Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It hadn’t really registered with Toby up until he looked in the mirror.

He had just woken up, you see, stretching and yawning from his bed before sliding off it. He was off-put when there weren’t any slippers on the floor—the first sign—but he was still too drowsy to think too much of it. His vision was a bit blurry, so he rubbed his eyes as he walked a few steps on the hardwood floor. Then his gaze caught his reflection.

It was his face, his body, his pajamas…a pale blue, patterned with dark spots. His grandma told him it once belonged to his father—it was only a bit of a tight fit. That was just about right. He was Toby Domzalski. 

Except for the part in his brain that quietly said wrong. The moment he began to listen to it, the thought grew louder and louder and rooted him on the spot.

Wrong, because he doesn’t remember being that—big. But he did. And yet he was also sure he was supposed to be taller by a few feet, with some darker skin…and when he looked down at his hands, there weren’t the callouses he was so intimately familiar with from years of construction work. Which didn’t entirely make sense, because Toby was just a fifteen year old teenager who had never even lifted a hammer for more than a minute, and he swore to never touch a single work tool unless he was at least twenty and desperate at a college dorm or something.

And that’s when it began flooding in. 

He is Toby Domzalski, fifteen years old—best friend of Jim Lake Jr., and technically an orphan, being taken care of by his grandmother. He lives in Arcadia Oaks—on a dead-end street past a canal, and he goes to school at Arcadia Oaks High. Toby dreams of getting a girlfriend and spending every single day of his life hanging out with his best friend, and following him into culinary school while he would try to take up engineering. If that didn’t work out, he’d take up freelancing as a stage magician and ascend to worldly fame. (Or infamy—infamy was fine too.)

He was also a radiation-induced stage-4 cancer patient from the year 2047, who died drowning on his own blood while his body fell apart even as nurses and doctors hurried around him, doing the best they could to keep him alive. 

The memories of the pain hit him like a truck.

Toby stumbled, gasping for breath, as his vision spun and his mind tried to comprehend the sheer volume of two lifetimes, one three times as long as the other, all fitting into one body, one mind, one soul.

It felt like hours. It felt like seconds. It felt like a revelation.

He picked himself up from his knees, and, grabbing the sides of the mirror, shakily stood up. There are tears dripping down his cheeks, a wild, untamed grief threatening to swallow him whole.

Toby takes a deep breath, and sunders the emotion into a practiced nothing. He wipes the tears from his eyes, ignoring the way the corners of his eyes are still wet, and forces himself to take stock of the situation.

Muffled are the sounds of birds chirping from outside. By all means, it’s a perfectly normal day, and he is a perfectly normal boy, the memories of an entire different life notwithstanding.

If only that statement could be true, then Toby could move on with his day and maybe the rest of his life simply thinking of this experience as a means for…self-improvement, or to try and have a second chance at things that this other life would never have had in any other circumstance.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single fucking chance in hell . Toby Domzalski would only be normal for the next hour or two—before stumbling on a magical amulet under the bridge on the way to school with his best friend, and getting dragged into a dangerous yet fantastical world hidden from the rest of society.

He would soon become the farthest thing from normal, despite being the weakest out of the entire…Trollhunter crew. Squad? Cast?

Toby tries to grapple with the fact that he and Jim are main characters from a goddamn Dreamworks property, but it still manages to be difficult to fully comprehend. 

At least, Toby’s having trouble. The memories of the other life, on the other hand, happily inform him that what he’s currently experiencing is the start of a typical isekai scenario—and he wishes he could have the grace to simply accept it, but Toby’s personality sort of won out over the other, mostly. Besides, an existential crisis would be hard for anyone to cope with.

And it was true. All of it. It had to be. Why else would he be Toby Domzalski, why else would this bedroom be familiar in two different ways? 

Why else would he be Toby Domzalski?

…there are notable differences, though. For one, Toby may still be morbidly obese—something the other him finds a bit annoying yet easy to accept while dredging thoughts about having healthy mindsets about one’s weight—but not in the strange, slightly outlandish way his cartoon self was proportioned. His head isn’t the size of an overinflated football, and his legs aren’t so weirdly slim—though, obviously, they’re still packing some fat.

And…he doesn’t wear the same outfit every single day of his life. Toby may have the fashion sense of an old man, as rudely informed by the new memories, but he has a wardrobe to actually select from.

What other differences could there be? He frowns, patting himself down, and goes to sit himself down at his desk. Toby—admittedly, with a new sense of personal shame—doesn’t do much hard thinking. He isn’t the type to make plans. He daydreams and coasts by the day while following Jim around, while loosely plotting some sort of outline for things to try and responsibilities to manage. If there’s a rapidly approaching deadline, though, then, and only then, would he actually start trying to plan ahead. 

That’s probably ADHD, his other life informs, and he is severely undiagnosed. 

The familiarity of the bed under him threatens to lull him into flopping over, but Toby slaps his hands on his cheeks. No. He can’t afford to not think about this.

Because there is a rapidly approaching deadline. Multiple of them, in fact. In a matter of months, dozens of threats to reality will start making themselves known. The Janus Order, Bular, the Killahead Bridge, Gunmar, Morgana, then the fucking alien invasion topped off with a government takeover of Arcadia Oaks … and the worst and last of them all: in a few years, the Triumbic Order will raise the Titans from their slumber, and attempt to raze the Earth.

In a few years, Toby Domzalski is slated to die in a heroic sacrifice, crushed to death by the falling corpse of a Titan. 

He closes his eyes, and inhales. Well. Better sooner than never, to change for the better.

“...huh. That was actually a good rhyme,” he thinks aloud, before groaning. “But geez. Couldn’t it have been anyone else?”

He eyes the window, and the outline of Jim’s house. If these memories had instead landed in Jim, or maybe even Draal… hell, he would have even taken Coach Lawrence.

But no. He just had to be Toby Domzalski. Toby just had to be Toby.

And it is super weird to have an entirely new layer of self-loathing on top of his pre-existing insecurities. His other self is a bit surprised, considering cartoon Toby’s penchance for casually ignoring almost every single opportunity to self-reflect on his failures and actually improving from them…or, at the very least, that’s how those memories color his impression of Toby from the show.

But this wasn’t a show. This was reality, like he had already established. And reality could often be both disappointing…and utterly terrifying.

Trolls. Wizards. Witches. Aliens. War. Time travel, even.

Toby bites his thumb and decides that before facing any of those things, he should at least have some breakfast to fill his stomach first. And definitely a shower. 

“Raccoons!”

The moment Toby heard Jim exclaim that, he knew he was doomed.

Oh no. That’s one coincidence too many. He bit his lip, hiding his growing panic while leaning on his bicycle. Though, if that was the case, then there were other things to panic about.

First episode. This was the day of the first episode! 

By now, Kanjigar has already died—the amulet just out of reach from Bular, resting on the troll’s warm, rocky corpse in direct sunlight. And Jim and Toby were about to bump into it on their way to school.

I thought I’d least have some time to prepare? Gah, nothing ever goes right for me. He plastered his best Jimbo-Certified Smile on his face and walked up to his best friend, his bicycle moving along with him.

Idly noting the trash cans Jim is setting back right up—definitely goblins and not raccoons (searching Toby’s memories indicate that not once have either he or Jim have actually encountered raccoons in Arcadia Oaks, which might indicate that the general populace of Arcadia Oaks have probably tricked themselves into thinking that the things go bump into the night were just normal American neighborhood things)—he gives his best friend a wave.

“Goood morning! Come on, Jimbo. We’re going to be late for school,” he says, reciting his first lines on the show ever. Or…no, that wasn’t quite right. But it was close enough?

Jim finishes pulling the cans upright, throwing in a stray milk carton (oh yeah, he’s doomed).

Toby mentally mouths Jim’s response, “Sorry, Tobes. Buuusy with the lunches. One for me, one for mom, aaand…”

He huffs, grabbing the packed lunch from Jim’s outstretched hand. He sniffs it, instantly figuring out every ingredient in them. Toby pauses—his other self’s memories are baffled by how good his sense of smell must be to be able to even do that.

How come that never came up again in the show? Comes an old, weathered complaint from the bottom rungs of his mind, echoing from a distant Discord server he once frequented. My sense of smell basically rivals a goddamn ninja’s. Or a dog’s. Is there a bit of dog in my genes? Hunter dogs? That would be cool. Like Kakashi Hatake or something.

“Balsamic mushrooms, meatloaf, and…chunky, sun dried-tomatoes.” His foreknowledge allows him to sniff out the subtle, citrusy, floral scent of the final ingredient before Jim can reveal it— “Wait, is that cardamom? Taking a chance there, Chef Jim.”

It is pretty eerie to just—follow the script of the show. Because of that, Toby predicts Jim’s next words easily.

“What’s life without a little adventure?” he says, a lilt of whimsy in his voice, and Toby gives him a knowing, if strained, smile back. You have no idea. And you’re going to regret asking for it.

I can’t eat this. I’m on a diet, is what his old self would have said. Rather, Toby rolls his eyes and takes the lunch made with love without complaint. 

It was time to go off-script.

“This’ll be good protein!” he exclaims, instead, and Jim gives him a weird look from his bike.

“Thinking about nutrition, Tobes? What’s next, a workout plan?”

He slides on his bike seat and rolls forward, nudging Jim by the shoulder. “Actually, yes. Starting right about…now! Let’s take the canal, it’ll save us 5 minutes—race you there!”

Toby only slightly regrets saying that. By the time they reach the canal, his muscles are quietly screaming and his lungs are trying to burst out of his chest. If he were the Toby of before, he would’ve probably (absolutely) given up on the idea then and there, despite literally just biking his way to school like he always does. 

But he isn’t that old Toby. Now, he’s Toby with the memories of a jacked construction worker, who was all too familiar with muscle pain and the feeling of his lungs trying to implode. 

Willpower over weakness. 

Still, that doesn’t stop him from yet again toppling backwards from his bike as it carries itself up the other side of the canal from pure momentum.

“Ouch,” he groans, pulling himself up to his feet—more out of habit than actual agony. Nothing can really beat the pain of your entire body collapsing in on itself.

“Well, there’s the aftermath of the excitement part,” Jim jokes, stopping right behind him. Toby groans even more.

“I think the excitement’s more for you, Jimbo.” It’s living I’m worried about, show-him would have once said, mere seconds ago, and Toby has the hindsight to know how poetically fitting that is. It doesn’t help that it’s true.

At least he beat Jim here. It was neck-and-neck, up until that last part—ignoring the way his body is trying to pant itself to death.

…so, where is it? Toby turns his head to the darkness of the canal, and a cold certaintly settles in his gut from what he finds.

There, sprawled across the ground on the other side of the bridge, lies Kanjigar’s remains. 

I swear, if I hear my name instead of Jim’s… Toby would have entertained the idea of becoming Trollhunter, if he was naive and didn’t have the memories of the plot written into his very soul. 

Becoming Merlin’s Chosen is not something he wants, especially with all the non-negotiable strings that come attached—if the side novels are any indication, even the trolls of Trollmarket feel the same way. Even Kanjigar felt the same way.

(The previous Trollhunter walked to his death. Toby can count on one hand the amount of times Jim will.)

If he could stop the Amulet from choosing Jim—but it doesn’t matter. He can’t.

“Toby? What are you—...hey, did you hear that?”

Toby clenches his fist. It’s happening. 

“Hear what?” he carefully chooses to say, feigning ignorance, coming with Jim as he walks towards Kanjigar’s corpse.

“James…Lake.”

It’s distorted, echo-ey and ominous—luring Jim forward with his father’s name. Toby only flinches when the voice calls the name again, whereas Jim falls backwards out of surprise.

“That!” he shakingly points at it. “That pile of rocks knows my name.”

“Or maybe something inside it,” Toby suggests, feeling a bit detached from the situation. “Weird that it’d be a bunch of K-spar—maybe a construction truck dropped something, or…”

“And it can just—randomly recognize people?” Jim says, still not looking at Toby. He can see Jim’s wide eyes from his side, a shine of curiosity lulling him closer and closer to the thread of destiny right in front of them.

“Maybe a walkie-talkie or something,” Toby echoes his canon self.

He says nothing when Jim lowers himself towards the ground and pulls the glowing Amulet from beneath a shard of rock. Its unearthly glow is all he can see from where he’s standing, and the cold in his gut spreads towards the rest of his body. 

It’s real. It’s actually happening, his mind repeats. “It’s happening.”

When Jim turns to look at him, Tobly realizes that he said that second part outloud. He catches himself and says, “Some cool magical destiny. Or a super not-cool prank.”

Actually, if his show personality’s the same, Merlin would be the type to make a prank that binds you for life. Probably.  

…that’s a stupid thought. The Trollhunters fandom ruined him. Merlin wouldn’t, but somehow it still wouldn’t be out of the question. Though, maybe a younger Merlin. Or—

No, literally stop and focus on the situation! Jimbo’s getting the Amulet! He’s being chosen to be the Trollhunter—and somewhere off to the side from one of the sewer grates—

Toby’s gaze lands on the sewer grate, and his eyes catch the faintest hint of a flash of yellow. Blinky.

“Hello. I’m listening—”

“Jimbo,” he admonishes, quickly remembering that this was the moment the school bell rings, “we can inspect the creepy talking glowing Amulet later. We’ve got to get to school, remember?”

That snaps Jim out of his reverie, and his eyes widen in horror. The both of them yelp when the school bell rings right on time—Toby’s already on his bike, speeding up the canal.

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck—” Jim swears, and that’s another on the list for signs this wasn’t the mostly child-friendly cartoon from that other life. 

They do manage to reach their lockers in time, grabbing their necessary stuff and rushing to their first class. Toby spares a few momentary stolen glances at the hallways around him, comparing it to how it was rendered in the show.

When they reach the classroom, he freezes. Inside is a grim reminder of one of the main threats of the first days.

Waltolomew Stricklander himself. Standing there at the front of the classroom, greeting the students walking in. Just Walter Strickler here, but that doesn’t change who he really is.

Changelings are kinda racially charged, if I think about it, Toby silently thinks, remembering the issue of racial and antisemitic caricatures. Which is why I’d rather not think about it. 

“Jim, there you are. And Mr. Domzalski,“ Strickler greets, voice cordial as ever. Toby observes the way the man tilts his chin just ever so slightly up, and how his eyes, though never wandering, always gazes efficiently. How his limbs are loose yet poised, as if ready to pounce or flee. Like a predator pretending to be part of the foliage, always watching, always waiting.

Something he knows from experience. Or—the other him. The him that was—the point is, Strickler is dangerous and he is just literally screaming it from anyone smart enough to actually look. 

So it’s honestly really weird how no one else notices. Does the changeling glamour include some sort of mental or emotional aspect that only works on people that don’t know? If that’s true, Morgana’s designs must be scarily effective.

“Hey Mr. Strickler,” Jim chirps, and Toby follows up with a just-loud-enough ‘good morning’. 

He’s not going to look him in the eye in case the guy somehow finds out everything from just the way he meets his gaze, or some magical-instinct keying him into it that only triggers from eye contact, or…whatever else changelings have up their sleeve.

Aside from the Creeper’s Sun daggers literally notched into the collar of Strickler’s troll-form cape. Cloak?

Sitting down at his desk, Toby thinks on that. Are they Creeper’s Sun daggers? He vaguely recalls memories of watching Strickler insta-killing several of Gunmar’s trolls in the fourth season with his daggers at the museum, when he was with Dr. Lake. Or is he remembering wrong?

Whatever, he’ll ask later when Strickler isn’t inclined to stab his eyes out and help send an entire horde of monsters to invade their hometown. Maybe he can even find out if trolls have different mineral body make-ups. 

Toby takes out his laptop and notebook, and starts writing when Strickler deems the class sufficiently filled up and launches into a lecture about Greek wars and some important historian who wrote about it enough to be famous for his thoughts on strategy.

It’s about thirty minutes into barely listening to Strickler’s shockingly okay lecturing voice and doing his instructions of searching while writing down lists on his notebook in-between paragraph skimming when he looks up and notices Jim staring at Claire like the lovestruck teen he is. Right. Jim x Claire is a thing. 

“You’re drooling,” Toby scolds, and suddenly remembers what happens next. While scribbling something down, he lightly punches Jim’s shoulder.

“No I’m not,” he says, like a liar. “Also, search up ‘talking amulet’—”

“Nope, did that already and all I got were weird cult advisories. Also, pay attention. Strickler’s, like, literally coming right up next to you.”

“That I am, Mr. Domzalski,” Strickler notes, idle amusement on his features as Jim jolts to attention. “So would you agree, Jim? On Herodotus’ opinions on his tactics of war, as I’ve described.”

The man pauses to make Jim panic further. Toby rolls his eyes and holds back the urge to spit in his face. Dick.

“Oh. Uh.” Jim looks back at Toby. Toby raises an eyebrow, tapping on his notebook. Deliberately. He tries not to facepalm when Jim fails to spot the words he’ve written. “Absolutely.”

“Excellent. Which tactics, specifically?”

Before Jim can embarrass himself, Toby speaks up. “Come on, Jimbo. This is like, kindergarten Greek history stuff. Herodotus’ opinions on war tactics? Pfft, baby lessons. Try the other Father of History, Thucydides. Now there’s a guy who’s unbiased and knows not to try and sound smart.”

Jim and Strickler stare. The rest of the classroom slowly turn their heads.

“...what? Greek historians are cool.”

An utter lie. Toby only has a passing interest in war shit. Everything he’s saying he’s pulling out of his ass—and the history buff he had for a roommate once. So many opinions. As the classroom stays frozen, Toby once again taps his fingers on his notebook and Jim finally looks down, blinking.

