Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

     On day four, she finally reached a live person—a live troll, if she was being specific. She should have tried reaching Mr. Blinky earlier, in hindsight. With no responses from Jim or Claire after four days, though, she figured that her son’s mentor, at the very least, would have his phone on him. It was worth a shot, at any rate. Curled in the back seat with Walter beside her, stuck at the boundaries of Arcadia behind an army barricade and with dawn several hours away, she finally placed the call.

     “Well, you see, there has been a tiny—minuscule, really—and completely fixable matter that has arisen. Totally blind-sided us. Master Jim will be fine. Merlin seems to have the whole situation under control.” Her son’s mentor fumbled, hastily trying to reassure her. Or perhaps he was still trying to reassure himself. He sounded like he was close to having a panic attack, if Barbara was being honest.

     She felt like she was close to having one too.

     “What kind of issue, Mr. Blinky?” Barbara bit out, her muscles tense and coiled from stress. She could feel pressure building at the back of her eyes, a headache budding as her anxiety finally crested.

     "There was an ambush, followed by a bit of a scuffle. Master Jim fought gallantly—everyone did! It was a marvelous display of our honed prowess in battle! Unfortunately, our mysterious attacker pulled a nefarious play. Utterly dastardly and underhanded-"

     "Blinkous!" Walter interrupted, his voice growing coarser and more gravelly as his frustration slid into anger, "Cut to the point!"

     "I am getting to it!" Blinky growled back. Now that Barbara was listening for it, he did sound hoarse and more than a little worse for the wear. "Master Jim was injured. Rather badly, I regret to inform you."

     Barbara made a strangled noise, something like a whimper.

     "BUT!" Blinky hastily pressed on, "But Merlin was able to place him in a sort of stasis crystal."

     "Does he need medical treatment?" Barbara cut in, forcing herself to push through her distress and switch into physician mode. If she could compartmentalize this as Jim being a patient under her care, it was easier. If he was a patient, there was something she could do about his injuries. If he was a patient, she had some modicum of control over the situation.

     "The injury is magical in nature, Barbara," Blinky explained gently. "There is little that medicine alone could-"

     "Is there anything I can do?" Barbara pushed, her voice bordering on frantic. "Suture wounds? Set bones? Help Merlin find ingredients for a damned potion?!"

     Walter slid an arm around her shoulder, drawing her shaking form toward him and hugging her firmly against his side. Barbara drew in a shuddering breath and clenched her eyes shut.

     "I... don't know." The troll on the other end of the line admitted. In the background of the call, Barbara could hear shuffling and movement. A male-sounding voice rang out in the distance, indistinct but demanding. Blinky exhaled audibly in what Barbara was fairly sure was frustration. "I do apologize, Barbara, but we need to move from our current location. It's not safe."

     "Wait-"

     "I will ask Merlin if there is any aid you can provide to hasten Master Jim's recovery." His tone lacked confidence, and Barbara read the unvoiced skepticism embedded in his response. Merlin’s openness to external providers was dubious at best; he had already made his opinions on outside expertise crystal clear during their previous interactions. Her jaw clenched. Blinky closed with, "I will update you as soon as I am able."

     The call ended before she could respond.

-

     The day began with heated arguments, the army officials that were securing and containing the warzone within Arcadia’s boundaries resisting attempts at entry to the town. Which she understood, truly—but she also understood that the fighting was over. Apocalypse 2.0 had been averted. She just wanted to go home and see if she had a home to return to. And she was very, very tired of sleeping in a vehicle, regardless of the pleasant company.

     She slammed the van door behind her and yelled in exasperation.

     She would kill for a nice, sit down meal, at a nice diner, with a nice, steaming mug of coffee.

     The sun shone cheerily overhead, clear summer skies an all too bright reminder that breakfast at the nearest diner in the next town over was, unfortunately, out of the question. Drive-thru or take-out it would have to be.

     How long could this cover-up last, really? There was nothing stopping travelers from visiting Arcadia Oaks, and neither Walter nor any of the remaining trolls were exactly hiding their presence within the town. It was only a matter of time.

     To Walter, control of the reveal seemed key. The slow trickle of exposure and spread of information allowed them to better manage the PR aspect of it, or so he believed. It bought time to develop trust and rapport within their own community, and if their community trusted the trolls by the time the world at large found out, then they had a reputation, a precedence for the rest of the world to not panic. Or, at least, not panic quite so much. She wasn’t sure how much of Walter’s methodology stemmed from a lifetime of paranoia and how much was a valid concern. She also wasn’t sure how much Walt’s careful planning would actually help in the end. Some people didn’t care about rapport or precedence. Some people shot first and asked questions never.

