He failed the mission, letting the dangerous threat roam as she wished. What kind of protector he was after that?
Kanjigar didn't know what to do with that wild swirl of emotions that overcame his mind. Part of him was frantic because of the re-emergence of the daughter of Gunmar - someone who could easily count as one of the most dangerous enemies ever; another one was irritated with himself as he allowed someone like that escape. Why that sadistic troll wasn't imprisoned in Darklands with her accursed father was simply beyond his comprehension. The current Trollhunter had genuinely believed that Bular was the only Gumm-Gumm who escaped that fate. After all, that one never bothered to hide and was actively destroying Deya's successors. Yes, he was dangerous with his skill and strength, but Barverra was made of different cloth - known as a strategist of Gunmar's army, she could easily deploy more intricate and cunning tactics. Those two working together was an outright deadly combo. And Kanjigar just let the daughter of Gunmar go, when it was probably his only chance to take her out for good. No wonder that he was returning to the Heartstone Trollmarket in an extremely foul mood.
The protector's mind trailed back to the encounter as he tried to remember anything that might have held at least some importance. The decades of experience taught him to think a lot about each and every possibility. Back in times of the Gunmar's terrible rule, it allowed Kanjigar to live longer when some of the better fighters fell to the Gumm-Gumm hordes.
He had seen Barverra back then, mostly from the sidelines, even though there had been no actual battle between them - she was fierce, yet her style held precision and even some kind of deadly elegance. That was why the current skirmish felt so off - the Herald of Doom had been too sloppy, too reckless, perhaps, even desperate. No, the last one was too crazy to even think about. She was the one to bring despair, not to feel it. There had to be something more behind that? But what?
Kanjigar thought about Barverra's reputation and shivered as the sudden realization hit him. The Herald of Doom knew his name, moreover, she had brought up Draal. Just how much information did she possess? The daughter of Gunmar never resorted to empty threats or taunts, her words always held some eerie meaning.
Of course, Draal was far from being a defenseless whelp - he was an accomplished warrior and probably the best of his generation but… Was it wrong for his father to still wish his son to be as far from all this fighting as possible? Even if they created serious friction and nearly ruined their relationship lately, those were justified sacrifices.
Kanjigar frowned, casting away all the unpleasant thoughts about his issues with his son. Right now there were other problems - it seemed that his field of responsibilities expanded drastically as now he had another dangerous foe dangerously close to the Trollmarket. Besides, something certainly felt off with all the situation. In fact, it might have been a good idea to consult with Vendel - the old troll could possibly give some useful insight.
It didn't take that long to find the elder - he was passing angrily near the Heartstone scolding some rowdy younglings for causing unnecessary trouble.
"And to think that..." Vendel stopped mid-sentence noticing Kanjigar's distressed face and shooed away whelps who scattered at once, happy without any doubt to avoid a boring lecture. The younger generation was never the one to listen to all the rules as they tended to be reckless, hot-blooded, and tried to prove their own worth.
The old troll looked at the local hero with clear concern:
"What's wrong, Trollhunter?"
For sure, Vendel was quick to react to such situations - probably, due to his own experience of leading trolls first in Dwoza and currently here. Kanjigar lowered his voice:
"We need to talk. Without curious ears preferably".
"I see," the elder nodded. "Will Blinkous's library do?"
The Trollhunter contemplated for a second but didn't see anything wrong. On one hand, he would prefer to keep Barverra's reappearance as confidential as possible. Causing any panic would do no good, after all, and most likely would simply play into the enemy's hand. On the other, despite some paranoid tendencies and that unfortunate episode with Unkarr, the scholar was a trusted ally and an old friend. Blinky wasn't a fighter and most trolls would more likely consider him a coward, yet… The Trollhunter knew that the six-eyed scholar had tried his best to become a better person since his brother's death. He wouldn't blabber any secrets and could provide some knowledge from the books he kept.
Besides, there should have been Aaarrrgghh hanging there as well. As a former Gumm-Gumm commander, he could also give some valuable information or perhaps, a piece of advice.
So in less than half an hour, all four trolls were racking their brains about Barverra and her puzzling behavior. Kanjigar's story simply made no sense to everyone who had heard it.