“...I see,” Strickler says after a moment’s hesitation. “That’s…an interesting opinion, Mr. Domzalski. Well, Jim?”

Wow, the guy is just oozing favoritism.

Jim jumps in his seat and turns back to Strickler. “Oh! Right. Uh, well, you see—um.” He tugs on his jacket collar. “I agree that—no, uh. Actually, he didn’t really have that many good, founded opinions on the war tactics at the time. Or something. That is—because—”

“Because?” 

Jim hesitates, and Toby silently chants for Jim to remember what he wrote down for him. 

“—He wasn’t all that informed on military matters, but he did at least get that the Persians were really dependent on their naval fleet to win their battles. So. That’s the one thing I agree with.”

Strickler gives him an analyzing look. His eyes dart towards Toby’s notebook—which he already slid away—and stares at him long enough for Toby to figure out that he’s figured it out. He’s tempted to give him the good ‘ol sticking out tongue, but doesn’t. 

He snorts when Strickler chooses not to say anything about that and instead goes, “It’s good to know at least one student or two was listening.”

That’s when the bell rings, and on cue everyone starts packing up their things and moving to leave.

“All right, all right—don’t forget, Michaelson, chapters four and five.”

Toby’s already forgotten. Just as he gets up, he stops, deciding to stay around as Strickler calls for Jim’s name. The scene establishing Jim and Strickler’s student-teacher bond—and Strickler’s clear inclination for him. The changeling opens his mouth when he notices Toby still close by.

“Ah, Mr. Domzalski. It’s impressive you read ahead, considering I was supposed to talk about Thucydides this Thursday. I didn’t take you for someone who studies in advance.”

Toby shrugs, crossing his arms. “Thanks. I guess it was just interesting enough to be worthy of my time.” Then, because he felt like it, “though yowch. That sounded vaguely insulting, Mr. Strickler.”

Jim gapes as Strickler freezes like a deer in headlights, before the older man barks out a laugh. Okay, that part is surprising. He has a sense of humor. Got it.

“My, perhaps. Forgive my impoliteness. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Forgiven,” Toby blandly replies.

He sees the moment when Strickler casually decides to dismiss him, and turns back to Jim, who is slinging his bag around his shoulder.

“Jim, you’re distracted. You fell asleep between the invasion of Attica and the Peace of Nicias, and your attention wandered for the rest of the class.”

He says it like a gentle admonition (not a word typically in his lexicon, Toby notes, thanks other-me-memories), like a concerned father to his son. 

Jim blinks, looking between him and Strickler. “Sorry, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

Strickler patiently smiles. “I know it’s just you and your mother, and you want to help her.”

“She’s been really tired, Mr. Strickler.” Jim sighs, tension in his shoulders, and Toby recognizes the worry in the tone of his voice. “She’s been working double shifts at the clinic. Right, Tobes?”

“Uh-huh.” Toby nods. “It’s…been tough for Dr. Lake recently, Mr. Strickler. Give him some slack.”

“Well, in that case, I believe I’m very much overdue for a conversation with her.” 

The changeling expertly writes his number on a note and hands it to Jim. His best friend’s jaw goes slack, and Toby internally grimaces. Oh yeah, he knows where this goes. Reaaally knows where this goes. Strickler had good intentions, and then those intentions looked down and more down. 

Okay, sure, that’s a bit rude, undermining Strickler’s genuine character, but still. Guy definitely got into her for more than just her heart, like—c’mon.

Dr. Barbara Lake? Who wouldn’t?...that was an other-him thought. No. Bury it. Bury it deep.

“Have her call me, so we can discuss the pertinent issues, all right? And feel free to drop by my office, if you ever need to talk about anything burdening your mind.”

Jim will absolutely take up that offer when Toby isn’t looking, and inadvertently let Strickler catch a glimpse of the Amulet. Should he still let that happen? If it doesn’t, it might cause some bad butterfly effects down the road.

“Uhh…yeah, yeah, I’ll do that,” Jim mutters.

“Oh, and Jim? If you fancy Miss Nuñez, I submit that talking to will be much more effective than staring at.” Strickler emphasizes that last part with a tap of Jim’s head with a book. Toby feels a sudden, tiny rush of envy for that easy-going moment of burgeoning parenthood, before remembering that that relationship goes down the drain the moment Jim realizes Strickler’s a changeling.

Jim flusters, though still smiling, and grabs Toby’s arm to lead him out of the classroom—that is, until, Strickler coughs.

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to borrow a moment of Mr. Domzalski’s time as well?”

Toby freezes. Ah, fuck. Dammit, did I give myself away this early? I knew I shouldn’t have given Jim that answer! He casually affects surprise and says, “Uh, sure? Jim, go ahead.”

Jim gives him a reassuring look and walks out of the classroom. Toby faces his doom head-on, a few years too early.

“So, Mr. Domzalski…may I call you Toby?”

Never Tobes or TP. That’s reserved for Jim and Claire. “Yeah, I guess. Can I call you Walter?”

Strickler blinks at him.

“That was a joke. But—yeah, okay.”

“...Toby, I couldn’t help but notice your new change of…” Strickler looks him up and down, as if to say, everything. “Attitude? You’re certainly bolder, more bound to being responsive. And, er, if it isn’t offensive to say, even a tad wittier. You even brought out a notebook when all you needed for the class was your computer—and don’t think I didn’t catch you giving the answer to Jim earlier. Is everything all right?”

Oh, thank fuck. Just Strickler leaning into his teacher persona, like a regular spy. Toby sighs in relief.

Anyway, the blame goes to the literal entire other life brimming in the depths of his mind, memories and personality traits coming to the forefront of his being. 

…yeah, no, he’s not just going to say all of that. What Toby chooses to say is:

“I…guess I just had a change of perspective! You know, like, I woke up this morning and realized I was a little tired of just being boring ‘ol Tobias Domzalski, getting dumb and dumber and not really doing much of anything of substance.” He pretends to shift in place nervously. “So I’m putting a…different foot forward, if you get what I mean?”

Strickler’s brows furrow, definitely processing Toby’s answer. Which is to say—a complete non-answer. Put a bunch of right-sounding shit and never actually go into the meat of it, and people will tend to accept you at face value. Add a squeeze of ‘you get me, right?’ and they might get too focused on looking like they understand you to come up with reasons to question you.

If this were anyone else, Walter “Fucking Commandant of the Janus Order” Strickler might see right through it, and ask more. But coming from Toby Domzalski? From a regular, if weird and astoundingly average fat teenager? He wouldn’t think twice.

“I hope that change serves you well, then. You’re…also free to come by my office if you need—”

“I’ll take you up on that if something crosses my mind,” Toby interrupts, already leaving and totally not tactically fleeing.   “Have a good day, Mr. Strickler!”

For the first time in (t)his life, Toby is actually grateful for the excuse of rushing to gym class.

Toby is not grateful for how his body is barely able to climb up a fucking rope.

“Come on, Tobes! You’re getting there! You’re doing it!”

“Oh my god, why. Why am I so weak?! I haven’t even gotten past the fucking—aaaughh—”

A sharp whistle rings out in his ear, nearly making him fall off.

“Domzalski! I appreciate the self-awareness and the enthusiasm, but no swearing! Let me motivate ya—if you don’t get up and climb up to that bell in two minutes, I’ll be marking you down! I want your bodies to be made of iron, iron!”

“I get it, I get it! I just don’t appreciate the poking!”

Self-loathing rumbles at the back of his mind. This is pathetic. His body is pathetic! It’s all blob, no substance! Even a baby sea lion could do better than this!

This is why he needs to work out, build some strength. His other self is screaming obscenities, panicked and anxious. He can’t do anything if his body’s as weak as a noodle trapped in a sludge of rotten ketchup. What’s he supposed to do against monsters like Bular, Nomura? What’s he supposed to do against a fucking Titan if he can’t even get up a fucking rope?

Despite several repeated attempts, Toby still falls down to the mat as the other students in the gym eye him with pity. Tilting his head sideways while tuning out Coach’s incessant whining (and continual poking), he spots Jim having his fabled first conversation with Claire. 

Jim is going to absolutely bomb it and Toby could be right there helping him nab Claire’s heart from the get-go if it wasn’t for this stupid—

“Coach Lawrence,” Toby grits out, annoyed and leaking just the barest amounts of I Will Fucking Kill You Dead, “if you don’t stop poking my abdomen I will report you for sexual harassment.”

Coach stops dead in his tracks and his jaw basically drops to the floor. A few nearby students start choking in horror and one even immediately starts gossiping—oh, fucking Wang.

Ignoring the looks, Toby sits himself upright, grunting. He gives Coach Lawrence the most sullen, angry face he can make. He did not appreciate this man’s character from what he saw from the show.

“First of all—first of all—I am literally overweight and obese, and I am pretty sure you can see me giving my all. And you’re, like, our only health and physical education teacher, who is supposed to be competent . Would it hurt to give each student individual goals and milestones realistic to their possible progress and grade the effort instead of just the result?”

Yeesh, I’m really pulling out the dictionary here. I should probably dial that back a bit.

Mary starts whooping and cheering, and Toby silences her with an unimpressed look. He turns back.

“Please, Coach, I am trying over here. So could you, uh, stop poking me and screaming at me like I’m some dumb cow that just wandered into your gym, and treat me like an actual person? Heck, you even called me a pinata! Fatphobia, hello?”

“...uh…” the man chooses to dumbly say, and Toby feels like his eyes are going to roll out of their sockets into the Darklands. 

Right. Because literally no one has probably ever talked back to Coach with genuine complaints that go right to the core of the issue and actually touched the man’s cold, dead heart. Has anyone at all, actually? Well, maybe there is…

Toby spots Steve across the gym, somehow not having at all noticed Toby’s teardown of Coach Lawrence. 

Nevermind.

“Just give me something to be impressed with by the person I’m supposed to consider my teacher. Okay, next attempt!”

He’s only doing it to try and get Coach to focus, even if he expects to fail. And he knows he will. Preparing for another fall, Toby—gets surprised when his arms and legs lock into place despite their trembling, as if it were instinct, and propel him a decent amount upwards. He tries again, and manages another few feet.

Neat! Those memories also include muscle memory!

“Whu—what—okay,” he shouts, and grins in spite of the sudden exhaustion bearing down on his limbs. “Okay, we’re finally getting somewhere!”

From below, he can see Coach Lawrence staring up at him with awe. Jim, seemingly having finished his disastrous first conversation with Claire, whoops for joy and starts cheering him on.

Toby basks in this sudden, personal victory, and reaches higher—then his legs start to fail him and his grip slackens.

“...oh, come on.”

As he falls down, Coach Lawrence manages to catch him to make sure he doesn’t break his neck…and is now holding him in a bridal carry. Toby feels his face twist with displeasure as he spots Mary having recorded the entire thing. He looks up at his teacher, and tries very hard to ignore the sudden blush spreading across his cheeks from being in close contact with a huge, muscular, older man.

It doesn't help that Toby suddenly starts to realize the man's face is actually a little easy on the eyes.

"Thanks. Now. Please put me down."

God fucking dammit.

It’s in the gym locker room, in the middle of the conversation about Jim’s total failure with Claire—

(“‘Unleashed your Español on her’? Jimbo, that’s fucking pathetic. I bet you led with a ‘bueños noches’ and said just about nothing else after.”

“Toby, you’re being weirdly mean. Like, super mean. Don’t you have any confidence in me? Why are you treating your best friend from childhood like this? Should I be taking interviews for someone else to take the mantle of best friend—”)

—that Toby sees something in the corner of his eyes, peeking out from the lockers to spy on them. 

Is that…Blinky? Right, he was here—following and spying on Jim. Confirming that he was the Trollhunter.

Toby pretends not to have noticed—not a single tell. He finishes putting on his socks, a…painfully hard affair, and sighs.

“Jimbo, you should take it.”

“What, the acting role? I don’t—act. I’m a terrible actor.”

Blinky peeks further. Toby makes sure he’s only barely in sight-line and reaches out to grab Jim’s arm.

“You’re the one always saying you want life to be more—exciting. This is a totally perfect opportunity! And it’ll bring you closer to Claire and all. Be the Romeo to her Juliet?”

“...Tobes, I don’t think Romeo and Juliet is exactly the answer.”

Toby hums, then, still making sure Blinky is there, moves to poke Jim in the gut—the motion moving him closer to Jim, hiding the fact that Toby can now partially see Blinky’s face without being noticed back, shadowed as it is from being in the distance.

And—yeah, that’s Blinky all right. It’s—weird. Weird, meeting the fact that was once fiction, and putting it all together. Weird to live it all out, despite the clinical knowledge that it was all true. The Amulet, trollkind, everything. 

It’s just…confirmation, he tries to think. 

All of these thoughts pass by in a matter of a second. Toby grabs ahold of Jim’s shoulder.

“Then maybe that Amulet is?” Toby suggests, and he can see Blinky lean forward. “It’s definitely magical or whatever. Maybe. Is magic real? Does it like, magically point you to something? It’s got all those strange gears—hey, show it to me again. I still can’t figure out what it’s made of.”

Probably some unique, magical metal for the main shell and mechanisms. What did Merlin make the core of the Amulet out of again? Fucking hell, why did I not pay more attention to Wizards?

“...yeah, you’re right. This thing…” Jim pulls it out of his bag and lifts it into the air. “Why do you think it called my name…?”

“Think…magical girl. Just, you know, you’re a magical boy, instead, maybe,” Toby wonders aloud, and gently pulls the Amulet from Jim’s hands. His eyes wander for just a moment, and he thinks he sees Blinky getting slightly aggravated.

And here it is. The fabled Amulet, up-close, and right in his hands. It’s warm to the touch, and he can feel a strange current running around it. It…it’s hard to describe, the other sensation. Like it’s metaphorical, almost. He thinks he can even taste it.

Is this what magic is? A metaphor? A shift in reality, in the very laws of physics? Defying it, saying ‘do something else’?

“It’s…ethereal, kinda,” Jim says, voice odd. Toby sees the familiar look of confusion on Jim’s face—the way he always does when he’s trying to figure something out. 

“I’ve gotta say—you were definitely chosen. Hey, do you think it’s—”

Before Toby can say cursed, Jim’s eyes furrow and he starts to say, “‘For the glory of…’” 

Toby’s eyes immediately dart back down. The inscriptions start turning, translating into English before his very eyes. The entire world feels like it’s going still.

Holy shit, it’s happening. Should he stop this? They’re in the school locker room—and Blinky is— still here.

Oh no. Or—oh yes?!  

“‘For the glory of Merlin, daylight is mine to command’?”

For a moment, nothing happens. Then, the lights flicker abovehead, and the air in the locker room starts blowing.

“Woah,” Jim exclaims right as the lockers start slamming open, “what’s happening—?”

Then the Amulet spins right off Toby’s hands, glowing blue and shearing the air as it strikes Jim in the chest. Toby shouts in surprise as Jim stumbles backwards, several blue fairy lights erupting out of the Amulet and entering Jim’s chest. 

Toby can only watch in awe as wispy blue lights dance and explode around Jim’s body, floating him into the air as armor pieces start forming around his limbs and shifting into place—sizing themselves down, fitting Jim’s proportions, strapping onto his form. 

The Amulet glows a brilliant white as it does all this—then as Jim falls back down to the floor, more fairy lights escape the Amulet to form a sword.

Daylight.

The dazzling gleam of the armor and the lines of runic engravings running down every armor piece bury themselves into Toby’s mind as he takes it all in, memorizing each and every pattern and basking in the sheer magical glow emanating from Jim.

Magic. Magic. It’s one thing knowing—it’s another seeing—and it’s another feeling the vibrancy of it, running across Toby’s skin like static electricity. Like metaphors dancing down his arms.

“This…” Jim stammers.

“Is so…” Toby continues.

“Fucking COOL!” 

The two of them exclaim at the same time, screaming.

“Oh my god! I have a sword! I have a sword?!”

“Dude. Dude. Do you see yourself right now?! Look at you, all decked out in armor! I need to take a photo—”

Toby tries to grab for his phone in his pocket, when he hears a different voice shouting over theirs.

“Great Scot! So it is true! An Amulet has chosen…a human?!”

Oh. Oh fuck, he completely forgot about Blinky . Jim turns around, Daylight clumsily turning with him, and Blinky stands there, exposed, in his full six-eyed glory.

A skin of stone, a strange carrot-colored nose, ill-fitting jumpers, and most of all—

A troll, and definitely not human.

As Jim freezes and looks like he can’t decide whether to scream or throw his sword at Blinky (both being VERY bad outcomes), Toby takes in a sharp breath.

I guess we’re fucking canon into a ditch, then.

Chapter Text

Compared to rapidly dying from cancer, trying to stop Jim from hurling Daylight at Blinky while also trying to act like he’s also freaked out (not hard) but specifically at Blinky is…

Okay, it’s not quite like the sensation of his body liquifying and disintegrating on a molecular level, but worse hyperbolic comparisons could have been made. The best comparison to make, on the other hand—

Is like trying to herd a dog that turned into a cougar away from a mutated sheep.

“Jim, Jim, put the sword down! Put the sword down!”

“Wh-what are—who are you?! Why do you have—six eyes? B-blue skin—fangs?”

Blinky scoffs despite himself (shaking like a feather in the wind once he realized the infamous trollkiller sword was being pointed right at him), and has the audacity to sound offended. “I’ll have you know my looks are considered unique amongst my people—now if you could, e-erm, listen to your tubby friend over there and politely aim the Daylight blade away from me, thank you, I would like to not experience death!”

