i guess if you can't tell, i'm pretty terrible with updating things. but because this has literally been waiting in my drafts to be uploaded for quite a while now, i thought i would post it up. i haven't forgotten about my other stories-i'm just really swamped like... all the time. i actually have an exam today HAHA idk why i'm focusing on this instead. wellpsss.
summary: on his twenty-first birthday, his life changes forever when both his parents die in a car accident, and he's appointed as his sister's legal guardian
chapter 1
his twenty-first birthday
The day he turns twenty-one is the biggest turning point of his life.
It's only supposed to be a party-a party of drinks and loud music and friends and fun, of slovenly nights and mornings you can't remember. Just a party. Maybe the biggest party. The most remembered-but not in the way wanted.
"Wooh! Twenty-one!" he shouts in a series of segmented slurs. He sloppily pours out a series of shots, tilting the glass bottle until the liquor spills across rows of glasses and plastic countertop. He slams it back against the counter as he shouts for everyone to grab a shot glass. It's his twenty-first: the one to commemorate it all. "Shot? Shot? Everyone? Ready?"
"How many are you at?" Hiccup slurs out as he grabs one for himself and one for his girlfriend. His arm takes her in closer although the amount of people in their small apartment is already pushing them together. The two clink shot glasses before turning their attention to Jack.
"Twenty-one!"
"To twenty-one!" Hiccup turns to everyone. "It's his twenty-first shot! Everyone take a shot!"
The crowd cheers, the collateral noise louder than the blasting bass.
Merida spots her best friend amongst the crowd, her blonde hair peeking out from underneath the mass of dark colors and flashing lights. She lifts her hand and signals to the shot glass. "Punz!"
Rapunzel turns at the sound of her name, her eyes searching for the source of the Scottish twang. When she spots her, she makes her way through the crowd, shoving aside drunk people and stepping between toes to get to her destination. She feels hands feel her up from behind and grimaces. Her tiny hands gently peel sticky fingers away as she pushes herself further through the crowd. When she arrives, Merida grabs her by the arm and pulls her into a hug.
The smell of alcohol envelops her like a blanket. Merida's breath smells sweetly blanched, whiffing by her as she giddily laughs and pulls away. She tugs on her pale arm and takes her to the counter full of shots, picking one up as an offering. "Where have you been? You disappeared earlier!"
Rapunzel smiles. "I went to the bathroom. Where have you been?"
"Celebrating Jack's twenty-first shot! Jack's twenty-one! Have you met Jack yet? Thanks for being my designated driver by the way," Merida says, her words tumbling incoherently out of her mouth.
"Um—we've met briefly," Rapunzel laughs as she holds a steady hand up for her friend.
"Did you want a shot?"
"No, that's okay," Rapunzel declines politely, holding the rim with the tips of her fingers and placing it back on the counter. She's designated driver, after all. She smiles as she watches Merida scream at the prospect of another shot and another clink, her eyes scanning the crowd of faces that are quite unfamiliar to her.
"Rapunzel, right?"
She turns her head to the side, catches sight of the slightly familiar white grin and blue eyes. His words are slightly garbled and incomprehensive even though he's only said a whole of two words to her. Still, even that is a mess in his mouth, one that he is having trouble swallowing. Despite this, she's surprised he even remembers her name. They've only ever talked on occasion.
She smiles. "Hi, Jack. Happy birthday."
"Take a shot for me! It's my birthday! I'm twenty-one," he slurs as he takes her by the shoulder, squeezing. He presses a slovenly kiss against her forehead. She flushes, but she knows with this drunken stranger, there is no meaning of intimacy behind something so sloppy.
"So I've noticed," she laughs. "But no thanks."
He squeezes her shoulder. "That's alright. Hey, hey! You can cheer me on without drinking! Everyone! Shot? Are you guys ready for a shot?"
Rapunzel watches silently underneath his soft grip as screams are called out, congratulatory birthday salutations, and spouts of laughter. It is a noisy mixture of all sorts of sounds and somewhere in there, she can hear a meek attempt at a birthday song, and she laughs along because it is his birthday, and there is not much else to do. Her eyes follow their hands up in the air to the clink of the glass against the counter before everyone downs the shot, slamming the glass back onto the plastic.
Then he gets the phone call.
His hand reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. Rapunzel can feel his heavy weight on her shoulder, yet for some reason, she doesn't quite mind. Instead, she helps him keep himself steady as he leans on her for mild support.
As he answers, he knocks his head against hers, a small tap, a grin soliciting between his lips. She flushes but can only smile in response. His breath smells sweet like alcohol, a scent she has been adjusting to since she's gotten there.
