Disclaimer: Don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters. Shoutout to Techgrl1 for doing some lovely fanart for my fic. Once I figure out how to link my stuff in the profile, I'll post it on there. For now, it's on my own my tumblr tunafishprincess, along with my own and others' fanart for the au. Big thanks to everyone whose reviewed and favorited. I really appreciate all your kind words. Big thanks to Charlie for betaing once again.
I hope you enjoy the new chapter!
To Catch a Changeling (I)
Barbara was many things.
The top of her class, the student council's treasurer, president of the pre-med society—she had worked hard to get to where she was.
But this, this was something else.
"Push, Mrs. Lake," the Nurse ordered. Her voice could only be described as somewhere between nails to a chalkboard and a foghorn. "You must push harder."
"I'm doing the best I can," Barbara shot back, slamming her head against the hospital bed.
Barbara was about ready to push the woman down a flight of stairs if she said 'push' one more time. As if she wasn't trying her damn hardest already.
What she wouldn't give to have her parents here. If only her dad hadn't broken his leg trying to fix the gutters. Served him right for not getting someone who wasn't nearing his twilight years. At least they were there in spirit, if the overabundance of teddy bears and flowers on the nearby couch was any indication. But being there in spirit was not the same as in person, and right now, Barbara would give anything to have someone other than Ms. Enthusiasm holding her hand like a dead fish. If only James were there. Traffic in Los Angeles was a nightmare, especially during rush hour. Barbara had been lucky since their home was so close to the hospital, but her husband still had ways to go until he reached her.
So, here she was, on her own. Suffice to say, it was pretty damn terrifying. She would give anything to have someone she knew holding her hand right now.
Sadly, anyone from James's family was out of the question. From what she gathered, it was a sore subject for him. It irked her. How could someone reject someone as loving as James? Sure, he could be cold and standoffish at times, but that was only because of his intellectual nature. It was part of why she became attracted to him. He was an old soul, a wary Evergreen in a forest of maples. Why on earth he choose someone like her she couldn't begin to fathom.
Another round of stabbing pain hit. Barbara vomited at the strength of it, even though she had nothing left in her stomach at the time. She struggled not to brake the Nurse's hand, her grip so tight her knuckles turned pure white. Her back ached from the position. She wanted to walk around again, to ease the agony building up in her lower body, but she was already too close now to stop.
God, what she would do for some vodka and gin right now. She had only just finished college a month ago and had to defer medical school for another year because of this. Still, while it wasn't what she pictured for herself growing up, Barbara was still going to be the best damn mom she could be.
"Another push, Mrs. Lake. You're almost there." The Doctor said in a soft tone. Where in the seven hells was he earlier?
Barbara moaned. Words could not describe what she was feeling. God, why had she let James touch her that warm summer night of Junior year?
After an eternity of cramping and labor, her effort was awarded. The softest of mewls could be heard from the doctor's hands. Her heart nearly sang aloud, catching in her throat as the Nurse brought the babe to her breast.
"It's a boy," the Nurse said.
No shit, Barbara thought, but kept those words to herself. Even though this was her first time she amassed every book and medical journal she could find about her pregnancy. Though some things had been a little old (especially that one month when socks smelled appealing), the pregnancy went smoothly.
And now, in her arms, herown flesh and blood stared up at her. While most mothers might gush about their newborns, Barbara struggled not to snigger. He looked like an angry middle-aged man, complete with a red face and a disgruntled expression, not unlike her father's when he read the Sunday morning newspaper.
"Hi there," she cooed.
The baby's unfocused eyes centered on hers. Barbara nearly forgot to breath.
A multitude of emotions came over her. Tears gathered in her eyes. She had made this. This was her flesh and blood, crafted from generations of humans and likely generations after. She couldn't wait for James to meet him.
He was perfect.
He was hers.
Her little Jim.
Barbara gasped. Her eyes shot open. The ceiling fan circled around lazily above her. Her mind was blank, slowly turning back on.
The first thing she noticed was the pina colada song blaring full blast from somewhere nearby.