“Me neither—Jimbo, don’t swing it around like that, I’m right here! Wait, did you just call me tubby?”

Jim clumsily hurls the sword down to the ground, screaming. “Oh fuck, sorry Tobes! I—oh god, did I almost cut your hand off?!”

“No, no, you’re good,” Toby assures, clutching said almost-cut-off hand to his chest. Be still my beating heart. 

And then Blinky decides to instantly invade their personal space, waving all four of his index fingers at Jim.

“Don’t swear so crudely, Master Jim. It’s unbecoming of an up-and-coming Trollhunter such as yourself!”

Jim screams. Again. (Oh hey, ‘unbecoming’, haha—wait no focus.)

“Why did I put the sword down—!” Jim tries to reach out for it.

“DON’T!” he and Blinky shout in unison, and Jim withdraws his hands, expression chided. 

A beat. Two. The room is quiet and still. All of them look at each other. Blinky raises a finger.

“Ahem.”

“Yeah, ahem,” Toby cuts in before Blinky can say anything else. 

He frowns, thinking on what to say and how to sufficiently pretend he doesn’t know who Blinky is, and wow those are some eyes. Look at how they blink in sync. 

“Uh, so…who…are you?” is what he decides on, and high-fives himself mentally. Normal surprised teenager dialogue. Standard cartoon dialogue! Yay for…average writing!

The troll coughs, glaring at Toby, and with a gravely yet pleasant voice, finally launches into his introduction.

“Before I was so rudely interrupted…I am known as Blinky! As for why I am here—I have come to tell you of the greatest of fortunes! Master Jim…you have been chosen! The Amulet of Daylight challenges you to ascend to the most sacred of offices!”

Hearing those words in a different context—the school locker room instead of Jim’s basement—is a bit staggering. 

Jim clearly is trying his best to take this well, if the expression of utter confusion is anything to go by. That is, he isn’t.

“Offices?” he asks, dumbly. “Am I going to work?”

“Well, yes, but—I do not mean an office as a location, no. In this context, it means responsibility. Unbeknownst to your kind, there is a secret world, a vast civilization of trolls and other magical creatues, all hidden beneath your very feet!”

Other magical creatures—his memory tells him Blinky only mentioned trolls in this speech. Toby’s fingers are itching for his pen and notebook right now. Although, Blinky does talk about other creatures later on—anyway.

“Trolls?” Jim, yet again, dumbly repeats, and he gives in to the urge to shove him by the shoulder.

“Stop asking stupid questions and ask smarter ones,” Toby scolds. “So, you, Blinky… what responsibility does Jim exactly have now?”

“I was getting to that, Tobias! Your responsibility, Master Jim, is to protect this magical world— that is the duty of the Trollhunter!”

“...oh wow, I just noticed you know our names,” Toby mutters, silently realizing. “Have you been stalking us?”

That’s weird. Is that not weird? Why did the show not point that out? Or was there a bit of dialogue that he just missed during his other life’s binging?

“Furtive reconnaissance, more like,” Blinky corrects, pointing an index finger up like a teacher, and Toby crosses his arms and scoffs. That’s just a polite way of saying stalking.

Meanwhile, Jim’s eyes go wide, and he looks down at the amulet resting on his chestplate. The mechanisms whir, and the hands tick, flicking clockwise, measuring something he has no way to see or tell.

And Toby can see his best friend’s sudden terror, the feeling of a burden that he has no idea of the weight of suddenly pressing down on him. So he grabs Jim’s nervously twitching hand, feeling out the grooves of the armor’s undersuit and the plates on his fingertips, while gripping it tight and hopefully conveying calm. Anchoring him down— this is real, this is happening, but you’re not alone.

“Hey, don’t faint on me now, big guy,” he whispers, and Jim’s only response is to clutch Toby’s hand harder.

“So? What say you? Do you accept?”

“...do I have a choice?” comes Jim, low and unsure.

Blinky goes still, six eyes blinking, and he clasps all four of his hands together.

“N…o, unfortunately. There has never been someone who has been physically able to decline the mantle of the Trollhunter once the Amulet of Daylight has chosen them!”

“Wh—then why’d you even ask!?”

“Formality’s sake!”

Toby palms his face. “Great, so it is cursed.” Good to see that was still the same. (No. No it wasn’t.)

Blinky winces, hissing (trollish and human expressions seem similar enough, curious), and waves his hand about.

“Some trolls would…agree, but, er—”

“Okay, but how bad is it? What do I have to do? Fight?” Jim blurts out, words rapidly escaping his lips. His face is pale.

“Dude, calm a bit. But yeah, what exactly is his, uh, noble…obligation?” 

Those were Blinky’s exact words! …at some point. The inconsistency of memories were annoying.

“To protect trollkind and humanity from bad trolls and other creatures! Such as goblins, gruesomes, and the occasional rogue gnome.”

Gruesomes. Toby grimaces—at least they were weak to flour. And…salt, maybe? He wasn’t too sure. Or anything explosive enough to break apart and disintegrate their mass all in one go. 

He was going to have to stock up on grenades. Hey, didn’t Nana have…

Wait, back to the conversation.

“—o I’m the first human. But—who was the one before me?”

“The glorious, if… feared mantle has been passed on from troll to troll for several hundred years. The one before you was one of the best of his station! Kanjigar the Courageous. Yet, he was…felled.”

Blinky’s expression shutters, hands clasping together as if in silent prayer. His entire stone body hunches, grief palpable in every inch. 

That wasn’t…in the cartoon. He and Kanjigar were friends. Very good friends. Like in the side novels, or was that something from here? Toby tries to say something, a small sympathy maybe, but hesitates. He isn’t sure what to say. ‘I know how you feel’?

Blinky inhales, getting back some of his vigor, and—like that moment never happened—gives Jim a bright, trollish smile.

“Felled by a most ruthless foe—Bular the Brutal.” 

Jim’s eyes widen in fear, while Toby’s widen in confusion.

Brutal? That’s not right—it was Vicious! Or, well, in Wizards he was the Butcher—whatever. ‘Cause that just hits the final nail in the coffin. This really isn’t the show. What version of Trollhunters is this?

“Ruthless? How ruthless? Was this Kanjigar, like, uh…”

“Off his game?” Toby continues, once more echoing the canon script. 

Blinky shows his teeth, grinning uncertainly. “No. Definitely not. Kanjigar was never ‘off his game’, he was the most alert and able Trollhunter amongst them all, with songs and tales written all about his incredible capabilities and escapades. I, myself, starred in some of them—er, I digress. Now that you are the Trollhunter, you will have to face Bular yourself…that is, if he doesn’t hunt you down, first.”

“Hunt me down,” Jim repeats, eyes glassy. He looks Blinky up and down, and Toby can just see him imagining what Bular must look like.  “And. I don’t have a choice?”

“With the Amulet in your possession, he will come for you.”

To finish Killahead Bridge, Toby mentally finishes, but he isn’t supposed to know that yet.

Jim’s eyes widen. “Oh no. Oh nonono, I—how long do I have—?”

Blinky “Do not fret, Master Jim! I shall take you into our protection in Trollmarket and train you in the ways of a Trollhunter! By the end, you shall be a master swordsman.”

“How long will that take?”

“...a few decades?”

“Jesus Ch— okay. And Bular is looking for me, or whoever he thinks is the next Trollhunter. Which is me. Right now?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t spend the rest of my life training!”

Toby winces at the volume of Jim’s screeching. “Hey, shoosh shush pap! Or else someone’s going to hear us!”

“Tubias is right. Already, having him know of my existence is hazardous enough, but if another human or, goodness gracious, several others know—”

“It’d be bad, we get it. Our lips are sealed,” Toby replies curtly, miming zipping his lips. “Also, it’s Tobias.”

“Tobias!”

“Tobias, yeah.” He turns to Jim, and gets worried when he sees him groggily sitting himself at the bench, head in his hands. “Jimbo?”

“I…sorry, this is a lot to take in.” He sighs, and stares down at the amulet on his chestplate, expression turning complicated. Conflicted. “There’s—some magical destiny involved, and I have to fight—trolls, this Bular guy, other evil magical things…right?”

“Yes, indeed. It is now your obligation to protect both the magical and mundane, strike the balance and slay those who means harm. One of those is Bular. If he is not defeated…he might come into your world, and cause havoc and destruction amongst humankind. And the amulet chose you, out of everything and everyone.”

“There has to have been a reason,” Toby says, but deep inside, he already knows why.

Because it’s already happened. Because Jim is the most convenient vehicle, the best one for the job. A great heart, full of a willingness to sacrifice and so much love and conviction swallowing him whole. A true knight. The perfect Trollhunter.

Jim looks up at him, hope shining in his eyes, and Toby pats his shoulder.

“Come on, bud. Sure, it all seems horrible, kinda, but…this is the adventure you wanted, right?”

“Not…exactly what I expected,” Jim admits, though his face still lights up at his words. “Okay. Okay, I’m willing to give this a go. This Bular, he’ll hurt people. He’ll hurt me. Great. So, what’s the first thing I gotta do?”

Toby wonders why Jim is having less doubts than he should be, but maybe he’s putting up a front. Blinky smiles at them, then just as he’s about to answer, freezes.

“Blinky?” Jim asks, concerned. 

Toby looks at Blinky. Looks at all six of his eyes, swiveling towards somewhere behind them.

Or, perhaps…someone. Toby slowly turns around and nearly has a conniption.

“Mister Strickler!” Jim shoots up from his bench, turning between him and Blinky, arms rising up as if to hide the nine-foot tall troll behind him. “Um, this isn’t what this looks like—”

Strickler walks towards them, hands behind his back, and wide, unblinking eyes darting around. Or, well, between Blinky and the amulet. Toby can see the sheer shock running through his entire body, the way the man—the changeling— is realizing the implications of what he’s just discovered.

Dammit. The locker room Strickler confrontation is happening a few days earlier! Jim is going to know Strickler knows and Strickler is going to know that Jim knows, but not about what Strickler knows and Jim doesn’t know Strickler about who he really is—whatever! The timeline is gonna be all messed up!

Strickler coughs, still emanating the guise of someone caught utterly off guard and in disbelief of what he’s experiencing. “No, I believe it’s entirely what it looks like. You don’t have to explain, either. I’ve…eavesdropped on the entire conversation.”

“Wait, since when?”

“Since all three of you started screaming and nearly scared the life out of young Miss Claire.”

Toby feels his blood drain from his face. Shit, a lot could have gone wrong there. Claire didn’t have a good first reaction to trolls either.

Blinky makes a sound of horror. “Oh this is disastrous enough—did she—”

“No, no, I…guided her away. I thought to come in and deal with the problem myself. I just didn’t expect…” Strickler says, feigning confusion. Well, maybe not really feigning it, but he’s absolutely playing up the dramatics for his guise’s sake. “To discover that all the rumors and mythos of trollkind, and that the legend of glowing sword-swinging monster-knights, were all true in one, fell swoop.”

Huh. That was a decent…cover-up he could use. He’s thinking several steps ahead.

He turns to Jim, expression cloudy, studying the armor adorning him. Studying the boy he must be thinking that he has to betray.

Toby feels a surge of protectiveness surging inside him. 

“Jim. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I—I didn’t mean—I don’t know!” he yells. “I don’t…know, Mister Strickler. I didn’t really choose this, it…”

“Chose you,” Strickler finishes, then turns to Blinky, glaring like he’s responsible. The troll just puts all four of his hands up.

“I didn’t design for it to be an inescapable contract! What are you looking at me like that for?”

“You could’ve been more tact, perhaps? It’s only young Toby’s expert redirecting and support that the new…Trollhunter,” he says, tasting the word on his tongue as if it were unfamiliar (Toby knows better) “didn’t have a nervous breakdown.”

“Hey, give me some credit. I’m trying my best here,” Jim says, humourously, and Strickler gives him a small chuckle.

And Toby knows what Strickler is doing here. Coming in, acting surprised, conniving a way into Jim’s trust and even Blinky’s. An easy way to victory. He saw the opportunity and took it, and when all their backs are turned at the most opportune moment, he’ll twist the knife and run for it.

…and if Toby wants to win, he has to let him. So he doesn’t give an outward reaction of distrust, suspicion. Instead—

“Blinky, before you say anything—I think this is a good thing!” Toby chimes up, and finds himself believing in his own words. “Look, Mister Strickler’s like, a super historian, and has got all sorts of advice and everything. I think we can trust him to help.”

“Ah, trust me to help?” Strickler says, surprised, then smooths over. “Yes, help. It seems that this may be a stressful time for Jim here. If combat and violence is involved, perhaps even more so. It must be quite the hefty burden, this mantle of Trollhunter.”

Blinky, well, blinks, and though his wariness is still visible on his face, he’s also clearly hesitating. “Yes. Very much so.”

“Then let me offer my support. To you three, and most especially to…you.” Strickler pokes Jim in the chest. On the amulet. 

It glows blue, lights sparking from the contact. Toby squints. Does it know?

“Young Atlas.”

Oh. There’s the nickname. And it’s like a fire lights under Jim’s feet. He stands up, conviction welling inside him. His chest inflates and shoulders rise, before suddenly blinking out and doubt creeps up on him again.

Strickler notices, but Blinky beats him to it.

“If I may, Master Jim?” Blinky asks, and Toby turns. He takes a step back. This is it. This is…

The air gains an electricity to it. This is where the score would ascend, marking a moment and immortalizing its gravity—and everyone pays attention. Like the entire world’s gaze is spinning towards the two of them, towards those next words.

“Destiny…is a gift. Some go their entire lives living existences of quiet desperation, never learning the truth that what feels as though a burden pushing down upon our shoulders is actually a sense of purpose that lifts us to greater heights.”

Strickler tenses beside him, as if feeling the moment for what it is, just like him.

Compared to how he heard it in the show, here, Blinky is solemn, restrained. His voice digs and unburies something inside their heads, their very souls.

“Know that fear is but a precursor to valor,” the troll continues, and where the original was spoken with something akin to a creed of glory, this one is softer, understanding, and yet all the same imposing. “That to strive and triumph in the face of fear… that is what it means to be a hero. ”

Toby’s hand comes about as if magnetic, landing on Jim’s shoulder. Strickler gives Blinky and Jim a nod each. Blinky nods back.

“Kanjigar the Courageous, and all the Trollhunters before him—they were all heroes, and they all knew that. So, Master Jim, don’t think.”

The amulet sings blue, humming in resonance. In agreement.

“Become.”

It’s not like Jim became ultra confident after that. But with Mister Strickler patting him and telling him to talk tomorrow morning before class, and Blinky tell them he’ll be patiently awaiting their next contact, he seems a lot more willing to jump into the fray of being a Trollhunter.

Toby has to be there for every second. He has to make sure Jim never falls off the path—he’ll keep him afloat, all the while changing that lone wolf act that Trollhunters keep doing and dying by. Jim was always going to go against it, but Toby will need to be a lot more proactive in supporting him.

I wonder where Aaarrrgghh is, though. Toby bites his lip. He better not be dead or still a Gumm-Gumm in this timeline. I’d hate that. That’d be…really bad.

And he doesn’t think he’s willing to kill the guy who’s supposed to be his second best friend ever. That might traumatize him in some weird ways he’s not willing to be traumatized in. You know, like a normal person would prefer. Because Toby is normal. Totally. Toballly. Tobatally?

…eh, he’ll come up with a better pun. And definitely a better name than “The Warhammer”. How about “The Gauntlet”? Or “The Daybreaker”? Those sounds tooootes better.

While he follows Jim out of school—cuz’ school’s out, LOL, thank god, today was boooring aside from literally all of that earlier—he tells Jim all his cool name ideas. The response is…

“Daybreaker?” Jim suggests, before humming doubtfully. “Actually, no. Maybe work up to a good name. Like getting an actual warhammer. Then again, Tobes, we haven’t even started training.”

Oh, I’ll get that warhammer, Jimbo. It is LITERALLY destined to be in my hands. And bound with a gravity hex, but we’ll get to that.

Actually…the gravity hex…Toby knows where it is, or where it’s bound to end up. What if…what if he—?

“So tell me about those creatures you saw, nerd,” a familiar, grating voice interrupts Toby’s contemplations, and a bit of instinctual fear crawls up his spine. 

Ah, crap. Steve. Right, the basic bully from the show who can throw a mean right hook, and is generally the bane of anything and anyone trying to be upstanding and decent in this school. Or, you know, those who dare to be weird or are just trying to live their lives…teenagers, man. They can just be so cruel.

And there Jim goes, frowning and generally looking displeased with Steve’s casual bullying of Elijah Pepperjack. His first idea is to try and convince Jim not to go ahead and get the attention of the asshole, but he remembers how Jim’s knightliness keeps straining out of his chest basically every day, and that today is going to be the day it bursts out—and with the speech Blinky gave him earlier…

It would be good, though, wouldn’t it? A small thing, but still something to help inspire Jim’s bravery?

…it’s still not the best way to go about it. Steve won’t change just because Jim stood up to him. Sure, it’s important. But Toby…

He has a better, if maybe worse idea. And here’s the thing—he never claimed to be smart, but he also never claimed to be polite, either.

Especially not in the other life, that other sea of memories, all bubbling under his skin. Pushing him, urging him to do something—but more than just to stand against an oppressor. More than saying a few paltry words and challenge a boy at his own fucked-up game.

Something shifts inside his soul. His childish ideas of cool hero names—as pleasant as it is to indulge them—all get washed away, being replaced with this cool, fluid conviction, and some decent conclusions and assumptions to work with. 