     She still wanted to throw caution to the wind and drag Walter out for a warm meal after the hell that the past few days had been, control of the reveal be damned.

    “If they’ve still got the town blockaded by sunset,” Barbara proposed, turning to look back over the driver’s seat, “We fly the rest of the way back home.”

     Walter blinked wearily back at her from the backseat of the van. Fatigue was getting to both of them, she realized. Her sleep schedule was in the trash, and after several days on minimal rest, apparently even changelings tired. Maybe a nap before lunch was for the best.

     “I can’t imagine the rental office will be pleased if we abandon the van,” he cautioned blithely.

     Barbara rolled her eyes. “For all we know, the rental office is rubble right now, Mr. Responsibility.”

     Walter skeptically raised a brow ridge at her own flippant response.

     “Walter, I need to get to where ever Jim is. My son is hurt! I’m not going to let Merlin and his ‘wizard knows best’ attitude decide whether or not I’m involved in his care,” She pleaded, fingernails digging into the fabric of the seat cushion. “I’m going to help my son, and I need to stop at the house for supplies in order to do that.”

      “Of course you are,” Walter conceded, bowing his head in deference to her resolve. “Right, we’ll return to the house once the sun is beyond the horizon.”

      Barbara breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

     “I’ll try reaching out to Nomura. She hasn’t contacted me in several days, and not at all about the skirmish Jim and his party were involved in.” His brow furrowed as he said it, as though processing the oddity of those circumstances. Nomura should have been with the party, Barbara realized. Her silence was concerning. “I will try to ascertain her position and see if she knows where Jim, Claire, and the others have gone.”

     Barbara offered him a grateful smile, worn but relieved. It was a start. It was movement toward finding and helping Jim...and most importantly, it was something more than waiting with her fears.

     Slumping back in her seat, Barbara fumbled blindly at her side until she found the lever to recline the back rest. It was hours until sunset, and lunch was a distant concern. Listening to the soft sound of Walter’s stony fingers typing furiously against his phone’s screen, Barbara could already feel the haze of sleep creeping in.

     Jim would be fine. She would make sure of it.

-

     Barbara awoke to the sound of a dozen or so text notifications pinging her phone in rapid succession. Updates on the situation inside Arcadia from Toby, reassurances from Claire and Blinky (brief and placating, no substantial updates on her son’s condition), and then...messages and a picture from Jim?

     don’t worry we’re figuring it out

     i ’ll be fine!

     Followed by a selfie of her son with...some kind of medieval architecture in the background.

     What.

     Barbara checked the time stamp of the message, only to find that it was minutes old. As were the rest of the images. It was as though the group’s cellphones had collectively come back into range of a cellphone tower simultaneously, which was odd enough on its own, but some of these had clearly come from Jim’s phone, and from Jim himself if the photo was any indication.

     Which shouldn’t have been the case, as she had been told that Jim was sealed in a stasis crystal to prevent his injuries from worsening.

     Minutes passed, and no new messages came in. The world outside their van was steeped in the thick darkness of night, she realized; they had slept the day away. She was ravenous, albeit well-rested, and very, very confused. Behind her, Walter gently cleared his throat, drawing her attention. His eyes glowed softly back at her from the shadows of the rear seat, alert and vigilant.

     “Good news?”

     Barbara eyed the photo Jim had sent her, not sure how to qualify it. “I...honestly don’t know.” She passed him her phone with the curious chain of text messages still displayed. Walter scrolled upward, tracking the conversation and the dates, his brow furrowing deeper as he reached Jim’s last picture message. He scrutinized the image, enlarging it and panning around the background briefly.

     “He seems...well?” Walter concluded, sounding equally perplexed.

     “I’ll believe it when I see it in person.”

     Accepting her phone back, Barbara tapped out a quick response to her son: Good to hear, sweetie. Still worried. Please call me when you are able. Coming to meet up with you guys asap.

     Walter carefully picked his way to the front of the van, a less than graceful feat between his height and his horns in the confined space of their rental vehicle. “Regardless, if his texts are any indication, his condition at the moment doesn’t seem critical.”

     Barbara hummed affirmatively in response, unconfident but willing to accept that answer for now.

      “The army moved on a couple of hours ago,” Walter pointed out, and sure enough the barricades had been removed from the road leading into Arcadia. She shot him a hurt look; why hadn’t he woken her up?! Attentive as always, he seemed to read her look of betrayal easily and explained, “You were exhausted, Barbara. If we’re to be jet-setting off to parts unknown after Jim, Merlin and the others, you needed your rest.”

