Chapter Text
It’s been 4 months since Claire saw Jim's face,
right before disappearing into nothingness.
Within the first few days of Jim’s departure, Claire searched the abyssal depths of the shadow realm, hoping to visit or at least connect to whatever universe he blipped to.
But any trace of Jim was long gone.
While she was there though, Claire encountered a small nook while wandering aimlessly, as if it was just waiting to be found.
It was only the size of a storeroom, a pasty beige with the paint layer souring, its corners chipping away from the walls. She wondered how it came to be. Was it one of Morgana’s last remnants still echoing throughout the shadow realm? Or was it something that Claire mustered up on her own? Nothing was certain.
One thing was for sure. It was ample enough for what Claire needed it to be. A place of solidarity. Away from her failure that she had to face everyday, wandering the wreck of a town she lived in.
So, she went over to the Lake’s residency to retrieve all of his memorabilia and fill out this tiny space she could make a ‘home’ of.
When Claire arrived, she was met with a grieving Barbara, dealing with demons of her own. Drowning herself in wine and tears. Her son had vanished into thin air, and for Barbara, that left no room in her heart for anything other than grief. Though, at least she had Blinky around to keep her company.
Claire had no one.
Her loss of Jim was something her parents and closest friends couldn’t fully comprehend, excluding Darcy, although god knows where she’s been all this time after the final battle.
Barbara was okay with lending Jim’s things to the poor girl. She had an entire lifetime of memories with Jim that could sustain her.
So, Claire collected these items one-by-one like trophies until the desolate room became what is now a tribute to Jim Lake’s memory, as well as Tobias Domzalski; she also took a few items from Nancy’s house across the street.
His favorite vespa poster, his lapis-blue jacket, the letter he first gave her about the ‘monsters’ he was battling were all neatly arranged, and in good fashion. She even brought them around the first time to proudly show what she made of the place.
But, eventually things took a turn for the worse. She kept returning to Jim’s childhood home bringing back even more items, items as mundane as a hairbrush or some used maths books. They lined the linen walls until they weren’t even visible. It was like an episode right out of those hoarder MTV shows they used to watch together.
Little-by-little, this small room that started out as being a dedicated memorial to her dearest friends began to consume her from the inside out. She began to spend less and less time in the real world, and more time in the deluded fantasy she had tediously crafted for herself deep in the inky, black abyss of the shadow realm. No matter how many times her parents or friends approached her, it was like talking to a plasticine wall.
For most hours of the day, she laid motionless, curled in a ball on the floor, hugging that blue jacket for dear life, surrounded by the memories she cherished more than herself. The room’s air was soaked with a longing despair for Jim, and its matted rug stained with countless nights of tears wept alone.
Her head hung low when she spoke to her companions. It was clear she wasn’t getting a wink of sleep.
Ophelia couldn’t take the stress of Claire continuing to live all alone in this world, and it didn’t help that she also had her hands full with trying to repair a ravaged Arcadia. At least a quarter of it was completely decimated under the weight of Bellroc’s molten Titan.
Claire was the shell of a bright and cheery teenage girl that once was.
Their tension burst at 3am on a Saturday.
“Every night it’s later and later, would you even care to look at the time?! …” Ophelia rubs her pulsing forehead between her index finger and thumb.
“Me and your father keep pretending not to notice because… we… we thought maybe you just needed space to process it all. Whenever we tried to comfort you, you pushed us away!”
Claire mutters under her breath, turned away.
“Claire, look at me, damn it! Say anything… please.” Tears well up in the exhausted mother’s eyes.
“...Goodbye Mamá.” Without another glance, Claire disappears into the endless darkness of her shadow portal.
Ophelia crumbles onto her knees, softly sobbing as the first light of dawn creeps into the now eerily quiet living room.
This happened 3 weeks ago. Claire hasn’t returned to the Nuñez family house ever since. Just stumbling around Arcadian streets drowsily, and eating cheap takeout every night.
After all, when her collection was complete Claire had no reason to even leave. This was her escape from harsh reality; why would she ever leave?
Well, she did eat, but only to the point of barely sustaining herself. Claire could spend up to 3 days in the room without any human interaction nowadays.
Now, it's a brisk autumn morning, in the early hours of a typical day in Arcadia; or however ‘typical’ it could be anymore. Claire haphazardly smacks face-first into the asphalt pavement of the newly replaced roadway. These days, she doesn't even care where she portals out to, or if anyone sees her.
