For that first moment, it's like he's literally incapable of believing what's happening. It goes against everything the hollow space in his heart has been telling him, about how nothing can save him, and about how there's no point in trying. Greg shouldn't be able to win against this. It doesn't make sense.

But yet, it does. Greg lifts him away from his prison, and the hands that tried to drag him down. It's beyond comprehension, but yet it isn't, and that contradiction seems to wrench something free with a snap that is almost painful. A bright green shard of crystal forms between them, hovering for a few moments before dissipating into his chest. He doesn't have to ask what it was. He knows what it was, the moment it settles back into where it belongs.

Steven throws himself against his dad, the darkness fading and the light of the van brightening. He cries and sob almost violently, but its with a cathartic release instead of the heavy weight of pain. Memories click together, from this image of his father and then outward, connecting through themes of love and hope. So much of him has been gone, and he didn't even know he was missing it. It's so overwhelming he can barely form words, can barely function.

"You're really here," he cries. "I remember."