Loren paced the perimeter of his bedroom, completing first one circuit, then two, then ten, then a hundred. He lost count after three hundred and forty two circuits of walking the edge of his wall, going around his desk, over his bed. He started walking around his bed instead of crawling over it because the springs in the center groaned a bit each time. It was an odd squeaking pattern, and he didn't want his parents getting curious and coming to see what in the world it was he was doing. He wasn't sure what he'd even be able to tell them. Vague arm waving, hand flapping, stammered nonsense?

That wouldn't get him anywhere except frustrated, his parents frustrated, his sister frustrated once she heard about it, his grandparents frustrated when they heard about it...

At least his great-grandmothers would tell them they should have just left him alone...

Babunia would probably listen to them, but... He was pretty sure that would put him under all of their microscopes, and he couldn't really afford that. He enjoyed a fair amount of freedom--an unfair amount, really, if his older sister was to be believed--and was not terribly keen to just give that up. The fact that now he was part of this huge conflict against Evil Itself just made it that much worse. He had to be able to get up and just leave at a moment's notice if he was needed.

Not that Loren was sure he was actually needed, but... so far he hadn't made things worse?

That was something at least.

He also didn't want his family getting mixed up in all of it. If he was less anxious, maybe he would have been more amused at the realization that he was having the very trope-ish 'oh no my family is in danger because I am trying to save the world I must be brave' conversation with himself. As it was, he was just agitated. He would have much rathered he didn't have to worry about it. He knew people had died in that theater. There was no way they hadn't. There was no way there weren't burned, charred, blackened bodies lying under the beams and the wood and the--

Loren tripped over a shirt lying on his floor and found himself sprawled on the carpet, staring at the space under his bed.

He'd been afraid of monsters under his bed when he was little. His mom had even made "Monster Spray" for him to mist under there. At the time, it'd helped. As an adult, he realized she was tricking him into febreezing at least a little bit of his room. But the important thing was, it'd helped. He'd really honestly felt like he was keeping the monsters away.

No amount of lightly perfumed water was going to keep these monsters away.

Maybe if he sprayed it directly in their eyes he'd get about a twenty-foot head start before they murdered him.

If he was lucky, anyway. Loren flopped onto his bed, but was back out of it in the next moment. He didn't want to be lying down. He wanted to be doing something about all the people that had gotten hurt, had died. He wanted to be doing something. At least, something that didn't distract an ally and get her hurt...

He dragged both hands down his face, nails scraping against his own jaw.

If he ever saw her again, he would apologize. That felt like something he should apologize for. What if she didn't want to see him, though? What if she attacked him on sight? Would she have any way of knowing it was him and that he hadn't gotten her knocked out on purpose?

The temptation to bring a bat augmented with barbed wire on his next patrol was a strong one...