His voice is low when he answers. "Hello?"
It is in that split second that she watches Jack sober up immediately, the merriness in his eyes and the smile on his lips dissipating with each passing second. His back straightens up, his fingers pressing tightly against his phone, white with pressure.
"Jack? Are you okay?" she can't help but ask.
He shuts his eyes, his hand reaching out to her for support, gripping her shoulder. Then, "I'm sorry—you have to… you have to have the wrong number—they can't…" He pauses. Then quietly, she almost doesn't hear him, "I'll… Yeah. I'll be there."
He hangs up his phone. His eyes glaze over hers for a minute, and she doesn't know what to do, where to put her eyes, her body, if he even wants her standing there. Then, "Rapunzel… you're sober, right?"
She nods slowly.
"Would it… would it be too much of a hassle to ask you… to drive me somewhere?"
Before she can think twice, her keys are in her hands, and the two are out the door.
on twenty-first street and nueces drive
Rapunzel watches from inside her car, where the warmth from the running engine layers around her tiny body. Her eyes follow his pale skin, bleached against the darkness, splattered with flashes of red and blue. He stands awkwardly with his hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes closed momentarily, soaking in the cool, piercing wind and letting it sober his twenty-one shots of alcohol.
The drive in the car was slightly off, rendering tense spurts of silence. During the ride, he had pressed his forehead against the windowpane, his breathing shallow, his fists clenching. She notices but doesn't say a word, doesn't need to know what he needs, why they had ditched the party, only knows that he must reach his destination as soon as possible.
Jack had told Hiccup he had to leave, welcomed Merida to stay the night since he was taking her designated driver away.
The party went on.
Nothing more had been said.
The implication to Hiccup was that the two were going to hit it off.
It was anything but.
Rapunzel rolls down her window just slightly, breathing in the breath of cool air as it swishes by her. The mixture of her car's engine and the wind outside inside her tiny car sends a shiver down her spine, and she pulls her sleeves closer to her hands, wrapping the ends around her fingers. Her head leans back against the seat, turns to the side, continues to watch.
Red and blue dances merrily around her, but it is anything but merry. She doesn't quite understand what's going on, only knows that there has been a major car accident. She had spotted it before she had spotted the prideful colors, one car burned to its core, leaving only metal framework in its remains.
He doesn't say anything about it, merely leaves the car and tells her to stay put.
She doesn't ask.
It is not her business to know.
Her eyes follow him as he trails behind an officer to an ambulance where a small girl sits. She is just barely injured, cuts along the calves of her legs and red splotches along the edge of her face. Jack doesn't waste a second, pulls her into a tight hug, careful to avoid all injuries. He does not cry, only strokes her hair lovingly as she falls into his arms.
He comes back twelve minutes later, the girl trailing behind him, grip tightening on his.
She had fallen asleep within that time frame and jerks herself awake when the door opens, allowing the cool wind to brush violently against her.
"Hi," she whispers softly.
He gives her a small smile, but she knows it means nothing. Not there. Not now. "This is my sister. Emma, this is Rapunzel."
The girl waves, but her eyes are dead, weary, tired. Cuts run along the side of her face and across her legs, skin colored wraps bandaged across her body, her pallid skin colored with a palette of purple and blues. She wants to ask how she is, but knows the answer before she speaks. The girl is the only one in the car and not needed at the hospital. That, alone, should be enough to give her the story of the night.
So Rapunzel only nods. She doesn't make an effort to speak as Emma scoots herself in the backseat, buckling in. There is no need for small talk. There is no want for it either.
Jack curses as he looks at the time. It is two thirty in the morning, and he knows the party is still raging on at home. The closest place is his parents', but he refuses to go there, not after the verdict of the night.
"My place is open," Rapunzel offers. She's not sure if he'll take it or if he'd rather just pay for a hotel room. This offer of kindness from a stranger—she wonders if he thinks it will be worth it to open his life so easily to hers. But she has already witnessed half of it. She does not mind seeing the rest. "Merida is at… yours. Emma can take my room."
Jack hesitates to answer. But when he sees the fatigue in his sister's eyes, he knows he should not decline.
"Okay," he says softly. His eyes meet hers. "Thanks."
grand marc apartment, apt #210
"It's a little messy," she apologizes as she opens the door to let them in, her mind raking through her thoughts to see if there is anything she needs to clear out of sight. But she can't think of a single thing as she turns the knob. Shoot. Oh, well, she decides. If Jack's let her seen a small portion of his personal life, there is nothing more personal she can offer in comparison.
"It's fine," he says, his little sister's sleepy body curled in his arms. "Where is your room?"
