"Where're you at?" He blinks at the other man blearily, trying to push past the haze of smoke in his eyes and in his head.

Oh god. Smoke.

The pressure around his chest is like iron, his shoulders quivering with low, ragged coughs. He doesn't remember if he took his pills with him when he left. It was supposed to be some stupid grocery run - the last thing he or anyone else expected was to get an actual bomb going off in the street.

"Don't think it was aimed for anyone in particular," Tim ventures when he can breathe again, which is - okay, not particularly comforting. That's just great.