The second was the painfully awkward angle her neck was in. This was not her bed.
She groaned. What was she doing on the couch? Barbara tried to look around, but the light of dawn pierced her line of vision.
Wonderful. What happened last night? Barbara used her elbows to push up off the furniture. The faint smell of coffee sang to her from across the room. It didn't disguise the scent of tequila on her shirt however. When did she have tequila? Barbara rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to starve off the beginnings of a headache. The glare of the morning sun made it even worse.
Her gaze traveled from her hands to the rest of the room. Barbara's eyes narrowed. She adjusted her glasses, pushing them back to the top of her nose. This wasn't her home. Her fingers dug into a nearby throw pillow. She examined the all too familiar paisley pillows beneath her.
She knew this place. Hell, she was quite familiar with the couch, having spent more than once crying on top of it. Nevertheless, why was she in Mrs. Domzalski's home? When had she gotten here?
Like a newborn deer, Barbara rose to her feet, her legs numb and tingly. The small headache had ballooned to a full-on migraine. Oh, this was just peachy. She checked the time, silently cursing at what she found. Her next rotation was in an hour and she hadn't even showered. God, what would the staff at the clinic think if she came in like this? Probably the same pity they graced her with normally, and perhaps a write-up for coming in disheveled.
Maybe she should just call in sick.
First things first however— she needed caffeine.
Like a zombie in a Tarantino movie, Barbara dragged herself towards the smell from the kitchen.
An oh-so familiar face popped out from the kitchen. It nearly gave Barbara a heart attack.
"Oh, is that you, dear? Finally awake I see. Wonderful!" Nana remarked, meeting the woman at the threshold to the kitchen. "Come in, come in!"
Barbara tried to gather her thoughts. "Mrs. Domzalski—"
"Please, just Nana," The woman said, pulling a coffee mug out from one of the cabinets.
"Nana," Barbara amended. "What am I—"
"One second, dearie. The pot should be just about done," Nana said. She was surprisingly spry for someone nearing eighty years, pouring the coffee into the cup like a skilled master.
Barbara felt slightly jealous. Cooking and cleaning were not Barbara's gifts. In fact, the majority of the time her coffee came from the Clinic's own pot or whatever she bought on her ride to work.
Nana presented the mug into Barbara's awaiting hands.
"Thank you," Barbara replied, taking a long sip of the rich black brew. The bitterness washed away the bad taste in her mouth, its heat awaking her mind to her surroundings.
Nana poured the rest of the coffee into her own mug, eyes still trained on Barbara in an attentive manner. "What is it you were saying earlier, dear?"
"Oh, ah," Barbara scrambled to pick up where she left off. Setting her drink to the side, she leaned closer to the woman. "I was going to ask what I was doing here." Her temple ached the second she asked. Barbara winced, rubbing her forehead. "And why does my head feel like it's about to explode?"
Nana patted Barbara's shoulder. "It seems like you and I had a little too much to drink last night. Poor Toby-pie found us, bless him, and put you and I on the couch. Such a lovely boy."
"He did?" Barbara paused, trying to remember such an event, but nothing came to mind. "That's strange. I normally don't forget things like that."
Barbara had enough experience with drowning her sorrows to know her limit. But, apparently, that might need to be corrected. She sighed. God, getting old sucked.
"My memory is all foggy. What was I even doing here?" Barbara asked.
"I haven't the faintest idea. Must have been some party though. The upstairs are still quite messy. Toby cleaned it up as much as he could though. I'll need to call in someone to do the broken window however."
"Broken window?" Barbara said, bringing the drink away from her mouth.
"Yes. Reminds me of my college days. Still, how embarrassing. I normally don't drink. Not since…" Nana smiled softly, stirring her own mug with a small spoon. "Not since Toby's parents passed."
Barbara's shoulders tightened. She looked away, unsure of what to say. She'd nearly forgotten that Nana too had lost her own child. Barbara had never met Toby's parents, but from how Nana spoke of them, she knew them to be incredibly kind and much like Toby himself.
