[ He'd caught a glimpse of her as he'd fallen onto his hands and knees in familiar red dust, stuck to both of them now as they hurtle along. It's how he knows this isn't just a dream anymore, if it ever was. She's not some remnant of the place and the hands to which he'd last left a version of the boy in the car ahead of them.

So he lets her enjoy the ride. Lets himself enjoy it again — maybe for the last time — closing his eyes for it briefly because he's since taken sharper falls than these. They're open again by the time she notices him, his gaze fixed ahead, but Steve looks at her when she verifies that he's very much a solid presence beside her. ]

This is my dream, I think I should be the one doing the poking.

[ It's another moment before he understands that by 'this' she means all of it, not just the kid being ill over the side of the car. Well, he won't be the one to point out to her exactly what he'd meant. ] I don't know. Too much sugar before bed could do it.