Disclaimer: I don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters.

I finally finished the last chapter. Thank you for all the reviews! I hope you enjoy it. I should put up my next part in the series sometime over the weekend hopefully.

Her first visit to his home was unexpected.

Things had…changed, to say the least.

Of course, it was no one's fault but his own (and Claire's too, now that he thought about it). Going to the Darklands to rescue Claire's baby brother was by far the stupidest thing they'd ever done together. Somehow, they survived, though not without repercussions.

Claire, in spite of her insistence that she was "fine", was physically and emotionally drained. She clung to her brother like a lifeline. It was only thanks to Darci and Mary that her parents never grew suspicious at her absence, sacrificing the rest of their allowed absences at school to protect the Trollhunter's identity.

Still, that didn't change the awkwardness that now existed between her and her friends. Mary was furious with both of them and Darci, well, Darci was just disappointed. Claire was the rational, level-headed one, so it was no wonder the others were shocked when she headed off to the Darklands without them, no explanation given. Blinky, AARRAGGHH! and the rest of the Trolls were split as to whether Claire did what was right. Either way, there would be consequences. For both of them.

For Claire, it would be going through the gate, something Vendel had forbidden.

For Atlas, it would be sneaking into Trollmarket (which was surprisingly easy, honestly, their security was one of the worst. Even the Order had better security than them), something Vendel had also forbidden. Even though he was the Trollhunter's boyfriend (or "boytoy", as the one-armed wonder himself liked to call him), he was related to the Changelings and that made him enemy number one.

It was only by happenstance that Atlas made it through the portal with Claire, however, that didn't change the reality of the situation.

Claire tried to leave without them.

Without him.

Of course, Claire later explained why, but it still hurt. A lot.

Speaking of hurt, physically he was a mess. The bruises from their little adventure were numerous; it would take another week before he could touch his toes again without groaning in pain. His body felt like lead, the exhaustion running all the way down to his bones.

They'd failed to kill Gunmar and Claire had nearly died by the Troll's hands.

He felt useless, both as a boyfriend and as a warrior.

It was only thanks to combined rescue effort of the Trollhunters (and the Creepslayerz, oh dear god, Steve was never going to let him live that one down) that they survived.

And, needless to say, his father had been absolutely furious with him. As in, there may or may not have been some knife-throwing going around. He had never seen the man so angry.

Atlas was grounded, strictly forbidden to leave during the daytime and constantly being monitored through his phone, which his father required him to have at all times.

He understood.

Still sucked though.

Speaking of fathers, he was late for his curfew.

He'd spent most of the night hanging out in Claire's room, the two spending a rare night without Trollhunting by watching movies and cuddling on her bed.

It was magical.

He cursed when he noticed the time though, and after kissing Claire goodnight, booked it back.

Which brought him to now. His arrival did not go unannounced. Still, he was surprised to see not only his father but Dr. Lake as well.

"So happy you could join us, Atlas," Stricklander said coolly, drumming the fingers of his left hand along the surface of the table. "Though I do remember asking you to be home by midnight, tonight and its already nearly one."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Atlas slid off his backpack to the floor, careful not to appear too guilty.

Did he find out about his date with Claire? How did he find out? Who told him?

Nomura must have ratted him out. He inwardly cursed. No duh, he thought. She was his subordinate after all.

The bags under his father's eyes were less bruised than earlier, but the simmering feeling of fatigue still radiated from his person.

Dr. Lake appeared to be in a similar state, her hair untidy and thrown into a ponytail. "Hello, Atlas. It's good to see you. How—"

"I'm innocent," he interrupted, hands raised in defense. "The person who told you is a liar. I was at the library. Reading...books."

Dr. Lake raised an eyebrow; his father threw him an annoyed glare.

Stricklander sighed, massaging his temples. "I don't know what you've done, in fact, I'm not certain I want to at this point, but that can wait until later. Barbara has come here to speak with you."

"I brought some cookies," she started, pulling out a container of strange blackened disks. "I wanted to see how you were doing after…the Darklands."

