His hand reaches up and grabs Robbie's in a death grip. It's not an "I'm alarmed" motion, it's more that he just wants to touch him, make sure he's solid and real and actually there and okay.

"Yeah. Yeah. Right. Yeah."

'The old stuff.' New stuff. Old stuff. Too much stuff. Robbie's faced too much stuff.

And Rich had added to it. But it wasn't his fault, right? There are lots of things that weren't his fault.

Even though they weren't, he still has to fix them.

"I still hurt you," he says, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper. "I still hurt you. I remember it now. It kinda...blends. What I said and what I remembered saying. But they were different things, I can tell now."

He's a little more cognizant of the times they'd motored him around and controlled him. Initially, he just hadn't remembered at all, but now he remembers being sunk down under the weight of the Many-Angled ones, trapped. Stifled and gagged.

"I said things to you that I didn't mean. I meant other things. I remember saying other things. That's what they left me. I walked away thinking I'd been myself, but they'd made me into something else."

And now he's drowning in it, drowning in all the mistakes fake Rich...Squich had made. They almost feel like his own mistakes, that's what makes them so oily and wrong and gross, but the memories of what he thought he'd said are clear enough for him to be sure that those mistakes weren't his. He'd had to be placated with fake memories of what he wanted to say to not notice the seams.

"Too many things. Old things and new things and I added things, but I didn't mean them Robbie, I swear. I swear."