Trollhunters: The Short Stories

The War on the Inside

Summary: Jim wasn't fine, not like he said he was. His captivity in the Darklands hadn't left him unscathed as his team thought. Unfortunately, Steve doesn't let Jim walk free after blaming him for stealing the spotlight, leading to Toby admitting a promise he kept to himself.

Rating: T - for mentions of PTSD

Characters: Jim, Toby, Claire, Steve

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Jim swallowed as he stared down the angered look Gunmar, his heart beating wildly beneath his chest as every ounce of him grew tense. He dared not to show the deadly troll the dear he craved, however, Jim had tried so hard to remain strong, but his friends weren't coming.

They never came.

Nomura had beaten him and had prepared him for the blow that Gunmar would give. He crawled frantically as Gunmar slowly stalked up on his prey, Jim gasping as he felt the jagged stone through his armor, desperately clawing for an exit.

"You're mine, boy." The deep, guttural voice of Gunmar echoed, Jim's blood running cold and it seemed his body refused to move, locking him in place as he begged to leave. He would have cried for help if it wasn't for the fact he couldn't find his voice and how raw his throat had been.

Gunmar raised his sword, leveling it above Jim's head, and the Trollhunter was unsure if he would lose his life, or his control, giving into Gunmar's power and becoming a weapon against his friends.

Jim heaved, staring up helplessly, wishing he had said his goodbyes to his mother, kissed Claire, and shown Toby how much he cared. Yet, he hadn't, only fleeing to the Darklands. The guilt, the regret, and the feeling of loneliness had poured through him, just as the sword had come rushing down.

Jim sprang forward, eyes ripping open as his breath was fast and rigged, heart pounding as beads of sweat rushed from his hairline. His hand shakily moved to his heart, then toward his head, cradling it as he struggled to catch his breath.

It was sudden, and despite being safely tucked in his room, free, the tears pooled in his eyes, body shook with the sobs as he curled into himself. He tightly bound his hand into a fist, holding it close to his chest as the whimpers escaped him.

He didn't try to stay silent as he cried, his mother was already gone. His breath was shaky, and his blurry sight landed on the clock, the numbers seeming to multiply as he struggled. It was two in the morning and the dread had fully set it.

His friends were asleep, he couldn't bug them, he just couldn't. Swallowing as the tears continued to fall, Jim scurried into the corner, pressing himself against the wall and pulling the blanket over his lanky form.

He couldn't sleep, curling into himself, and stared at the door, as if it would rip open, revealing Gunmar with a wicked grin, ready to finish the job he never completed.

With fear, Jim kept himself pressed, giving him distance between himself and the door, the rest of his night was spent as gut-wrenching sobs that tore at his chest, body wracked with an onslaught of raging emotions.

And as if he was nothing more than a child, he was left alone, chin trembling.

—

Claire lay awake, glancing at the clock. She let out a sigh and flipped over in her bed. She struggled to get some sleep, which was strange. They had saved Jim, he was alive, he was here.

And yet, so many more worrisome thoughts crossed her mind, no matter how much she tried to ignore them. Was Gunmar free?

But most importantly, how was Jim?