Speaking of the boy, Barbara almost didn't catch him in the corner of her eye. She cleared her throat, calling out the his name. He froze, looking up in alarm before his eyes settled on her.
"H-hey Dr. Lake," Toby started, his eyes darting back and forth. "What's hanging? You feeling okay? Some party, right?"
Barbara set down the mug. "I'm alright, though I do have a bit of a headache. What exactly happened last night? When did we start drinking?"
"Oh, you know, crazy party. Lots of old people music and alcohol. I don't remember when you starting drinking, um, maybe in the afternoon? No, night. It was probably night…I think? Sorry, I wasn't here when you guys started."
Barbara got out of the chair, drawing closer to the boy. Something was off, but she couldn't pinpoint as to why. He'd never been this nervous around her before. Barbara clicked her teeth together.
She must have come here for something. The lack of a proper answer rankled her.
What was the reason? Barbara pushed her bangs back. Her memories of the last few days were almost as fuzzy as last night. Had she really had so many shots of tequila to inspire memory loss?
"Toby, how much did we drink?" Barbara asked.
Toby let out a high-pitched chuckle. "Oh, I don't know, a couple bottles maybe?"
"A couple bottles of tequila?" Barbara exclaimed, her mind running through the numbers. "And you didn't call the hospital?"
"Ah, well, you guys didn't drink all the bottles, I mean, you were pretty out of it and…" Toby checked his bare wrist, tapping his pointer figure against. "Oh no, look at the time! It's the time for the hour of school, which is where I should be. Like, right now."
Barbara glanced at the clock in the living room. "It's six-thirty in the morning."
"Oh, um, I want to get there early," Toby explained, inching further and further away. "Gotta get a jump-start on that homework, ya know?"
Yes, something was definitely off. Barbara edged toward the boy.
"Do you want me to drive you?" Barbara offered. She picked up her purse from the hanger by the stairs.
Toby continued to walk backwards to the front door, one hand behind while the other was waving nervously in front. "Nah, it's cool. I'm meeting up with a friend."
"Maybe I can drive you to meet him." Barbara said.
Toby smacked his back against the wall near the entrance, startling at the sensation. He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head.
"Oh, ah, he's shy around strangers. But thanks for the offer. Seriously, Dr. L." Toby scrambled for the doorknob next to him. Right before he left (ran, Barbara, he ran) Toby added, "Greattaseeya! Haveanicedaygoodbye."
In a flash, he slammed the door shut, the light above the entryway shaking from the force of it.
"He seems rather chipper today," Barbara remarked dryly as she moved away from the door. Nana shuffled in from the kitchen to meet her, handing back her coffee.
"Must be those new friends of his," Nana explained. "Toby-pie goes to study with them every night it seems. Part of me worries, especially when he doesn't come home until midnight."
Barbara's brows came together, a small frown upon her lips. "Why don't you ground him then?"
Nana settled down on the couch, picking up one of the fallen pillows and fluffing it until it returned to its normal shape. Once finished, she crossed her legs, gripping both hands together. "He's been so happy recently. Toby always struggled to make friends. He used to be such a happy boy, and after…After the incident, he became so withdrawn. I was worried, especially when he entered into high school. Freshman year was difficult. He almost missed too much school. I had to speak with the guidance counselor, and the principal, and his teachers and—"
Barbara laid a hand on Nana's shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I wish I had known. I know I wasn't all there when Jim disappeared. I was so focused on my own pain that I forgot about the people around me."
Nana smiled softly, nodding her head. "We've all lost someone, Barbara-dear. I'm just glad Toby-pie has someone new he can trust. I feared he would never make another friend."
"Time heals," Barbara said.
"No," Nana sighed, "it merely gets easier to cope I think."
"True," Barbara amended, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. "Thank you for the coffee, Nana."
Nana squeezed Barbara's hand. "Not a problem, dearie. I want you to know: you're always welcome in our home. Though I do hope we don't throw a wild party again. I'm not sure I can handle the repair costs next time."
Barbara put her hand over Nana's own. "Let me handle the costs, Nana."
Nana waved her hand dismissively. "Oh no, you really don't have to, Barbara-dear."