     Barbara huffed, but didn’t contradict him.

     Walter continued. “Nourishment is also key to a second successful road trip in so many days. We should stop for dinner, and then pack. Nomura informed me that the group was nearly in New Jersey by the time they split off.”

     That gave Barbara pause. “Split off?”

     “Yes...” Walter paused to buckle himself into the passenger seat. “From what Nomura was able to tell me, when it became clear that they were under attack, Blinkous asked her to ensure that the Trollmarket group escaped while Jim and the others addressed the threat. As you can imagine, she was not terribly pleased about that particular strategy, but she complied. For the past several days, she has been hunkered down with a group of increasingly agitated trolls, awaiting contact from Jim and the others.”

     Barbara started the car as she mulled over that update. Then, “She didn’t think to call Mr. Blinky?”

     Walter shrugged. “It appears that she never acquired his phone number.”

     “But she and the rest of the trolls are alright?” Barbara inquired, her attention divided as she turned the ignition and checked the road before them.

     “She has not yet killed or maimed anyone,” Walter answered dryly. Not exactly what she had asked, but she was sure it made sense to him given the context. Or he was being a smartass. She smacked him playfully on the shoulder in return for his wit and sarcasm.

     “Good to know.” The road into town was devoid of traffic as she maneuvered the vehicle off the shoulder and back onto the tarmac, her turn signal flashing a glaring red against the poorly-lit treeline.

     “Dinner?” Walter reminded gently.

     “Yeah. Okay,” she agreed with a smirk. She had to be mindful that her body still had needs, even during emergencies. She wasn’t sure what she would do without Walter to remind her.

     A thought occurred to her, and her smile broadened. “Do you think Benoit’s is open this late during the apocalypse? I could really use a warm meal and something more nutritious than coffee.”

Chapter Text

     The sun had set by the time the next round of “fireworks” started. It sounded like a series of bombs, thunderous crashes scattered around them in the distance. The last and loudest shook the floor beneath her feet, the house around her shuddering as the ground outside seemed to vibrate from the force of impact. It was almost like an explosion or an earthquake, she thought with dread, the memory rising unbidden of Morgana’s spell sending shockwave upon shockwave up into the town above in the days and hours proceeding the Eternal Night.

     They were under attack.

     Again.

     There was a clatter of heavy footfall, stone against hardwood, and Walter came running into the room. “We need to get to ground!”

     “Why? What’s going on?” She asked, punctuating the question by zipping her luggage shut in one quick, sharp movement.

     “Debris! Something very large broke up above us and is raining down on the town.” In the other room, she could faintly hear the frantic voice of a news anchor reacting live to the situation.

Breaking News: Numerous buildings and businesses in downtown Arcadia have been struck by what appears to be the remains of some kind of large structure. Stones and intact pieces of architecture were observed raining down on the town just minutes ago, initial reports indicating that this has resulted in significant structural damage in the downtown area. No word yet if any citizens have been injured. Police are responding as urgently as possible, but ask residents of Arcadia Oaks and the surrounding area to seek shelter, ideally in a secure or underground location if possible. Reporters are still working to determine the source of the debris, but initial photos received appear to indicate that it is terrestrial in nature and unrelated to the otherworldly forces that took the town by siege less than two days ago.

Could this be round three of Arcadia’s Apocalypse? Stay tuned to ABN for more news and updates as this story unfolds. Now we go live…

     Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose and tuned out the broadcast. Something bordering on hysterics burbled at the back of her mind, threatening to send her into a fit of laughter. This was absurd. She was beginning to wonder if the universe itself was set on wiping Arcadia off the map. Whatever it was, it needed to stop. They needed a break. A two month minimum between world-shattering events, at the very least. She needed to get to her son—this needed to stop happening now.

     Outside and in the distance, a klaxon warning blared, low and resonant. The ceiling fixture rattled faintly with the noise. It spiked her anxiety and set her teeth on edge. She felt Walter wrap a hand around her arm, gently pulling her toward the door of her room.

     “Come on,” he pleaded. His pupils had dilated alarmingly, and his expression bordered on panicked. Whatever was happening, it had him spooked as well. Barbara grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled it off the bed.

     “Basement exit?” She suggested, quickly following him out of the room and down the stairs.

     “Probably our best option. If this is an attack, best not to be exposed and out in the open.” He snatched her purse from the entrance as they passed it. Barbara grabbed a flashlight, idly flipping the switch on and off again to confirm that it worked.

