In the Cold Morning Light (And Among the Red Snow)
If he understood anything, it was that some days were not meant for him.
Christmas was perfect, but he had to be careful. He couldn't clog up the streets with snow on New Year's for fear of accidents. No snow on Thanksgiving, even in New York. He had a system and he stuck to it.
So that meant no snow on Easter Day.
The skies had been dangerous these past few years. The ground even more so. He worked hard to thaw his own snow on those sacred, important days that no one wanted him, and he'd been so far successful.
And then there was a fight.
He hadn't even known for half the morning. Burgess was nearly unthawed, he was quite proud of his work, but then he realized he needed to get to town. Why walk when you could fly?
He preferred North's smooth, cool pattern. The two of them knew their way around and about the buildings, every alleyway and nook and cranny. So you could imagine how bothered he was when East picked him up.
"Oh, ey, East?"
What.
"Where's, um, where's North?"
Am I not good enough for you, Jack?
He decided not to push her with his usual sarcasm and remained silent the rest of the way. Clearly she and West were at each other's throats again. This was a matter better left silent.
She dropped him off at an intersection. It was two in the morning and no one was out. He thanked her, furrowing his brows as he stared at the air around him, taking a hesitant step forward.
You are such an ass!
As are you!
Why? Why the hell would you do that?
Because I could!
"Um, guys?" Jack took another stronger step forward, planning on getting in-between the two of them. Let's just say, this did not go as planned.
You are such an IDIOT!
North, you're fighting me over nothing! Nothing!
You know what you did and how wrong it was!
"Guys…!" Jack yelled. Their wings were swirling, clouds were forming, and snow was falling. It the beginning of what he, the Maker, had been trying to prevent. A blizzard.
South, seriously, what were you THINKING? Just, just—
You are overreacting!
"I would say you both are!" he screamed as he was flung about. He was the middle man with no control, and the buildings were a bit too close for his liking. "Please stop!"
You absolute FUCKER!
And with that, the torment began. The opposites whipped around him, fighting for control, for dominance. Over what, he never knew, he never asked.
South worked him into a wall, effectively smashing a rib. He groaned, vision wavering from the pain. He took a breath in time for the bricks opposite from the residence, cracking his side against its corner. He screamed then, curling in on himself and placing his arms over his head, scared out of his mind. And Jack was never scared.
The snow piled quickly and effectively, burying the streets and houses and cars and mailboxes (and so much more) in more than twenty feet of snow. Poles crashed into him, as did brick and wood and glass. Pain became mandatory. Shock disappeared. Dominance was never sided.
Eventually, he was thrown from the storm. His lightweight body landed in the snow heavily, resting on the top like that of a feather. He knew the instant he landed he was broken. He also knew his face was unmarked, unblemished, because no one could hurt his innocence.
He stood shakily. His feet were bleeding from the traction he'd never gotten from the buildings. His had no palms, and his chest was a mangled mess. He didn't know how he would heal. He did know the scars he'd have.
And then it got worse.
He stumbled as the ground shifted, eyes wide and filled with pain. A hole appeared with an angry mammal arriving out of it. It's green eyes were dark, ears erect, stance animalistic.
"You bloody dongo!"
Jack winced, a pleading look entering his blue orbs. "I-I didn't, this isn't—"
"Like hell it isn't!" Aster growled, taking a step forward. "Do you know what day it is?"
"E-Easter Day."
"Yes, yes it is! Good job," another hop, the balance of paws on snow incredible, "and do you know what you've just done?"
"I haven't—"
"Yes, yes you have! You are Jack Frost, Bringer and Maker of all things winter, and you have just created a blizzard on Easter Day! How are the children supposed to find my eggs, huh? How are they supposed to get out their front doors?"
"Bunny, I didn't—"
"There is no 'you didn't do it', because there is no other explanation. You've just cost me, Frost." They were nose to nose now. A fierce green into an innocent blue. Danger onto reality.
And then his fist was wrapped in Jack's sweatshirt, and the Bringer of Snow was dangling off the ground, gasping for breath and out of pain. And then he was being shook, roughly, rude, harsh, dangerously close to the pale white neck.
"You've ruined me!"
And then there was a whimper, a whimper that set Aster off. His shaking came to a halt immediately, and his eyes widened. His hand released the blue material as it fell to the ground with the brown and the white white white white, and he took his first step back.
Jack landed on his feet, falling to the ground with his arms around his chest and tears running down his cheeks. Aster could see the perfect red footprints upon the snow, the small droplets of it, the pools of it, the streams running down his legs and staining his shirt—
Aster could see the blood, all the blood, and he felt shame, because no one, no matter how insane they are, would create a monster from nature's power and hurt himself in the process.
Aster rushed forward, green eyes wide and guilty and apologetic. He slid next to the boy, sinking into the snow ever-so-lightly, raising his arms as if he would drop the world. "Oh, God, Jack. Lemme—"
"Get away from me." He didn't sound threatening when he said it. He sounded scared and lost and downright powerful. He sounded like he was the one who carried the world, who'd seen too much, who'd trusted too much.
Bunny's ears drooped. "Jack, you're hurt—"
"You didn't listen," he murmured, rising and backing away. East was here now. She was screaming, and if she were human, there'd be an ocean of tears. "No one ever listens."
He was carried away, high above the storm, safe and sound. Bunny was knelt, not looking up, but at the white and the red marks that stained it.
The picture was engraved, and he would never forget, not as the storm ended. Not as North and South pulled away, surveying their destruction, seeing the red on white. Not as parents on the highest floors looked down, blue and green and hazel and brown and black irises expanding in horror and annoyance and surprise. Not as the streetlights flickered off.
Not as the Moon cried.
The four had a meeting to celebrate Easter. It was traditional and involved a lot of eggnog and scotch and candy (with the disapproval of Tooth).
They sat at a table, talking. Nick shook his head as he watched the news on their tiny T.V. "Who would've thought? Thought the boy was smarter than that. A blizzard on Easter Day; bah."
Sandy remained silent and neutral.
Tooth clicked her tongue. "Absolutely ludicrous. I mean, c'mon, he's been good about it the past few years—twenty years, in fact—why would he even think about it now? And thirty feet of snow! By God!"
Aster stared at the T.V. as the two Guardians complained. He saw the red that wasn't there. He saw the bloody footprints and handprints that weren't there.
He slid his chair back and left, ignoring the strange looks his three comrades were giving him. He sat in the guest room down the hall, staring at the clear night. The Clear Night.
He missed the snow. He missed the unique and intricate designs that appeared from the Heavens, from the clouds, from the Winds, from Jack Frost. He missed how it brought life and death, light and dark, red and white.
He loved the horror, the beauty it created.
He screamed a long scream, squeezing his eyes shut. Clasping his ears, rolling into a ball.
Aster had taken it all away.