Toby balls his hands into fists, a plan already formulating, words waiting to spill out of his lips. Steve is still hovering over Eli with his groupies, taunting him while gripping his shoulders (No locker this time? Hah, of course) so tightly it couldn’t possibly not hurt, and Jim is saying something at his back.

But all Toby hears is the voice of someone that needs to be taken down a notch.

“Hey, Palchuk.”

Someone from the crowd of bystanders—oh, when did that form—starts whispering, and Jim is urging him with his name. Toby ignores them all in favor of Steve turning his head to him and raising a brow, then laughing as he realizes who’s calling his name.

“Oh, shit. Domzalski? What is it, tubs? Trying to be a hero?”

Work on your taunting game, kid, says a voice in his head, but Toby doesn’t say that. Instead, he relaxes his shoulders, exhales, and with a disappointed tone:

“This isn’t how to beat your father, Steve. Your mom would be horrified to see what you’re doing.”

Steve’s face shutters, suddenly frozen with shock. Someone gasps. Clearly, no one expected that—much less Jim, who has stopped trying to get Toby to back off.

And then—Steve explodes.

“What the fuck did you just—”

“She would be disappointed in you,” Toby talks over him, getting into his space, all fear from earlier fading away in a buzz of determination. “You know why, Steve? Because you’re acting just like your dad. You’re fucking up right now. You think you’re better than him? You think he’s really left for good? Have you even looked in the mirror recently? You’ve become a splitting image—”

The world becomes a dizzying flash of white and pain, and Toby’s vision goes blurry, everything a mess of blacks and whites. 

And a moment later: Ah. He punched me.

But he’s been punched harder before. Why else hasn’t he fallen to the floor yet? Toby’s posture stands strong, even if he took a step back from the staggering force of the blow. His face is probably bruised, judging by how it’s throbbing horribly, but he doesn’t care. He turns back to Steve, and the taller guy’s expression slackens into surprise, then fear.

Huh. What does my face look like right now?

“Jesus. Nice punch. Your father would be proud of you.”

Steve exhales like he’s the one that got hit, and Toby continues on, hitting the final nail in the coffin. He wipes the blood spewing from his nose, and maybe a cut on his cheek. Is his voice lisped? Doesn’t matter.

“Steve. Your mother’s gone through your father once already. Do you want to make her go through him again?”

The guy chokes on something, then his fear turns back into rage.

“You—you son of a fucking— don’t ever talk about my mom, or my family!”

“I don’t care what you think. You’re the one being a scumbag here. You should try not being one for a change—I think your mother would even start smiling for once.”

“I—you—” Steve staggers, then stumbles away from the scene. “Shut the hell up!”

He’s running away. His groupies are standing around awkwardly, before also leaving. Eli also slinks out of there, using his small stature to his advantage.

There’s no satisfaction to be had from any of that—but it should be at least food for thought for the guy. Toby sighs and finally turns to Jim.

Compared to canon, the crowd of students is frozen, definitely disturbed by what just happened. And by all the things Toby said. He’s probably going to rapidly gain a sudden, freaky reputation, he can guess. 

…but he doesn’t care. About what they think, at least. As for Jim…

“Tobes,” Jim starts, then stops, before starting again. “What…what was—”

“Just something that needed to be said,” Toby replies, voice carefully neutral as he thumbs the wounds on his face. That’ll be a bitch to deal with. A black eye would be bad, too. “Compared to whatever you were planning to do, I think what I pulled off will be…much more effective.”

That’s when a new voice cuts in—one Toby is very surprised to hear. 

“That’s… cold,” says Claire Nunez, and Jim jumps a bit.

“C-Claire?” he says, meek, but her eyes only spare him a glance. For Toby?

He’s who they’re aimed at, and they’re judging.

“...I don’t care what you think,” Toby declares before Claire can come up with some sizzling criticism. “Steve has problems, and he needs to recognizes that the asshole that ruined his life is starting to become himself.”

“And doing a public… takedown is how to go about it? Talking about his mom, his dad? What you said, all the implications of his home life—that was a huge invasion of privacy! You said all of that in front of—the entire student body, and with Mary Wang in there too?”

A chirped and offended ‘hey!’ is all he hears from the girl in question. Toby just rolls his eyes.

“Public humiliation instead of public violence. I’d say that’s a lot less morally reprehensible, and the only wounds he’ll be taking are the ones to his pride and emotions. And when he licks them, he’ll at least get something good out of ‘em.”

Claire glares at him, and it’s apparently the last glare she’ll be giving since immediately after she starts walking away.

“You better hope you’re right,” Claire scoffs, her parting words clearly trying to hook some regret out of him.

It doesn’t work. Toby doesn’t give her the satisfaction of anything, and walks away himself—through the crowd, parting from him and Jim like he’ll cut into them, too.

And maybe he will. But not at them, no.  

At the rest of the world? At everyone else, who’ll be trying to size him and Jim up and do away with them?

Absolutely.

“Tobes, what was all of that?” Jim asks a few minutes later as they’re biking, finally clearing the silence between them.

And honestly? Toby…doesn’t have much of an answer, either. It was like something else took over. Something else that was somehow all him yet not at all. After cooling down from the whole incident, it was like something just kinda moved inside his head and he could finally, like…think about what he did.

…he doesn’t really regret it all. Yet that feeling also feels foreign—not like something’s intruded into his brain, no. 

It just feels like…the other him. The man who died. He thought he only had his memories, and maybe some bits of personality, and a lot of the man’s standards and ideas about things, but he’d chalked it up to just…the weight of that entire life suddenly pouring into his mind.

But suddenly and immediately just turning kinda…like that? No. That wasn’t Toby at all.

“I just didn’t want to see you, uh, get punched by Steve or something,” Toby replies, and he knows it’s a very poor answer.

“You got punched by Steve! I didn’t want to see that happen to you either!” Jim shouts, shrilly, and a passerby on the road looks at the two of them oddly.

“I know. Kinda smarts, but hey, first time for everything.”

“Toby…”

Jim is clearly about to say something else—probably digging for, you know, a much better answer, one Toby still has to think of so it’s actually convincing, when some instinct he didn’t know he had suddenly has him in a chokehold.

Something primal. Something like—

I’m being hunted.

“Toby, you’re not being yourse—”

“Jim, shut up and pedal faster!” Toby all but screams, and Jim nearly falls out of his bike. “Now!”

“What? What’s gotten into you?!”

He looks around, trying to identify the source of whatever is shouting in the back of his mind and pumping adrenaline through him. Wait, there’s construction by the side of this road…and it’s sunset. It’s familiar. Too familiar.

And there are shadows trailing and rising all around them. Shadows that no troll fears. Shadows that a troll could hide in.

A shadow that, in the second episode of the show—

There’s this strange whistle suddenly piercing his ear. Like something hurtling in the air—

“ GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Toby shouts, pushing Jim away from him as the ground splits open between them. 

Toby falls out of his bike, dirt brushing up from the impact. His heart feels like it’s going to explode out of his chest—Jim perhaps just about the same, his blue eyes locked on the thing that almost cleaved them in half.

A semi-familiar serrated blade—too giant for human hands. Too big, too… brutal.

It’s too early. It’s happening too early. It’s because of— Strickler. Strickler had to have warned him, having confirmed it sooner than he was supposed to—

Strickler warned Bular. Bular, who is currently gaining on the two of them, days ahead of schedule.

Toby gets up on his bike, and so does Jim. They lock eyes, twin expressions of fear and adrenaline.

“TROLLHUNTER!” Bular yells, and the two of them pedal for their lives.

Chapter Text

Toby remembers a time when his Nana would sing him lullabies to sleep. She would wrap his hands over a glass of milk and gently urge him to drink it, then maybe nibble and bite a cookie or two. Her sweet, aging voice would tell him that it was to keep the nightmares away. He’d always drift off into sleep, wondering about the day that she’d be wrong, when his mind would think up of one that not even cookies and milk could stop.

And it would always work. Toby has never had a nightmare whenever he drinks milk and eats a cookie before going to bed, so he’s kept the habit up. Turned it into routine. Who cares if it ruined any self-imposed “diets”—he never wanted to go through that dream of his parents drowning out at sea and calling out for him ever again.

In his other-life, though, he’s always known that the real nightmares are when you wake up.

Toby really wishes this was a nightmare you could wake up from.

“Hand over the Amulet—Merlin’s Creation!”

“Fuck you!” Toby spits as Jim avoids getting pummeled to death.

“Tobes, we need to go through somewhere narrow!” Jim screams over Bular’s roars. Toby’s heart leaps out of his chest when he sees him barely dodge another swipe from the troll.

Pedalling as fast as he can, he tries to remember—in the show, they lose Bular by—“Behind Stuart Electronics, maybe?!” 

“We’re too far from Dela—” A shadow leaps over them, and Jim gasps “—duck!”

Toby’s body follows the command, ducking under a grab by the dark troll. Bular growls out another roar of frustration.

Wheels squeak as he forces his bike to go faster, faster, eyes both on the road and on Jim. Panic has already set in—but so has the adrenaline, focusing him on survival. That’s how he notices that strange danger sense from earlier flares up again, guiding him to hear yet another flying object.

He looks back to see a fucking truck of all things flying—over them—and striking a lamp post, causing it to fall. The combination of the two sliding across the street in a loud crash effectively manages to block their path—Toby and Jim have no choice but to come to a stop.

“Fuck!”

Bular takes this chance to corner them, claws gunning for Jim. A scream rips out of Toby’s throat—and then Bular pulls back with a shout of pain.

“Wha?” Toby blinks, confused, then looks at the ground—a divide of shadow separating the two from Bular. “Sunlight!”

Jim takes a step back, breathing hard. He watches Jim clutch his chest, then reach into his messenger bag for the Amulet. “Trolls can’t be in the sun? That’s—”

A mocking, guttural laugh erupts out of Bular, and Toby refocuses on the main danger. He watches the troll pounding the ground—his dark, almost jet-black worn stone-body, a leather strap for swordsheaths wrapping around it, and—a warskirt?—rising up to its full height. Scarred, chipped. The body of a trollish warrior. Interestingly, his stone body almost seems…segmented.

“So,” Bular begins, voice booming and hoarse, yet almost looming and dripping with this sort of—condescension. “The newest Trollhunter doesn’t even know trolls are weak to the sun. How pathetic—you are meant to be Gunmar’s Bane, yet look at you. I will enjoy ripping your flesh from your bones.”

Jim flinches, fear wracking his body, and Toby—Toby growls. There is an anger flowing up his throat, and though he is smaller, weaker, he just can’t help but be enraged. How dare something like this exist, how dare he try to strike fear into their hearts—protect Jim, protect Jim.

This isn’t me, something says, distantly, this isn’t me at all. I’m supposed to be scared. How am I not literally shaking in fear? He could cleave me in half within seconds. He’s a natural-born predator. I’m nothing compared to him. An ant.

I have faced worse. I have faced death, something else replies, cooler and calm. He is more pathetic than you will ever know. An animal following only its instinct.

Back in reality, Jim is screaming at the Amulet. “For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to—why aren’t you working?!”

“Look at you, human! You can’t even work that damn incantation?” Bular snarls, then laughs scornfully.

“Jim,” Toby says, voice colder than he expected. “Calm yourself down. Manage your emotions—I think the Amulet’s responding to your emotional state.”

“I’m trying!”

But what can I do?

Be strong for Jim, obviously. Think. You may have mere seconds before the sun properly sets— and Toby does notice that the shadows are creeping up on them, bit by bit— but you have luck and knowledge your side. Take it and every chance you can get.

What the fuck does THAT mean? Could you be more specific?!

Aren’t you hearing the police cruiser coming your way?

The what? Oh, what the—

And seconds later, the air fills with the sounds of a police siren. Bular’s glowing yellow eyes widen, and turning his head (framed with goat-like horns, Toby notes), sniffs at the coming policecar.

“Oh thank god,” Jim exclaims, tremblingly, the Amulet almost slipping out of his hands, but Toby knows better.

Of course the police would notice all the loud sounds of a chase and vehicles being flung around—this isn’t a cartoon! But whoever this is, they can’t do shit! Bular’s going to fucking kill them!

In the distance, the car comes to a stop as a policeman all but throws himself out the door, gun aimed at Bular. Toby can also vaguely pick up on the sounds of a police radio basically blazing with voices.

“Jesus fuck, you’re real?!” the man screams, voice tinged with a desperate fear, and Toby wonders what the fuck the implications of that are. “Get back! Stay away from those kids!”

“Officer, get the hell out of there! You can’t—” Toby tries to warn, but it’s too late.

He and Jim watch with horror as Bular all but throws himself at the man, the sound of gunshots filling the air completely useless as the bullets ricochet off the troll’s impervious stone skin.

“NO!” Jim shouts from beside him.

For a moment, when all they hear is the sound of the man screaming as Bular crashes towards the ground, the two of them fear the worst. Thankfully, the car door slams closed—the man jumped back into his cruiser!—and the car immediately starts speeding away. Towards them.

“Holy shit!”

But all semblance of momentary hope shatters when Bular simply punches the car’s trunk, crumpling the vehicle and rendering its back wheels useless. Toby witnesses the man’s expression of utter terror through the front window as the troll lifts the death trap the cruiser has become. 

The two of them have no choice but to jump away as Bular hurls the car towards them, crashing against the toppled-over truck behind them. Toby gets up—seeing the road’s opened up again—and immediately realizes they need to go, now.

Jim and his bleeding heart is already rushing to the car, pulling the front door off the fraying hinges. He freezes at the sight of the man, and Toby reaches his side, both their bikes in his tight grip.

Jim looks to him with a pale face. “T-Tobes, he—”

“I know,” Toby grimly declares when he sees the broken form of the police officer, uniform soaked in blood and neck…twisted. It’s too late for him. 

To Jim, this must be an incredibly gruesome sight, something he never thought he’d see. Chilling him to the core. To Toby and the other life brimming under his skin—it was an unavoidable casuality. Terrible, horrible, but not one they can think about right now.

Toby turns around—Bular is looking up at the sky, watching the sun set, and, with all his teeth, grins at them. At the shadows now finally reaching them. 

They’ve already wasted too much daylight.

“He gave us a chance. We have to go, now,” he tells Jim, and he reluctantly nods, hurriedly getting on his bike. And that’s when Toby notices the radio on the man’s chest crackling to life.

“Davis? Davis, are you there? Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck—” the operator shouts.

Toby grabs it—and, after a moment’s hesitation, the man’s police-licensed firearm from its holster. A memory guides him to pushing the button, the radio blinking red as it starts to receive.

“I’m sorry. He tried his best. But thanks to him, we’re alive,” he replies, brisk, then throws it away as the person on the other end starts speaking, rapidfire with worry and questions.

But there’s no time. Bular starts giving chase, and with one hand holding the dead man’s gun, Toby gets on his bike and follows Jim to their one chance of escape.

Their bike wheels skid as the two turn and breathe hard, chasing the last rays of daylight with Bular quickly gaining behind them.

“Left!” Jim shouts, and Toby leans his body left, dodging another swipe from Bular as the troll’s body slide down the street. 

The two bike quickly into the alleyway beside Stuart Electronics (Stuart Stuart Stuart that name is familiar no don’t think about it right now run run) and manage their escape. Toby barely squeezes through.

Bular roars at them from behind, growling and pounding uselessly against the walls too small for him to pass.

Toby breathes a sigh of relief as they bike down the road, through the canal bridge. Minutes pass, but it feels like hours, and the sun finally sets—night descending down on them in full. 

When they finally think they’re a little bit safe, stopping behind a tree in the small forest near the canal, Jim is gasping for air. Toby just about flops to the ground, but goes into a kneel. They catch their breath.

“...we’re not out of the woods yet,” Toby says, panting. The cold metal of the gun bites into his palm as he grips it.

Jim says nothing, eyes unfocused. 

“Jim?” 

“...Tobes,” he says, after a moment. “That police officer. He’s—dead. I saw blood. And his neck.”

Jim’s words come out in a tumble. Less of questions and more of—just saying them. Processing. Emotional shock.

I know, is almost his answer, but instead Toby just gets up to his feet and hugs him, arms wrapping around Jim’s body. He’s shaking, he realizes.

“He’s dead. I just saw someone die.” Jim sounds numb as his voice mutters into his ear. “Because I couldn’t—get the Amulet to work in time—”

“Don’t,” Toby interrupts, breathless. “Don’t fucking say that. He knew the risks. He saved our lives.”

“I could have stopped it.”

“Jim, you don’t know that.”

“But what if I—what if—”

“Jim.” Toby pulls away, grabs his arms, and looks his best friend in the eyes. The calm in his body threatens to break, but something keeps him standing tall, keeps him strong enough to say: “Jim, you’ll save the next one. Okay? You’ll learn to use the Amulet, and you’ll save the next person, next time. Got it?”

Jim stops breathing and flinches, as if struck. Some color goes back to his face and his pupils dilate. Thinking. Recognizing reality.

“I—”

“That’s not an if. That’s a will. You will master that Amulet, grab that sword, and plunge it into Bular’s fucking skull.”

He looks at Toby, as if searching for something. Trying to understand what Toby’s saying. Then—he steps backwards, and Toby lets him. The Amulet rises and glows in Jim’s hands, ticking and humming. A sharp sound, like a magical ding of a clock hand shifting, rings out.

“...you’re right. You’re right.”

Toby nods. Okay. Calmed down Jim a bit by appealing to that sense of righteousness and desire to protect instead of trying to relieve him of his guilt. Good. 

His spine is like steel as he looks around—waiting for Bular to spring out of the air. The troll can sniff them out, but Toby—Toby could sniff him, too, he realizes.