     They might as well convert the tunnels into a bunker at the rate things were going in Arcadia. She had half a mind to bring some folding chairs, since they would obviously be waiting this out. They could rig up some lights, set up a couple of spare cots. It’s not like the city seemed to use the tunnels often. They certainly hadn’t noticed the troll-sized archway leading into her basement yet. Might as well ensure that there was a safe place for citizens to evacuate to given their current track record with emergency situations.

-

     Several hours into hunkering down below ground, Walter’s phone chimed with a text notification. Curled against his side in silence, Barbara looked over at the device, watching as the changeling idly tapped the message.

     “Lawrence?” He read aloud, befuddled at the unexpected contact from his former coworker.

Know anything about the old timey castle that crushed the main building, Mr. history teacher?

     Attached was a photo of gray rubble that was vaguely tower-shaped, harshly illuminated by some type of floodlight. In the background, one could just barely make out the familiar architecture of-

     “Is that the school?!” Walter squawked, voice pitching up an octave in alarm. Fumbling his phone in the dark, Walter hastily fiddled with the options until he managed to initiate a call. The phone rang a few times before the PE teacher finally answered.

     “Yeah, I hope you cleared out your office, Strickler. The high school is toast.”

     Walter pinched the bridge of his nose, a low growl starting in his throat as his exasperation peaked. “Of course,” he bit off. Then, more sensibly, “The district can’t afford this.”

     Lawrence grunted. “Yeah, wouldn’t be surprised if we have to merge with another district, at least for the next school year.”

     Walter snorted—a proper, vocal exhale through his nostrils that was almost bull-like—and closed his eyes in frustration. That wasn’t an ideal solution, but it was a problem for another day. They needed to deal with one crisis at a time. “What crashed into the school?”

     “Looks like a castle to me. No idea where it came from.” He paused and, in the interim, Barbara could hear police sirens in the background. “Pretty sure the kids are wrapped up in this, somehow. Got a weird string of texts from Steve a few hours ago. Something about knighthood? I don’t know, kid’s been wrapped up in some weird stuff lately. Haven’t seen him all evening. He wasn’t at pre-season practice tonight.”

     In sudden realization, Walter blinked down at Barbara, then at her phone. He motioned for the device and, upon receiving it, navigating through to her messages and selected the text from Jim. As Jim’s last image loaded, Walter tapped the castle in the background with the tip of a claw. The connection clicked for Barbara, and she cried out in alarm.

     “Coach Lawrence, can you see any activity from where you are? Any fighting...anywhere that the kids might be involved in something?” Barbara inquired, desperation readable in her voice.

     “Who else is...?” The teacher started, but quickly decided to leave well enough alone. “Nevermind. Ehh, lemmie see. I can definitely hear some kind of commotion, but I don’t see where...”

     Barbara and Walter locked eyes as he trailed off, perplexed.

     “Oh.”

     “Oh, what, Lawrence?” Walter probed.

     “Yeah, that makes sense. Whatever the hell making sense even is anymore.” His voice was muffled, as though he was holding the phone at a distance. “It’s in the clouds.”

     “...Pardon?”

     “Whatever the heck is going on—it’s up in the clouds,” Lawrence clarified. “Guess that explains where the castle came from...still not sure how it got up there.”

     Well, Barbara wondered to herself, What were they supposed to do about that? Walter looked equally perplexed by that information.

     “Lawrence,” he began tentatively, formulating a course of action as he spoke, “I think we’re going to meet you at the school. Does the fighting seem contained to...whatever is happening aerially?”

     There was a pause at the other end of the line, and then, “I think there’s a shelter-in-place order right now? I was at the school for pre-season warm-up practice with the football team, but the cops might-”

     “No matter,” Walter cut in. “It’s a risk we’ll have to take. Thank you, Lawrence.”

     He ended the call abruptly. Beside him, Barbara was already collecting her things. She could feel her heart racing as dread began to set in. Jim was hurt. Jim was potentially in battle while hurt. The world felt like it was unraveling faster and faster, and she didn’t know how to make it stop.

     “We can’t fly directly into the fray,” Walter stipulated, pocketing his phone as he stood. “We’ll be easy targets and I won’t fly you into danger.”

     “I know,” Barbara agreed, slipping their paltry first aid kit into her purse and sliding the strap over her shoulder. “But we can try to figure out where they are exactly...and catch them when they land.” It was better than nothing, she reassured herself. Even if there was no help she could render, it was better than waiting. She grabbed the flashlight off the floor and pointed it toward the rough stone archway leading back to her basement.

