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It takes less than a minute for spacetime to warp and Parker Parra to step out of a rift in the silent living room, eyebrows knit with concern.
Most of the Crabs are staring slackjawed at the results, still. York breaks away to pack a bag with a huff, rolling his eyes as he leaves. Kennedy is covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut, knees curled up to his chest, but there’s not much anyone can do to help him with the flood of ghosts checking out the new digs. Words trickle from him like a leaky faucet- never connecting to one another, a quiet but steady drip in the room.
Brock isn’t looking at the results, though. He’s looking at the wall, physically, but Parker knows that all the extradimensional eyes are on them. He shifts, stands, and wraps them in a hug.
“Hey, Parks.” He’s quiet, gravelly. Welcome home.”