Cricket doesn't know a damn thing about mental illness. In the time and place he comes from, they were still inordinately hard on World War 1 veterans coming home with "shell-shock", let alone people who came from ordinary situations and just seemingly developed problems out of nowhere. But he knew a veteran who self-medicated by drinking and was all the more terrifying for it. He's seen plenty of people with their own demons or crosses to bear or whatever pseudo-religious terminology you want to use. And he's got his crooked bones and the braces he straps to 'em, and if that can't make a man a little more compassionate to people who are different, probably nothing can.

"Don't know if it's better or worse to be able to hide it," he muses, and puts a fraternal hand on Josh's shoulder. "I ain't gotta worry about how to bring it up to people. The second somethin' creaks or goes clink, it's brought up."

"If you wanna talk about it, I'll listen. But if you don't, we can talk about this thing instead," he smiles and pats the speeder with his free hand. "Guess there's no point in polishing 'er up 'till the storm's done, but maybe I can help you shine her in the Spring."