A/N: Part of this feel a bit more lighthearted than previous chapters, hopefully the shift in tone isn't too jarring. Maybe that's just the natural denouement of hurt/comfort stories? (the last line is… really not what I expected it to be, but here we are. Perhaps this could use another round of editing, but I was just too excited to have finished this!)

Song I listened to on loop while writing this chapter: "You'll Be In My Heart" (Other looped songs when working on this fic include "Pompeii" and "How to Save a Life")

Credit to creativenicocorner on tumblr for the assist in coming up with a troll idiom!

"So let me see if I'm missing anything. Trolls… exist, and some are good and some are bad, and some of the bad ones can look like ordinary people and walk in the sunlight, which most trolls can't do. And the bad ones are trying to open a bridge – not sure how that's possible since you said it isn't a drawbridge - " Jim opened his mouth but she cut him off. "No, don't say it, it's a magic bridge, I got it. And an open bridge would be bad because it would let the really evil troll out.

"And the reason you know all of this is because you got chosen by a magic amulet which gives you magic armor and a sword – " she was getting worked up but she just couldn't stop – "that I'm assuming is also magic, you didn't specify. And being the Trollfighter means you have to be the one to risk your neck defending the good trolls from the bad ones. But since you're the first human to be chosen, you and Binky – who is your troll fighting trainer – think that a side effect of the amulet's magic is that it's turning you into a troll, too."

"Okay, well, first of all, Trollhunter, and Blinky, not Binky. And secondly, it might not be turning me into a troll per se; it could just be making me a bit more trollish."

Barbara sputtered incoherently.

"You… you do believe me, right?"

She did not. Of course she did not; his bones and skin were being fundamentally affected, was it too much to consider that it might have started to affect his brain as well? But she wasn't sure what the best response in this situation would be.

Jim's face fell – evidently her silence was answer enough.

"I can prove it to you." He reached across for the amulet, but Barbara grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Jim, honey, you have to know how all that sounds. Now, I may not know what's really going on, but if you think that that… 'amulet' is the cause, then that's a good reason to avoid it as much as possible!" She was half convinced the glow was probably due to radioactivity. As soon as possible she was going to run out and grab the nearest Geiger counter, once she figured out where exactly one might be found.

"Mom, I literally can't avoid it." He straightened, brightening. "In fact, that's a good not-traumatic way to prove magic exists. Here, let me have it; I promise I won't use it."

She hesitated, partly over the fact that she wasn't sure how a probably radioactive, decorative non-clock could be 'used,' but relinquished his arm.

He confidently picked it up and let her to the kitchen. "Okay. Watch closely. Nothing up my sleeves." He wiggled the fingers of his free hand, then dropped the amulet into the dishwasher and closed it.

"Jim!" she exclaimed. If their plates and silverware got irradiated, they'd have to be replaced. He looked at her quizzically, clearly not understanding the reason for her distress. Because it never even occurred to him that it might be radioactive, or else he never would have picked it up in the first place. (though, truth be told, he hadn't been vomiting, or showing other signs of radiation poisoning, so maybe… But that wasn't her field, what did she know?)

"Just wait," he told her; then, projecting towards the ceiling, "This is me, rejecting the calling."

Barbara only became more worried.

He walked over to the microwave, opened it, and... pulled out the amulet. "Ta-daa."

Barbara was stunned. That was… But it wasn't impossible. She'd seen magicians pull off bigger stunts on tv.

"Toby could have taught you that," she countered obstinately, clinging to rationality because she could sense it slipping through her fingers.

"Oh my god, Mom. No offense to Toby, but he's not that good at stage magic. Yet. He's gotten really good with coins in the past month – not the point." He huffed out an exasperated breath, studying her face. "Alright. I got one more thing to try that isn't using the amulet, and then I'm going to have to call Draal. I'd, uh, rather not do that since the natural response to seeing a troll for the first time is to back away screaming, and he's a friend. But if this doesn't work, we're going to have to do things the hard way."

From his messenger bag resting on the banister, he dug out a wooden mask, and held it out for her to inspect. She took it warily.

"It's called a glamor mask. Blinky gave it to me so that I can keep looking normal even if I do end up growing horns, which, um, seems likely."

The mask was solid wood, with very few embellishments. She couldn't place it to a particular region or era, but it looked very old. She had no idea how it was meant to make Jim look 'normal even with horns,' unless the idea was that it would distract from his horns? Or else people might think the horns were part of the mask instead of his head?... She couldn't believe she was contemplating Jim with horns.

He held out a hand, and she handed it back. He took a deep breath. "Okay, so, I've actually only done this once before; there's a bit of a mental trick to it so if it doesn't work the first time just bear with me."

Slowly, he raised the mask to his face, and there was a flash of green light.

