"I mean, I...it's not like I can either."

Jay watches his shoes. It's easier to look at than Tim's face, than what Jay's pretty sure is complete, honest sincerity. Feels like cold hands on the back of his neck. Feels like he's doing something wrong.

"And, I mean, at least..." He runs a hand through his hair, eyes still locked on the ground. Tim should've gotten the voicemail. Tim wishes he got the voicemail. Maybe then, they could've worked this out back home. Maybe Tim could've called back. Hell, maybe he could've picked up. Maybe he could've driven out there, yanked Jay out of Rosswood before that thing found him. Maybe they could've stumbled back through the tunnel, back through the parking lot, back to their cars, back to some cheap motel. Maybe things could've gone back to normal--well, not normal. Familiar.

Maybe Jay's wasting his time thinking about bullshit that didn't happen.

"At least I got out of there somehow." With a broken camera, no phone, and no way to get home. "And we...we met back up, even it it wasn't...yeah."

He doesn't know how to do this. Doesn't know how to talk about this. Doesn't know how to think about this.