If she was hungry, she was getting food. If she needed to go to the toilet or shower, it was in the nearest establishment… no matter how shoddy.
She pulls herself up and brushes off all the leaves that were tangled up in her hair. Then, she takes a surprisingly hefty wallet out of her back pocket, filled to the brim with benjamins.
Thank god I got that gig at FedEx to teleport drop-shipped parcels around. It may be illegal for a mega corp company to dodge shipping costs with my portal magic… and super suspicious how they even knew about my powers…
But hey: it funds my guacamole chipotle runs, and I don't have ever to leave the shadow realm.
How can I complain? It’s better this way.
In earshot, Claire’s thoughts were interrupted by a rather plump and freckled Scottish grandma. She barks from her picketed, gate porch. With a shotgun.
“What thee fuck are yew doing on me front porch, lass?!”
“Holy sheeshkebab!” Claire jumps in fear as she meets the old woman’s steely blue gaze.
What is wrong with this crazy Abuelita?!
“I’m so sorry! I was just leaving, ma'am!”
Claire makes an attempt to book it to Chipotle. It was one of the only fast-food establishments that survived the Titan’s destruction, only two buildings across the street from here.
“Ya dafty besom! Ye better not step a fewt further from me ‘ouse!”
The woman cocks her weapon.
Crap! What am I supposed to do? In the time it takes me to open a portal and jump through, she might shoot me! And if I run, she might be crazy enough to chase me down the street with her loaded gun!
My only option is to… lie. It worked pretty well last time, at the Janus Order.
“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please just don’t shoot, look… I’m a… I’m a delivery gal, haha, yeah! A delivery girl, delivering parcels…”
She raises her hands in the air, so as not to be shot at by the armed grandma.
“... You expect me to believe that shite?”
Fuzzbuckets.
The woman lowers the shotgun to her chest.
“Look lass, I saw ye using some dark magics just now to get on me frontyard…….”
She pauses to fully take in the tired girl now, and notices the sunken eye-bags under her frayed bangs. For a brief moment, a look of sympathy washes over her creased face; but not for too long.
“Run away, have ye? Aye, I’ve been there before.” She maniacally chuckles to herself as she disengages the gun in a flash, popping out a maroon, gold-tipped bullet into one of her wrinkled hands.
“Why don’t ya come in then?”, she says, entering the house with her back turned. She leaves the door gaping open and expects Claire to follow suit.
Claire scoffs. As if! I'm not going within 10 feet of this loco gran—
Something cuts off her line of thought.
…Is that the smell of a warm pie?
When Claire enters the abode, she is met with a charming little dwelling. Not anything like its outside appearance, being a typical American household. Quilts and knitted patterns cover the place from top to bottom. Many bobbles and surprisingly cute crafts like little brass duckies, and plush figures, line cabinets. A hint of cranberry aromatizes the air.
Classic old person smell, Claire reminisces.
That insane woman lives here? No way.
The homey environment is almost dystopian to Claire, who’s just been living in a dingy, damp room by herself for the past month or so. But she could still feel a touch of loneliness in the place. There were no framed pictures of family.
There the granny sits, at the end of a dark oak dinner table with a golden crust strawberry-pie. Claire would have salivated at the sight of it if she wasn't extremely dehydrated. A slice waits for her.
She takes a seat, eyeing the pie with famished eyes.
It’s been quite some time since she’s eaten homemade food. The notion deeply saddens her, but she swats those intrusive thoughts away. There’s pie to be had. One made by an authentic Scottish nana at that.
“...This pie isn’t poisoned, is it?” Claire half-jokes.
“You’ll have to see…”
Claire hesitantly grabs the tiny two-pronged fork to the left of the plate.
Huh… eccentric.
Then, she tears through the jammy pink delight. As the shoveled bits of pie on her strange utensil approach her open mouth, she really hopes it wasn’t poisoned.
……
It’s single-handedly the best food she has ever eaten. After deciding this, she wolfs the entire slice down in 2 seconds flat.
“The recipe’s a winner, aye? I don’t use too much poison, or it’ll run the flavour,” the grandma playfully snarks.
Between mouthfuls of pie, Claire responds absent-mindedly. “Yes, definitely.”