Barbara blinked. Then blinked again. The mask had vanished, and she knew this was well beyond whatever sleight-of-hand Jim might have picked up from Toby. One moment it was there, and the next it was gone.

No, more than that. Jim's sunburn was gone. And his jaw looked normal again. That… that wasn't possible. Spots started forming on the edges of her vision and she realized she was hyperventilating.

She stumbled back until she reached the couch, collapsed into it, rested her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands, and tried to get her breathing under control.

Jim sat down next to her, rubbing comforting circles on her back. "Aww man, I guess the easy way isn't as easy as I thought. Still beats screaming until you pass out, though. That was no fun."

Somewhere, she found the wherewithal to give him a sharp look from between her fingers, because if he'd ever lost consciousness that was very serious and he should have told her right away…!

Jim only chuckled. "I'm… I'm actually really glad I told you. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner; I should have."

"All this time… I can't believe…" She grabbed his hand in hers, and he winced. Still sunburned, right (at least, she hoped that was the reason). She pulled her hand back, worried her fingers together in her lap. "Why, though? Why are you this… Trollhunter? Can't you ask someone else to do it?" She'd given him her full attention, earlier, so even though she hadn't believed a word of what he'd said, she still remembered it. She remembered what he'd said, about training and fighting. The fact that the position came with its very own sword spoke volumes about what his expected role was to be.

"The Amulet chose me; I showed you, it's bonded to me."

"That's not what I mean. Can't it be bonded to someone else? It's magic, there's got to be a way to do that."

"There, there really isn't."

His shoulder brushed against hers. They sat in silence, Barbara trying to process… everything. The fact that trolls existed. The fact that her son was being turned into one (or partly turned into one) by a magic amulet. The fact that he'd been conscripted to fight in a war and he was only sixteen.

She understood violence. She saw the aftermath, cruelties humans perpetrated against other humans. She understood military service: both her brother and her father were Army veterans, the latter having served two tours in Vietnam. She understood that a sixteen-year-old was a child, and had no business knowing either violence or war.

As a doctor, she'd taken the Hippocratic Oath to do no harm. But she also had an orange belt in krav maga. She knew how far a wrist could be bent before it would snap. Knew the pressure points and weaknesses of the human body, and was prepared to apply that knowledge in defense of herself or her son, if the need ever arose. She'd given Jim the option to take karate classes if he wanted, but he'd been more interested in Little League – she had no objection to Jim training in self-defense. Not only was it a potentially life-saving skill, but it taught focus and mental discipline.

Trollhunting was not that. Trollhunting involved swords and armor, and active pursuit by a terrible enemy who ate people. And not only that, but it was going to rob him of his humanity in the process, had already begun to do so, though she couldn't see all the connections, not yet.

Horns, Jim had mentioned. Those must be the circle forming at the top of his skull. What else?

"What else, what?" Jim asked.

Oh, she'd spoken aloud. "What else, besides horns, are you expecting?"

"Oh. The truth is, we really don't know. There's never been a human Trollhunter before, so this is all uncharted territory." There was a flash of green light, and the mask fell off his face. "Gah!" Meeting her startled look, he explained. "That's part of the mental trick; you have to not think about the fact that you're wearing the mask while you're wearing it. It's really hard to deliberately not think about something, but supposedly it gets easier with practice." He set the mask aside.

Barbara's attention was once again drawn to his harsh sunburn, his severe underbite – why an underbite? Why sunburn?

"But, what are trolls like? What, what are the possibilities?"

He took his time formulating his reply, a troubled wrinkle in his brow. "You know what, there's someone you should really meet. Why don't I go get Draal?"

Right. There was a troll. In her basement. That had been living in her basement for over a month.

She put her head back down and took deep breaths.

"... But… that can wait?" Jim offered, clearly concerned about her.

"No, no." She sat back up, straightening her glasses. "I'm good."

"If you're sure." He still looked uncertain, but he got up from the couch and went to the basement.

She couldn't hear anything after that, though presumably he was explaining things. To the troll. In her basement. Why…? Jim hadn't explained that part very well.

How long did it take to fill him in? It felt like it was taking a really long time. Finally, she heard loud footsteps on the stairs, as though an elephant was deliberately stomping its way up wearing clogs.

She stood up to greet their guest and –

Blue. Big.

Big and blue. Horns.

She yelped and jerked backwards, her knees hit the couch and she tumbled to an ungraceful seat with much flailing of limbs.

The creature – the troll – shifted his weight awkwardly, raised one massive hand to scratch behind his head in discomfort. It was a very human gesture, and it helped Barbara find her footing.

Jim facepalmed. "This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid with the whole gradual lead-up." He was standing right next to the troll, and the top of his head barely made it to the troll's blue chin.

He was a lot bluer than she had expected.

"Mom, this is my friend, Draal. Draal, this is my mom."

"It is my honour to finally meet you, Bar-bu-ra." He clenched one fist to his chest and bowed over it.

