Chapter Text
On the first day without contact from Jim, Barbara worried. It was her nature and her right as his mother, she told herself, to be concerned when her only son failed to check in after a night of travel. Especially when he had been so diligent about texting her at least once daily to report in on their trek across the country. Her concern was natural...but probably unwarranted. Jim was probably just tired, she reassured herself. They had been traveling for over a month now, and surely even trolls—even half-trolls—got tired.
She tucked her worries away for a later hour. After one last shift at the ER, she and Walter were set to travel out of town for a few days, to deliver a couple of familiars who had been adopted to their new families. There were preparations to make and paperwork to finish before then, and really, she was sure that Jim was fine.
Claire would have texted if something was wrong. Barbara was positive of that.
-
On the second day, after a night of driving (well, a night of Walter driving while she slept off a particularly brutal shift in the passenger seat), she found herself becoming increasingly worried. Bleary-eyed, she stared at the list of notifications on her phone, quickly swiping them aside in her haste to check for a text, a missed call...anything. But as the list of unimportant blurbs dwindled and the last notification was cleared, only a blank screen reflected back at her. Barbara clutched the device tighter and, the dim light from the screen illuminating her face in the predawn shadows, asked with trepidation, “Walt...have you heard anything from Jim since Tuesday?”
The changeling furrowed his brow, mindful to keep his eyes on the still dark road ahead of them as they coasted down the highway. “I don’t believe so. But I informed Young Atlas of our plans several days ago, so I wasn’t expecting any communication from him.” Except perhaps to charge him with ensuring Barbara’s safety during their trip, he mentally noted.
The teen was usually quite fastidious about sending reminders related to Barbara’s care: little things he would have previously managed for the household, ranging from meal planning to household chores she tended to neglect between her long, arduous shifts. The past few weeks had also seen an uptick in Jim vocalizing his concerns about his mother’s safety amid what was apparently a war involving extraterrestrials of all things, which was...interesting, but a bit beyond his purview.
Jim’s last text had come several days ago, Walter thought: some nonchalant acknowledgment that they would be out of town—something about it being for the best with how this new war was progressing. Walter had to agree; he was rather tired of participating in wars. The last thing he wanted was to put Barbara through another in so many months.
He could hear the faint dial tone in the background as Barbara called Jim’s phone, ringing and ringing until Jim’s recorded voice, human and seeming so much younger than it did nowadays, echoed out from the device. Barbara sighed and left a short message, begging her son to contact her as soon as he was able. Calling Claire’s phone produced the same results, but she left a second message just to be sure that one of them reached out.
The sun was fast approaching the horizon, but the road ahead stretched dim and desolate with hardly another car in sight. Walter quietly pulled the rental van over onto a safe stretch of shoulder. Beside him, Barbara gripped her phone tighter, lost in her thoughts.
Gravel crunched under the vehicle's tires as he put the van into park. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, startling her out of her thoughts. "I'm sure Jim's alright, Barbara. They've probably reached a stretch without cellphone reception."
Barbara groaned, dropping her phone into her lap so that she could rub her eyes. This was stupid. She was being ridiculous. "I thought I was ready to deal with my son going off into the world. I told myself I wasn't going to worry every time he forgets to call."
"You've been doing remarkably well, dear," Walter reassured her, leaning in to place a soft kiss to her temple. She peered at him through her fingers.
"I feel like a hot mess." Straightening up in her seat, she pulled the passenger side mirror open and begrudgingly took in the damage that her nap had wrought. "And I look like a gnome tried to make a nest out of my hair."
"You look radiant as a work of art," Walter offered in praise.
Barbara snorted and shot him a long withering look as she unbuckled her seat belt. "Liar."
Walter chuckled. "An abstract one then."
"You’re incorrigible," She chastised with a smirk. Her fingers worked deftly at untangling the knot that had become of her bun, trying to free the hair tie embedded in it.
The grin he gave her was toothy, all tusks and jagged teeth, and entirely too satisfied. "In this, always. I am utterly unrepentant."
She wouldn't have it any other way.
"Regrettably," Walter continued, picking up a paper travel mug from the cup holder and offering it to her, "while a glamour mask is satisfactory for allowing me to secure breakfast from roadside pit stops, it does not provide protection from the sun." Steam billowed out of the cup as she removed the lid and breathed deep the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It was no gourmet blend, but she had imbibed worse dregs on late night shifts before. She shot him an appreciative look. "I will have to keep our passengers company in the back seat for now."
"I'm well-rested enough to drive, Walter. Thanks for taking the first stretch."
In a flash, green and bright but different from before, Walter had replaced the glamour mask to take human form before exiting the van. Traffic was picking up, she realized, as Friday morning commuters slowly trickled onto the freeway. He smiled fondly at her, back-lit by the quickly lightening skyline as he stepped out of the van. "Of course!" He acknowledged, and her heart constricted at the sound of his clear, baritone voice, nostalgic but bittersweet. "I wouldn't leave the chore to fall entirely on you. Though I hope your sleep was not too disrupted by the quality of your bed."