"Down the hall, first door on the right."
When he emerges from the hall, she offers him a cup of coffee. "I think you need it."
He takes it without saying a word but doesn't move to find room for himself. Instead, he stands, watching as she bustles back and forth to find blankets and pillows to offer him, to set up a place for him to sleep on the futon in the living room. The warmth emanating from the porcelain cup fills his body, but a chill still resounds. He has no idea what he is doing there, in this stranger's house on his twenty-first birthday with his little sister in the other room.
How had… things gotten so out of hand?
He stops himself, reminds himself that this is not the time and place to think about it. He's not ready for tears—not in front of her. Not in front of anyone.
"Do you need to shower?"
Jack blinks. Forgets he is not alone for a second. Forgets what she had even asked. "What?"
She smiles. "Would you like to shower? You must feel a little gross. I think I have a shirt you can borrow or something—school shirts, so I'm sure you can fit into them."
He's not quite in the mood to dictate his actions. So he lets her do it for him. "Sure," he says, shrugging, before he sets down his cup of coffee.
The steam in the bathroom clears his mind a little bit. The warm water running down his body is soothing, cleansing him of sticky liquor and sweat that has been sitting there since the phone call despite the fact that the weather is far from hot and humid. Images flash through his mind as he leans his naked body against the cold tile—red and blue, smoldering smoke, his sister's tear-stained face.
"Are you her relative? Jack Frost?" the officer asks when he sees him. "I'm Officer Patterson. We spoke on the phone."
"Yes, that's me." He stops short. "And… what you said about my parents—"
Jack stops speaking the minute he sees the change in the man's face. A face of pity, of sorrow for the children who have lost more than they should have in just a few seconds. "I'll need you to identify their bodies, but… I'm sorry, kid. It was instantaneous."
He doesn't need the man to say sorry. He doesn't need the man to say anything.
When he emerges from the bathroom, Rapunzel is sitting on the futon, dozing off. She has cleaned herself up though there was probably not much to clean off to begin with. Her hair is wet, a towel wrapped around her neck to avoid it from soaking through her clothes. He wonders why she's been as nice to him as she has been—but stops because it doesn't matter the reason. He's just thankful she had been there sober while he was only starting to sober up himself.
"Rapunzel," he says gently as he knocks her on the head.
Her eyelids flutter before she jerks herself upward. "Sorry."
He laughs. He's amazed he can even laugh. "Don't be sorry. Where are you sleeping?"
"I'm—" she stops, pauses as she scrunches her tired eyes together. He can tell she hasn't thought about this, has only thought about his and his sister's comfort but not herself. He can't help but feel quite gifted, for having someone conveniently around who is so giving without asking for much in return. She laughs. "It doesn't matter, I guess. I don't… think Merida would mind me sleeping in her bed… but I guess I'd prefer permission…"
"Take the futon—I can sleep on the floor."
Her eyes grow wide. "No. You're the guest. I would never do that."
"Rapunzel—"
"Even if you try to argue with me, I would still sleep on the floor. It's fine, Jack. Take the futon. You need it more than I do, I think…" her voice is soft as she averts her eyes. Then she stands up abruptly, brushes herself off, and gives him a weak smile before heading to the hallway. "It's fine."
He's silent as he watches her walk away, knows that arguing is quite futile. "Thanks," he says suddenly. Because he realizes he has not offered enough for everything she has done for him.
She turns. "It's just a futon."
He smiles, shakes his head. "For… everything, Rapunzel. You know you didn't have to help me at all—"
She laughs softly. "What are you talking about? Don't talk like that. It's what anyone would do."
"But—"
"Jack, stop," she says, her voice low and comforting. She offers him a small smile, wraps her arms around herself tightly, her bright eyes watching him under fatigued lids. "It's the right thing for any decent human to do. I wasn't going to let you go drunk or not have a place to stay for the night. So don't worry about it. Worry about yourself first. Please. I'll be in Mer's room, so… if you need me, at all, don't hesitate. I'm here. Even if… you just need to talk to anyone. I'm here."
He's tense when she turns her back on him and retreats into her roommate's room. He unclenches his fist, hadn't even realized how nervous and frightened he'd been hearing her talk like that, an offering of comfort when he doesn't know what comfort even is. But he is thankful she won't ask any questions because he knows he's not ready for that.
Honestly, he's not ready for anything.
He's only twenty-one.
He sits down and thinks that one again.
Only twenty-one.
Just twenty-one.
How did life get so complicated... so quickly?
"Fuck," he whistles lowly to himself before settling himself on the futon. Fuck. Fuck is right.