"It's. Um. A pleasure to meet you too… Drawl. Draal?" She mimicked the unfamiliar syllable as best she could, giving him a small bow in return. "Can I, can I get you something?" She wasn't sure any cup in the house would survive that massive fist, but she knew what good manners were.

Draal looked to Jim helplessly.

"She's offering refreshments. You know, something to drink. It's something humans do to be polite to guests."

"Does she have any glug?"

"No, no glug," Jim answered for her.

The expression on Draal's face was immediately recognizable; apparently 'I could really use a drink right now' was a universal sentiment. Barbara sympathized.

"Don't worry, I'll handle the snacks. You guys sit down, get comfortable." Jim shooed them both away.

Draal sat down exactly where he was with a floor-shaking thump. Barbara sat back down on the couch with considerably more grace than she had previously. They stared at each other for a moment, before Draal broke eye contact and studiously looked at anything other than her. For the first time she wondered how old he was, in troll years. He suddenly seemed very young.

When Jim came back he gave her a glass and a whole pitcher of water, as well as a banana. He was worried about her blood sugar, probably, after the stress and the shock. Draal watched her peel it with interest while Jim went to fetch more snacks, and then Jim returned with the bag they kept recycling in. Draal picked up an empty milk carton, sniffed it, and then fit the whole thing into his mouth and started chewing.

Barbara stared. "Is this why we haven't been getting as much back from bottle deposits lately?"

"What is a 'bottle deposit?'" Draal asked, selecting an empty soup can and polishing it off as well.

Jim gestured vaguely. "It's where you exchange certain kinds of bottles and cans for money." Draal's blank stare persisted. "Oh, right, you guys don't use currency. Um… you know what, I don't know how to explain capitalism right now."

"Money is something with agreed-upon value that makes bartering more straightforward," Barbara put in.

Draal brightened, and gave her a toothy grin. A very, very toothy grin. That was a lot of teeth. "My thanks, Bar-bu-ra, I understand."

"Oh, well, you're welcome. Here, I think I have some quarters in my pocket." She pulled out a handful of loose change to show him.

He picked up one of the quarters with surprising gentleness (Barbara was in awe that he could manage it at all with the relative size of his fingers.) He sniffed it once, then popped it into his mouth as well. She sighed.

Draal swallowed, then gave his verdict. "It is not as satisfying. I believe these 'bottle deposits' to be an inferior trade."

"Yes, well, the house always wins," she said without thinking, then slapped a hand to her forehead.

"How can a house be victorious? It – "

"No, no, I'm not explaining casinos. Moving on!"

But Draal was tapping his chin thoughtfully. "There is a casino in TrollMarket." ("There is?" Jim marveled) "I believe I understand your meaning. We have an equivalent expression. Translated, it would be: 'The sun always rises.'"

She squinted in uncertainty, but Jim nodded along. "No, that checks out." To Barbara, he added in an undertone, "Memento mori."

Well, that wasn't quite the same sentiment, but she was more than happy to move away from comparative linguistics.

"So… how has it been, living in our basement?"

"It has been adequate." She waited, but he did not elaborate.

"And, how do you know my son?"

"My father, Kanjigar, was the previous Trollhunter. When he was felled, I expected to take up the mantel. Instead, the young fleshbag was chosen, so I – "

"Decided to help train me!" Jim cut across loudly, looking panicked.

"Yes, to repay the debt I owe you, sparing my life when we – "

"GAAHHHHHH!" Jim lunged forward and forcibly clapped his whole arm across Draal's mouth.

Barbara narrowed her eyes. "Okay, what's really going on?"

Jim shifted guiltily. Draal looked uncertain, swinging his attention back and forth between the two of them.

Barbara let the silence stretch; Jim cracked first, speaking in a rush, "We used to be rivals but now we're friends, and Draal has saved my life, too, so it's not really about a life-debt anymore, and he protects the house when I'm not home and is a good guy."

She knew that wasn't the whole story, but it didn't seem worth it to argue. Though she didn't care for the term 'fleshbag,' and might yet call him out on it.

But that brought her attention back to the purpose of the meeting (besides the common courtesy of knowing who was sleeping under her roof). What were trolls made of, if not flesh and blood? Draal looked like he was made of rocks and crystals, but was that really what trolls were?

…what Jim might be turning into?

"So, Draal. What's it like being a troll?"

"Um."

"Mom, don't interrogate him. If you want to get philosophical, you should talk to Blinky." His brow furrowed, giving it some thought. "Actually, you guys would probably get along like a house on fire."

"I do not understand. If the house is on fire, how can it always win?"

Jim facepalmed. "It's another idiom. It means they'd get along really well."

"Your human idioms are ridiculous, and contradictory."