"Are you sure it was her, Trollhunter?" Vendel scowled, clearly not liking all the possible implications. "And not some aggressive rogue female troll who didn't like you for whatever reason?"
"It was her," Kanjigar muttered with some visible distress. "I wish it was some mistake or illusion, but I've engaged in a battle. That appearance and manner of speech is not something I'll ever forget. And the fighting style, though a bit sloppy, was obviously hers!"
"But why now?" Blinkous asked with bewilderment. "No one has seen the horrendous Herald of Doom for centuries. We all sighed with relief when she stopped terrorizing our settlements. There haven't been even rumors. Is she the one to keep a low profile?"
"No," Aaarrrggh grumbled.
"That was a rhetoric question, my friend, but never mind," the scholar looked at the Trollhunter. "What do you think, Master Kanjigar?"
The troll in question sighed with frustration:
"Honestly - I haven't even the slightest idea. Bular has been attacking for years - how many of my predecessors have fallen by his swords? Sometimes, I wonder how we can be that lucky not to lose the Amulet after all of that. He's dangerous, but at least we can predict his actions. But Barverra... Before Killahead we never knew where, when, and how she would strike. I seriously doubt she has changed that much in that regard. What if she has some long-time agenda? Is she in contact with her father? Are there Gunmar's plans in action?"
"Gunmar trusts Barverra," the former Gumm-Gumm commander suddenly butted in. "Lets her do what she wants".
"What do you mean, Aaarrrgghh?" Kanjigar raised eyebrows at the seemingly random comment.
"I think my friend implies that there's a huge probability of the Herald of Doom acting on her own volition, without any input from her family. She may have her own idea of how to get the Amulet. It means that skirmish you had was no accident," Blinky explained, throwing in another theory.
It could be just a random guess, but… When the daughter of Gunmar was involved, everything could become possible.
"A trap," Vendel mused. "Barverra could fake a weakness to lure our protector somewhere far from the allies... That would make perfect sense..."
Kanjigar could agree with that - in hindsight, his own actions earlier were not too reasonable, if not borderline reckless. There could be Bular getting ready for an ambush somewhere.
Yet…
"Yes, but the point is that she had vanished in thin air afterward," the Trollhunter pointed out at the only puzzle piece that refused to fit anywhere. That alone totally demolished the trap theory. Not to mention that disappearing without a trace was never a good thing. It could mean teleportation or any other magic involved.
Everyone frowned, understanding the implication simultaneously. Magic would mean that the enemy side had dangerous support from some witch or wizard. It could mean the Mother of Monsters resurfacing as well or another, not-that-benevolent mage. Neither was great news.
Barbara had not even the slightest idea how she had managed to get to her cave as her memory about the way there was quite hazy. An adrenaline rush ended abruptly, leaving her drained, bleeding, and burdened with her own too-heavy blades. It was a genuine miracle that the woman pulled off covering such a distance without encountering any fleshbags, local river trolls, or even Kanjigar himself (the last one would be a total catastrophe, for sure). Whatever higher powers even bothered to listen to Gumm-Gumm's prayers, they certainly favored the daughter of Gunmar tonight.
The woman had nearly collapsed inside her lair but forced herself to stay awake. Her wounded arm needed immediate treatment. The human hospital was out of question after a brief consideration (she mentally chuckled at herself for even thinking in that direction) - explaining that kind of ugly cut would be quite a trouble, not to mention that it could easily bring too much attention. There would be no way that there wouldn't be at least one person to question how a regular citizen could end with a serious wound like that.
The woman had never been happier of her own old decision to connect the fake human life to treatment and medicine. The vast knowledge accumulated through the years helped her to get a proper degree several times, so it would be a piece of cake to apply some first aid. Not to mention the potion-making she picked up from that accursed Tabitha all those decades ago.
The wound was cleaned, disinfected, stitched, and tightly wrapped in some clean bandages, leaving Barbara with another, a way more serious problem in hand. The Trollhunter was in Arcadia. Was he passing by because of some mission? Was he living here? Was he going to stay? There were too many unknown and undecided factors to say for sure.