Could I do that? If he could sniff those ingredients—it sounds dumb, stupid, even, but what if it’s worth a try? More than their eyes?

The adrenaline hasn’t escaped him. It can’t, not with Bular still hunting them, not with the sharp thing dully throbbing at the back of his head telling him they aren’t safe. Jim goes to his side, Amulet held in a deathgrip, and Toby…closes his eyes.

Will this work? It doesn’t matter. He needs every advantage if they want to survive their first encounter with Bular. So Toby takes a deep breath, trying to parse the smells in the air.

At first, it’s just…the smell of the forest, singing of the night, crunched leaves, and foliage. Dirt. Lots of it. Toby’s tasted dirt more often than he’d like. Then—something blooms, a…taste? Of something? Small, but…it’s something, and it smells like…

…moss? 

Wait. That could be—  

“Tobes, why are you closing your eyes?” Jim asks, puzzled, but before Toby can answer…

Toby raises his head as the ground shakes, and Jim jumps, yelping.

“Shit, Bular—”

“No, it’s someone else!” Toby reassures, and Jim gives him a confused look before the two of them notice something coming from the main road, walking under the streetlamp.

A giant, moss-covered troll with a squarish face, and a ridiculously proportioned face. Four horns poking out of his head.

Aaarrrgghh!

“Hello!” he says as a greeting, and Jim takes a wary step back, raising his Amulet. Aaarrrgghh waves his huuuge hands about. “Wait! Wait! Friend! Friend of Blinky’s!”

Jim stops trying to uselessly threaten Aaarrrgghh. “Uh—oh! Okay?” 

“Call me Aaarrrgghh! Three a’s, three rr’s, two g’s, two h’s. Um! Troll in sewers saying Bular was around, so looked for you when Blinky asked!”

Wow, okay, his speech patterns are pretty much consistent with the show. Toby waves at him. 

“Yeah, he was chasing us. Chasing Jim and the Amulet!” 

“Aaarrrgghh, can you help?” Jim begs, desperate, and Aaarrrgghh hesitates. Toby swears under his breath.

Dammit, he’s going to say no.

“...pacifist. Can’t fight. No—don’t know how,” Aaarrrghh replies, but that last statement is a lie, and Toby gapes at the audacity.

Aaarrrgghh, what the hell? That’s—why is he lying? He’s an ex-Gumm-Gumm General. Even if he can’t fight, he can at least, maybe, block a few damn hits and push Bular back?

“But can help you get away faster!” The big troll points at his back, confident in his speed, and the two of them look at each other then at their bikes. Their legs, suddenly, feel like jelly.

“I—sure, but where do we go?”  

“Heartstone Trollmarket! Will be safe there,” Aaarrrgghh assures.

Before Toby can say anything, the danger sense pulsates at the back of his mind—this time, directing him to look back at the bridge.

“Bular!”

Jim and Aaarrrgghh gasp, noticing the troll rushing for them. And he looks even more pissed than usual.

“TROLLHUNTER!”

“We go now!”  

Without hesitation, the two immediately jump on Aaarrgghh’s back, grabbing at the moss-like fur.

But while it looks like moss, it strangely doesn’t feel so much like it—like a lion’s mane, rather. Another thing the side novels got wrong—or maybe the one writing it just didn’t realize a mossy texture wouldn’t allow them to grip onto Aaarrrgghh’s back for dear life.

The troll leaps towards the canal, then runs down it. Toby nearly falls off in those few, precious seconds, but he manages.

Aaarrrgghh turns and guns for below the bridge, except a car crashes in front of them, stalling the troll.

What is with Bular and throwing cars?! It’s effective, but fuck!

“You will not escape me this time! Not even with the help of that traitor!”  

The troll lands behind them a few paces away, and Jim—gets off Aaarrrgghh’s back, running towards Bular. Toby bites back an instinctive scream of what the fuck are you doing.

“Master Jim?!” Aaarrrgghh exclaims, horrified, but Toby knows what Jim is trying to do. Wondering—if he should tell him to run.

Bular tilts his head, then laughs, fangs grinding. He spreads his arms out and grabs one of his swords.

“So. You’ve finally decided to court your death, Trollhunter?”

The words are meant to be taunting, derisive. But Jim stands tall, shoulders hunched. Though Toby can’t entirely see from behind, he can see Jim’s arm rising—the Amulet grasped in his hand.

“No. You are.” Jim’s voice is cold, filled with a righteous fury. The death of the man from earlier… “For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command.”

But nothing happens. Bular scoffs, and starts rushing forward. Toby’s lungs constrict.

“For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command!”

But nothing happens. Aaarrrgghh is running. Toby can already tell he won’t be fast enough to get in the way or pull Jim back.

Bular jumps, high, high into the air, sword aimed down to slice.

Toby stops breathing.

Everything slows down. Comes to a stop.

It’s not going to work. Toby can see it now—Bular reaches Jim, slices his body in half. Everything will have been all for naught. He’s raised his gun to shoot but the bullets won’t work. It’s useless. Everything is useless. He should’ve stopped him. Jim is too angry. It’s not going to work—

Make him think of something else. Make him think of something that’ll numb his emotions.

But what? Why? Why is that supposed to—

The first side novel said that the activation of the Amulet requires a total balance of emotions. Or something like that. A control of it—they say a lack, but I think that was an exaggeration. Jim needs to be numb, not necessarily completely devoid of emotion.

And—what the hell do I do? What can I do?

You know him. You know him very well. You’ve known each other for years, since childhood. You know his every weakness, his every bad day. Say something, shout it as loud as you can. Something that always makes Jim lose feeling.

Toby thinks, then. He thinks, thinks, thinks, in that infinity of a moment. For anything. 

And then— a glimmer. An idea. A single memory in a sea of lifetimes.

Then do it. Say it, now. Save your best friend.

Time returns to normal. The world resumes, and Toby, as loud as he can manage, screams:

“JIM, THINK OF YOUR DAD!”

He sees Jim’s entire body go still. Bular roars in glee, sword right on top of him—

Then Jim raises his hand. The Amulet meets the sword halfway, and everything bursts with blue light.

“For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command!”

Jim all but explodes as both he and Bular are hurled backwards. Aaarrrgghh howls in surprise and stops running, and the two of them raise their arms to protect their eyes from the sudden bright light.

A magic runs through the air, the source being all but completely Jim and the Amulet awash with blue, the armor finally on him as Daylight comes into being in Jim’s hands. Jim struggles at first, heaving it up with a grunt, but his face is set with determination as he holds it up.

“Fuck yes!” Toby pumps a fist into the air, and he can finally stop panicking. A turn of the tides! Kind of! Then—right, Jim needs some direction! 

He raises his hands to his mouth. “Jim, try to think of your knife skills! Like you’re in the kitchen! And you’re smaller than him, yeah, but use that to your advantage! Duck and weave! Don’t directly try to hold a blow against your sword! Parry any sword strikes away and don’t leave yourself open for too long! Keep moving!”

Every bit of advice he can think of spills out of his mouth. He can only hope the Amulet also comes with, like, super learning. Aaarrrgghh is grunting, worried and confused beside him, and Jim is looking back at him with some hesitation but nods.

“Got it!”

“You think some paltry instruction will be enough?!” Bular rebuts, aggrieved, having gotten back up. 

Toby grins. “You don’t know Jim like I do. Also, I think your sword isn’t normal! Summon and resummon it at your leisure! And I think Bular’s going to alternate between sword strikes and punches while jumping, so you’re going to have to do a lot of rolling—”

“RaaaAAAAAGGGHHH—”

Bular lets out a warcry and descends upon Jim. Toby’s heart stops, but to his relief, Jim’s first defense… works. 

He leans away from the first blow, then swings his sword and swipes away a swordstrike from Bular. Jim is learning— clearly taken aback by the sheer force of Bular’s weight class against his, but he starts weaving in and around Bular’s defenses, armored feet pattering on the ground as he dodges and turns, circling Bular.

Uh. Was Jim that naturally talented in the show? 

Then—he makes his first mistake. Bular does a horizontal cleave, and Jim, instead of dodging, strikes at it with his sword.

No!

Except—instead of failing and getting stunned by the failed clash—Jim’s armor glows and a light travels from the Amulet into the sword, seemingly strengthening Jim as he successfully pushes Bular’s sword away, stunning him instead. Still, Jim is pushed back from the force of it.

“Go, Jim!” he can’t help but cheer. Look at him go!

That Amulet is a lifesaver. His elation shatters into dust when he remembers that Jim is all but still untrained, and that Bular probably has more stamina and endurance than him. The next mistake is going to be costly.

“Wait, no! Jim, take the chance to run and get back here!”

“I’m a liiittle busy here!” Jim hastily replies as he and Bular size each other up for the next clash—this time, Bular goes spinning, leaping off the ground before landing a kick into Jim’s body.

Unprepared for it, Jim flies from the blow and Toby grits his teeth. Then—

“Over heeere!” the unexpected voice of Blinky calls, from a…glowing blue circle in the ground, the inside of it cracked like a shattered mirror. Wait, not the main entrance? Makes sense—they must be using alternative entrances and not revealing the main way since Bular’s around—

“Give me the Amulet, and perhaps you’ll live long enough to see the sky before I rip your entrails out of your abdomen!”

Jim ducks under a fast swipe of Bular’s claws before resummoning the blade (HELL YES) and striking his unprotected backside. A line of sunlight damage appears, and Bular screams in pain. Jim manages to avoid being struck by a wild sword blow, but he’s clearly getting tired by the way he’s gasping for breath. No super stamina? This Amulet sucks!

But fuck, fuck, fuck, he needs an opening to escape! Toby looks around—and notices the car that Bular threw at them earlier. Fuel is leaking outwards in a puddle…

A lightbulb goes off in his head.

“Aaarrrgghh! I get you’re a pacifist, but we need to distract Bular! Throw the car at him!”

“Um! Okay!”

Toby gets off the bigger troll as he goes for the car. With a single heft of his arm, he lifts it into the air and tosses it.

“Jim, move!”

Jim looks back, yelps, and rolls away right before the car strikes Bular, who looks hilariously caught off-guard. There’s an almost cartoonish “OOF” from the dark troll as it strikes him in the chest, the car falling to pieces beside him.

Aaarrrgghh gapes as Jim runs to them, panting. “Um. Didn’t mean to hit that hard.”

Toby gives him a thumbs up. “Don’t care! Good job!” Then he grins.

“Now it’s my turn.”

With the help of his other-life’s muscle memory, he expertly cocks his gun. Then, Toby aims it at the car’s exposed underside, where the fuel is now leaking profusely. He can even smell it from here—and that helps. 

“...Toby?” Jim stares. Oh, he finally noticed. “When did you get a—”

Two pulls of the trigger—two bullets—are enough to ignite the gasoline. Fire blooms from where the bullets struck. Bular gives Toby an incredulous look, like ‘what the hell was that supposed to do?’ 

A few moments later, it explodes.

BOOM.

Everyone stares as a small dustcloud of flames bursts from the vehicle. Blinky walks up to them, mouth agape, before shaking his head.

“Most excellent—work? Um, er…oh, right. GET IN THE HOLE, NOW!”

No one argues, and everyone swiftly falls into the Horngazel-made entrance.

So that worked out great! 

Now, it’s time for Trollmarket.

Trollmarket is even more beautiful than he can imagine. A cacophony of glowing colors, crystals, quartzes—all to make a fantastic line-up of shops, stores, homes, and rows of neighborhoods stacked like terraces across a magnificent, non-linear ravine, all ending and circling towards the Heartstone.

There, it stands tall, far, far taller than Toby had previously imagined—like a magical skyscraper. He can almost feel the energy of it prickling his skin, the blending orange of the crystal glinting and burning itself into his mind. 

The show did not do Trollmarket justice. The limits of 3D rendering, he imagines, considering that the whole place is basically an entire city, and that there is so much far below than what he once saw on the show. 

His geology knowledge and heightened sense of smell are all basically on fire, his mind screaming at him of different kinds of crystal formations that, by all means, should not have naturally formed like that. His nose, meanwhile, is both utterly delighted and disgusted by what it’s smelling. Troll delicacies are insane. 

While avoiding a troll’s glare, he spots a few stacks of static-screened televisions off somewhere to the side. He frowns, seeing some trolls staring blankly at them. Well, okay. So even the original novel had some things to it…and now there’s a walking and talking Stalkling looking at him like he’s the scum of the earth, and—

“Okay, why isn’t that dude called Blinky?” Toby remarks, seeing what seems to be Blinky’s OG design walking about. All the trolls’ eyes swerve and, in sync, squint in hostility at him. Toby feels creeped out, but still glares back, unimpressed.

They have a bit of a stare-off, before the troll slinks away, eyes still glaring at him. Toby gives him a raspberry and turns to Jim.

Jim, who had been exclaiming in joy and wonder moments earlier, is now…quiet and sullen. Still taking everything in, but…

Looking burdened. Flinching away from the glares. Amulet tightly gripped in his hand like a lifeline. The few trolls who notice it stare and gasp in horror, and others quietly follow, both curious and hostile at this new human who is bringing the Amulet of Daylight with him.

“Let’s keep moving,” he mutters to him, grasping Jim’s free hand and clenching it. Jim gives him a soft, grateful smile, but says nothing.

Then Toby spots what looks like Draal staring down at them from a shadowed corner, and he promptly rushes Jim to move ahead. Blinky and Aaarrrgghh are speaking in furious whispers, and the two stop as Blinky notices them.

“Ah, young masters! Are you enjoying the sights? Tobias, I couldn’t help but overhear you listing down all the minerals you’ve been seeing. Why, it’s almost troll-like!”

“I guess I have the basic education of a troll child, which isn’t much, but probably good if you need me to impress your leader or whatever,” he replies, quickly, thinking of Vendel. Who is probably only just now hearing about the humans walking their sacred hideaway…anyway.

“A good hypothesis. And you are correct. You are all basically children!”

“Uneducated and untrained,” Jim says, blandly, and Blinky pauses.

“...are you quite all right, Master Jim?” 

Jim tries to give a smile, but it’s weak. Toby hesitates.

Right. That police officer who died. He still remembers pulling the guy’s gun off his rapidly cooling corpse—the full gravity of it hasn’t hit Toby fully yet, but maybe when everything goes quiet…he’s scared of that. He doesn’t want to think about it too hard right now—immersing himself in memorizing the roads and people of Trollmarket, and the destiny being laid ahead. 

But Jim isn’t like Toby, who rarely gets lost in the moment. Still stuck in the recent past—he can’t imagine how Jim feels, realizing how huge his burden must be. This is the world he has to protect, and he couldn’t even save a single person up in the world he comes from.

Toby grasps Jim’s hand again, and Jim visibly relaxes. 

“I’ll be fine, Blinky. Come on, show me where I need to train.”

“Train for what?” a voice asks, and the four of them turn to find a crowd of trolls coming towards them. “Why is that human training? What for? Is it because—”

A stony finger points at the Amulet in Jim’s hand. Jim almost pulls it away from view, but then decides to let it stay. Someone gasps, and one even shouts.

“The Amulet of Daylight? What’s it doing in the hands of a fleshbag—no—”

“Yes! Believe it or not, he is, er. Our new Trollhunter!”

The entire crowd gasps, then starts murmuring. A few gnomes scuttle about, frenzied, and some troll children peek out from behind what are probably their parents in curiousity and horror.

“Not possible!”

“Amulet chose,” Aaarrrgghh says, simply, and Toby watches as the person who that last voice belongs to cuts through the crowd, pushing people away. A pair of massive curling horns behelding an imposing figure, body unique even amongst the colorful crowd of trolls, with a nosering shaking from an angry snort. Orange-ringed yellow eyes glare balefully at Jim, who can’t help but shrink back.

“Not only have you let human feet taint Trollmarket, but you dare claim that this fleshbag has been chosen by the Amulet? I am Draal, the son of Kanjigar! I should be the rightful heir!”

A voice full of ego and pride—and grief, underneath it all, in that last part. Toby can’t help but exhale, remembering Draal from the show. Remembering him as the closest thing to Jim’s brother, in the near future—

Remembering his painful, depressing demise. One thing they have in common. He bites his lips, reminding himself that this isn’t that Draal. Not yet, if things go right, the way they should.

So he walks forward, standing in front of Jim, and right up in Draal’s face.

“Sadly, it doesn’t work that way. The Amulet chose, and it chose him. A mantle and a curse all at once. Do you think we asked for this?”

Draal snorts, teeth bared. Toby should be scared, but that same, cool calm from before solidifies in his veins, in his mind, in his soul.

“I do not care if you desired it or not. The Amulet is wrong, it is supposed to be mine! Give it to me!” the troll demands.

“For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command,” says Jim from right behind him. A flash of magical heat blows around his back, and Toby turns and walks to the side to let him go forward.

“...by Deya’s grace!” a troll exclaims before fainting. The crowd gasps again, this time even louder. 

Draal’s eyes go wide, with horror and rage, looking Jim and his armor up and down. Undeniable truth. 

“No! Bushigal! You are not a troll!” Draal roars, growling like a tiger (oh yeah, that’s super weird) before crashing his arms into the ground in a rage. Jim steps back, only for the troll to reach out for the Amulet on Jim’s chest—

“Don’t!”

An explosion of blue light propels both Jim and Draal apart. Just like in the show. Toby hisses. 

“It’s…we cannot deny this truth in front of us,” a troll with—spectacles? In smithy clothes says, nervously fidgeting. “The new Trollhunter is a human. Kanjigar the Courageous has trully fallen.”

“A human, protecting us?” someone Toby vaguely recognizes as Bagdwella—wait, she was in the crowd?—asks, voice dazed, and more and more people mutter and discuss.

