Patrick Downes and Jessica Kensky walked out of the center field garage at Fenway Park on Friday night, hand-in-hand, as part of a Red Sox pre-game ceremony to commemorate the five-year anniversary of the Marathon Bombing.

Of the 264 people injured at the finish line on April 15, 2013, 17 lost limbs. Of those 17, Kensky and Downes were the only married couple, albeit by just seven months.

The couple has been through it all since that day. Dozens of surgeries, including the amputation of both Kensky’s legs, hours of rehabilitation and physical therapy each day, extended stays in Boston hospitals and Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital in Charlestown, and a government clearance for a long-term stay at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Md.

The support from family and friends has been unparalleled. The number of nurses and doctors they’ve seen has reached into the hundreds.

One unexpected constant through it all has been the support they’ve received from the Red Sox.

“I grew up in Cambridge and my dad always joked that I was born with a Red Sox hat on and a glove on my hand,” Downes said. “Baseball has always been my favorite sport so following the Red Sox is just part of who I am.”

That’s what’s made the relationships he and Kensky have formed with Red Sox players, personnel and front office members the last five years all the more meaningful in the midst of healing.

Immediately after the bombing, Downes was sent to Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center while Kensky was transported to Boston Medical Center. Each endured hours of surgeries in the infancy of their new lives as amputees.

While the couple battled for their lives, the city remained distraught, scared and on edge. The Red Sox, who played on the morning of the Marathon and were headed to Cleveland for a three-game series when the attack happened, then returned home early Friday morning to Boston. Their game that night was postponed with the city on lockdown before the lone surviving perpetrator was captured.

The game the following day, when the Red Sox honored the survivors and the police and other officials who helped end the manhunt, was just the beginning of Downes’ recovery through the Red Sox. It was the game when David Ortiz told the crowd, “This is our (bleeping) city. Stay Strong,” in his pregame speech.

“I get emotional thinking about it because I can still remember being in my hospital bed at Beth Israel when the team came back for the first game,” Downes said, pausing to clear his throat. “My father got invited to the game by a friend and he asked me if it was OK to go because he hadn’t really left my bedside along with my mother and brother. And I was like ‘Of course you’ve got to go.’ When Papi was on the field and they brought out all the first responders and you could see Fenway just erupt, I was just dissolved to tears in my bed because I felt so proud to be a part of that and to think all those people were supporting us. That moment could have easily come and gone but the Red Sox have been incredible.”

The Red Sox kept in frequent contact with Downes and Kensky with little fanfare, particularly senior director of fan services and entertainment Stephanie Maneikis and community partnerships and player relations manager Kathryn Quirk.

Six months after the bombings, the Red Sox were in the postseason on their way to the 2013 World Series championship. The team’s success eased some of the pain and distracted Downes and Kensky from the difficulties of their new lives.

“When Papi hit the home run to right against Detroit [in the American League Championship Series] Jess remembers me hopping up and down on one leg and dropping my crutch because I was out of my mind with excitement,” Downes said. “There was something incredibly special about what it did for the city to have something to cheer for and unite around that wasn’t sad. It was just a gift that will forever be a part of our lives.”

As the years passed, the Red Sox didn’t forget them.

Downes was still at Spaulding when he turned 30 so his brother and friends organized a surprise field trip to Fenway Park for his birthday with the Red Sox’s help.

“They got us a suite so that it was wheel chair accessible, it was comfortable and they had lobster rolls as far as the eye can see,” Downes said. “They stacked the place with all this good food. And it was just incredible — it was depressing to celebrate your 30th birthday in a rehab hospital but that’s what life had in store — but they just made it so special for a few hours.”

Downes and Kensky lived and rehabbed at Walter Reed for three years as they learned how to adjust to their new lives. They formed close ties with combat veterans who understood the struggles of lives with amputated limbs. There were no questions or stares, they looked like everyone else working to walk again.

While they were still at Walter Reed, Downes and several of his newly formed military veteran friends were invited to throw out the first pitches at Fenway, and Ortiz went out of his way to check in on Downes and Kensky.