If the daughter of Gunmar was still the same as during the Killahead Bridge battle, she would most likely start some planning to take down her enemy and make him pay for her wound and disgrace tenfold. No one could dream about getting away after offending the Skullcrusher's kin. Yet… Those were her rules of the old times, and now she carried the responsibility to protect her little one. The fight showed the woman clearly where her priorities were. Jim ended way higher in that list than pride or personal grudges.
In the end, a retreat would be the only reasonable way. Fleeing Arcadia, starting anew somewhere else - preferably as far as possible. Oh, and she would have to check the new neighborhood for any trolls - it would be better to go for a place with none at all. Maybe even without goblins, though no, that would be simply impossible, those pests were swarming everywhere.
Something like that wasn't too uncommon for Barbara - she had done it numerous times before (well, with some fewer precautions, but now she had no right to neglect any possible hole in defenses). This time the woman wouldn't even need any change of papers or forging a new ID like in some previous cases. Just inventing some reason for a move to throw to any curious co-worker or acquaintance would be more than enough. The redhead knew how to keep an appropriate distance from others, so no one would try to stay in touch when she moved. Surrounding herself with friendly acquaintances, yet never making any close friends had been her tactics for decades.
However, Jim was still too young to understand something like that (and it made way more sense because his mother never bothered to tell him otherwise). He had already got some strong attachments, and Barbara had no idea what to do with those. The parting would end quite traumatic for the boy in any case. Yes, those were just two people - their elderly neighbor Nancy Domzalski and her grandson Toby, but the way Jim treated them was approaching a family territory. It was not that surprising that the child who had never seen any of his own grandparents would end attached to the kind old lady and young Tobias was the same age and both boys clearly shared a lot of interests and… Everything made too much sense, and Barbara wanted to kick herself for noticing too late.
'And what would you do if you'd noticed in time?' the inner voice asked with annoyance and clear skepticism. 'Force Jim to stop seeing any of them? Condemn him to loneliness?'
Could there be any right answer for that? Why did her son have to suffer only because he just happened to be born to the horrible monster? Right now Jim was happy and it was the only thing that mattered. Besides, his choice of close people wasn't that bad - actually, Barbara liked both Nancy and Toby as well. Well, as much as her nature could allow her - fleshbags were still fleshbags, just some were more tolerable than others.
Moving away from Arcadia would mean severing that bond, most likely hurting Jim a lot. But wouldn't that be for better? Her child was not a human, well, at least not entirely, and one day his heritage would resurface. How many of his fleshbag friends would stay with him then? The answer was none, Barbara was one hundred percent sure on that. Fleshbags hated supernatural because it was so much above them, because they were afraid - she had seen it too many times to imagine otherwise. Jim, on other hand, still had to live through that painful lesson. The woman hated the only thought about her son's possible mental state when every single of his friends would forsake him. He had already had a trauma, caused by his idiot fleshbag father. So maybe his mother could lessen the damage a lot now - telling the boy everything, explaining why it was important to stay away and not to open up to other people. Yes, Jim was still too young, but did they have any luxury of additional time?
However, all of that could wait - at the moment Barbara was simply too drained even to get back home. Her gaze glanced over her watch - there was still more than enough time until the morning, so a brief nap would cause no harm. She needed the rest after that unpleasant encounter. But seriously, out of all possibilities, why the first troll she had met in years had to be the Trollhunter? With that unhappy thought, the woman dozed off.
Her slumber wasn't peaceful, her dreams full of unsettling images. There were too many dead bodies there - both decaying fleshbags cadavers and crumbling troll statues. Yet neither of those was truly dead - they were moving, cursing, accusing, trying to reach and drag her into the abyss, drowning her in their vengeance. The woman attempted to fight back, to tear those into the smallest pieces only to find her own arms fleshy and fragile.
"WEAK! WEAK! WEAK!" the hollow voices bellowed with weird satisfaction and jeers. "BARVERRA THE ATROCIOUS CANNOT DO A THING ANYMORE!"
She could only run away, escaping from the undead. She had lost her pride having chosen the quiet life. Was it worth that? Was there any point in continuing?
The surroundings changed like frames in some typical movie leaving Barbara in front of her house. All snickering undead had vanished without a trace - her safe heaven seemingly repelled all bad things. It was her small utopia - a place for Jim and her only - there was no space for trolls or vengeful spirits there.
