From his vantage point on the bridge, he can see everything.
The museum is dark, plunged into eerie shadows by the light of the crescent moon outside, but his changeling eyes have no problem following the action below.
He can't help but feel impressed, as he watches the glowing blue arc of Claire's sword through the air, a dazzling whirl of movements which seems almost like dancing. She's only been the Trollhunter for a few days, yet she takes to battle as easily as breathing.
Toby stands with his back to her, a no doubt priceless artifact clutched in his hands as a makeshift shield, beating back goblin after snarling goblin - a surprisingly effective method which tugs a small smile at the corners of Jim's mouth. Toby's always been one to make the most of unlikely situations.
Nomura's eyes stand out in the dark, green wells of light flickering far too close to the glow of Claire's amulet for comfort. He has every faith in the abilities of the Trollhunter against the elder changeling, but- still. Every clash of swords seems to jarr down his spine.
It isn't until they've set the goblins on Nomura that he finally shifts, something akin to concern and pride warring inside him.
"Whew," Toby gasps. "Thought I was a goner there for a sec."
"You okay?" Claire asks. Now that the fight is over, he can see just how much it took out of her, armour rattling with each heaving breath.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Man, Jim's gonna be so mad he missed that, though."
"You think."
Nomura stumbles back into view, a goblin clinging to her face with sharp talons. Her eyes search frantically around the room, finally locking with his. "Help me," she growls, but he can see the terror disguised behind her anger.
"Why would we help you?" Claire snorts, oblivious, swinging her sword casually in her hand.
As much as he's enjoying the irony of the situation, he can foresee events beginning to spiral - and he'd rather not have to explain the loss of another changeling to Bular. He's grown rather fond of Nomura, in all her opera-humming annoyance. So before Toby and Claire can react, he drops silently to the floor in front of them.
"Hey!"
Of course he doesn't get more than two feet towards his- friend? Subordinate? - before Claire yells out to him. He freezes midstep, grimacing involuntarily. Ever since Claire barreled into class with the amulet of the freaking Trollhunter clutched between her fingers, he's been dreading the inevitable.
He turns to face her.
He's not sure what he's expecting. Hesitation? A flicker of recognition? All ridiculously childish dreams, dashed by the widening, stunned eyes of his best friends as they take in his changeling form. His heart sinks with their growing horror, fury at himself turning his vision red - why did he allow himself to expect anything else?
Jim pushes the tumultuous emotions down, plastering an easy smirk on his face. "Yes?"
Surprise flashes across Claire's features, clearly not expecting anything other than a fight. He wonders whether she can hear hints of the voice of her best friend behind the mouthful of sharp teeth, behind the low rasping which comes with changeling lungs.
"Get away!" Toby warns, brandishing his shield.
"Or you'll what? Bash me to death with a ceremonial funeral mask?"
They all know it's not exactly a viable turn of events - but it has the desired effect, Toby staring in morbid curiosity and horror at his shield. It's all the distraction Jim needs; he lunges forwards, driving the mask into Toby's face with his arm. The other boy goes flying, dazed stars practically visible in his eyes as he slides to a stop against a crate. Breathing and awake, thankfully, but certainly out of the action for the time being.
Claire, unfortunately, is still very much ready for a fight. She thunders towards him, a cry ripping from her lips as she slashes at him with her sword. He barely has time to deflect the blow with the flats of his knives.
Anger, and concern for Toby, cloud her judgement - she slashes, stabs wildly, overbalancing and stumbling. Jim evades her easily now, dancing at the edge of her reach. He could toy with her until she collapses from exhaustion, but Toby has been worryingly motionless for the last few minutes, and he can just make out Nomura's infuriated protests as she struggles with the goblin still clinging to her.
With an irritated sigh he throws a knife towards Claire, pinning her to the closest wall by her left arm guard. He flings the other in Nomura's direction, not waiting to see if her yelp is one of pain or indignation as he stalks up to his struggling best friend.
