Oh, God, he's going to die, he's going to die - he's watching the moths in abject horror, vaguely impressed and, yes, terribly fucking fascinated, but it's a little hard to concentrate on the nerdier, intrigued sides of him when there's all this in his face, slamming him up into a building.

"I-If I was a fae or, or anything, really-" He searches his mind, everything ticking a million miles a minute. "Why wouldn't I be using my powers, why wouldn't I be fighting back? R-right?" It's all he's got in his arsenal, and he feels pitiful for it. Pitiful might be good in this kind of situation.