Barbara reached for the doorknob, feeling tremendous relief - and froze at once as a sickenly familiar smell assaulted her nostrils. It was another one of those weird contradictions between two lives, something sweet and pleasant for a troll, yet disgusting and horrifying for a human.
The scent of blood.
The woman panicked running her hand along the wall, trying to remember where the switch was and failing to find it. The light would certainly chase away her fear; she just needed to turn it on, yet something so trivial seemed nearly impossible right now. As Barbara's eyes were gradually adjusting to the darkness, she started to pick up the ruined state of her own house and the weird dark spots and splashes on furniture and walls.
Something was lying on the floor...
No.
Human-shaped, yet more reminiscent of a marionette with cut strings than a living being...
No!
Broken and mutilated beyond the point of recognition. So small, so fragile, sprawled in the puddle of dark liquid...
No, no, no!
The woman's legs lost all strength and she could only crawl to reach the small lifeless body with glassy blue eyes, not paying attention to cold, jelly-like blood getting on her hands and clothes.
Jim simply couldn't be dead, she still could save him, she was a doctor after all!
Her mind told her otherwise when she hugged the cold and rigid body. It was impossible to resurrect someone who had been dead for a while - that heart would never start beating once again, her son would never smile at her, never tell her he loved his mommy...
That was her fault. She failed her most important responsibility.
Barbara wailed wishing she were the one to die instead. Snickering ghosts reappeared around her circling like vultures, clawing at her viciously, making nasty gashes, and trying to tear her apart. Yet, the physical pain was nothing compared to the mental one, to the gnawing sense of loss as she deliberately clung to her dead son…
She woke up with a start, not able to distinguish between the nightmare and reality for a while. Cold sweat was streaming down her forehead and neck, leaving some awful feeling behind.
"A dream," Barbara gasped for the air, trying to calm down her shaking body and get a hold of herself. She glanced at her watch in an attempt to find a distraction and suddenly jumped at her feet.
Ten! Ten o'clock already! She had overslept a lot - Jim was an early bird, so what would he think when there was no mom in the house even though she was supposed to have a free day?
It just kept spiraling out of control, getting worse with each passing second. All fears and insecurities could wait till some other time - right now Barbara needed to get home asap. The woman darted to the path leading to sewers, cursing inwardly. Why was she that brainless to get out in her true form? Was she a spoiled brat who couldn't be more patient? And right now that retarded decision-making was biting her in the butt. Not to mention that no one could guarantee that there would be no more mess. And that horrible nightmare only added more fuel to fire - Barbara had always tried not to think how her past could possibly influence her progeny, yet her subconscious just conveniently provided the answer to that question. That scene she had seen was too familiar, just people involved were different - before it had always been some unfortunate soul Barverra the Atrocious tried to break, yet in that awful dream she turned into the victim. Was that some foreboding? Was it the sign that in her current state she was powerless to prevent the tragedy, that she needed to go back to her old ways? That she needed to be such a demon that not even a single soul would dare to approach her boy?
Her unpleasant thoughts made the woman run non-stop, not paying any attention to the protesting body. She just needed to be back home, to embrace her son and see that everything was alright. It was a good thing, that she had memorized the structure of the sewer long ago, so there would be no delays or losing way.
Finally, Barbara had reached the place where she could go up to the surface. Actually, it was abandoned only during the night and tended to have quite a few people around during the daytime, yet by this point, the woman simply did not care if her appearance from a manhole would raise any questions or get her some nasty looks. Her reputation meant nothing right now.
She climbed up and the feeling of wrongness assaulted her thought at once. Her feverish mind didn't even give her the answer at first as she continued running home. When the realization finally hit, Barbara nearly fell tripping over her own foot.
Dark, it was too dark! It shouldn't have been like that at that hour of the day!
Her gaze shifted slowly to her watch as she forgot how to breathe.
10:45.
10:45 PM.
She had been absent for the entire day if not for more!
Barbara cursed under her breath combining troll profanities with human ones she had picked up over the years and sped up as much as she could despite being out of breath already. The mother could easily picture how exactly her son's day had gone. Jim had woken up early, definitely excited for the day as she promised him to make it their special family time. His face beaming, the boy had tiptoed into Barbara's room planning some mischievous wake up for mommy and then... Yes, the moment he had opened the door, the smile was definitely replaced by confusion as he had seen only an empty and made bed.