     She hoped whatever the others could do was enough to bring her son home in one piece.

-

     In the end, pinpointing where the kids would land was less reconnaissance and more...direct observation. It wasn’t hard to track a falling fortress. It wasn’t hard to track the overt magical attacks on display. It wasn’t hard for Walter to identify Morgana among the fray either, all aglitter in golden armor and golden magic, but what was hard was convincing him to get anywhere near the battlefield by that point. Barbara had felt the moment the realization struck him, the changeling wrapping her tighter against his body midair, as though he thought Morgana might try to take her from him. As though he thought he could stop her if she tried.

     He had hissed out the sorceress’s name like a curse, pupils constricted to needle-thin lines against blazing bright irises.

     They were specks to the sorceress though, distant and unimportant in comparison to whomever she was locked in combat against. Barbara didn’t think Walter registered that though, nor did she believe it was a risk he was willing to take.

     By the time he was remotely willing to investigate, a decision she suspected had more than a little to do with the quickly approaching dawn, the magical light show had ended. Dust and dirt hung in the air, creating a haze in the early morning light. The surrounding forest had been turned into a debris field, pocked with pieces of ancient castle and wreckage from the equally bizarre flying fortress. They should have brought an umbrella, Barbara realized, eyeing the thick beams of sunlight beginning to pierce through the downed branches and trees around them.

     Once in pursuit, Walter swapped out his wings for his cape and tugged it closed at the front, shielding his upper body and much of his legs. Useless for protecting his head, but better than nothing, she supposed. They would just need to be careful.

     There was a distinct lack of birdsong in the woods around them, the area silent but for the gentle rustling of leaves and the faint sound of voices in the distance. Between the destruction and the atmosphere, it created a foreboding air about them as they slowly picked their way toward the sound of the children. Barbara couldn't shake the creeping sense of dread that had begun to pool in her stomach; days of waiting and fearing the worst, building to this climactic moment when she was finally reunited with her son.

     Her first impression was relief when they stumbled upon the group. The mood seemed calm...ish: no wailing, no hurried, anxious tones or angry exchanges. They just seemed... tired. And very beat up.

     "Jim?" Barbara called out hesitantly, drawing the group's attention.

     There had been tears, Barbara could see now, as Toby and Claire still had red, puffy eyes. Her heart clenched at the implication, but as the group parted, there was her son. Scarred and battle-worn, but whole...and human. She hadn't been expecting that last one. Wordlessly, she drew him into a hug, tighter than was probably best but after days and days of wondering and worrying, she couldn't find it in herself to care too much. She took a deep, fortifying breath and blinked away the tears blurring her vision. The universe might be trying to nuke her town from orbit, but at least it hadn't taken Jim. That was enough.

     "You owe me an update, okay kiddo?"

     Jim chuckled. "Yeah, you got it, mom.

     Reluctantly, she released him, stepping back to briefly inspect him for injuries. No wounds to suture, no visibly broken or dislocated bones. Several new scars. The pile of troll-shaped rubble at their feet was alarming though.

     Just to be certain, she confirmed, "Okay, anybody need a trip to the ER? I've got a basic first aid kit and a handful of troll salves Walt scavenged from the Janus Order. If you need more than I can manage with that, we're going to have to swing by the hospital."

     The group exchanged tired looks. Claire spoke up first. "I don't think anyone needs the ER. We got pretty beat up, maybe a few bruised ribs, but Jim was injured the worst and he's-"

     Her son gestured hastily for Claire to stop talking.

     "But he's fine now. Really!" Claire finished with what looked like a very forced smile.

     Barbara’s brow furrowed as she inspected Jim more thoroughly—no blood, no limbs bent at odd angles, no limping or wincing.

     “Yeah, Jim is a-okay now, Dr. L,” Toby reinforced, stepping forward to nudge his best friend in the arm. “Absolutely not being mind-controlled or hulked out into a giant, killer troll, and definitely not dead.”

     “Toby!” Claire and Jim hissed in unison.

     “What? You’re not!” The shorter boy shrugged, gesturing to Jim’s everything for emphasis.

     Barbara’s eyebrows shot up and she exchanged a harried glance with Walter, who looked equally alarmed. The changeling picked up on her distress, though, and took the lead. “I’m not entirely sure what part of that to ask about first, but would one of you care to elaborate on what exactly has happened since we last spoke?”

     Jim ran a hand over his face, exasperation warring with his very evident exhaustion. “Can we just give you the quick version for now? It’s been a long, long night.”

