"Dreams," Steph says quietly, sinking back against the wall and staring at the far-too-clear, far-too-starry sky, trying not to let any emotion show in her voice. Particularly not fear.

"Really vivid. Almost like memories. They're not - real, though. They can't be."

She swallows the lump in her throat and makes herself ask it flat-out, bluntly. It's better to know.

"Babs ... was I - was it that bad? Is that why I don't remember? ... Am I brain-damaged?"