Jim stands there, looking about. Toby frowns, noticing no trace of—pride, or even his typical anxiety. This one seems more…reserved, terrified. Which—would be normal, but…

As though a great burden is pushing down on his shoulders. Truly a Young Atlas. 

He saw a man die. Jim saw a man die. This changes things a lot. The first death to weigh on his mind, and it hasn’t even been a day since he’s gotten the Amulet.

As Blinky and Aaarrrgghh spur the two of them into action and hurry them towards the Hero’s Forge, Toby can’t help but think this is really, really bad. 

Jim’s guilt is going to be his worst weakness this time. It’s going to develop into a deeply buried hero complex. He can just see it, see it happening, just like—

His other life’s memories grasp at him, worry and concern and seeing the parallels, the start. The guilt that will hound this Jim, compared to how it was supposed to be.

Toby wonders if it’s his fault. If the timeline of events had only happened correctly, would that police officer have never been there? 

I have to fix this. I have to make sure this doesn’t send things careening somewhere I can’t predict. He grips Jim’s hand tight, noticing the lines of worry etched into his face. The self-doubt, and yet—the need, the determination that wasn’t there before.

Jim might be less…inclined to not try to constantly give up on the title of Trollhunter, if what I said before is going to stick in his mind…at least, in this first season.

But instead, he’s going to throw himself at it. Even if it kills him, harder than ever before—much earlier than expected.

Meeting Vendel is as momentously dramatic as the show.

“Blinkous Ga-la-dri -gal,” the old, probably half-blind troll intones as he walks through blades without flinching once, white-maned and with a killer beard. The man’s hands are behind his back, as if to say ‘I’m super important and fancifully respected’, and Toby couldn’t care less. But Vendel is still an important figure.

So, after dodging another swinging blade right as Blinky finally turns the damn Forge off (this place is going to be responsible for so many scars, he can just tell), he walks forwards and bows.

“Greetings,” Toby says, and—mentally curses himself for not asking Blinky how to greet a respected trollish elder in Trollish earlier. 

Vendel responds with a single glance, before turning back to Blinky.

“I demand to see the fleshbag—”

“Human,” Toby interrupts, suddenly not caring for the matters of respect. “He is human. Call him fleshbag one more time—”

“Tobias!” Blinky shouts, shrill, and Toby closes his mouth. He coughs, and turns to Vendel. “I, er, that is—”

“No, no,” Vendel waves at him. He turns, looming at Toby. “No. Shut it, Blinkous. You. You are not the Trollhunter.”

He turns to Jim, standing there. Jim smiles nervously. “Uh, hello.”

“That is?” the elder troll points.

“Yep,” Toby replies, concise and short. “That’s him. He’s Jim Lake Jr., son of Barbara Lake and James Lake. But we don’t formally recognize James Lake, usually. He abandoned Jim at a young age.”

Vendel stares. Blinky stares. Aaarrrggh stares. Jim looks like he isn’t sure whether or not to facepalm.

Toby gives them all an unimpressed look. What? Why not let me do the introductions for Jim? Is that rude? Means something weird in trollish culture?

“...are you his lover?” Vendel asks after a moment, and Toby nearly fucking shoots himself with the gun. What the fuck.

“Wh— no? Wait, am I not supposed to introduce people for them unless I’m, like, their lover or—is that a thing in troll culture? Damn.” Screw him for only realizing that after the fact. 

Vendel’s mouth parts open, minutely, before laughing. Toby blinks.

“Color me impressed with your open-mindedness,” Then, rising up to his full height and walking backwards a tad bit, he starts to introduce himself. “I am Vendel, son of Rundle, son of Kilfred.”

There’s a lull, before Toby realizes he’s supposed to introduce himself.

“Tobias Domzalski, son of Ralph, son of—” What was his grandfather’s name? Something shoots an answer. “Simon.”

Vendel nods, statisfied, and Toby thinks that maybe, just maybe, he and Jim’ll get on Vendel’s good side as a first impression—until his expression twists, scowling and scoffing.

“Well met…for a fleshbag. Ridiculous. You, Jim Lake Jr.—the Amulet has been known to make ill-fated choices before.” Vendel turns to Blinky, who looks sullen and regretful. “As you know better than most.”

“Unkar the Unfortunate,” Aaarrrgghh says, sadly, pointing at the stone statue of Unkar in question—his arm held out in fear, one hand over his eyes.

Toby notes, with a bit of surprise, the very much gaping hole in the middle of Unkar’s chest. Just like in that one side comic, detailing Unkar’s death!

“He slew his way into Bular’s fortress! Destroyed its defenses ruthlessly, just as I taught him!” Blinky argues back, then withdraws when Vendel huffs.

“And then he couldn’t find him, failing to realize that the Gumm-Gumm had decided to stalk him. And, as he left, only ended up leading Bular into one of our few secret entrances that didn’t require a horngazel, nearly destroying the sanctity of our home!”

Wait. Toby blinks. That’s now how that comic went. Unkar fell into a pit of spikes and was finished off by Bular. He turns, looking at the gaping hole. Where did that come from then?

“He sacrificed himself to protect Trollmarket! Destroyed that entrance!” Blinky howls with so much grief in voice.

“All within the first day of being a Trollhunter, he risked the safety of our city. The one notable thing he did was fixing his mistake,” the elder troll replies, idly, “and even then, he still informed Bular of Trollmarket’s general location. Leading him to stalking the land above, looking and waiting for any potential way in, and haunting the general human populace for the last few decades. And we have you to thank for Unkar’s deficit training.”

Blinky has now all but gone silent, blinking away tears. Vendel looks at him, solemn for just a moment, before turning back to Jim.

“Moving on from that,” he says, voice uncaring—but Toby can tell he does— pointing at a spot in the ground. The middle of the Forge…oh! “To test whether or not the amulet has chosen true, he must be put to the test with the Soothscryer.”

It’s almost basically the same as it went, right after that—Jim stands at a pressure plate meant for troll feet, revealing the Soothscryer as it rises up from the ground. Vendel commands Jim to put his right hand into it, and, with Toby’s help, manages to get high enough to just about do it.

Before, you know, it slams closed on his wrist.

Jim screams and nearly gives Toby another bruise on the face with a kick, causing the pain he thought he forgot about it to bloom in a lovingly agonizing throb, before the Soothscryer finally lets him go.

“Inconclusive,” Vendel says, scoffing, and Toby rolls his eyes from where he’s lying on the ground. Because Jim hadn’t been sent to the Void where all the previous Trollhunters’ souls were?

“Inconclusive,” Jim asks, gripping his arm, “how?”

“Because there has never been a human to bear the mantle before. It will need time to render its judgement.”

Vendel turns his back to them.

“Let us hope you live long enough for us to see it.”

Toby gets up, eyes determined, as he pulls Jim to his feet. He watches Vendel go, and grins.

“He will. I can be sure of that.”

The troll doesn’t visibly give him a response, but he does pause long enough for Toby to know he heard him.

The next evening, Toby watches from the distance as Strickler leaves the Lake household—and then talk to Bular, who is stalking them from outside.

Toby…does nothing. Can do nothing. He takes a picture or two, but that’s it. If he wants to preserve some level of predictability from the original timeline, he can’t deviate too far. Killing Bular here is possible—but it would require far too many resources that Toby, currently, doesn’t have. Maybe with a well-placed UV-light trap, but that would need trapping the damn guy and Toby sure as hell doesn’t have Angor Rot’s paralysis stones or a giant pot of glue to kick the fucker into.

But it’s not like he’s made of money. At least, not for something like that. The memory of his parent’s deaths and the circumstances behind it briefly pops into his mind—but he shoves it back down, locking it closed, ignoring the thoughts of the ocean and of lotteries that shouldn’t have been won.

He sighs, listening to Strickler berate Bular a lot harder than he expected him to. It must have been the fact that Bular murdered a man—the cover-up must have been incredibly extensive. Or…subtle. 

Toby wonders if there are Changelings in the police force to make some evidence go away, or some hackers in the Janus Order capable of ensuring that certain camera footage doesn’t see the light of day.

That operator, what the police officer said before he died— it does indicate that at least some level of Arcadia Oak’s population is actually aware of what goes bump in the night. He grimaces, wondering if Darci’s dad knows something…

But right now, what matters more is Jim. Jim, and the fact that he isn’t doing the play.

“...more focused on training,” Toby murmurs. “And fixing his guilt. Making sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Those were the gist of Jim’s answers when Toby asked why he wasn’t going to audition, which means Jim and Claire’s chances of spending time together were basically abysmal, which means Jim never finds out about NotEnrique, which means a lot more other things that never get to happen. 

Not unless Toby… devises some things. He looks at his notebook.

Some new plot threads, that was.

He closes his eyes, then takes a deep breath. This might mean telling Dr. Lake about Trollhunting. Whoo boy, I’m gonna need to convince Jim.

“Time to fuck canon in the ass even harder.”

Language, chides something in his head, but he ignores it. For Jim. For his survival. For their survival.

The next week or so goes like this:

When school goes out, Jim and Toby sneak out to Trollmarket at night, avoiding anything or anyone trailing them—sometimes they go to Trollmarket first before school, waking up way too early in the morning, but they’re slowly getting used to it—then the two of them do their training under Blinky’s and Aaarrrgghh’s instruction, sometimes with Vendel watching or Draal sneering at them from afar.

Toby is constantly going at it—pushing his body to the furthest, uncaring of his previous reluctance and Jim’s worries (and suspicions) about his new attitude. Working out, moving in a routine and using general fitness knowledge he, by all means, should not possibly know without outside help or extensive research.

Knowledge he has from another life’s memories. Conviction and determination, and the amazing joy of already knowing what the results will be, because he’s already lived them.

How helpful is that? Toby thinks to himself, doing another set of crunches (sit-ups are gonna be next week), even as he fails at them, panting and exhilarated. Hell of a motivator if you’re reaching for a goal you’ve already reached before. Even if he’s got a lot of fat to burn.

Think of it as just free weights, says a lazy voice from a distant memory in that other-life, and Toby tries not to laugh at how ridiculous it sounds. 

Today, Draal is lazily beating the loving shit out of one of the Forge’s designated troll-made punching bags. Which was just literally a giant magical column enchanted to withstand harsh of blows. It’s meant to be intimidating Jim—but Jim doesn’t care, working into a flow of learning how to dodge faster, how to fall properly, and, oh, some, er, “battering” from Blinky…

Toby still hasn’t convinced Aaarrrgghh to try and actually do some fighting with them, but that’s taking some work.

Speaking of Aaarrrgghh—Toby finishes his final set, takes a swig of water, then wipes his sweat with a towel. He sits himself down on a small bench he asked Blinky to make, and looks to the big man.

It’s…well, it was surprisingly easy to strike up their friendship like it had happened in the show. Aaarrrgghh had a very interesting appetite. Cat dander, old VHS tapes…apparently, the actual contents of the tapes did matter. He could literally taste the minute inscriptions of the laser-inscribed digital tapes. CDs were like actual bagels to the dude.

And just…generally hanging out with him worked. Sharing in some jokes, some physical contact, and it became this easy friendship. Toby wonders when Aaarrrgghh will share his past with them—or maybe just with him. He’s assuming it’ll be a bit more dramatic—different, compared to how the show had handled it.

Aaarrrgghh was once a general. A man who had led charges against entire armies. His other-life instincts are telling him there’s a lot of grief and guilt buried in the troll’s heart—buried under self-imposed principles and self-loathing.

He wasn’t a big dumb loaf. He was a sad, tragic figure, one of many in Trollmarket’s cast of colorful people.

Toby smiles, sadly, at Aaarrrgghh’s back as he speaks some simple bits of advice with Blinky, and Jim nods, understanding. A determined look on his face to get it right. 

And Toby—looks at his backpack, where the officer’s gun still rests, now out of ammunition. The investigation is ongoing. Bullet casings were found at the canal, near an exploded vehicle, and they matched the serial numbers. It’s the center of the town’s gossip right now.

He’ll need to stock ammo carefully, and use the damn thing sparingly. Maybe get rid of the engraved serial numbers, if…he can even do that. Because if he ever loses the gun and it’s found, and linked to Toby… thankfully, he’s wiped it clean, and he’s gotten into the habit of wearing gloves. Fingerless when working out. 

Jim still gets on his case about it, sometimes. Arguing, debating on whether or not he needs it—about the morality of using the gun of a dead man.

Toby closes his eyes, remembering what he told him.

“We need whatever weapons we can get our hands on. The guy that this gun belonged to—he saved our lives. If this gun can save us again—”

He shouldn’t have said that. Jim looked like Toby shot him with the damn thing—he sighs, and resolves to not think about it again, except to make sure his and Jim’s friendship doesn’t fall apart.

It’s important. This is important. Everything—all of this—it was important.

…speaking of weapons. Toby raises his head, and something catches his eye. Something he’s been staring at ever since he first laid eyes on it.

The warhammer. His warhammer. 

His destiny.

And he was going to grab it with his bare hands, even if it meant burning alive.

The next day, Steve finds him alone after their final class for the day gets out.

Toby sees the punch coming from a mile away, and there’s nothing he can do but let it hit him.

He falls.

Chapter Text

Toby falls and attempts to cover himself with his arms, but Steve pulls them away and starts pummelling the living shit out of him—punching his head over and over, bruising his flesh and trying to break his teeth. 

He tries to scream, cry out, but the pain of his braces breaking and cutting into his gums is agonizingly surprising enough to make him nearly pass out. He loses focus, and his assailant continues wailing at his vulnerable body.

He can do nothing but fall.

Earlier that morning…

The day started out simple enough, in Jim’s driveway. Dr. Lake, who was awake from a late shift for once, was waving them goodbye and watching them leave from the Lake household porch—but not close enough to hear their conversation properly.

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a minute.” Jim ties the bike helmet around his head, frowning as he thought about what Toby told him. “Okay. So. Correct me if I’m wrong, but what you’re saying is the Heartstone is…making us stronger?”

“Yeah, wrong. No, Jimbo. I’m saying the Heartstone is, uh, improving our body’s natural regeneration, allowing us to become stronger faster, heal from wounds faster, all that jazz. It’s like, super rest. The buzzy, fuzzy magic of the Heartstone that keeps the trolls alive makes us humans better. It’s like, super awesome.”

His mouth works itself for a bit. “So what would happen if we slept there? Lived in Trollmarket 24/7?”

“I dunno the math. Yet. Though I’m thinking we’d, like, grow twice as fast? Blinky’s working on it,” Toby answered, then finished his granola bar. “There’s this cool science-y troll he knows that can do some calculations, and he’ll be doing some research. They’ve got their own ways of simulating stuff—you know, like how scientists have supercomputers sequencing data and making simulations of tiny universes without having to actually make the conditions for those universes? Because that’d be insanely difficult? Think that but with human bodies instead.”

Jim works his mouth, again, trying to wrap his head around the concepts Toby was talking about. “Tobes? I’ll be honest. Half of what you just said flew over my head.”

“Don’t worry, I was an idiot once too. I’ll make a scientist out of you yet, Jim.”

“I’m already a food scientist. Speaking of food, rate my burger with your nose?”

Toby sniffs the lunch bag dubiously, then narrows his eyes. “...is that Korean chili paste? And chicken…no way. Jim, is this a Korean fried chicken burger?”

He gives Toby a devious, satisfied smile. “Remember when you were talking about fusion cuisine, and how you really liked Korean stuff?”

Because his other-life really loved it. “Yeah?”

“Well, after training, and we separated—”

“You went down to the local Asian store? I knew something smelled off on you!”

“More than the usual smell of socks when trolls are involved?”

Toby starts laughing and pushes Jim—in a friendly way, obviously, and the two set off on their way to school.

He’s happy that he can still have these small, happy moments with Jim, in the middle of…everything going on. Jim’s still himself, and that’s important.

But the happy mood goes down the toilet when they reach their lockers.

Jim’s already left to talk to Strickler about something—apparently, Strickler’s been designing “cover stories” and needs Jim’s input (how strangely useful, Mister Strickler)—so thankfully, Toby’s the only one there to overhear Mary and Darci talking.

The conversation is…alarming.

“My dad’s been working on the case. They’ve been combing out the street and found a lot of samples, but they’re all too contaminated or small to be anything, like…meaningful,” Darci reveals, mouth twisted into a frustrated frown. “Just—damn. I knew Officer Davis. He was really kind to the kids around town, even the homeless ones that pop up sometimes? I don’t know who on earth would…murder the guy, and then go ahead and…toss a car off the canal.”

Just hearing that is enough to convince Toby he needs to hear the rest of this conversation. Facing away from the duo, he puts on some earphones (that haven’t worked for ages) improperly enough he can still hear well, and pretends to be looking at something on his phone. He turns on his camera, goes into selfie mode to watch them, and angles it just right that it’d be hard to notice he’s looking at them.

Mary is rapidly typing on her phone, looking equally as frustrated. “No one else I asked around town knows anything. But apparently, it’s not the first time some crazy murder went hand-in-hand with super random property damage. Ever hear of the Milk Carton Epidemic?”

Toby freezes. That’s—no. No fucking way. The Milk Carton Epidemic? This universe—it has to be a fusion of the show, the original novel, and the side-novels—

“My grandmother talked about it once, I think. Why, what about it?” Darci asks, cutting Toby’s thoughts off. 

“A lot of bizarre murders and cars exploding happened back then, too. And I hear monsters were involved—dunno how true that is, though. Maybe it was like a whole adult Scooby-Doo kinda thing. Maybe there’s an entire organization going around kidnapping kids and they used elaborate stage shit, wearing monster outfits?”