     Barbara’s expression softened and, despite her considerable concerns, she relented. She brushed some unruly strands of hair aside and cupped the side of his face tenderly. “That’s fine, sweetie. We just want to know for sure that you’re okay. Actually okay. Because that laundry list of things Toby rattled off doesn’t really make me confident that you’re ‘fine now.’”

     Jim sighed, glancing to the side, toward the pile of what she was beginning to suspect was something a bit more concerning than just troll remains. He was still tense, coiled and ready for the other shoe to drop, even as he looked like he himself might be ready to drop instead. He looked resigned as he met her gaze again and responded, “Okay. You’re not going to like it, but okay.”

Chapter Text

     Jim was right, Barbara thought—she definitely did not like it. She didn’t like this “Arcane Order,” nor what they had done to him, nor anything about this third doomsday event in the past few months. Quite frankly, she was very much done with people deciding that humans as a species were an acceptable casualty in achieving their end goals. She, Walter, and the rest of Arcadia Oaks hadn’t spent the past two months working as hard as they had on building interspecies relations only to be told that their efforts were too little, too late. Barbara wasn’t buying it.

     900 years was an awful long stretch to bide one’s time, waiting to see if a problem so egregious that it warranted wiping all life from the planet would resolve itself. She was no magician, but the Arcane Order’s rationale didn’t make sense to her “mortal” mind. If the scales tipping so far toward the “mundane” side of this equation was a catastrophic event, they shouldn’t need to end humanity; if the imbalance that they had once sought to correct was fatal, their goal should be accomplished just as easily by letting that fatality play out. That they had to make an effort to wipe the planet of life, mundane and magical, logic followed that the problem wasn’t a world-ending catastrophe in and of itself.

     Perhaps she did not have all the information, and perhaps they wouldn’t deign her worth the time to explain their stance to her if asked, but their decision smacked more of revenge to Barbara than anything born of good or noble intentions. It sounded to her like they were tired of trying to fix the problem they had with humanity, and had decided to toss the whole planet in the trash so they could start over.

     Barbara lived on this planet. She and the people she loved were the problem that the Order sought to throw out. And Barbara had dealt with being thrown out for the dream of a better future more than enough for one lifetime.

     “In summary,” Barbara said, not even sure where to start dissecting the tale that the kids and trolls had just recapped for her, “Apocaplypse #3 is a couple of ancient demigods who believe the world needs to be wiped of life, because they don’t like what we’ve done with it?”

     “I believe that the full story is far more complex than that, Barbara, but yes, that is the gist of it,” Blinky confirmed.

     “And this castle rubble that’s scattered around the town is, or was, Camelot?” She asked, gesturing toward the partially collapsed tower a short distance from them.

     Toby made a gesture of approximation with his hand. “Eh...most of it is Camelot, I think. Not sure. We might have taken a chunk or two out of their creepy flying skull fortress.”

     “A...flying skull fortress?” Barbara asked in a deadpan voice.

     Toby nodded enthusiastically.

     Barbara rubbed her temple and bit down on the urge to comment on how his description sounded a little too much like a cheesy 80s cartoon villain's lair. He might appreciate the retro pop culture reference, if any of them would, but now was not the time. She wasn’t sure it would ever be the time, if it meant acknowledging that their lives had spiraled into something akin to a Saturday morning cartoon.

     "I think that's a detail we can discuss later," Barbara said, dismissing the flight of fancy that tangent might take the conversation on. This was, she recalled, supposed to be the quick version of their adventure. Exhaling heavily, Barbara hazarded a glance over at Walter. The changeling caught her expression and offered a small, covert smile before stepping in to take over the conversation. It was appreciated, as always, how well he could read her subtle pleas for help.

     “It's curious that you were all thrust back in time to such a specific, pivotal moment in history. You all interacted with Merlin in the past, correct?" Walter inquired, looking pointedly at the teens among the group specifically. There was a chorus of tentative nods from those who had made the leap through time. "If Merlin remembered the events that transpired, which he presumably did, it makes me think that his decision to open the portal to that moment in time was intentional. Though whether he was hoping that doing so would spare you all from the ensuing onslaught by your attackers, or whether he was simply fulfilling a time loop, it's hard to say."

     Claire's expression turned tumultuous, and she shared an uneasy look with both Jim and Steve before responding, "Well, there's no way to ask him anymore. The Order killed him."

     Barbara met Walter’s alarmed expression with one of equal concern. They were dealing with a threat that could take out Merlin—a feat that even Morgana had not managed to accomplish, for all the destruction she had wrought in the wake of her release. What could kill a person who could see “glimpses” of possible futures—who could rip a hole through time itself and who could manipulate the flow of history to end a centuries-old civil war? Merlin’s death punctuated the danger of the situation they were in, highlighting the severity of the threat.