She paused, a frown forming on her lips. "I'm angry…no, furious that you went without telling anyone. It was irresponsible of you. You and Claire could have died. However...I'm more glad that you and Claire made it home in one piece, and that you were able to bring home her brother as well. That's commendable. Idiotic, but commendable."

"Someone had to," Atlas said. "But yeah, it was stupid. Incredibly stupid."

His father muttered something under his breath in Trollish that sounded suspicious like an insult to his intelligence.

The teen held his tongue.

"As your Doctor though, I'm worried about your health. Have you been drinking and eating enough? Have you…"

She continued to ramble on as Atlas focused in on the cookies at the table. His mouth watered. Even bad cookies were still food, and after living off of god-knows-what in the Darklands, even Dr. Lake's cooking was delicious.

As if he were on autopilot, he picked one up and bit into it, then immediately covered his mouth.

They were disgusting, true, but familiar. Way too familiar.

He'd eaten these before.

"These cookies…I remember them," He started, "I've had them, but…when? You've never given me cookies before…"

Backing away from the table, only his father's hand stopped him, his vice-like grip immobilizing the teen.

"Sit down, Atlas. There's a reason for that, however I need you to be calm," Stricklander ordered, voice stern. "Now."

He slumped back into his seat, shoulders hitched. The two adults shared a look, one that Atlas could not discern.

What was going on? Atlas bit the inside of his cheek, trying to think, to go over where he had those cookies. There was nothing in his memories that remotely corresponded with the treats. He'd eaten terrible food before, but this, this was something different. Even though they were overdone and salty, he could tell she'd put a lot of work into them.

Dr. Lake looked at him with concerned eyes. "Walt, maybe we should wait a bit. When he's more stable. It's obvious the Darklands…have been an ordeal."

"There's no use in delaying the inevitable, Barbara, dear. Besides, young Atlas has handled far worse."

"I can hear both of you, you know," Atlas chimed in. "And I'd like it if you didn't talk as if I wasn't here in the room with you."

"Sorry, Atlas," Dr. Lake said.

Stricklander was not so apologetic. "Barbara, enough with chit-chat. Tell him why you're here."

"I was getting to that, Walt," she muttered under her breath. "Atlas, can I tell you a story?"

Atlas nodded. It was all he could do really.

Taking a deep breath, she began, "As you can see, I don't normally make cookies, or really even cook at all. Cooking has never been one of my gifts, you see. Now, the first time I tried to make cookies was for my son's First Grade Christmas Party. I should have bought the regular store-brand kind, but silly me wanted to impress my son with my so-called 'baking' prowess. Sadly, that didn't work out, so I dumped the batch and resolved to try again in the morning before school."

She paused, adjusting her glasses. "Right around midnight, I heard a crash downstairs. Oh my god, I woke with such a fright! I thought it was a robber, so I took my old high school baseball bat downstairs. I was a decent Batter back then, almost went to regional, but that's beside the point. Anyways, when I reached the kitchen, I found Jim on the floor crying. It wasn't a robber; Jim just wanted to bake the cookies. He tried using a knife to open up one of my cookie dough cans and cut his left thumb nearly to the bone. It was horrible. There was blood everywhere…" Her voice drifted off.

Dr. Lake laughed a little, then said, "…But he wasn't crying because of the blood, he was crying because he messed up the cookies. Can you believe it? He wanted to surprise me. Even at such a young age, Jim liked to care for me."

The teen's brows came together, confusion evident. "Why are you telling me all this?"

She gestured to Atlas' hand. "Jim had a small scar on his left thumb."

Atlas glanced down at his left palm, then immediately closed it into a tight fist.

It was crazy.

She was crazy.

It was impossible.

And yet.

It was there.

"What are you trying to say?" Atlas said.

"What I'm trying to say is…" She paused, a pensive look appearing over her face. Finally, she said, "Do you remember the saliva sample I took from you when you were sick?"

"A little…Something about cross-species contamination between Trolls and humans, right? You wanted to make sure I couldn't infect Dad."

She shuffled her feet, looking away from the teen. "I lied."

"What?"

"I took your blood for a different purpose. It was…it was for a DNA test. To see…to see if it matched with m-mine..." She started to fumble through her words, hands shaking. "Sorry, I'm rather terrible at this, but I just can't help it. I-I got the results back today…They're positive."