"No, but I want to," Barbara insisted. She clicked on her phone, reading the messages she missed. "Call me when you've got the repairman over. I'll cover the payment and everything."
Nana's lower lip trembled, but she didn't break into tears. Instead, she drew Barbara into a tight embrace. She smelled of coffee and sweet perfume. It reminded Barbara of her own mother.
It wasn't long before Barbara had to leave however. She traded goodbyes with her friend, walking across the lawn to her home across the street.
Barbara sighed as she came across another trash bin pushed over. Both hands came to rest on her hips, her head shaking in annoyance. Raccoons again? She hoped they didn't have another infestation building up.
She gathered the contents back into the bin, only stopping when her hand brushed across a folded piece of paper. It was the inscription that truly caught her attention however. It looked like someone had tried to get rid of the evidence, even crumpling it into a small wad, but Barbara was not so easily fooled. This wasn't part of her trash.
Curiosity gripped her. She unfolded the piece of paper.
The effect was immediate. It was as if someone had punched her in the gut.
Her shaking fingers traced the lines of her name. Barbara bit down on her bottom lip. She forced herself to breath.
Barbara tried to read the rest, but the words danced and blurred underneath her watering eyes. She recognized his loopy cursive anywhere. How could she not? It was so much like her own after all.
She placed the letter to her breast, cradling it like a newborn.
Memories from the previous nights rose, a tidal wave of emotions enveloping her. She remembered—her missing child, the monsters chasing after him, and her son's best friend smack dabbed in the middle of it all. She had gone over to Toby's home to confront him when—
Barbara massaged her head. There had been someone who arrived at the house. A woman. There had been a woman and they were having tea then—
Her eyes widened.
"Jim," she whispered.
Draal liked to consider himself a pragmatic troll.
When life gave him hardship, he punched through it, sometimes quite literally. But being shamed out of Trollmarket had been a humbling ordeal, one only topped by the fact that the one responsible for it was a bloody changeling.
An impure had defeated him. Him. Even now, a day later, he could not fathom how foolish he had been. All the clues were there, but like most of Trollmarket, he had dismissed the idea of them. The safety of the underground had deluded them into a false feeling of security. It would have been their downfall too. Changelings above Arcadia, and in such a large number, meant nothing but dark times ahead.
And now one of them was messing around with the Sword of Daylight in the fat one's backyard, as if it were a toy.
Draal ran a hand down his face, flicking a tongue against his right tusk. This is ridiculous. His father and the rest of the Trollhunters would be aghast at such a display.
Of course, they likely would not have approved of Draal's eavesdropping either.
"So, what did Claire say about the letter?" The stout one (Taby? No, Toby, Draal corrected himself.) asked the other.
"Nothing. We didn't have any classes together today. I did text her I wouldn't be at rehearsal, but she hasn't replied back yet."
"Ouch."
"You think she's mad at me?" Atlas said, his voice raising an octave.
"You have missed a lot of rehearsals."
"True," Atlas said softly, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I never should have tried out, but Claire asked and I didn't want to refuse. Sweet Pale Lady, she's—"
"Perfect? Stunning? Amazing?" Toby provided, lifting a new finger for each new word. "What other adjective are you going to use to describe our school's Juliet?"
"Have I really been that terrible?"
"Dude, I get that you like her, but don't put her on some pedestal. You'll only set yourself up for disappoint."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Middle school was…difficult." Toby explained in a soft tone, before puffing out his chest. "But that's fine. I've learned from my mistakes. Soon, girls will come flocking to la casa de Tobes. Watch and learn from the master, A-slice."
Atlas rolled his eyes. "For the last time, A-slice is not happening, now or ever."
"But you gotta have a nickname. You call me Tobes."
"You call me Jimbo at school," Atlas countered.
Toby crossed his arms. "But that's different."
Atlas began warming up, stretching his legs and arms. "Well, give it time. Maybe you'll think of one over the weekend. Swarma tacos and movies again?"
"I'll have to get back to you on that. Your mom's supposed to come over on Saturday to my house."