Claire forgets how she even came to be in this house and where she even is. All she remembers is pie. The tin is half full now. It takes a moment…
Ahhh that's right, she shoved a shotgun right in my face before now.
Wait, she's just been watching me eat this pie for the last 10 minutes in silence, and…
How did she know earlier that I’ve run away from home?
She decides to voice these thoughts, but makes sure not to strike a nerve that might just be what pulls the old woman’s trigger finger.
Keep it crispy, Claire…
“...Come to think of it, how'd you know I’m a runaway?”
“It's obvious. Look at yerself.”
While Claire looks down at herself, she only just realizes how much of a mess she looks. Claire internally laments about her girlish toiletries at home.
No, I can’t go back. Not after what I… Anyways, there are bigger fish to fry.
“I mean, I’m grateful that… that you didn’t use that over there on me.”
She shakily points towards the bulky shotgun, laying flatly across the lady’s lap.
“But, if you saw me use my magic… Why'd you invite me into your home? I am a witch, you know.”
The old woman takes a few seconds to think of a response.
“Hmm. Well, usually I’m out on the front garden threatenin’ wee nuisances, runnin’ amuck with me trusty gun, but when I saw ye with that portal business, I thought, ‘Right then, the world’s gone prop’r mad.’ Course, then I realised ye were just a teen aswell.”
Claire can only understand every second word that comes out of the granny’s mouth, but she sort of gets the jist of it. She’s just a sweet nan…
Kinda.
“Anywhoo, witches don't scare me lass, especially not 14 year old ones lookin’ a wee bit peely wally.”
Claire puffs out her cheeks and exclaims, “I'm eighteen!”, before breaking out into a giggle. She doesn’t know what ‘peely wally’ meant, but it sure is a funny phrase.
This is the first time Claire has cracked up in what feels like forever. And who knew? All it took was a crazy Scottish grandma with a few screws loose.
“The youth just get younger ay?” They both chuckle, and for quite some time.
The lonely gals felt a mutual understanding of sorts that went beyond what was spoken between them.
The woman doesn’t know Claire, much less the happenings of a war waged between an underground troll society and god-like deities. She isn’t looking down at Claire either, pitying her for her dead friend or disappeared boyfriend like the others. The two are just existing in the moment. It’s an amazing feeling that Claire forgot long ago. To have fun.
Once the laughing dies down, Claire attempts to slip something in.
“Hah! You’re not going to report me though, right?”
“Oh, I’m definitely reporting ye girlie, hahaha. It’d be irresponsible of me, now wouldn’t it?”
The colour drains from Claire’s face.
On the way to the police station, Claire learnt that the grandma’s name is Athol, and she had no living relatives.
Back when she was still being escorted out of the house, Claire didn’t have it in her to continue running away. She was tired. The police were going to catch her one day, and she couldn’t just keep trying to escape her problems forever, Athol gave her the strength to come to terms with that… in her own weird way.
So, without a fight, Claire had accepted her fate and got in the cop car.
At the moment, she's sitting in a rather uncomfortable plastic chair, awaiting what may happen to her. It wasn’t her first rodeo in a sheriff's interrogation office, and arguably the time in New York had higher stakes.
But, the impending doom that she felt, staring into the door in front of her was like no other. Her mother could barge in any time soon.
“Mi vida! Where have you been this past month?!” she plays in her head.
Claire doesn’t have the stomach to tell her the details of the life she had been living up until now. It was shameful. Day in and day out, rotting in that room alone, in the company of distant memories. Long-gone memories.
There was nothing more that Claire wanted to do right now than retreat back there, back to Jim and Toby who would embrace her in the warmth of open arms.
No. I must face this, head on. They’re not real. Not… anymore.
The sound of a door swinging open causes her heart to sink to her stomach. It feels like she could cough up a lung. Claire’s eyes shut, sealed tighter than the vacuum of a submarine. She can't face this head on. She was wrong.
There is only the sound of clacking heels and the screeching of the other plastic chair across from her, and then… just the drip of a broken AC. Anticipation almost kills her.
The person slams into their seat. Claire is afraid, but finds it somewhere within herself to pry open her eyelids. She isn’t ready to face her mom, but she has to be.
The woman before her is very young, with slicked, long black hair, and an incredibly good sense of style, even in the dull attire of an Arcadia Oaks police uniform. A lot of chic accessories don the navy dress-shirt. There, pinned onto her left breastpocket is a badge.
