Four years is a long time to be alone. It's a lot of time to wonder, the theorize, to panic. Every worst-case scenario had gone through Greg's head a dozen times over, until they felt like a certainty.

Steven would hate him. He'd blame Greg for not being there, not stopping his capture, not coming to find him sooner. Steven would be cold indifferent to him, taken in by the fae completely and disconnected from the humanity that had failed to shield him. Steven would forget him entirely, so scrambled and abused by his captors that no memory of their love or happiness would have survived the long years spent waiting.

In an instant, the years of fear and dread were pushed aside like the bad dreams they were, with just a few simple words. Greg chokes out a sob, nodding and clutching Steven close.

"You came back. Oh, Steven, you're home."

He could just about shower the boy in kisses, and nearly does before he notices the weakened vines still trying to snare his pantleg. Kicking them away is easy, but it reminds him of the danger at hand. Greg looks over his son, the scrapes and bruises and burns. "I--I'm gonna get you outta here. We'll go someplace safe." This was supposed to be the safe place, but... well, they'll need to figure something else out.