He could stay here all night, he knows. It's a childish fantasy, one where you run away into someone's arms and their comforting words become realities, one where all you need for safety is someone to care for you. But Howard's practical, deep down, and that means they need shelter better than just some hanging clothing.

He listens to what R says. Howard's with it enough to realize that that's not a great idea. "No. I'll go first. I'm more careful."

In the mental state he's in, he doesn't bother to sugarcoat that. It's just a fact. Howard's an eleven on the one-to-ten scale of caution and R's maybe a four. Howard finally extricates himself from R's arms and then from the sweaters dangling around him like fat, soft fruit. He tries to stand up and his knees go out from under him. He lands on his hands.

Maybe he isn't quite alright yet. It's some stupid quirk of nature that excessive flight response makes it harder to protect yourself. He slowly gets back up, even though his knees are shaking so hard he has to steady himself on a shelf of action figures.

No alarms. He stretches on tip-toes above an aisle and sees nothing. He listens and hears nothing. He takes a deep breath-

"Okay. Let's go. Get me back in the vents."