Jim most likely had searched the entire house, probably thinking it was a game of hide-and-seek or something like that. With each passing minute, he was getting more and more anxious, maybe starting to call for the mother at some point begging her to come out. Without a doubt, her son also tried to use the phone in case that Barbara went somewhere without telling him, but her mobile was out of reach (thanks, stupid cave!).
What kind of thoughts could go through the seven-year-old's mind? He was alone in the empty house with his mother seemingly disappearing into the thin air! It had been only a bit longer than two years since his father's vanishing from the boy's life and now he was forced to live through another nightmarish experience?
It felt like an eternity had passed before Barbara had reached her house front door. Her hands were shaking, stupid keys refused to turn properly, and honestly, the woman was on the verge of trying to break through the door despite her clearly unsuitable body.
The door finally let her in - and the mother lost her footing falling on her butt as her little boy threw himself into her with surprising speed, trapping her in a tight embrace and hiding the face in her clothes.
"Jim..." Barbara's voice cracked - she could clearly feel her son trembling feverishly, his heart ready to jump off his chest. It was her fault - her absence caused this panic state. No matter how much the woman would prefer to shift the blame to the accursed Trollhunter, nothing would happen if she simply stayed at home.
Barbara could feel a wet spot quickly spreading on her clothes - her son was still crying, even though she had come back.
"Shhh, sweetie, it's ok, I'm here..." her weak attempt to comfort the panicking and terrified child felt simply not enough. Oh, how much the mother wished to find those right words with the ability to wipe all of his tears! Yet, she had none - and shouldn't she have been apologizing right now?
Between his sobs, Jim stuttered something entirely incoherent, however, Barbara got the meaning perfectly.
I thought you'd left like Dad...
I thought you'd abandoned me...
She felt another pang of guilt. It hurt the most, more than any wound the woman had ever experienced. It was agonizing, suffocating... Something was streaming down her cheeks. Tears. Since when had she become that weak to cry? She didn't remember, but did it even matter?
Barbara had no right words, but still, she hoped that her tight embrace would be able to convey her silent vow.
No matter what happened, she would never abandon her son, no matter what price it would cost her.
She couldn't sleep. Well, of course, she had passed out for nearly the whole day before her return, but all the same, Barbara felt drained. That was the kind of exhaustion impossible to chase away using a nap, no it was something that could linger for a while.
The woman was lying on her bed, staring mindlessly at the ceiling as if someone had written some kind of universal answer to all her problems there. Jim snuggled by her side, refusing to let her hand go even after he had fallen asleep as though expecting his mom to disappear once he let her go. His slumber seemed more or less peaceful despite occasional whimpers.
'What have I done?' Barbara wished she could kick herself. Her dear son was only seven - seven! - yet she managed to inflict such a horrible psychological wound. As if Jim hadn't had any mental scars before! He had done nothing to deserve all of that.
Taking care of someone precious? Protecting? The daughter of Gunmar seemed to be as bad in those as she was in her cooking attempts. That was genuinely pathetic.
'I can only ruin and cause harm', she thought with annoyance.
'And since when has it become something bad?' a cold and cynical inner voice inquired. 'It's a part of Gumm-Gumm nature, no need to be ashamed'.
Yes, that one definitely sounded like the old her, the accursed Barverra the Atrocious, someone they called the Herald of Doom. She used to be so proud of her destructive nature back then.
And now?
'It hurts Jim,' that was the only conclusion Barbara could find. All the pain her son had faced and would certainly face in the future was the result of his mother's actions or past.
Yet, the ruthless part of her seemed to disagree:
'Does it? Not your weakness?'
'My own current sorry state has nothing to do with that!' Barbara nearly forgot it was her inner argument and yelled that aloud. Her mind certainly was too feverish and tense, hell, her eyes actually started to play tricks with her - otherwise, how could she explain a dark figure with glowing blue eyes leaning casually on the wall?
The woman knew that shape better than anyone else, that dark stone, those curved horns, that wild unruly mane of crimson hair, that sadistic smirk revealing sharp teeth - it was impossible to forget the look of her own true self, the one she used to see in every reflection decades ago.
