It'll settle. It'll work itself out on his own, and he doesn't need to pick at it.

it itches it hurts it itches it hurts like a hundred thousand little injections

He doesn't need to pick at it. Instead, he shuffles through the thin powder-coating of snow across the roof to retrieve his jacket, and he pulls it over his arms like the world's most ineffectual snuggie.

It's getting better, he can feel it. Either that or his wings are just going numb from the cold. Either way, he feels a little warmer, and when he glances back it does actually seem like those godforsaken pin feathers are losing their coating.

He tries stretching them. The sensation's unreal, like nothing he's felt since that shapeshifting event.

"How long d'you think we'll keep these?"