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"...Do you really think he'll be alright?"

"Of course, he takes after you, and nothing keeps you down long."

A pause, the sound of a soft thump and an oof, and then, "I'm serious, Maggie. Yeah, he saw something terrible, no wonder he's so upset. He'll talk if he wants to."

"I guess...But I'm still going to find a therapist for him to talk to. Nobody should see that sort of thing."

The voices wafted up the stairs, Toby's parents discussing his mental state... probably without realizing he was listening. He'd made a new friend, then the very next day saw that friend die. Damned right he was upset.

Worse, what he'd described as seeing was dismissed as being a stress response, and couldn't possibly be real. That was frustrating as hell--why do so few people did anything about the obvious evils going on in this town? Sure, it was some kind of nutso magic war, but there had to be something. At the very least, people should know. But nobody was gonna believe him...or worse, they might, and then whatever weird magic did in and nearly did him in too would probably find its way back to him.

That was almost too terrifying to consider.

So it'd been several days, and in that time he'd done basically nothing. He wasn't quite sure what day it was, but did know it was morning, at least. As his parents continued to discuss what exactly they should do about "the situation," he laid there, and a few thoughts that had been drifting around in his head started to crystalize.

First: He had to DO something. What, he had no idea. What could a regular kid do against all this?

Second: He had to be able to at least try to defend himself. They could jump on buildings, sure, but maybe if he could run a bit faster, duck a bit better, he'd be able to get away, distract anyone (or anything) that was trying to hurt him or people near him.

Third: This moping thing was really quite horrible. It made him feel horrible.

That last one was new, but was what really pushed him into action. Suddenly, he was up out of bed, and putting on some proper clothes. Within moments, he was thumping down the stairs with a purpose, causing his parents to stop talking immediately, and both look to the stairs.

"Good morning, sweetie," his mom said in an especially sweet voice--rather uncharacteristic. It wasn't as if she was a harsh woman, just...that tone was too nice. "How are you doing this morning? Want some breakfast?" Oh, she was trying. Real hard.

And Toby, similarly uncharacteristically, wasn't really in the mood. "Yep," he replied in a rather flat tone. "I'm going out. I'll be back later."

"But--" she started to object.

"I'll be fine," he stressed. "Gonna run until I can't do it anymore, then I'll buy a hotdog. Trust me, it'll be okay. I'll see you later."

He didn't stop walking through the conversation, so before any more objections could be raised...he was gone. Most of the time, they let him come and go within reason--he was a surprisingly responsible kid, and so though they followed him to the door, they didn't actually try to stop him.

"Should we really just let him go?" Maggie asked softly, one foot out the door, and one arm held by her husband.

"Let him work himself out of it...I saw his phone, we can find him if we really need to," he replied gently.

She sighed. "Alright...I'm still gonna find a therapist."