"Oh," Atlas said softly, ceasing his movements. "Is she…is she okay?"
It took Draal a second to remember which fleshbag the Trollhunter was referring to. His eyes traveled back to the home he'd just come from. The Trollhunter's mother had not yet arrived home and likely wouldn't for several hours more. While he had settled into the basement fairly easily, it was a struggle to find comfort in the unfamiliar surroundings. It was one of the reasons he had gone looking for the Trollhunter, though he would never admit to such a fact.
Toby shrugged his shoulders. "As far as I know. She didn't seem to remember anything this morning."
"That's good. As long as she's safe, then everything's good." Atlas remarked, his head nodding as he spoke.
"Did you give her that letter?"
Atlas scratched the back of his neck. "I was going to but…After what happened last night, I thought it'd be better to leave her out of it. If Nomura or any of the other changelings found out that she was my mom I…she can't know. I disposed of her letter. Hers and my mentor's."
"That's harsh, dude," Toby stated.
"Maybe. Or maybe not. It's over and done with though, so come on. I thought you said you wanted to train." Atlas said, fluffing his friend's hair. Toby smacked his hand away playfully.
"You sure you're ready for the War Hammer special?" Toby asked.
Atlas rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck from side to side. "Let's go. Do your worst, human."
Toby cleared his throat before hurling the watermelon towards the half-breed.
Atlas swiped sideways, the fruit taking on an unnatural blue glow as it split into two from the force of the blade. It floated in the air for a moment before imploding, spraying the two boys with its innards.
They laughed like children. No, Draal thought somberly, not like—they were children.
Toby yelled out, "It slices—"
"It dices!" Atlas finished. "Oh my gosh, did you see that?"
Toby threw his arms into the air. "That was amaze-balls! Let's do it again!"
Atlas used the sword to slide a bag over to himself, rustling his fingers inside until he pulled out what the humans called a "Tah-coh." Both boys munched happily, seemingly unaware of Draal's presence.
"Alright, what more do you have that you want me to explode?" Atlas asked.
Toby rubbed his chin, reaching around in the grass for a pile of old human magazines. "Mm. You know, we probably should recycle these."
Atlas came behind the boy, looking over his shoulder. "Actually, could I have that last one?"
"Motorheads Monthly?"
The Trollhunter looked away from his friend, arms folded against his chest. "I mean, it's not like it's that important or anything. I just, you know, want to check it out. To learn more about human culture."
"You could just say you like mopeds, dude," Toby said, handing the magazine over.
Atlas's eyes brightened. He held the piece as if it were made of ancient troll glass. Draal sniffed in disapproval. What a strange whelp. Atlas placed the favored item near his bag by the tree before twirling his weapon around like a baton.
"You sure you want to recycle the rest of them?" Atlas waved his sword invitingly.
Toby grabbed onto the magazine stack, swinging himself around. "Hell no! Let's shred these suckers! Ready?"
"Pull!" Atlas exclaimed.
Like the watermelon, the moment the paper hit the blade it exploded into a thousand pieces.
"This is way too much fun!" Atlas chuckled.
Toby "It's like a ticker tape parade of awesome!"
This had gone on longer than Draal had intended. Seizing the moment, Draal decided to make his entrance into the fat one's backyard.
Draal hopped over the fence gracefully, striding forward with a nasty glare. "What is this mockery?"
Atlas immediately went on defensive, stepping in front of Toby. "We're just having fun while training. Lay off. Besides, aren't you supposed to be freeloading next door?"
"I am protecting your fleshbag mother and that one's grandmother. Not this 'freeloading' you so like to claim." Draal explained, "The Sword of Daylight is not a toy to be played with. It's a hallowed obligation I have spent my entire life training to be worthy of."
"Seriously?" Atlas looked down at the sword, holding it out. "You never had any other ambitions in life?"
"It was my father's calling. I had hoped…I had hoped it would have been mine as well," Draal said.
The fat one elbowed Atlas, gesturing towards Draal and the sword. A silent conversation appeared to play out between the two, finally accumulating with Atlas holding out Daylight to Draal.