'But it is,' the fruit of her imagination argued with a hiss. 'Why should my beloved son suffer so much? You've spent too much time among fleshbags - so much that you've seemingly forgotten what it means to be a troll, a Gumm-Gumm! Haven't this little charade gone too far? Not to mention, that you clearly don't raise Jim as a troll!'
'Because he isn't one!' Barbara shouted mentally, hoping to silence that nasty inner voice. She always knew that there was a serious contradiction inside her mind when it came to her child - there was also a part of her that longed for a strong progeny, even though the mother tended to banish it into the deepest part of her soul.
'Yet,' the phantom corrected mercilessly, reminding about the bitter truth Barbara preferred to ignore. 'Don't dare to let that part out - you know well enough that my child won't stay a pathetic fleshbag forever! And you, you rob him of his right to know his true nature, you keep him away from his legacy, feeding him with lies to keep this illusionary existence!'
'And you know well enough that all of that will scare Jim!'
The illusion suddenly narrowed her eyes in a fit of fury:
'And whose fault is that? Who allowed that good-for-nothing fleshbag father to instill that fear in my dear child? You should teach him to be proud of his true self, but instead, you preferred to continue with deception, assuring Jim that he's just a fleshbag and his daddy was simply delusional back then! And what we have now? He cannot evenstay a day without mommy!'
'He. Is. Only. Seven,' Barbara barely contained her own rage. Ironically, it was still her inner dispute - she knew perfectly that both opinions were her own and it made her sick to the core.
'Don't make me laugh, we both know that fleshbags mature faster. And a troll whelp with that level of development should be pretty capable of self-defense! But no, you don't teach him to fight, you don't show him how to kill, you try to turn him into a dead weight!'
That was just a voicing of old frustration, of that occasional lurking thought she tried to banish to the darkest corner of her mind. And right now she didn't even know how to counter that point. Because… The truth was that her son had to learn to destroy his enemies sooner or later. One day he would need to fight to earn his own right to exist. Fight against enemies who wouldn't hold down against him or allow him to get away. That was his destiny, his grim, yet inevitable future. So Barbara simply surrendered:
'I just wanted to wait till Jim's true nature surfaced...'
Yes, there was only the future full of struggle and hostility lying before her son. That was why Barbara hoped to give the boy at least a brief period of peace. And if she could prolong it even for a second, she'd rather continue with deception.
Yet a part of her didn't agree even for that.
'For how long? A year? A decade? A century? That witch only told it would happen eventually, without any timeframes! Shouldn't you look for the way to speed up the process instead of pointless waiting?' the phantom demanded. Was that an actual answer? Did she actually think like that?
Barbara looked at her son sleeping peacefully for a second, then turned back to the illusion, but that one had already vanished.
Alas, it wasn't like the dark thoughts were the same - they just went quieter for some time, ready to resurface any moment.
In the end, even after all that night's inner dispute, she wasn't able to make any decision. Besides, when Jim woke up in the morning and actually sighed with relief after seeing his mother, any semblance of previous determination was blasted into smithereens. Barbara couldn't ruin that innocence, no matter if it was for safety reasons or to appease her own stupid ego.
That whole day's absence had already left some nasty scars - her child was following her like a shadow, grabbing her clothes or hand every time he got an opportunity. It might have looked adorable for an outsider, but the woman knew the exact reason for that behavior.
Fear.
Jim was afraid that his mother would disappear once again, this time without return. There was some cruel irony in that, actually - that anxiety might have seemed just another childish and totally uncalled one, yet it was something that could actually happen. The possibility was eerily close during that fight with the Trollhunter, after all. At some point, the daughter of Gunmar was ready to die together with her enemy.
With all of that stuff and worries, Barbara had nearly forgotten about her work in the hospital and only her son's meek question reminded her about it.
The answer to that one was quite obvious - she knew her priorities.
"Don't worry, kiddo!" the woman smiled reassuringly, ruffling Jim's hair affectionately. "I'll just call them and ask someone else to work that double-shift instead. I'm not the only doctor there".
She couldn't leave her son alone, not in that shaken state. Not to mention, that finding a substitute for her shift wouldn't be that troublesome.