"I've slept in less comfortable places than this between shifts, with much less enjoyable company," She jokingly assured him. "I just can't believe the babies slept through the ride so far."
"Ah... they didn't." Walter shut the door as an approaching car zoomed past at well over the speed limit. He quickly slid back into the vehicle through the rear door, not keen on playing chicken with the early morning traffic. Once situated, he passed her a bag containing an assortment of prepackaged danishes of dubious quality. The road trip breakfast of champions. "Incidentally, we will likely need to stop again to feed them soon enough."
"Fair enough. Just let me refuel, and we can get moving again." She took a cautious bite of a cheese danish. It wasn't up to her son's standards, but it would do. They stocked far worse in the ER's vending machines.
If nothing else, she mused, this short trip would hopefully take her mind off her worries about Jim. He was fine, she promised herself. He and Claire were probably having a blast, exploring the wilderness and the underground. The war with Gunmar was over; what could they possibly run into in the middle of nowhere that posed a serious threat to a group of battle-hardened trolls, a 12th century wizard, a blade-happy changeling, and the Trollhunter?
They were fine.
-
By evening of day three, Arcadia Oaks was alight with alien weapon-fire.
(Akiridion, Dr. L, they don't like that term, Toby impressed upon her.)
Stuck northbound in LA traffic, Barbara and Walter were far from the ensuing battle and Toby's updates were sparse. Which was to be expected, frustrating as it was. She wondered if they would have a home to return to...if her house would escape destruction by a second invading army in so many months. Thank goodness they had brought the Cradlestone with them; it was tucked away safely in the back seat of the van. A house was just a place, she reminded herself. It was replaceable in a way that hundreds of children were not.
She had wanted to remodel the bathroom anyway—this just wasn't the way she planned to do it.
With a muffled yell of frustration, Barbara pressed her forehead into the steering wheel. She had half a mind to abandon the van and ask Walter to fly them home. A sea of headlights glared brightly around them, illuminating the highway to near daytime light levels. Obviously not an option. Yet.
"Even if we return now," Walter entreated, "There is very little we could do to help."
"I could at least treat the injured!" Barbara shot back, her own helplessness fueling her anger. The first war had brought some brutal wounds into the ER, both human and troll. She couldn't imagine what extraterrestrial weaponry could do to human flesh. Her coworkers needed her; this was an all hands on deck kind of night.
"One of my students...former students is livestreaming the fallout." He began in what initially seemed like a tangentially related statement. Switching the video into full-screen mode, he offered his phone to her. Captured in miniature on screen, ominous black robots loomed over the videographer, their forearms held out and aimed, like they were primed to fire an embedded weapon. The volume was low, but she could faintly hear screaming in the background, muffled by the heavy, panicked breathing of the girl streaming the invasion. "Barbara, they have the town on lock down and at...gunpoint? Whatever they’re armed with. There's every likelihood that the hostage situation extends to the hospital."
Barbara’s grip on the phone was turning her fingertips white. She grit her teeth, watching as the robot swept its weapon over the girl, as though daring her to move. Swallowing thickly, Barbara passed Walter his phone back. “I hate this.”
“I know,” he agreed, voice low and weary.
Barbara shook her head and clarified, “I hate feeling powerless. We've had two wars in two months. At least last time, I could help provide medical aid. At least last time we had a little time to prepare!"
"I'm sure Tobias and the others took time to prepare, Barbara," Walter soothed. "We'll just need to wait and see if it will be enough."
Barbara removed her glasses and pressed her palms against her eyes. “The waiting is the worst part.”
Waiting for the danger to pass, waiting for the patients to stop flooding into the ER, waiting to learn if her son had lived or died defending them, if any of them had died...Barbara was so tired of waiting.
They had been making progress these past months, damn it, and gotten what? Two months of quasi-peace?
The sensation of claws, feather-light and ever so careful against her skin, drew her out of her head. Walter gently re-positioned a stray lock of her hair, placing it behind her ear. “It won’t get any better by wasting away behind the wheel in traffic.”
Barbara glanced at the surrounding traffic—a sea of bright lights and dimly-lit car interiors, their drivers barely visible. Walter could be seen, she thought, which could incite a panic. She found it harder and harder to care about other people’s reactions, the more time elapsed post-reveal.
“You need your rest, Barbara. We’ve been going non-stop since this morning. If a handful of exhausted drivers see me, I doubt it’ll cause an uproar.” He chuckled, making light of the situation. “Never underestimate what sleep-deprived people will assume is a hallucination.”
Considering they had once convinced a concussed detective that this form was a costume, that was a fair point.
Nevermind that she had pushed through worse fatigue and longer shifts during her residency. He was right—she hated that he was right. She had been burning the candle at both ends for days, and she could feel that she had very little wick and wax left to spare.
A nap in the back seat of the rental would not affect the outcome of the battle, miles and miles away and beyond her help, but it might hasten its end...at least for her.
Jim was a distant thought, a note on her list to check when she awoke.