"Yo," Atlas said, motioning to the blade. "you want to take it for a spin?"
The fleshbag's friend held two thumbs up at his friend. That wasn't what got Draal's attention however. Hesitantly, Draal picked up the sword, holding it above his head. Such a strange sensation, to hold his father's legacy in one hand while the true wielder stood mere feet away. For a moment, his father's face flashed across the gleaming metal, but disappeared just as suddenly, along with the blade itself.
The weapon reappeared in the half-breed's hand, startling both boys. Atlas scratched the back of his head. "Oh, ah, Sorry, I forgot."
Draal sighed. It wasn't as if he didn't expect it to happen, but that didn't mean the burn of shame didn't hurt any less. "If my destiny is to not hold the sword, perhaps it is to teach you how to properly wield it."
"I've already got Blinky to teach me," Atlas said, squaring Draal up. "What makes you think I need another trainer?"
Draal looked around, spotting a flimsy lamp nearby. He tossed the lampshade, then, in one fluid movement, slashed at Atlas.
"What the hell?" Atlas yelled, bringing the sword up in defense. Draal passed him by, continuing to strike at nothing. Finally, he swung around, his sword hand striking downwards at Atlas. The boy flinched, covering his face, only to realize moments later that he had not in fact been bludgeoned to death with his best friend's furniture.
This was their new Trollhunter. Draal was starting to wonder if Merlin truly was as great as they said.
Still, he would make do with the half-breed in front of him. He had made a promise after all.
"Your blade is but an extension of your body," Draal explained, lifting the makeshift weapon away from the boy's face. "and your body, an extension of your eyes."
Atlas furrowed his brow, nodding slightly. "You didn't have to scare the shit out of me though."
"Something tells me you learn by reaction," Draal said.
"He's got you there," Toby added.
Atlas shot a glare at Toby. "Not helping."
"Mimic my movements, Trollhunter," Draal commanded.
Atlas moved into position. Unfortunately, it was the wrong one. Draal sighed, using the lamp to push the boy's shoulders down. "Blinky may have taught you the basics of swordsmanship, but that will not work against Bular."
"You don't think I know that?" Atlas griped, swinging at Draal. The troll sidestepped the boy.
"A troll may fight using his strength. That, Trollhunter, is something you will never possess, be you fleshbag or im—changeling."
Atlas swerved around, grinding his teeth as he launched a fury of attacks at Draal. "I know that too. I've trained with Nomura enough to figure that out."
"Nomura is a terrible teacher, that much is obvious," Draal said.
Atlas fended off a blow from the lampshade, falling back several feet. "Don't say that about her. She's the only one whose ever taken the time to train me."
"Train you or pummel you into the ground?"
Atlas growled. Draal smirked. He had hit a sore spot.
"You fight defensively. It has been molded into you. Any expert swordsman can see that. But defensive is not the same as offensive. You must do more than defend yourself. You must take risks, push forward, and use your advantage as much as possible. You may never be as strong as I or as fast as Nomura, but you have flexibility and dexterity on your side. Use them. That might be what saves you in the end."
Draal practiced another series of movements, slow enough for the whelp to copy this time. While sloppy and uncertain, the boy followed his instruction.
In truth, despite his misgivings about the changeling, Draal respected Atlas's resolve. He was brash and sarcastic, much like he and Nomura had been in their youth. But unlike Nomura, Draal had grown up. Atlas too, would need to learn that while he might want to protect his people, they might not want to do the same.
Maybe that was why he protected the boy's close ones. He would need them in the coming days and weeks, especially once the rest of the impures discovered his betrayal. Atlas was naïve to believe he could keep this up for long. Sooner or later, his secret identity would be unveiled.
Part of Draal, the nastier, mourning portion of himself, felt an almost smug satisfaction at the thought. Unlike Draal, Atlas had not lost his father or his mother. He had not lost his childhood to war like Draal did so long ago.