"Stay away, Trollhunter," he growls, desperately attempting to ignore the blatant terror displayed on her face.
As soon as Claire became the Trollhunter he had vowed not to hurt her; to find a way - any way - to save her from the fate that always befell her kind. It's only been a few days, and already she stands before him convinced these are her last moments. Guilt boils in the pit of his stomach.
"You..." she falters, "You're not going to kill me?"
He forces a grin, fangs on full show. "Where would be the fun in that?"
And with that he turns, tugging a stunned Nomura, dripping with goblin guts, after him.
He doesn't look back.
"What," Nomura snarls, rounding on him the moment they're hidden in an alley behind the museum, "in Gunmar's name, was that."
He ignores her question, wiping down his knife with sudden interest.
"I said-"
He shoves her up against the wall, cutting off her words. "I heard exactly what you said, Nomura," he says, pronouncing every word slowly. "And let me remind you who outranks who here. What I do is none of your concern."
It takes a moment, glaring at her with as much gravity as he can muster, before she nods shakily and he lets her go.
"I still don't understand how Bular trusts you with such a significant position for one so... young."
"Good thing it's none of your concern, then, isn't it?" He sheaths his knife, beginning to walk away. "Now call the police, tell them about the break in. That should inconvenience them for a while, so we can move the bridge to a new - uncompromised - location."
"Yes - sir."
He climbs through the window of his bedroom a little before midnight, shaking his changeling form away. The shift always leaves him weak, harsh rock replaced with the vulnerability of flesh, and he collapses into his bed gratefully, hoping sleep takes him quickly.
He doesn't want to think about what just happened, but the thoughts push to the forefront of his mind anyway. Toby, crumpled, unmoving. The utter terror in Claire's eyes, so sure she was staring death in the face.
He'd almost forgotten what guilt feels like, but now it clouds his mind. How could he allow two humans to get so under his skin, make him so - weak?
As he shakes his head to clear it, his ears prick; voices echo faintly downstairs.
Quietly as he can manage in this flailing human body, Jim slips into the hall. The kitchen light is on downstairs, murmurs just audible amid a clatter of cuttlery and plates.
"I've been worried about him for a while," he hears; Barbara's voice, the weariness she usually attempts to hide weighing each word like an albatross wrapped around her neck. "He just, he doesn't seem like himself."
"I share your concerns."
Jim's blood turns cold, and he all but leaps down the stairs before his brain can catch up. He rounds the corner, and comes face to face with his worst nightmare.
His eyes jump to Barbara first - his mother in all but blood, and someone he has come to care deeply for despite his reservations. She's slumped over a cup of tea, a bone-deep exhaustion seeming to physically pull at her figure. She seems- okay, for now.
It's the person she's talking to which chills his blood.
Jim isn't used to the fear which curls in the pit of his stomach, hissing at the mere sight of Strickler. The man himself is far from a threat, usually - he's remarkably fatherly for a changeling, and in two years he has yet to make any connection between his favourite student and the Troll world, save for his friendship with Claire.
But Strickler, in his house? With every word he leans a little too close to Barbara, smiles a little too widely; his teacher looks far too relaxed, far too at home as he sits nonchalantly at the counter, nursing a cup of tea.
"Jim!" Barbara exclaims, startling so much the tea in her hands slips over the sides and scalds her skin red. JIm curls his fingers into fists, hidden in the sleeves of his jumper. "Sorry, I - I thought you'd gone to bed, Jim."
"Couldn't sleep," he responds a little too fast, feigning nonchalance. Strickler seems to raise a sceptical eyebrow at that, making Jim tighten his fists. He forces what he hopes is a surprised - yet calm - look onto his face. "Mr Strickler! What're you doing here?"
"I just stopped by to talk to your mother, Mr Lake." Strickler sets down his cup and turns fully to face him. For just a moment, Jim is tempted - so, so tempted - to shift, just to see the older changeling's expression. He knows for certain the man isn't here on Bular's orders, wants desperately to get him as far from Barbara, from this safe haven he's come to call home, as possible; instead he stares passively back.