     "I'm sorry, kids. I know he was your ally." Her words seemed insufficient as condolences went. She hadn't liked the man, and didn't have much praise to offer. Her own interactions with the wizard had been strained at best and negative at worst. But they had trusted him, enough to travel cross country with him, and surely enough of an allegiance must have built up that they were at least distressed by his passing.

     There was something curiously conflicted about Jim's expression, his face a battleground for a muddled mash of emotions: regret and remorse predominant, but with a dash of guilt that left Barbara more concerned than anything else. Claire, on the other hand, looked agitated, bordering on angry, and very, very worn. Despite the differences in how their grief presented, Claire looped am arm around Jim's middle, drawing him into a loose side hug, one that he returned in kind.

     The moment stretched on in silence, no birdsong, no rustling of leaves... just the soft grind of stone against stone as the rubble shifted and settled. Walter's gaze lingered on the crumbling castle armaments, contemplating, before quietly asking, "Morgana as well, I suspect?"

     “Yeah, pretty sure. For, like, the third time now apparently,” Claire replied, a hint of bitterness to her tone of voice. “For what it’s worth, she saved us the trouble of having to deal with the Green Knight—Arthur again. I think she crushed him with a turret...and herself in the process.”

     Barbara winced at the brutality in Claire's description, a touch concerned with the ferocity in the younger woman's voice as she reflected on the other sorceress' end. She tucked it away, along with a hundred other follow-up questions she had regarding how the teens were handling the events of the past few months; they could address the kids’ mental health on another day, provided no one was actively in crisis in the present. There was too much to unpack and process just yet to discuss therapy options.

     Walter breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the news, his whole posture appearing lighter, as though a massive burden had finally been lifted from him. That was probably a conversation for another day as well.

     “Do we at least know for certain that we’re safe for now?” Barbara inquired, beyond ready to bring this road trip back home at last.

     Several members of the party exchanged a look, conflicted and unsure, but incredibly tired. Jim’s gaze drifted briefly to the broadsword lodged in the pile of rubble adjacent to them, for all appearances embedded in the stone it sat atop. After quiet deliberation, he answered with, “Honestly, mom? I...have no idea. Douxie and Nari took off for parts unknown, and the way Douxie explained it, the Order needs Nari for whatever they plan to do with the Seals. So I guess the world can’t end just this second.”

     “With any luck,” Toby observed, “The danger left with them.”

     Claire did not look quite as confident. There was a tenseness in the way she held herself that belied lingering anxiety, despite the group’s success in surviving the encounter. “We have no idea where the Arcane Order took off to, but I don’t think there’s anything else left for them in Arcadia Oaks. They’ve probably left in pursuit of Nari, or they’re recuperating from whatever Douxie hit them with.”

     Barbara released the breath she had been holding, allowing her posture to relax. They could go home...finally. She could take her son home, at last—closure she had wanted so desperately for almost a week now. For months, if she was being honest. She smiled, preparing to usher the group back towards civilization.

    “Well, there’s not nothing left for us,” came a voice from the distance, cold and jarring, like ice water running down her spine. The kids stiffened in alarm before shuffling, in what was surely by this point a reflex, into defensive postures. Barbara looked warily toward the source of the unexpected commentary.

    Atop the castle rubble crouched a figure, small and pale, with skin cast in an unhealthy bluish tint. At first glance, he looked like someone in an advanced stages of frostbite, her medical knowledge supplied, beyond the point one might reasonably recover from it. Blackened fingers, nimble despite possessing visible signs of tissue necrosis, pried apart the two boulders he stood on. The figure peered down into the crevice he had opened, inspecting something out of view. He grimaced at whatever he saw before casually allowing the stones to fall back into place. “Although those two are a wash.”

    “If there’s material left-” Came a second voice, or voices—several of them layered over one another in disconcerting disharmony. Barbara quickly glanced in their direction, glimpsing a taller figure, adorned with an elongated skull. The hairs on the back of Barbara’s neck prickled, the warning center of her brain screaming out an alert that they were in danger.

    There was no time to process that danger though. The first of the two to speak interrupted his companion, shaking his head and confirming, “No, she dusted the both of them. Not sure how she managed that in the moment, given that she crushed herself too. Would have thought they’d both be paste, but alas, Morgana was too clever by half. Left nothing but ash and soot.”