His eyes burned. He cradled his head, his mind blank.

"What do you mean by positive?" He started, raising his voice. "That I'm your son? Is that what you're trying to say?"

She didn't answer him with words, only nodding.

It was as if a bomb had gone off inside his thoughts. What was he supposed to think?

But it matched; it all matched.

She lost her son six years ago, just as he lost his memories around the same time.

He always felt comfortable around Dr. Lake and now he knew why.

She was his mother.

His mother.

A flood of unknown feelings filled his being, making him nauseous.

So many emotions gathered inside him. A happy, almost elated feeling arose at the top, but anger and sadness followed close behind. What was he supposed to do?

He wished Claire was here. She was better in the emotional department than he was.

Dr. Lake shook silently.

Atlas reached out a hand, then pulled it away.

Fear gripped his soul.

What if she rejected his touch? Why would she want some "impure half-breed" for a son?

Bular's words echoed through his mind. It was hard to have much self-esteem with the King of all Superiority Complexes lived next door to you for six years.

He threw the thought out. She never cared about what he was before, so why would she now?

Dr. Lake—his mother, she wasn't like other humans. She wasn't the type to reject someone simply because they were born different.

A large hand graced his shoulder. "It's alright if you're feeling a tad overwhelmed, Atlas. You may go to your room if you need to."

But he didn't.

Instead, the teen did the exact opposite.

He stood unsteadily, then walked over to the woman next to him.

Hesitantly, he came closer, arms outstretched.

She immediately latched on, her head settled underneath his chin.

It was weird. But warm. So warm.

He buried his face into her hair, arms wrapping around her closer. She smelled like Lavender shampoo.

It was strange how good it felt, how at home he felt.

Dr. Lake started to cry, the shaking overtaking her whole body.

"I never gave up. I wouldn't. No matter what everyone said," she said between gasps. "I never stopped looking for you."

"I know," he whispered.

"I spent three years looking through every hospital record and police report, traveling throughout the state and country with whatever lead I could find. And it was hard. So hard. Because all of them were dead-ends."

"I know."

"There wasn't a day that's gone by that I haven't thought about you."

"I know."

"People said you were dead, but I didn't believe them. I didn't. I couldn't believe them. Not you. I knew in my heart that you were somewhere out there."

"I know."

"I just—I just can't believe you're here. Now. In my arms. And look how much my baby boy has grown! I can't believe you're taller than me now."

"I know," he said, eyes no longer dry. "I know."

She brought her forehead to his own. "There's so much I could have done. If only I had searched harder. Then maybe—"

"You did the best you could," he added quietly, "Mom."

The words tasted odd on his tongue, unused for so long.

She kissed his head, and then each of his cheeks. "I missed you, baby."

It was so much to take in, but, at the same time, he cherished it, like a child with their favorite toy. He didn't want to let her go.

"Jim," she started, then stopped herself. "I mean, Atlas. I'm sorry, this must be very hard on you. Which is it you would prefer?"

"Either is fine," he said, and to his own surprise he meant it. "You can call me anything you want."

Even without his old memories, the identity of Jim fit.

Or it could. Given time.

He was—he would be comfortable with both names.

Of course, it would take some time to get used to being called so, but he could get used to it, he could adjust.

And perhaps, with his parents and the Trollhunter's help, he would regain those old memories at some point.

For now, though, he could settle for this.

"Can you stay tonight?" He asked her, then looked over at Stricklander. "Can she stay, dad? There's so much I want to talk about."

His father lightly squeezed his forearm. "Of course. She's welcome to stay as long as she wants."

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," Dr. Lake, his mother, added.

For once, for once, in Atlas—or Jim, he wasn't sure which he wanted to be called by yet (outside of his mother), but for once in his life he felt like things were starting to look up.

Claire had been the start, and if it wasn't for her he never would have met Dr. Lake or his human friends. It wasn't going to be an easy road, as the Janus Order still existed and Gunmar still lived, yet it was far better than from where he started.

"Barbara, you're welcome to use my bedroom. I trust you remember which room it is?"

"Wait," Atlas said, horror dawning on his face. "What?"