"You never told me your teacher wanted to see me, Jim," Barbara says, tone more disappointed than anything. "Or that your grades were slipping."
"I'm sure it's not Jim's fault entirely, Barbara- may I call you Barbara? He has, I'm sad to say, made friends with rather... unsavory influences as of late."
"What." Jim's jaw all but drops to the floor.
"Come now, Mr Lake, I know you care for your friends, but you must admit it's true- your grades began their... decline upon the initiation of your aquaintance with Ms Nuñez."
Silence spans the space, and Jim almost bursts into laughter. If this is Strickler's best tactic for getting to Claire, he really has nothing to worry about for her safety. It reeks of desperation and a slipping grip on command and respect within the army.
And the idea of Claire being the negative influence in their unlikely trio? It's possibly the funniest joke he's heard.
"Claire isn't an 'unsavory influence'," he says eventually, through gritted teeth. "She's one of my best friends."
"Jim..." Barbara's tone has him instantly on alert; it's the same one she used before telling him his father wasn't ever coming back - apprehensive, uncertain, torn between emotions. "Mr Strickler isn't just here about your grades."
"Are you aware of what your- 'best friends' were doing tonight?" Strickler asks. He makes it sound more like a rhetorical question, and it's taking all of JIm's willpower not to wipe that self-important smirk off his history teacher's face.
He shrugs nonchalantly. "Homework?"
"Mr Domzalski and Ms Nuñez were arrested a few hours ago. For breaking and entering in the museum."
"Arrested?" he exclaims, hoping the surprise in his voice sounds genuine. Tangling Claire and Toby up with the police had seemed like the most effective way to delay them whilst the bridge was moved, but now worry begins to tug at the back of his mind. Did he misjudge Nomura's vindictive streak? Maybe she won't drop the charges. Maybe his only two friends are being chained up in a small, dark room as he speaks.
Just as he was.
"If Ms Nomura hadn't agreed to drop the charges - as a favour to me - the two of them would be facing criminal charges, at best."
The clawing anxiety in JIm's stomach lessens. Slightly.
"I'm sure there was a..." he searches for a fitting word, "good reason for it. But if Claire and Toby were arrested, why come talk to my mom? What about Mr and Mrs Nuñez? What about Toby's Nana?"
"No doubt they will be returning from the station shortly. I will be seeing both in good time. I just thought I should inform your mother of tonight's... occurences. Kill two birds with one stone, you might say."
JIm grits his teeth, but remains silent, noting the concerned look Barbara is eyeing him with.
Clearly noticing the tension he's created in the room, Strickler stands with a renewed energy. "But it's getting late! I must be getting on. It was lovely to finally put a face to your name, Barbara. And I'll see you in class, Young Atlas. I only hope tonight will motivate better choices on your part."
The door can't close fast enough, and Jim immediately turns to his mother, to try and smooth things over.
She's already climbing the staircase, not bothering to conceal the weariness in her every move. "Not tonight, Jim."
He watches her receding back as she rounds the turn in the stairs, noting the unbrushed look of her hair and dirt on her scrubs, the way she has to watch her feet to make sure each step lands correctly, hand gripping the bannister with a white-knuckled grip. He's tried so hard to support her, to protect her, and yet she seems more tired and ill every time he sees her.
He knows it's mostly his fault, and doesn't know whether to ache with sadness at how unfair the world is, that she of all mothers was chosen to lose her real son and not even know to grieve; or with frustration, at how soft this human woman has made him. Caring for humans has only ever led to pain, yet his heart doesn't seem to have learnt from the pain and suffering of experience.
He knows one day, probably soon, he'll have to choose - between the revenge Gunmar can give him, or the family he's found here - and, after just a few short years as Jim Lake Jr, he's no longer sure which decision he'll make.
Who could have guessed that these three humans would crawl inside his thoughts and imprint themselves upon his soul?