“That’s…okay, that’s a bit too far. I’m not joking around, Mary—”

“I’m serious! I heard from Jeff who heard from Rebecca who heard from her grandma and her siblings—”

“Hey, girls. What are we talking about?” says a new voice, and he immediately recognizes it as Claire’s. 

Toby nearly jumps at the presence of the newcomer, but he steels himself and continues pretending he can’t hear the conversation. For a moment, he can see Claire looking at him—can she see the phone?—but her eyes slide off him, and Toby feels relief.

“It’s about Officer Davis,” Darci answers, crossing her arms. Her frown’s kinda cute…wait, focus. “Mary’s been trying to get some answers, any sources, but today she’s saying it might have been some dude in a monster outfit—”

“That is absolutely not what I said. You’re taking that part outta context, Darci girl!”

“Then be serious, Wang.”

“I am serious!” Mary throws her hands up, looking defeated. She furiously taps something on her phone. “Look, I have Rebecca’s convo right here, read it and tell me I’m lying.”

“Perhaps she’s bullshitting you?” Claire suggests, and Mary rolls her eyes while Darci takes her phone.

“I can double prove Rebecca’s a proper source, Nunez. There’s a buncha other stories like her grandma’s. Darci, how about I talk to your—oh, uh, right—”

“Yeah, can’t exactly talk to the dead. I’ll admit, Rebecca’s lead sounds a bit legit,” Darci says, giving Mary’s phone back to her. “Not sure if it’s a good lead to give to the police or my dad, though. They can’t exactly work with decades old conspiracies and urban legends.”

Claire crosses her arms, and she looks down, thinking. She bites her lip and fidgets with the collar of her sweater. and Toby can almost see why Jim drools all over her. 

“I…dunno, guys. Maybe we should give up on this for now.”

“Claire—”

“Darci, you’re stressing all over. And you’re stressing Mary a bit, too. Come on. Why don’t we focus on our studies a bit or something?”

“Haha, right. Okay. Trying to make us get straight A’s, the perfect distraction.” Darci rolls her eyes.

Mary blinks, then starts sweating, like she just remembered something. “Aaactually, I just remembered I forgot to do my math homework last night…”

“Seriously, Wang?”

“Come ooon, let me copy and I’ll owe you some ice cream over from Gelanando’s? Please please please? I don’t want to get screamed at by Miss Janeth, her shout-y voice is like a hammer to my ears! Pwetty pwetty pwease—?”

“Blegh, blegh, no, disgusting, don’t use the ‘uwu catgirl’ voice,” Darci coughs, fake-disgust in her voice, before smiling, looking amused. “But ‘kay, girl. Gelanando’s is so worth my educational integrity.”

And that sounds like the end of that conversation. It was only a little informative, but the Milk Carton Epidemic, Detective Scott still on the case about Officer Davis…Toby pulls his earphones away, shoving them into his pockets and walking the other way. 

Only, just as he gets inside the hallway—weirdly empty—he’s immediately accosted by someone.

“So, had fun eavesdropping on us?” 

Toby whirls around, blinking. “Uh, wh—Claire?”

The girl in question has her hands on her hips, tilting her head. Her weird hair bun-curls (???) bounce, which is…a weird thing for Toby to notice, but okay.

“I could tell you were paying attention to our conversation. Don’t lie. You don’t use wired earphones, you use Airpods.” Claire points at him, accusingly, like a lawyer catching a witness in a lie.

Or something. He hasn’t played Ace Attorney in years—in both lives. Toby thinks about how to feign innocence.

He tilts his head back at her, trying to make his face as confused as possible. Don’t cross your arms—that makes you look defensive.

“Um, my Airpods broke a few days ago?” Toby argues back, voice as unsure and weirded out as possible. Make her look weird. Gaslighting!...there isn’t anyone else here. But whatever! 

Mentally, he pretends a loud ‘OBJECTION!’ goes off. It’s not as funny as he’d hoped it be.

The girl narrows her eyes at him, before settling on a disgruntled glare. “...I’ve got my eyes on you.”

Toby rolls his eyes. Voice dripping with sarcasm, he says, “Thanks, I’m glad to know you think I look pretty enough to meet your eye candy standards.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” she scoffs, disgusted, and Toby belatedly remembers that she and he aren’t quite friends like in the show, so now he just sounds like a self-aggrandizing asshole.

Without anything else to lose at this point, he sighs and gives up. Claire thinks he’s weird and a dick, anyway. “I’m a great stand-up guy, Nunez. Give me a chance next time? Try not to accuse me of weird shit again, though. Smell ya later.”

Literally. She smells like lavender and, weirdly, a fruit stand. It’s a strange combination. He can pick her out of a crowd while facing the other way.

Claire doesn’t say anything as he turns around and leaves, but just as he’s about to go to the gym—

“This isn’t over, Topaz!”

“It’s Toby, you weirdo!” he shoots back, annoyed.

Why do people keep forgetting his name?! Tobias isn’t that hard to remember! It’s like, super unique! Come on!

Somehow, after a grueling (read: glaring at Coach Lawrence whenever he’s being a fuckwit) PE class, there’s a free period of an entire two hours —two hours he puts to good use by sneaking out to Trollmarket. Jim’s already there, having been given a pass thanks to Strickler.

Which, wow. Strickler’s really buttering Jim up—he hasn’t seen the two talk in a while, but from what he can tell, finding out about Jim’s Trollhunter status and Jim letting him in on the “secret” has been pretty good for their relationship. Yet—Strickler is still very much bound to betraying them. 

Toby has to deal with that eventually. Maybe when Changelings become a topic of conversation, Toby can…casually confront Strickler, point out a bunch of stuff revealing that Toby Knew All Along, and try to convince him to fully join their side?

He’s going to have to practice a speech. And prepare his gun.

Maybe buy a hammer, just in case?

You know, that makes me wonder about Gaggletacks. Could you potentially force a Changeling into their other form by holding a Gaggletack to their body? Or can they just freely shift back…hm. 

But I dunno, man. I don’t like where that line of thought is going.

…yet, at some point, we’re going to have to make some hard choices. Some…ruthless decisions, if we want to survive some encounters.

Toby doesn’t want to think about this anymore. Sighing, he descends into the Hero’s Forge.

There, he finds Jim struggling with a bag in his hand. Said bag looks like it’s holding something alive…

Wait. Waitwaitwait, is that Gnome Chompski? Toby gapes. Did Jim just capture Gnome Chompski?

“...oh, hey Tobes. I, uh, caught a gnome?” Jim raises the bag up, and the gnome starts rumbling louder. 

“How’d you manage that?” Toby hopes his voice isn’t cracking with confusion and desperation to figure out how he’d done it without turning miniature with that weird shrinking machine, because Jim is clearly very much still tall.

“Blinky was thinking of this, uh, shrinking machine,” Jim starts, and Toby tries not to choke to death, “but I ended up just using a rat glue trap.”

Toby blinks. The gnome starts screaming in rage. That’s the moment Blinky chooses to come into the Forge himself, looking—proud.

“Ah, Tobias. As you can see, Master Jim has finished his first successful mission as a Trollhunter!”

“Pest control?”

“Yes! And with such a novel idea, as well. I think we’ll be introducing a similar product into the market later.” 

Blinky’s hands start greedily rubbing each other, and Toby raises a brow.

“You’re not giving those guys enough credit. They’re smarter than they look,” he asserts, remembering Gnome Chompski’s astonishing sentience from the show. 

Blinky humors him with a laugh. “Oh, correct—but what’s better, living with pests, or living with pests but having a cost-effective fence for said pests that ward them away? Perhaps enough to trick them into falling into another trap? Trollmarket’s trapmasters will have conniptions when they wonder they hadn’t thought of something as simple as this before. They’ll be having a field day—literally!”

That makes Toby wonder if Angor Rot’s paralysis traps aren’t as unique as the cartoon made the out to be…then again, Strickler and Jim managed to get their hands on it and rework it for themselves. Unless those were Angor’s from a previous time he used it…

…hold on. Toby works his memories—no, that wasn’t a paralysis trap, that was a stasis trap. Okay, maybe it is unique to Angor. Or just really, really hard to replicate. So they definitely took the stones from Angor when he first trapped Jim in it…or…not. Hm. 

Just as he’s about to ask if these trapmasters have stasis traps, Draal walks into the Forge. His eyes land on Jim and the wriggling bag in his hand, and he snarls, sounding unimpressed.

“Bagging a gnome? What a grand first success! For a human. My father, on the other hand, drew up an entire fortress from falling of a cliff and saved dozens from drowning. Will our bards be singing of you and your gnome-capturing ways, Jim Lake? Hah!”

“I bet those bards have codpieces,” Toby grumbles, irritated. Draal’s such a jerk— getting him to not be a jerk is looking a lot like it might be more trouble than it’s worth. 

The troll raises a stony brow at him, and he almost looks surprised at Toby’s presence. Like he only just bothered to notice him. “A codpiece? What?”

“Er,” Blinky starts, stopping Toby from explaining the wonderful, wonderful history of men’s fashion from the 1400’s. “That’s not very important. Moving on to matters actually germane—Draal, what brings you to the Forge this time?”

“I’m here to provide my services and spar the Trollhunter,” Draal sniffs all self-importantly. “If he’ll actually accept this time—”

“Not interested,” Jim stonily replies. “I’m not strong enough yet for you, Draal. I’d just waste your time.”

Toby purses his lips. Draal’s been trying to challenge Jim to a ‘spar’—keyword there being spar, because it’d be more like a humiliation match—ever since he started training, but Jim’s been turning him down every single day. And Jim isn’t even doing it out of fear, because he always has that angry look on his face.

‘I’d just waste your time’? Reading between the lines, Jim might as well be actually saying ‘there’s no point’. Jim and Draal both know the former isn’t any match for the latter, and that Draal’s just going for a grudge match.

And, weirdly enough, when Vendel was around that first time Draal suggested it, he didn’t push. Acquiesced to Jim’s decision to not accept. Compared to how he was in the show, he’s been a little more forgiving, and less mocking.

Perhaps that was because Jim had the air of someone who had let someone die on his watch. Could Vendel tell? Toby eyes Jim’s face—he’s basically moments away from snarling.

It’s…a marked difference. 

“Jim, maybe—”

Draal smashes the ground. Toby jumps, not expecting that—oh shit. The troll’s displeasure has probably reached a climax.

“You’ve denied me a spar far too many times, fleshbag,” Draal growls, pointing at him angrily (Toby idly notes it’s the arm he’ll end up losing). “You’re acting cowardly.”

“Fear does not make a coward, not completely,” Jim answers, already turning his back on him. He hands Blinky the bag holding Gnome Chompski. 

Oooh, that’s bad. Jim is going to piss off Draal harder. “I’m nothing compared to you, and we both know it. You just want to see me fucked up. Prove that I’m weak and laugh about it. Who’s the coward here—the big, bad troll who bullies the untrained human, or the human trying to get strong enough to fight the real threats? I don’t see you going out there to fight Bular and avenge your father.”

Those are fighting words. Toby runs to him. “Jimbo, sheesh, I didn’t know you had it in you! But dude, you hit a sore point—”

And it is. Because Draal’s entire body has suddenly gone taut at the words, and Blinky’s eyes are wide with fear—Toby can see what happens next.

Draal then screams with rage, but instead of going into a spindash attack like Toby expected, he pounds the Forge’s training activator, then twists it about. What’s he trying to—?

But neither of them can do anything about it as the Forge comes to life underneath them. Jim lets out a ‘huh?’ before being raised several feet off the ground by a platform rising beneath his feet.

“Jim!”

“Master Jim!”

“I’m okay,” Jim answers from where he’s at, looking down at them. Then he glares at Draal. “What do you think you’re—”

Draal wordlessly flies at the base of the high platform in his spindash mode—oh there it is—and smashes against it. Toby and Blinky stumble from the force of the vibration, but Jim is worse-off, as he finds himself unprepared, and with one wrong step—

Falls. 

Toby’s heart clenches. He reaches out, running, but he’s a platform away from Jim as he, without his armor, lands badly somewhere up above.

The shout of pain he hears from him makes his blood curdle.

“My arm—” Jim exclaims, and he tries not to scream murder. Did his arm break?!

And Draal has the audacity to laugh. Laugh like he’s impressed at himself for injuring Jim. 

“You should’ve summoned your armor,” the troll derides, voice dripping with mockery and scorn, and Toby feels rage. “If you don’t even have the sense to do that, you were right—you truly are nothing compared to me—”

Two gunshots ring out in the Forge, echoing. Everything stops—even Jim’s groans of pain cut off.

Draal is frozen, blinking rapidly as he feels at his cheeks. Two spots right below his eyes, smoking slightly. His gaze land on Toby.

He lowers his gun. Toby feels nothing but a cold, murderous wrath flowing through him, his head heavy and his heart racing in his chest. 

“I could have blinded you,” Toby tells him, slow, dragging the words out and watching as Draal takes in the threat he’s giving him, “so try anything again and you’ll be fucking wearing an eyepatch for the rest of your life.”

Not to mention the limb you’re already destined to lose. He feels like pissed-off incarnate, and he doesn’t even care that he’s just threatened one of Trollmarket’s greatest warriors. He’ll pick his senses off one-by-one, starting with sight. Then his earholes. Then his damn tongue. Then he’ll toss the bastard off the Forge and into the Deep if he has to.

“...it is only a minor injury,” Draal explains, like Toby is stupid, and he shoots his horn next.

The troll stumbles back. Toby knows that hitting a troll’s horn is akin to basically the rudest possible offense, and Draal is snarling with fury, but he just aims his gun again.

“Move even an inch and I blow out your eye.”

Draal pauses, suddenly looking uncertain. Beside them, the Forge’s training platforms descend, and Blinky rushes to Jim’s aid from where he’s deactivated them.

“Master Jim! Master Jim, don’t move,” the troll commands, and Toby’s chest squeezes with pain at the sight of his best friend clutching his arm and trembling. It doesn’t look broken, but Toby isn’t the one who fell from several feet at a bad angle. “Stay still. Open your mouth—this is a healing tincture. I promise you, it will only last a few moments—”

And then something Toby hadn’t been expecting at all. Healing tincture? Did he mean a healing potion? 

Blinky’s holding a vial he grabbed from his pouch over Jim’s mouth. Toby watches with fascination as Jim drinks the vial, gags a bit, then gasps with surprise. His hurt arm shakes, and Toby swears he sees something shifting under Jim’s sleeve.

Then—Jim holds himself up on said arm.

“It…doesn’t hurt?” he asks, voice full of wonder. “You guys have magical healing potions?”

“It’s a small elixir, enough to be within my budget. An accelerant rather than purifying-based, but it’s perfect for injuries such as these.”

Blinky gives Jim a patient smile. Toby, meanwhile, has forgotten all about Draal, and his head is spinning. 

Trolls have healing potions. Different kinds, too. Accelerant—probably purely regenerative, speeding up the natural healing process—but would be bad if the wound was infected or if the person had a cold, because it’d also accelerate the growth of the disease—purifying-based would then be basically super disease killers. Super magical disease killers—different types of potions— what else do they have that he hasn’t been looking into—

“See? A minor injury.” Draal grins, all teeth bared, and Toby glares at him and his cheery but sarcastic tone. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, tiredly, and enjoys the way Draal actually looks taken aback by his hostility. 

Toby finds himself licking his braces. If he could…heal his teeth…speed up the grinding realignment process—

Dear god. His other-life also had braces once—the process in both lives incredibly infuriating and agonizingly slower than he’d like. He’d like to, just once, feel his teeth bare of any bumps and not have metal in his mouth.

“Blinky, where do I buy one? How expensive are they?” he quickly asks, burning with the need to find out more. Is this how they avoided permanent injury in the show? Healing potions? 

Blinky helps Jim up to his feet, and hums in thought. “It’s a...few dozen, so if you’re curious, there are some alchemists down by Firey Trunkle Road. I doubt you have the means of paying for them, however.”

“I’ll crash the damn market if I have to.” A determination rises in Toby’s gut. He needs this.

…and then Blinky just hands one over. The troll grins uncertainly at him, chuckling with light humor.

“I’d, er, really rather you did not do that, Tobias. I’m wary that you’ll actually live up to those words,” Blinky mutters under his breath. “I’d prefer not to be screamed at by Vendel and the entire merchant council.”

“They should be screaming at me, not you.” Toby examines the vial, hands shaking with both a restrained glee and utter fascination.

The vial is, oddly, small—fragile-looking, glowing a deep violet hue. There’s a small label wrapped around it, and Toby unfolds it to see that it contains a small scrawl detailing the potion and the name of the alchemist it belongs to.

“Trawlfordus,” he reads aloud. Okay. That’s a name even weirder than Blinky’s.

He has to use this later—maybe under Blinky’s supervision, because it might not work the way he wants to. It’s not like it’ll grind his jaw faster, after all, unless it can tell what the body is trying to do and therefore does speed up the process the braces are meant for…

“Would you like to hear a fun fact? These tinctures are actually made with small chunks of the Heartstone itself!” Blinky tells him, and Toby’s eyebrows nearly shoot out from his face.

“Is that where the accelerant part comes from?”

It makes sense!

“Not quite. The answer is a lot more complicated than you think—”

“Okay, fine. I accept,” Jim says from beside them, and Toby blinks. Wait, accept what? Apparently he and Blinky missed an entire conversation happening in earshot.

“Finally,” Draal drawls, sounding excited. 

There’s only one reason for Draal to sound like that. “Jim? Did you just—”

“It’ll be a simple duel. It’s fine, Tobes. It’ll be next week.” Jim waves him off, utterly unaware of what he’s just done. Blinky is horrified beside him.

