[ He worries at the marks, but he doesn't comment. They all have their crutches he supposes, and he doesn't have the energy to confront her about hers.

He tries out a small, subtle smile at her saying that. Like hers, it falters. ]

Yeah.

[ Then he pauses. He doesn't remember how exactly he'd time travel, and that frustrates him momentarily. It's within grasp and then it disappears. ]

I went back to before the other me prototyped for the second time, before I thoughtlessly threw in that godforsaken puppet. Then I jumped in myself and well, there we go. Feathery asshole Dave at your service.