Mary Wang.
“Claire! Using your shadow portal magic in front of an elderly woman, and being brought into questioning… this is how I meet you after a month of no contact?”
Mary throws her hands in the air dramatically “ —standing in front of her front porch at five in the morning?! What were you thinking?”
Claire reclines in her seat, fiddling with the splinters poking out of the wooden table.
“Well–”, she’s cut off.
“Me and Darce have been worried sick about you! Between working shifts at the police department, and her helping out in Trollmarket with the Warhammer stuff… Have you thought about your parents? They’ve been calling the station non-stop, scared about what’s happened to their daughter!”
Claire cringes at that last sentence, because she has thought about that. For almost all waking moments of her day. No matter how much she wanted to drown out the last words she said to Ophelia, she just couldn’t. All she can think about now is her parents. Maybe that's why she defeatedly marched into detainment the first chance she got.
Then, Claire processes the first part of Mary’s statement.
Darcy was using Toby’s Warhammer? Helping out Trollmarket, that’s where she was?
A deep, burning humiliation fills Claire from the inside out.
And here I thought, Darce was also retreating away from people who just couldn’t understand how it felt, when, all this time she was working hard to help Trollmarket without its Trollhunter… or wingman.
She disgusts herself.
What the hell have I been doing this past month?!
Mary runs her fingers through her long hair, trying to calm herself, eventually settling down in her seat, meeting Claire at eye level. She waits patiently for a reply this time.
Claire can't handle even looking at her best friend. Her gaze darts away frantically from the kindness in Mary’s eyes. Even though she wants to explain herself, and wants to come clean, the words wouldn’t leave her mouth.
“Look…”, the officer releases a deep sigh.
“I get that, well, with Jim not around anymore, things are tough. But you have to understand that this solo-act going on here can’t continue… You’re going to destroy yourself, Claire.”
Claire’s heard these words countless times before. They’ve been run into the ground by her other companions; Blinky, Douxie, and most of all, her parents, who always repeated the same phrases back to her when she was still in contact with them.
But for some reason, as Mary says it now, it’s like a floodgate opens in Claire’s heart.
“And what the hell would you know about losing a loved one?! How could you ‘get’ anything?!”
Claire slams her fisted hands on the desk with full-force.
She suddenly clasps her mouth, ashamed for cursing out one of the few people in this world that still cares for her. Mary; her closest friend since the very first day of freshman year, that stuck with her through all of this.
What are you doing, Claire?
Sinking deep into the palms of her face, and reducing herself, Claire doesn’t dare look back up.
For what feels like a millenia, only silence fills the room, its AC back again with the incessant dripping.
drip. drip. drip.
…
“Y’know, Darce would probably love to see you right now,” Mary says. Seemingly to lighten the mood,
but the thought of that makes Claire want to hurl. Speaking to Darcy or her mom is probably the last thing she wants at the moment. How could she even face them after all this time?
She doesn’t reply to Mary again, retreating back into the chair even more.
This pushes Mary over the edge.
“What, do you think it was easy for us? Huh? For me? Both of my best friends left! This town was in shambles after the incident, and I was left picking up the pieces with Mr. Scott. Us, Claire… just us! No one did a goddamn thing!”
Tears surge out of Mary’s eyes. She gets out of her chair and begins pacing.
“You think you’re the only one with problems in Arcadia?! My boyfriend’s mom is paralyzed from the waist down now! That’s why I even took up this job! Half the damn town is either dead, or in the hospitals of nearby towns that haven’t already been wrecked!”
Mascara runs down her piercing gaze, now tearing into Claire's shell-shocked expression.
“Me, Detective Scott, Krel and your mom were holding down the fort back here while Darce took the grown ass responsibility of helping out what’s left of Trollmarket, all on her own! And where were you Claire? Where the fuck were you? You have these amazing powers, but you won’t even fucking use them!”
Claire is at a loss for words. Her hands dropped from her face a long time ago.
At this point, Mary can feel her heart beating through her ears, and notices her own hyperventilated breathing. She leans against the nearby wall, clasping her chest.
“Shit…”
Slowly, Mary makes her way back to the skewed chair and slumps over. In the pocket of her officer's coat, she retrieves a pack of cigarettes, with less than a third left, followed by a lighter, on it an etched on graphic. It’s the Mama skull logo.