"Now hold on, Blinky once told me to 'take that allabogdanite somewhere else and chew it,' but another time he said that 'wet allabogdanite leads nowhere good'."

"What is your point?"

Jim sighed, shook his head. He sat back down next to Barbara, reaching over to pick up her banana peel. Which he then started chewing on.

"Ah! Jim! Er…!" she didn't know what to do. She didn't know what he was doing…!

He looked over at her, then, realizing what he was eating, startled violently. "Gah!" The banana peel fell limply from his mouth and slapped onto the floor.

"You should let him eat it. He hardly has any teeth, it won't hurt him to eat whelp food." Draal picked it up and tried to hand it to Jim, but he was too freaked out and jerked away.

Barbara was feeling pretty freaked herself. Everything was just… too much.

"Draal. It was very nice to meet you. Can you, can you go now? I mean, give us a moment? Or…" Her breath hitched, the feeling of being overwhelmed pressing closer.

"As you wish, Bar-bu-ra." he nodded regally. "Be well, Trollhunter – and tell me exactly what Blinkous said, later."

Jim, who was going cross-eyed trying to stare at his own tongue, looked up. "Uh, yeah. Uh, I'll catch you up later."

Draal carefully placed the banana peel on the coffee table in front of them before he turned to leave. Jim stared at it furiously. He looked to be on the verge of tears.

She brushed his hair back from his forehead, held his cheek in her hand. He burrowed his face against her shoulder, snuffling. "I don't want to be a troll."

Gathering him close, she made soothing nonsense sounds, the sorts she once made when he was a fussy baby unable to fall asleep, or when he was six and had a tummy ache, or any other time he was in her arms and shaking as he was now. She could barely wrap her head around the existence of magic and trolls, but she knew how to comfort and support her son.

"I said we were gonna see this through together, and that hasn't changed, you hear me? Whatever happens, no matter what, I will always love you, and protect you, and be there for you. Things happen sometimes, completely outside of our control, and we just have to find ways to keep moving forward."

His arms clenched tight around her. "Thanks, Mom. Love you too." With one last, loud sniff, he pulled away. She kept her hands resting on his shoulders.

"As your doctor, I have to ask: are you feeling hungry?"

He nodded miserably.

"You haven't been eating much lately," she observed neutrally. Jim gave a small mewl of agreement. "Is it that your stomach feels queasy all the time, or is it that the foods you have tried to eat upset your stomach?"

"Um." he rubbed his tears away with the heel of his hand. "More like the second. I feel hungry, but food doesn't look appealing. It doesn't make me feel sick, exactly. It just… it's hard to describe."

Barbara really, really didn't want to say what she had to say next. "Maybe… human food doesn't look appealing?"

Oh, he looked so betrayed that she'd ask that, say it out loud.

"Sweetheart, I'd like you to try eating this peel. It's not inedible to humans – there was that food craze last year, people were convinced it was good for them, though there wasn't much science behind the claim..." Realizing she was hurting her own argument, she switched tracks, "The important thing is that you are getting enough to eat. Right now, that might mean trusting your body to make its own decisions about what it needs." She nudged the peel towards him.

He picked it up warily, glancing between it and her face, as though hoping she'd change her mind and stop him at any moment. She sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose. "Jim, I'm not going to force you to do something you don't want to, you don't have to eat it."

"No, it… smells good." He took the smallest bite possible, smaller than a postage stamp – but, when he found that to his liking, his next bite was considerably larger, and in less than two minutes he'd finished the whole thing.

"Good?"

"Yeah, not, not bad." He looked deeply uncomfortable with the admission.

"Okay." she took a deep breath, let it out. "Okay. We'll make a list. 'Foods Jim Finds Appealing.'" She glanced at the bag of recycling, still lying in the living room, and reconsidered the name. "'Things Jim Likes to Eat.' How soon can I talk to Blinky face-to-face?"

"Uh, tonight, probably. After sundown, I can go down to Trollmarket and bring him here. Or we can send Aaarrrgghh down to fetch him, that might be easier. Oh man, Toby! I gotta fill him in!"

She gave him what was probably a pretty watery smile. "Go on, kiddo. Go talk to your friend."

"Thanks, Mom!" He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then dashed towards the door.

"Umbrella!" she called out after him, but he was already gone. She sighed. Teenagers.

… Dammit, she'd left the milk out.

A/N: This concludes 'Autoeponym'! Series continues in 'Metamorphosis'

For the record, Jim and Blinky are wrong about the Amulet, but they have no way of knowing that just yet ;)

(and to clarify, when Jim says 'fill him in,' he means on the fact that he's come clean to him mom, and how that went; Toby was with him in Trollmarket when he went to talk to Blinky, so he doesn't need any updating there

*sigh* I'm going to miss the way that Barbara calls him "Mr. Blinky," but Jim's called him just Blinky throughout this conversation, and that's what she's going to think of him as.