“Out came Papi to catch my first pitch and it was good because he was a nice big target,” Downes quipped. “But I threw it to him and we went to meet and the first thing he said was ‘How’s Jess?’ because Jess was still at Walter Reed recovering and it was just for him to remember, for him to ask, that was really sweet. And just him being a good human.”

Boston Marathon bombing survivor Patrick Downes, shown after a past first pitch ceremony, credits former Red Sox DH for maintaining a bond with him and his wife in the years since the bombing. Photo by Bob DeChiara-USA TODAY Sports

There have been gracious gestures from the Bruins, Patriots and Celtics, but Downes and Kensky have formed a particularly close bond with the Red Sox.

“Stephanie Maneikis and Kathryn Quirk text us all the time, always inviting us to games and not just inviting us but making it really special,” Downes said. “They know that getting around is harder now, so they make parking available for us and they escort us to seats that they know we’ll be comfortable in. We’ve gotten to know some of the players and their families and see them as humans and not just as these things to idolize, superstars, which they still are. But every time we think, ‘OK that was cool, the attention is going to wane a little bit,’ they just keep bringing us back for more.

“[Sox president] Sam Kennedy, I’ve gotten to meet his family and talk baseball but also his mom was a teacher and my parents are teachers and talk education,” Downes said. “So it’s like what was always this larger-than-life personality in the Red Sox now feels like real people who we now have these relationships with. It’s amazing.”

Among the players Downes and Kensky have befriended over the last few years are Dustin Pedroia and Brock Holt. Pedroia and Kensky especially connected because they both grew up in the same area in northern California and are around the same age. Pedroia attended Arizona State while Kensky was at University of Arizona.

“I think something struck a chord with him so he went home and told his wife Kelli and so it just started a relationship,” Downes said of Pedroia. “We took a picture with Kathryn Quirk tonight on the field and she texted it to Kelli and Kelli is texting us just to check in.”

Downes and Kensky attended the birthday party of one of Pedroia’s sons and that’s where they met Holt and his wife.

“We just kind of started talking to them and figured out, learned their story,” Holt recalled. “We kind of gravitated toward them because they had [their service dog] Rescue with them and we had just kind of gotten [our dog] Tank and we were talking about Labs and everything and my wife is obsessed with Labs and dogs and we started talking to them there and built a relationship from that night on. We got their numbers and exchanged and kept in contact with them and it just kind of built from there.

“They’re great people, we’re lucky to know them and happy our paths cross.”

Holt, who also does volunteer work through the team for the Jimmy Fund, understands the importance of providing a support system for those in need.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what they’ve had to go through and I know their story from the beginning to everything they’ve kind of gone through to this point,” Holt added. “There’s no way I’d be able to do what they’ve done and keep their faith and love for each other. And I think that in and of itself is what’s helped them get through what they’ve been through. But I’m sure the more people you have in your corner, the easier it makes it.”

On Friday night, Downes, Kensky and their “Boylston Street family” — as they call the other survivors and victims’ families — watched the game from a suite down the left-field line.

“We didn’t know any of these people beforehand, we may never have met them,” Downes said. “But we just feel this incredible bond with them. We really feel each other’s pain when someone is having a hard time. We delight when someone’s reached a new milestone or celebrating something.

“But to be here and to joke around, J.P. Norden is throwing cashews at me and Jeff Bauman’s daughter is running around playing with our service dog,” he said. “We just feel so lucky to have each other. And I’m embarrassed to say I don’t even really end up watching the game because I’m so busy talking to people and goofing around and making fun of each other. And I think the Red Sox get that and they get we want to be together and have this opportunity to give each other hugs and sit with whatever emotions are coming up.”

Despite the enormous challenges they’ve faced over the last five years, they’ve chosen to focus on the relationships they’ve developed.

“When think of Boston Strong, I think of the blue and yellow (the BAA colors) and I think of the Sox symbol and they came to symbolize us,” he said. “We needed something to rally around and they gave it to us. And they keep welcoming us back for more.”

Top photo by Billie Weiss/Boston Red Sox/Getty Images