Immediately, Draal banished such thinking aside. Father would be ashamed at such jealousy, Draal thought. Here he was, a famed warrior, known throughout Trollkind, feeling envious over a child, one who didn't even choose to be Trollhunter in the first place. Perhaps this was one of the long list of reasons Merlin did not choose Draal for the honored position.
Well, worthy or not, Draal would make sure that his father's legacy did not die with him. Fate had things in store for Draal still, and though he may not know his destiny anymore, he at least trusted that it would give him the chance to redeem himself in his father's eyes.
Draal blinked, snapping out of his thoughts, taking in the sky. How much time had passed? More than an hour at least. The light of day had completely faded from the valley, the night black with stars and human pollution. Though Draal had not yet broken a sweat, it was clear Atlas was reaching his limit.
Nonetheless, Draal had to hand it to the brat. Even when he was red-faced and shaking, Atlas got back up, over and over, no matter how many times Draal knocked him flat on his ass. Still, Draal needed to wrap this up before the humans noticed their presence.
In two wide steps, Draal caught the boy's sword hand, pinning him against the house with the lamp. Atlas struggled to wiggle out, but Draal's grip was strong.
"That kinda hurts," Atlas grunted. He tried to make a few kicks for Draal's groin. Draal knew better by now however, easily avoiding the teen's legs.
"A real fight is never predictable, Trollhunter. You have to expect the unexpected and learn to embody the armor, force it to do what you want."
The boy stopped squirming. Instead, he closed his eyes, his breathing taking on a steady rhythm. For a moment the suit glowed, until suddenly Draal found the sword no longer in the teen's dominant hand but instead poking into the troll's large chest.
Draal chuckled at the lopsided smirk on the boy's face. While not a victory, it was an improvement. Even though it was but only one of the amulet's many talents, it was one more the half-breed now had in his pocket, and one Draal had taught him at that.
"Wow," Atlas stated.
"Dude, that was awesome!" Toby gushed from the sidelines.
Atlas licked his lower lip. Finally, he said, "Thanks, Draal."
"The amulet has many uses. You would do well to take this lesson to heart, half-breed."
A strange chirping noise emitted from the Trollhunter's backpack. Atlas groaned. Toby tutted, picking up his bike from the grass and heading towards the street.
Atlas took out his phone, shaking his head all the while. "I can't believe it's already eight. Crap, I've got to head back to Trollmarket."
"What for?" Draal asked. "Last time I checked they were ready to kill you."
"Why do you care?"
"Atlas is Vendel's grandson now," Toby enlightened him.
"Tobes," Atlas chastised. "What the hell?"
Toby rolled his eyes. "What? If Draal's gonna be part of team Trollhunters, he needs to be in the know too."
Atlas pointed aggressively at Draal. "Seriously? And who decided he was gonna be a part of it? Because I sure as hell didn't vote on it."
"Dude, why are you getting all angry for? The guys watching over our families."
"He tried to kill me yesterday!" Atlas said, before turning back to Draal. "No offense."
Eh, it was technically the truth. Draal shrugged.
"But didn't he save you too? That's got to cancel some stuff, right?" Toby said.
Atlas muttered something in Trollspeak. Draal tried to hide his snort with a short cough. Though the information was new to the troll, it did not surprise him that Vendel had something like that up his sleeves. There was a reason Trollmarket chose Vendel as its leader.
"Fine," Atlas grumbled, covering his face with one hand. "Okay, so Vendel made up some bullshit about me being his grandson and now I have to go introduce myself to the council and a whole load of other crap I really really don't want to do. Ta-da! Now, let's go, Tobes."
"Have a good trip, honored grandson," Draal joked.
Atlas shot him a frosty look. "Don't start."
Before they left on their bikes, Draal called out to them. "Hey!"
"What?" Atlas turned his head back.
Draal mulled over his words before saying, "Tomorrow night, whelp. Same time. Same place. I won't wait up for you if you get here late."
Atlas pulled his head back, as if stunned, before settling into a small smile.
"Only if you teach me the roly-poly thing you do all the time." Atlas yelled back, disappearing behind the gate soon after.
It took Draal almost a minute to digest what the boy said.
It took almost an hour for him to stop laughing.