Chapter Text
Home is where they say the heart is
Mine's buried in the yard
Strickler let himself out of the Lake household, checking that Jim's Vespa was not waiting for him in the driveway: the only thing that could have ruined such an excellent evening. Young Atlas was probably off on his fruitless quest of requiring the Triumbric Stones. Let him. It kept Jim out of his hair and could even result in his death.
But what would that mean for Barbara?
Strickler tried to ignore the pang of guilt he felt thinking about the good doctor while getting in his car. It wasn't his fault the Amulet had chosen Jim. It's wasn't his fault Jim didn't tell his mother what was going on, making her worry. It wasn't his fault that Jim put himself in harm's way and could end up in a troll's stomach.
But it is your fault he is being hunted by an undead assassin. It is your fault you are seeing his mother. It is your fault her fate is tied to yours, for better or for worse. And we all know it's for worse.
Strickler winced. He was getting emotional in his old age. It had to be done. He had no choice.
Hell's a place they say is for sinners
I'll be the man in charge
Strickler rubbed his eyes, trying very hard not to curse in Trollish while at school. "Otto," he gritted through clenched teeth, making his tooth ache even more. "I have gone over this already. Many times. This is for the benefit of all Changelings."
" Ja, ja, you say that mein freund," Otto replied over the phone. "But I feel that if that is true, you won't object if I called a meeting of other Changelings to make sure it is not for the benefit of just one Changeling."
"No," Strickler responded, hopefully not too sharply, as he signed a form allowing Miss Janeth to take a field trip to the planetarium. "It won't be necessary." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his sore jaw. "What if I visited with the Lady today? See what she has to say?"
"She talks to you?" Otto asked in awe.
"Of course," Strickler lied. "And if she truly wanted Gunmar free, she would tell me."
But... how, can I exist? Within the mist of this?
But... how, can I admit? That I would quit on you?
Strickler went into the travel agency. The Changeling at the desk flashed him a broad smile. What was her name? Susan something. No matter. She was a terrible spy hence her role here behind a desk.
"Good day, sir," she said with that disturbing smile. "Where would you like to go today? Down?" She grinned as she lifted the phone and dialed a number to make the floor move just as he stepped on the secret elevator. He didn't respond but started inspecting his nails.
"You know," Susan said in the ensuing silence, "I saw something interesting the other night." Strickler looked at her, feigning indifference, but something in her tone made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "You were on a date, " she continued. "A doctor I have come to find out. You certainly have good taste, sir; she is beautiful."
"Just keeping up appearances," he drawled, but inside he was screaming. "You know how humans talk if you don't appear to be interested in a romantic relationship."
"Oh, I know," she said, as the elevator continued down. The mural behind her was showing Gunmar with the Decimaar Blade. "But I was able to find out who she is. Doctor Lake. You wouldn't be sleeping with the enemy, would you, sir?" she asked innocently.
He flashed her a smile, probably with more teeth than required. "Well, look at you, Susan," he said in cheer, and she blinked in surprise. "You find that out all on your own? Maybe you are a better spy than I thought." Susan blinked again but started looking smug. "I will reevaluate your position. See if you can go out on the field."
"Thank you, sir! I appreciate it, sir! All glory to Gu— to the Pale Lady."
"Yes," he agreed as the elevator stopped. "To the Pale Lady." He started to go down the hallway, the smile sliding off his face as soon as Susan was out of sight. Blast it all; he would have to take care of her before she blabbed to the whole Order.
I wrote God a simple letter
Still haven't heard from him
Strickler stood in the room that housed the phonograph. It always seemed silly to him how they had to talk to inanimate objects and instruments to hear her. But they didn't choose the vessel; she did. He started turning the handle to play the old record that had always lived on the phonograph. Maybe he could find another record to put on there. Wasn't there a record shop in Arcadia? Perhaps some punk rock for the Pale Lady. He smirked.
There was nothing but static for several minutes, just long enough so he could tell Otto that he tried, he really tired, and just before Strickler gave up, he swore he heard a whisper.
"Free... Gunmar..."
He stopped completely. Well, that was nothing. His imagination really. He quickly exited the room. He had a dentist appointment to get to. No time to listen to old phonographs. Yes. Quite.
I must have really messed up this time
Shit must have hit the fan
Strickler stood in the street. He left. Otto left him. Otto. How many times had he gotten the other Changeling out of trouble? Just for Otto to stab him in the back. Metaphorically. Stickler would have been proud if it didn't mean his own head would be the one to roll.
What should he do? Angor Rot would not stop until his head was ripped from his shoulders; that was abundantly clear.
Barbara!
Jim! There was the answer. Jim would have to protect him; he would have no choice if he wanted his mother to survive. Strickler winced. He didn't want anything to happen to Barbara either, dammit, but here he was, thinking about his own bloody hide. And what would happen if Jim insisted that he get rid of the bond? Would Jim throw him to Angor, as a peace offering? Surely he wasn't that cold?
Why not? You were that cold, said a voice in Strickler's head that sounded a lot like Barbara.
He gulped and started walking towards the Lake residence.
But... how, can I exist? Within the mist of this?
But... how, can I admit? That I would quit on you?
Barbara was looking up, following the sounds of Jim fighting Angor Rot upstairs. Really, she was taking this better than Strickler had thought she would. Fainting spell and drinking a whole pitcher of water aside.
"This tunnel leads to the sewers. You can get to the street," Strickler explained, gesturing to the giant hole in her basement.
"What about my son?" she asked, hands clutched in front of her. Strickler followed her gaze, and they listened to the fighting for several tense moments. "What's going to happen to him?" she asked in terror.
"No, you have to go!" he cried as she took a step towards the stairs.
He grabbed her arm, but Barbara whirled in anger. "No! He needs my help!"
"You don't understand," he started to explain, hands held up. "Our lives are bound magically."
Barbara scoffed. "Are you really talking about our relationship right now?"
Oh, darling, if you only knew.
"My boy is in danger!" she cried, and blast it all, she had circled so that she had a clear shot to the stairs. Strickler grabbed her, fear for her and fear for himself making him rougher than he should be, and he winced when he felt the pain in his own shoulder. "Let me go!" she screamed, and she slapped him. A second later, her head jerked back as an unseen force hit her back. "Ow!" she cried, and then she clutched her cheek. "What was that?"
"Listen to me!" he growled, emotions starting to run wild. Barbara needed to go, and maybe she needed to be scared enough to think of herself for one bloody moment. "Leave now!" And he let his eyes glow.
"What are you, Walt?" she asked in awe.
"I'm someone who can help your son... "
But weren't you the one who got him into this mess in the first place? something whispered in the back of his head.
"...but I can't until I know you're safe." He put his hands up in a pleading motion. "Please," he begged.
Barbara paused, and he could see the war on her face. A mother just wanting to help her son, her only child. And she opened her eyes, with the stare of a warrior, and issued a command he could finally follow. "Then go to him!"
But... how, can I admit? That I would quit on you?
"Don't talk to me," she growls, a frosty tone of anger Strickler has never heard in her voice. "You're the one thing I'm looking forward to forgetting."
And he sighs as she looks away. That's fair. He deserves her anger, her rage. The things he put her through, without her knowledge. This was the conclusion that he always knew would come if Gunmar had made it to the surface, if Angor had killed Jim, or if Jim had survived everything thrown at him.
Better she forgets him. Forget his betrayal. Even if Jim told her the truth as he promised, she would be upset, but not sad. He would bear that pain. Bear the weight of his consequences. That would be better. Better for her.
Quit their relationship, once and for all.