As the bubble sinks, the same muck seems to leak into the bottom of the glass container, dirtying his feet and knees, and threatening to drown him if he sinks too far. He flinches when he feels it, cold and sticky, but he tries to do what Greg has asked him. He stares through the increasingly clean spot of glass, trying to quell his own shaking.

He can't escape the anticipation of it. It's reflexive now - as he reaches out for safety, he is just waiting for the moment that someone grabs him and pulls him down again. He can remember the feeling of hands on him so vividly, pulling and shoving, that shadowy forms of them rise from the darkness and grab at his legs and arms.

He tries to keep looking at Greg as the black fingers wrap around his shoulders and start to pull, but he's clearly starting to lose focus. He's trembling with how how scared he is, and his focus flickers up and down over Greg's features like he's just barely managing not to look back.

She's not here, he tries to tell himself. They're not here. It's just the two of them. It's just them. It's just them...

The bubble bobs downward, reacting to his fear, but stabilizes again as the child keeps his eyes on his father's face. Somehow the idea that if they stay together things will be okay is staying with him as non negotiable truth, even as he chokes out fearful sounds, tears budding down his cheeks.

"Dad," he says softly, remembering. "You're my dad."