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Both Marc and Steven expected you to stress at the airport again, terrified that you would try to hurt yourself again. Even if it was just bruising, like it had been the last time they had boarded a plane, it felt like too much. The thought of having to intervene effectively and immediately made both men uneasy. They weren't sure they could react appropriately if the time came.
"Maybe there's a fourth one," Steven whispered after they booked the tickets while you slumbered. "It can't be the same one who, you know..."
"Massacres," Marc mumbled, feeling distant as he considered whether there were yet more personalities he had yet to discover. The birthing pains of confronting and integrating Steven had been so strong-and still so fresh-that he wasn't sure he was capable of repeating it with other alters so soon.
"They're better at taking care of her."
The note of sadness in Steven's voice gave Marc pause. "We're only helping her because you insisted, Steven. You're taking care of her, too."
"Feels kinda like Gus, yeah? We wake up and changes have happened and we weren't there to make it happen or experience it. It's not me who's helping, it's...the other one."
Chest constricting, Marc struggled to find something to say to lift Steven out of his forlornness, but he didn't even know how to lift himself out of it. The feeling was strange, mixed with underlying anxiety about the blackouts and what could happen in the space between his conscious waking.
"We'll take it one problem at a time," he said, effecting conviction in his voice for Steven's sake. "We'll get better at knowing how to help."
He hoped.
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