Toby grabs Jim’s shoulders, shaking him. “A duel to the death! There’s a difference between an actual spar and—Trollmarket has specific rulings and wordings about this!” 

He blinks. He looks between Toby and Draal, slight horror dawning on him—then it smoothens over, and a hard-set determination burns in his eyes. He pushes Toby off him and just nods.

“Okay then. If that’s how it is.”

“Jim,” Toby tries to reason, but there’s no trace of backing down. There is fear, yes, the way he can tell Jim’s hands are clammy, yet Jim looks grim.

I did this, he realizes. He’s become a hardass. The guilt, it’s calcified in Jim’s gut. He feels like he needs this. He doesn’t care if his life is at risk.

“No take backsies,” Draal says in a childish voice, and Toby is—

Just tired of this guy. Really tired of this guy. The troll laughs at his glare, and waves them off dismissively, turning his spiky back to them. 

“You’ll lose.”

The troll pauses, and Toby raises his voice again.

“You’ll lose, and Jim will spare you.” He’s full of certainty, because he knows that’s how it’ll happen. How it’ll go. 

Jim is giving Toby an odd, apprehensive look, not understanding why he’s emphasizing that. Blinky is just blinking.

“...he would not,” Draal replies, whirling back to him, but unsure. Toby shakes his head.

“No. He would. That’s how Jim is. And you’ll be disgraced in front of all of Trollmarket. So decline the duel. Or turn it into just a spar—you’ll lose, Draal.”

Draal stares at him a moment longer. Gaze sharp and searching. His arms twitch, minutely, stony lower lip buckling like he’s about to say something, but at the last second he turns his gaze and scoffs.

No more words are exchanged as the teal troll leaves the Forge. They watch him go, and Toby…sighs.

“...by the way, can I have the gnome?” he asks a few seconds later.

“What would be wrong with sparing him? I don’t get what you mean when he’ll be disgraced,” Jim probes Toby an hour later at school, having finished math. They’re sitting at an open air table outside—their usual favorite spot, somewhere near the lockers.

Toby mindlessly answers a few more questions on the homework Miss Janeth assigned them—logarithmic functions are literally not in the average highschool curriculum, what the fuck, Janeth—and throws another stick of cheese into his backpack. The newly-named Gnome Chompski happily nabs it and chomps on the food furiously.

“There’s more where that came from if you behave, Chompski,” he assures, and the gnome skitters curiously. Addressing Jim this time, he says, “Look, I’ve been listening around the block. Socializing a bit, checking Blinky’s library…oh, and talking to Aaarrrgghh. He says sparing your opponent during a death duel is basically going ‘I’m above the rules of this match and the guy I just decided not to kill is like, so not worth my time. Look at how pathetic he is’, and whatever.”

“...that’s bad. Probably,” Jim replies, expression closed-off. “But I don’t want to kill Draal.”

“I…think you should be more worried he’ll kill you?”

“He won’t,” Jim answers confidently. Toby pauses, searching his face for any egotistic smiles or nervous self-assurance. Nothing. Just—a flat certainty.

…what is going on in Jimbo’s head? It almost sounds like Jim knows he won’t—or shouldn’t—lose. Toby narrows his eyes. There isn’t that much of a trace of any of Jim’s typical anxious self. It’s…weird.

Davis’ death must have hit Jim badly. He waves the thought away.

“Have you been reading the books Blinky’s assigned you?”

“Yeah. The Amulet’s a great translator—did you know it could do that? I’ve also been making a small translation guide for myself so I could learn some Trollish.” Jim rests his head on his hand, elbow on the table. “You can borrow it if you want.”

Toby fake-gasps. “Jim, have you actually been listening to me for once? Damn, dude, I am making a scientist out of you!”

“It’s the bare minimum, Tobes. Anyway, one of Blinky’s books got me thinking. Draal’s got a huge blind spot— right behind him. So I’m thinking I’ll pull off some maneuvering and eventually just start hiding there—strike at him a few times and get him aggravated. Then—boom. He tries to do that spin at me, and I’ll throw Daylight at him and blow it up.”

Toby’s mouth opens. That…he can do what? Something tells Toby Jim’s been training a lot harder than he thought. To be confident enough in his own ability to move, and to…experiment with the Amulet’s abilities?

He doesn’t know the Forge will be activated, though. “Hey, what if the Forge is up and running during the duel?”

Jim blinks, shifting. “We’ll be fighting in the Forge?”

“...Jimbo, where else are you and Draal gonna duke it out? The middle of Trollmarket? On the top of the Heartstone? Don’t tell me you didn’t realize.”

They stare at each other. Chompski steals a cheese stick and jumps back into Toby’s backpack.

“You didn’t realize.”

“Okay, time to maybe revise my strategy a little bit—”

“What’re you two talking about?” a familiar voice cuts in—for the second time today. Toby yelps, turning and hiding his backpack (and Chompski) behind him. Jim perks up from across the table.

Claire walks towards them, eyes calculating…no, wait, she’s just looking up from her phone. She places down a flyer for the play auditions…are they still going?

“Uh, our strategy for math class. See, I’m solving our homework for Jim, since he’s hopeless in math.”

“Hey, I resemble that remark.”

Toby raises a brow, and Claire snickers. Well, she’s acting friendly for once.  

“The math homework,” she repeats. “From earlier? Toby,” Claire says and Toby is surprised she actually remembered this time, “this is mostly extra points.”

“It is? Oh, that explains the logarithmic functions. Those are for like, 12th graders. Sheesh, Miss Janeth.”

Claire decides to sit herself down at the table—beside Jim. The guy looks privately elated. What is happening? I didn’t even do anything. She’s just doing this of her own accord.

Toby pats Chompski and silently signals for him to be quiet. 

“Uh, hey,” Jim says. “I’m Jim, by the way—”

“I knew that. Your friend literally just introduced you—but we’ve met before, right? Buenos noches?

He sputters and starts blushing. Toby tries not to put his head in his hands and instead goes for an eyeroll.

Claire turns to him—gaze slightly sharp—before focusing on the homework. “By the way, did you…oh, wow. You answered…everything?”

“Yeah, why?” Toby frowns. Is something wrong with that? “The last one was a trick question, by the way. I knew that.”

Claire’s finger, tracing over Toby’s answer, pauses. “It was? But Seamus didn’t—how’d you know that?”

Toby freezes. Not even Seamus? But the question—Toby realizes his mistake.

It was a sort of basic intermediate math question. ‘Solve for all the multi-faceted dimensions of this 3-dimensional shape with only these variables for these planes’—except it was hugely lobotomized, since it’s missing various needed aspects to even be able to figure out which planes are which, and how to guesstimate the connections between them. Usually you’d have variable letters shared between equations so it would be even possible to solve, but this one had too many different variables, and therefore you couldn’t even possibly figure out all the numbers involved. It was bungled from the beginning—you were meant to be unable to answer.

So Toby just answered “literally impossible” and provided that explanation. 

Claire and Jim stare at him. Toby wipes some sweat off his brow.

“Uhh…I was thinking of going into mathletes,” he says, trying to bullshit his way out of this as much as possible. Whoops. 

Careless. I forgot I had the knowledge of a guy who played high level math questions with his friends on a weekly basis for fun. 

Weird, isn’t it? You should have noticed how you would have sounded.

How could I have possibly— gah! Whatever! Who am I even talking to anyway?

The world pauses. Toby narrows his eyes at—

Wait. Who am I talking to? What’s going—where—

He blinks, mouth suddenly dry. Huh. Did he just blank out for a second there?

“Tobes?” Jim asks, looking at him weird. “I…wow, okay, I knew you had some hidden smarts under your sleeve, but that is…”

“Yeah, I do high level math. Seamus can cry about it,” Toby quickly says, crossing his arms and trying to make himself look proud. Don’t prod, Claire. Get annoyed.

“You’re pretty cool,” Claire comments, and Toby stamps down the minor feeling of happiness from hearing her say that. Dammit, she’s prodding. “Why haven’t you gone for mathletes before? Or answer the questions in class?”

Toby bites his lip. “It’s…a recent development. I just started studying a bit for once and, shazam, I’m actually a talented teen genius.”

What a bunch of crockshit. Claire smiles, looking amused at the answer, but there’s a bite of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She knows it is.

Good. At least he can be confident that she’s still suspicious of him. Sus of him.

…the word sus doesn’t exist in this world’s typical vocab yet. Maybe it shouldn’t be. 

“But yeah, like, math is cool and easy. Science is great. Did you know they’ve been” —no, no, medical technology hasn’t advanced enough to destroy cancer yet, uhh think of telescopes— “building this new mega telescope in Hawaii? It was stalled a year ago, but I’m hearing some articles talking about trying to continue construction.”

Yeah, talk that happens in 7 years, but they don’t know that. In response, Claire flutters her eyelashes and smiles all…pretty-like.

At him.  

Jim stares and Toby tries not to feel weird.

What the fuck? Claire, genuinely, what the hell? Oh my god, no, if you say something flirty in ten seconds and it’s aimed at me I will fart rocket my way into space.

“That’s actually pretty interesting,” the preppy goth girl starts, and Toby braces himself for when Jim inevitably starts kicking his crotch under the table— “but I think we’re kinda going off-topic here.”

Toby mentally breathes out a sigh of relief. Then— “Off-topic?”

Claire waves the audition flyers at the both of them. Toby feels Chompski rumble, and, without looking, sneaks a cheese stick to him.

“I thought auditions were over?” Jim frowns, but looking interested. Whu.

“Oh, yeah. But—no, I’m not asking you guys to audition anyway. I’m doing this as a conversation starter—so, Steve’s been casted as Romeo, if you didn’t know.”

Jim’s smile turns wretched and Toby watches as he looks like he’s trying to fight for his life. Oh god. It’s the Unbecoming timeline but in real life.

“That’s…interesting.”

Claire snorts—a little unlady-like, but it’s cute. “It’s related, but it’s why I, uh, turned down the role of Juliet.”

Jim looks like he’s suddenly been transported to heaven. Nevermind, we can avoid Unbecoming. “Oh, really? Why is that, then?”

She crosses her arms and sighs. 

“He’s been acting…weird, lately. Weirder than usual. First, he had a shouting match with his ‘friends’, if you can call them that—Seamus is one of them—and then he’s been…cutting classes.”

Toby wonders what the hell is going on there. Steve wasn’t that troubled aside from being a bully. Did…did what he say to him a week ago cause that much of mental issues in the guy?

From the way Claire is looking at him, it seems like she thinks so, too.

“He even got into a fight with Coach Lawrence about it. They sounded a lot more familiar with each other than, uh, you’d expect? I don’t know, I heard most of this from Mary. It’s been crazy. I didn’t wanna deal with it, and Miss Janeth’s been hounding my butt because I’m supposed to be one of her best actors, but if it means being on stage with Steve…”

“I get that,” Jim groans. “Though, why are you telling us this?”

Toby already knows.

“You’re worried he’ll come after me or something. That’s why.”

Jim’s eyes go wide with concern. Toby grimaces, an uneasy feeling erupting in his abdomen.

I shouldn’t have said those things. Even if it mattered, my safety’s now potentially at risk. I didn’t think he’d spiral, nor  spiral so fast. 

Feeling at his bag, with Chompski in it…and the gun, resting in a secure pouch.

“Guess we should all be watching out for raving white boys with blonde hair.”

None of them laugh.

Toby should’ve realized his luck was bad. No, worse than bad. 

Because less than ten minutes after that conversation—just right after saying goodbye to Jim and Claire—right when he should’ve started being careful—

Steve comes out of buck-fucking nowhere.

He’d been at a rarely visited edge of the school, where some bike racks were. A place he made the habit of going to recently. 

He was placing his bag on his bike, patting and calming Chompski with the last cheese stick, and taking out his phone to text his dentist that he was coming in soon. Just a routine text—he looked away, didn’t pay attention for barely a few seconds, when Steve came and caught him off-guard.

“Domzalski,” growls out a voice, and Toby freezes. Realizes he’s fucked up. He turns—sees Steve coming out of a treeline, hands balled into fists, and absolutely no one else around. “I fucking found you.”

And he looks incandescent. Bags under his eyes, teal shirt—crumpled. Shit, where the fuck has this guy been? What’s wrong with him?

The steel calm rises and grips him, but there’s still panic fighting him. His bike isn’t unlatched from the rack yet, and Steve is faster than him, and—

The gun. Take out the—

Don’t do that, don’t fucking do that, not the gun, not against a human person—

Toby’s indecision costs him. Steve sprints and Toby’s instincts fail. The blonde guy reaches him in a split second and pounces.

He only has a moment to scream before the first punch hits him right in the cheekbone, making him fall to the ground. His body slams down, and he can feel Steve’s heat right on top of him.

I’ve felt worse punches— says something, but the thought is interrupted when another one hits him. From the left, this time.

Then another punch. And another. And another.

Steve is beating the shit out of me, says a distant thought, and Toby tries to raise his arms—but then he’s suddenly and immediately aware of an intense piercing pain in his mouth.

Are his brace wires— broken? Toby’s vision blackens from the sudden, tussling agony, but he’s given no mercy when another hit startles him into wakefulness. 

I was supposed to go to the dentist today. I was supposed to see if I could get them taken off. My teeth. My teeth are—

“You! Mother! Fucking! Little! Fat! Fuck!” 

Steve screams, emphasizing every word with a punch. Toby wonders if he’s crying—he can’t even feel his face anymore, aside from every moment of agony.

Why are you doing this? You’re better than this.

Steve stops. Toby takes a breath—and realizes he said that out loud.

“W’y’re yo’...doin’f dis…” he spits out, words fumbled from the mess that his mouth has become. My braces are fucked up. I can’t talk. I can’t talk properly. I’m injured, I’m hurt. There is blood in his mouth. It’s spilling out of his lips.

Steve snarls. “You fucking told everyone. Everyone fucking knows about my dad now, and my mom—they fucking told their moms and their dads and people have been asking around, asking my mom and telling them they’re sorry, and they’ve been fucking LOOKING AT ME! You fucking did this, you fucking deserve—”

Oh. Toby feels a pang of regret. I should have talked to him in private.

He didn’t mean to—the gossip mill. Fucking Wang. 

“M’sorry,” he tries to say, but it comes out muffled, quiet. He thinks he’s crying from the pain. 

His assaulter stops. Then—slowly, gets off him. Toby’s vision is blurred and painful, but he thinks he sees his face… crumple.

Why is this happening to me? It hurts.

I know, says something. Someone. But it’s not the worst thing in the world.

(His own body giving out, liquifying, breaking down bit-by-bit—like he’s being crushed by his own bones and skin. A boiling pit of misery inside his own flesh.)

Nothing is more worse than that. But I’m sorry that this hurts. It hurts, and it shouldn’t be happening. It hurts so much.

It hurts. Everything hurts. He needs to make it stop. And his lungs are gasping for air.

“C’n’t br…the,” Toby spits out, blood spurting and dribbling down his chin. “C…can’...”

His nose is broken. It’s getting harder to breathe.

Hands on his shoulders. Trying to get him up.

“Domzalski, oh fuck,” says Steve’s voice. Is that regret he hears? Tears? “No, no—what the fuck did I—no—”

Is he going to die? Does he have brain damage? He doesn’t—know. Remember—

Make it stop. Make it stop. If only magic was real.

The world pauses. Healing potions. Healing tincture—

“M’bag,” Toby says, hurriedly, trying and flailing with his arms. Pointing at his bag— “My bag.”

A few moments later, his bag is placed beneath his hand. 

Steve’s voice comes again. “What—what are you—your phone’s broken, though—”

Right. My phone must have fallen earlier, says something. Cool, calm, certain. 

“S’mthing els’,” he mutters, fighting the pain—feeling numb as he unzips the bag. Revealing Gnome Chompski.

Steve yells, but he doesn’t care. Toby opens his palm—Gnome Chompski must have seen what happened, knows what he needs, because the next thing the gnome does is jump on his hand and run across his arm.

There’s a pop of something over his face, and a cold, sludgey liquid splashes on him.

For a moment, there’s nothing. And then— pain.

He, mercifully, blacks out.

When he comes to, Steve is crouched on top of him, face puffy with tears and terror. And then—Gnome Chompski pops into view, waving with all his teeth. 

“...damn,” is the first thing he says, sitting up. Steve leans away, and Toby can see the questions on his lips. He spots the vial, now completely empty, lying on the grass right beside them. 

Toby opens his mouth. Closes it. Frowns—feeling something—odd. His braces…

They don’t feel as…taut anymore. Wait, his braces—he pokes a finger into his mouth, feeling his teeth, his jaw…

…his braces should have been ripped apart. Why are they all back in place? And why do his teeth…

“That couldn’t have been just a healing potion,” Toby theorizes. “More like a correction potion?”

Steve stares at him blankly. “Wh-what the fuck are you talking about? How the hell did you heal from that? I thought I—I thought I fucking killed you—and what is that thing?”

Toby ignores him, and looks down at Chompski staring at him with his tiny black dots. Then at Steve, and his…bloodied knuckles. Steve flinches and rubs at them.

“I’m—”

“I forgive you,” he says before Steve can get anything in edge-wise. The blonde bully opens his mouth, staring at him all confuddled. “I don’t care, because right now—I think—holy fuck.”

He pats his cheeks, his…jaw. His upper teeth…no tautness. As if his braces were already done with its job. He looks back at Steve, a million questions in his eyes, and at Chompski chuckling and skittering in place.

“I think you just fixed my damn teeth with your fists. You asshole.”