Nostalgia floods Claire, but not as much as shame does.
This is what they’ve been doing while I…
Mary flicks the lighter on, which tinges the end of the tobacco. She takes a big puff, dulling the blade of her antsy expression.
“It wasn't supposed to go like this,” Mary exhales a plume of smoke and rests her face atop her elbows on the desk, looking sideways at the ticking clock in the corner of the room.
“I, I–..... I’m sorry Mary.” The pent up tears that Claire had tried so hard to hold back now rush out, rolling down her cheeks.
For the first time during the entire interrogation the girls look straight into each other. Claire notices the dark circles under Mary’s eyes. They look a lot like hers.
These past 4 months didn’t fare well for either of them, clearly.
Mary rubs off the run-down mascara from her cheeks, using the sleeves of her shirt.
“Oh Clairebear… I- I didn’t mean to dump all that crap about the town or my problems on you because… you were suffering too! And– and I knew that… I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have ever done that—”,
Claire is full-on crying. Mary too. Rubbing off her mascara just before was futile.
“No Mare! you’re right. I’ve — I’ve been terrible this past month… hurting the people closest to me, hurting my family... I didn’t even know about your boyfriend’s mom, or Darcy’s whereabouts. All I’ve been thinking about was just me! There’s so much good I could have done in these past 4 months, so many people I could have helped but I just… didn’t!”
Her voice cracks under the weight of the words. It takes a few seconds for Claire to regather herself and arrange her line of thinking. Mary eagerly awaits. Claire’s finally opened up.
“There have been so many times that I’d have these horrible thoughts cross my mind, awful thoughts. There were nights where I'd think to myself that; if I knew I would have stayed here alone, I would have pulled him back. Is that selfish of me? To prevent him from living a wonderful life with Tobes? These thoughts ate me alive, Mare!”
Between sniffles and hysteric panting Claire clambers to say: “If- If I were you, I would have given up on me!”
In a flash, Mary jumps out of her chair, onto the table and squeezes the girl in a warm embrace, letting out a dry laugh.
“Hah, if I gave up on you, who would I have left!? Steve? Never in a thousand years would I ever coincide with that idiot.”
They both snigger through frenzied crying and shallow breaths.
“And as much as I talk to my parents or my partner they could… well, they could never understand what it’s like to be on the other side of this town! It’s all classified information, but you know what I mean, Clairebear! You and Darce are all I’ve got. How could I give up on you!?”
The hug that they wrap themselves in is the tightest hug either of them had ever received, but surprisingly it doesn’t feel suffocating. It’s releasing. All of the suppressed emotion that resided deep inside them after the Arcane Order’s descent onto the town is wrung out of them.
For once in these past four months, Claire feels like herself. She has the strength to live again.
Mary shouts into the ceiling as she leaps onto the table. “We’re gonna get through this together. You, me and Darcy. We can move on from that day, and help the people of Arcadia out, OK?!”
It’s like a corny scene taken right out of the pages of a High School Musical script.
“O—kayyyy!!” Claire, invigorated by her friend, joins her atop the table and screams as loud as possible into the ‘sky’ as well. Even now, the two were still the exact same dorks from freshman year. Nothing had changed.
Both the girls flopped on the table, laying spread-eagle across the knotty wood table, which barely fit the both of them. All of the exhaustion and emotional fatigue that culminated over the past month hit them like a semi-truck.
“Ha…what a month we’ve had, huh?”
“Ewwwww, Clairebear! You’re so sappy…”
“You cannot say that after jumping onto a table and screaming into the air like a shonen protag…”
“Well, look who joined me? Get off your high horse!” Mary giggles.
“Oh, if only Darce was here… The moment would be perfect.”
“Yeah. Too bad she's just a phone call away!” Mary replies in a tongue-and-cheek fashion.
“OH MY GOSH! We should tota—”,
A hot blue flash bursts from the center of the ceiling above the two girls. It swirled in strange patterns, light flexed and glinted across the dimly lit room, dancing across their faces. A voice materializes itself but all the two could hear was static jargon and deep groans.
They both hug each other, again on the surface of the table, but this time it's from pure, unadulterated fear. So, in truth, it’s less of a ‘hug’, and more of a ‘clinging to each other for dear life.’
“AHHHHHHHHH?!!??!?!?!?!”