Trying to track down Mulcahy's crucifix is a lot like trying to help Carolina and Pokey search for that key in the middle of the windstorm. At least there aren't any tornadoes bearing down on them this time.

Maybe it's a little worse than a tornado, though, with the cacophony inside the Father's head roaring in his ears. Radar tries his best to ignore it, like he can ignore a lot of the noise around him after years of habit. But -- that's his friend. Safe, but still in so much pain, pulling his attention the way a chopper's blades might. He can't hear much else.

Well, that just means he'll have to use his eyes instead of his ears. It's a heck of a lot harder, to be sure, but the alternative is not helping, and that's no alternative at all. It has to turn up. It has to. Radar digs through the garden, wincing every so often when a thorn nicks his hand, but quietly as he can so nobody thinks he's being a baby about it.

Half a second before Fever shouts, his head snaps up like a dog hearing a call.

It's here!

Oh. Oh, thank goodness.

Once he's pretty sure his legs won't shake from the relief flooding through him, Radar clambers to his feet and jogs back to Mulcahy. It's silly to think, Everything's back in one piece now. It's not. But, maybe, at least a little bit of it is.