    The second figure let out a cry of frustration that culminated in a burst of flames, scorching the stone beneath their feet. One of the eyeballs in their chest adornment, what Barbara had thought was an adornment, rolled toward their group, and the figure’s head followed suit. Barbara felt a hand close around her wrist (human, familiar—Jim’s hand, she realized idly), pulling her backward and away from the two on the castle remains.

    Somewhere in the back of her brain, in the part that wasn’t panicking about imminent danger, Barbara realized that these must be the demigods the kids had referenced earlier. Their names escaped her, but the brief descriptions she had been provided matched. These were the two that had taken her son and turned him into their tool. A spark of anger ignited in Barbara’s chest, bright and burning with rage.

    The taller figure inclined their head to the pile of troll remains—remains she now knew to be her son’s, before Claire had pulled whatever miracle she had managed in order to turn his corpse into a chrysalis of rebirth. The figure cocked their head, glancing between the remains and her son, before contemplating aloud, “I don’t suppose the beast can be salvaged either.”

     Jim’s grip on her wrist tightened noticeably. Barbara backed up, protectively trying to shuffle Jim behind her.

    The corpse-like figure slouched down atop the rubble, crossing his legs and slipping into a seated position that looked far too comfortable and casual for the conversation topic. “That’s...debatable. Plenty of material, but someone’s managed to seal the soul in a fleshy new body. Impressive, really.”

     “Inconvenient is more like it,” the taller shot back, their voice peaked with agitation.

     “Come now, Bellroc. One needs to give credit where credit is due,” the smaller figure chided, tone sing-song and teasing.

    “He’s not yours!” Claire shouted, pushing past Barbara and Jim in a flurry of righteous anger. “You can’t just come back and take him! He’s not some possession!”

    The smaller figure laughed, and the taller—Bellroc, as their companion had addressed them—rounded on Claire, leaping from the rubble in a single, fluid motion. “He was very much our possession up until an hour ago, child! You broke the vessel that was under our control. That does not make it unusable.”

     Barbara’s stomach sank, the demigod’s assertion bringing with it a prickling sense of foreboding. Jim pushed past her, indignant at the unspoken implication.

     The smaller demigod clicked his tongue, his gaze falling squarely on her son. “It does make it a bit trickier to use,” he observed, his voice bordering on clinical. “Flesh—even stone flesh—needs a soul as an anchor to be animate. And that soul’s already anchored in another body. Makes for a lot of extra legwork for a beast that was just being used as muscle.”

     Jim reacted viscerally, shouting furiously in response, "I. Am NOT! A BEAST !” There was an element of something not quite a growl to his voice, like his vocal chords had not yet adjusted to being human again, struggling to impart the trollish quality to convey his anger adequately. Skrael dismissed his rage with barely a roll of his eyes.

    Bellroc’s gaze, one part bright and molten as lava bubbling up from a volcano and one part uncanny puppetry rolling in dry, wooden sockets, locked firmly on her son as well. They too disregarded his outburst, countering their partner’s argument instead. “It would be one less obstacle between ourselves and Nari,” they proposed, and Barbara could hear the sadistic mirth bleed into their tone as their lips curved into a smirk. “One more obstacle between them and interfering.”

    And that was as far as Barbara was willing to allow, eldritch gods be damned.

     Gritting her teeth in anger, Barbara marched firmly toward the first bludgeoning object in her line of sight. Rocks were no good—once thrown, she was unarmed. No branches or reasonably-sized sticks in easy reach. There was a weapon between them and the demigods though, and despite its large size, that would have to do.

    Behind her, she heard Walter cry out in alarm as he realized that she was walking toward the enemy. She felt the brush of his fingertips as he lurched forward to pull her back, and heard him hiss and recoil as his hand met direct sunlight.

     “I am sick and tired,” Barbara began, drawing the demigods’ attention toward her as her hands closed around the hilt of the broadsword, “of people trying to kill my son!” She yanked firmly on the weapon, grunting as she met resistance. The blade ground against stone, inching upward with her tugging but remaining embedded in the rubble. Unsurprising—it had looked rather firmly jammed in the stone when she grabbed it.

     “Skrael..,” Bellroc began, petering off as Barbara gave another hard pull on the sword, not sure what to make of the spectacle.

     “I am sick and tired,” She continued, wiggling the blade in attempt to loosen it, “of people attacking my town!” The weapon jerked upward in increments with each firm tug she gave to it. She could extract it, she was certain now. It was really a matter of resolve. “And I am sick and tired of people deciding that the way to solve their problems with one group or another is murder!”

     With one final, determined yank, Excalibur slid free of its stone sheath with a sharp, metallic twang.