"No," the protest was quiet, hardly audible, yet it felt like a yell for some reason. Barbara couldn't help staring at her son - still shaken, with fear lingering in his mind, yet determined and clumsily trying to stop her own worries. "You shouldn't stay just for me. I'm good".
He wasn't even if he claimed otherwise with some surprising stubbornness. That was some surprising budding determination and willpower. The mother knew exactly why Jim told that - he didn't want to be a burden, to complicate her life more.
Last night, her inner ugly voice called the boy weak and it couldn't be farther from the truth. Jim was anything but weak and the mother knew it for sure.
Somehow they managed with finding a compromise - as Jim insisted that his mom shouldn't have skipped her work for his sake only, Barbara agreed to go, but have a single shift instead of the double one. The boy was satisfied with that outcome, so it had to be alright, no matter how his mother was against that deep inside.
Nevertheless, even the single shift was dragging for too long - Barbara was not even sure how she managed to work with her mind being elsewhere. After some doubts, she had left Jim with Nana and Toby - if anything she could always trust her elderly neighbor. However, her thoughts kept returning to worries every single second. So many things could simply go wrong. Jim might have demonstrated some resolve to ensure her that everything would be fine, but that was just a brave facade for her sake - who could know when that one might have crumbled?
At last, the hectic shift full of anxiety had ended, and the woman hurried home without even bothering to give some polite farewells. That certainly caused a lot of raised eyebrows as Barbara was known as a generally friendly and cordial person. It didn't matter anyway - she could always throw some apologies next time, and right now the mother just had to return to her child.
The time dragged unbelievably slow - it felt like an eternity had passed before she reached the Domzalski's doorstep. Deep inside, the woman was frantic, expecting the worst possible outcome. Luckily, it turned down that worries were simply worries - as Nancy opened the door, greeting her neighbor with a friendly smile. Before the old lady managed to say anything else, beaming Jim peeked out from behind, his hair and clothes covered in some white powder. His happy smile grew even broader the second he noticed the mother, his eyes shining with some genuine excitement.
"Mommy!" the boy exclaimed, barely able to hold all the emotions. "We've baked a pie! And I helped! And Toby ate some dough!"
"It was tasty!" Toby protested, also appearing in the doorway, covered in the same white powder, apparently flour.
Barbara froze, not able to believe her own eyes. She tried to find at least a shadow of previous fear in her boy - and couldn't see a thing. Had her neighbors - those weak, pathetic fleshbags - managed to achieve impossible, to heal her son's psyche?
"Mommy?"
The woman snapped of her trance when her son's slightly sticky hand squeezed her own.
"Sorry, sweetie... Just tired," she forced a weak smile, hoping that Jim wouldn't be able to catch her insincerity.
However, someone else definitely took a note - old Nana looked at her neighbors knowingly and then said cordially:
"Boys, what about wrapping some pie for Jim to take home?"
"Thank you, Nancy, but there's no need to bother..." Barbara tried to protest but was cut short as the old woman ushered the boys inside.
"Nonsense, Jim really helped a lot. I would even say he has a knack for cooking... Besides," Nancy added more quietly, "poor boy really wanted to make some pleasant surprise for you. He loves you a lot, you know".
Honestly, there wasn't anything too unexpected in those words. Barbara had known for a while that Jim would try his best to make her smile, especially after his father's disappearance. Well, the cooking part was a bit unusual, but it wasn't like her son was obligated to inherit her own incapability in the kitchen.
"It's never easy to lose a dear person," Nana had broken the redhead's reverie. "More so for a child. My Toby went through that experience... My dear girl, I know how it is to be the only person left there for your kid. Sometimes it may feel like the entire world is against you, that no one will ever be on your side. It's not true, you shouldn't bear the burden alone - it's really easy to break down under it. Trust this old lady's experience - there's nothing wrong in asking for help."
Barbara couldn't believe her own ears - for someone with bad eyesight, Nana was surprisingly insightful, clearly noticing more than most people would expect from her. Of course, there was no way that Nancy Domzalski had learned her neighbor's secret, yet she still detected the turmoil and doubts, though being way off about things causing those.
'Would she be that willing to help a monster though?' a cynical thought crossed Barbara's mind. Sometimes she just wished she were an actual fleshbag as that would simply erase most of the problems...