A gift for some friends, as well as an apology for last week's late chapter. Hope you enjoy! Songs this story was written to: How To Save A Life by The Fray; One Republic Medley by The Royal Sons ft. Kurt; Wake Me Up by Ed Sheeran; and Echo by Jason Walker. ALL OF THE SAD AND SWEET MUSIC.

Sleep hath its own world,

And a wide realm of wild reality.

-Lord Byron, The Dream, 1816

Awake:

Aster entered his bedroom, exhausted and more than ready for a good week or two of rest. He plopped onto his nest, too tired to care about covering himself properly. This year's Easter had been a nightmare of close calls and deadlines, and the bloody blizzard in Burgess hadn't helped in any way.

Aster's nose twitched thoughtfully as he snuggled down into a thick pillow, his eyelids starting to droop even as his curiosity presented itself to his barely conscious mind.

It was the oddest thing, though. He'd been crossing the frozen lake in Burgess, grumbling about the blizzard, when something had brushed against his core. Something cold. Something lonely.

Something scared.

Aster shook the thoughts away with a comfortable sigh. Oh well. He'd probably just been so tired from all the other things that had nearly gone very wrong that he'd imagined it. He had other things to worry about at the moment. Sleep, for one.

Yes, he decided. Sleep sounded very nice right now.

His eyes closed, and Aster did just that.

Asleep:

"Who are you?"

Aster blinked. He looked around, trying to blink the light from his eyes, and realizing that he couldn't because the light was coming from the snow that covered the ground in the icy landscape he found himself in. Frozen hills of ice were scattered in the distance, and a sharp, bitter wind whipped at his fur. He should have been freezing, but oddly enough, he wasn't.

That was when he realized he was dreaming.

"Who are you?"

The voice came again, cautious and curious. Aster turned around, and came face to face with a young man with hair like frost and eyes like the sky. A thick brown cloak draped across shoulders clad in a thin white shirt. Skinny legs were wrapped in thick brown leggings, with feet bare on the snow. The boy was wide eyed, and flinched back when Aster stepped forward.

The boy crossed a crooked staff in front of his chest, and when he breathed it came in mists. "I said, who are you?" the boy repeated desperately.

Aster held his hands up to show he meant no harm. "E. Aster Bunnymund."

The boy bit his pale lips, and as Aster watched he sensed a seed of hope sprout from him. The wind died down, and the frozen world was suddenly very quiet.

"Who are you?" Aster asked in return. It was eerie how his voice echoed.

The boy's knuckles tightened on his staff, but eventually loosened as the hope became a little stronger. "Jack," he answered. "Jack Frost."

"Well Jack Frost," Aster held his hand out slowly, "it's nice to meet you."

Jack stared at Aster's hand like it was a foreign thing. Aster nearly pulled it back until Jack haltingly let go of the staff with one hand, and reached for Aster's. Jack's hand was cold, his fingers slim and frighteningly breakable in Aster's grip. When they shook, he was careful not to grip the other too hard.

"It's nice to meet you, too," Jack said quietly. But for all that his voice was quiet, Jack's smile was loud, saying the things his voice would not. And right then, it was saying more than Aster could have hoped to comprehend.

Awake:

Aster's eyes opened slowly, chasing away the hazy fog of sleep. As he drifted into wakefulness, Aster rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

What an odd dream. It had felt so different from his other dreams, and even his nightmares.

Aster sat up, stretching his arms over his head. He had work to do, and it had been pleasant enough he supposed. How interesting of his mind to create such a character, though. Jack Frost. He'd never heard of such a name.

As he climbed out of his nest, Aster made a mental list of the many things he had to do get a head start on next Easter, the dream already pushed aside.

(But the image of blue eyes and a loud smile on a lonely field of white would remain lingering in the back of his mind for weeks to come.)

Asleep:

This was not his nest.

Aster blinked against the bright light of the snow. He'd just finished his Easter rounds, and gone to bed. He looked around, and was overcome with a sense of familiarity. He'd been here before. One year ago to the day. Only this time there was no bitter wind to greet him. There seemed to be fewer frozen hills of ice as well.

"It's you."

He turned around, and was greeted by bright blue eyes and a loud smile.

"I remember you," Aster murmured.

Jack shifted from foot to foot, spinning his staff in his palms nervously. "I remember you, too."

Aster found Jack's nervousness strangely endearing, and a corner of his mouth pulled back in a lopsided grin. He tipped his head with a chuckle. "Well that's good, then." He sat in the snow, grateful that, like last year, he couldn't feel the cold. "What've you been up to since last year, Jack?"

Jack smoothly crossed his legs under him and sat across from Aster in a motion that was almost weightless in its gracefulness, setting his staff across his thighs. Jack smiled his loud smile, his eyes scrunching at the corners with its size. "Not much. Just...been here, I guess." He gestured to the emptiness of the landscape.

"Sounds a bit boring," Aster pointed out. He'd have hated to be stuck in one place. He sympathized, even if Jack was just a figment of his imagination. In fact, he was probably being so open and calm with the other because Jack was just a dream.

Jack shrugged, and looked away. "It's what it is."

"Maybe you should spruce the place up a bit." Aster was only half-joking. "Build a house or somethin'."

Jack laughed, and it vibrated through Aster's bones like the beats of a drum. The boy leaned forward, a sly smirk on his pale lips. "I'm not sure about a house, but you know what I could do to make this place feel more lived in?"

"What?"

"This!"

Moments later Aster was flat on his back, a snowball in his face. A loud laugh echoed through the wide expanse of the frozen world, and Aster sat up in time to watch Jack finish scrambling to his feet. Jack ran off, another snowball already in hand. Jack looked over his shoulder at Aster, smiling with his entire face. "Come on, Aster! Play with me! We'll mess up the snow and make it feel less…perfect."

Aster felt a wave of good humor overcome him. Well, it was just a dream, after all, and he couldn't feel the cold here like he would in the real world. What was the harm in a bit of fun?

"Oh, watch out." Aster pinned playful eyes on Jack, scooping up snow to pack into a ball. "You don't wanna challenge the Easter Bunny, Jackie."

Jack's answer was a ringing laugh.

They ran all over the frozen world Jack inhabited, mucking up the pristine white snow. They left footprints to mark their progress across, telling a story on their own even without the half-hearted remnants of a fort and the sad beginnings of a lopsided snow man.

Aster couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled so much.

When the fading feeling came, a sign he took as waking, the world seemed a little less lonely. The last thing he saw was Jack, and while the world may not have been as lonely, Jack's loud smile said the exact opposite of the boy. Jack waved exuberantly, never saying the words his smile implied, and Aster wished he could stay a bit longer.

Awake:

Jack Frost became a permanent, recurring fixture to Aster's dreams every Easter after he made his rounds. Each time he visited the landscape changed a bit, becoming…more welcoming he supposed. Less barren. In 1978, ten years since he'd first started dreaming of Jack and the eleventh occurrence of actually seeing him in dreams, there had been the sudden addition of a forest in the distance. Mostly evergreens, tall and encompassing and laden with snow. He and Jack had explored it thoroughly together.

They'd played hide and seek that year, and several more times since. Aster wasn't sure how Jack managed to scramble up the trunks and into the branches so quickly, but the boy was fast and good at hiding. It had made finding him all the more rewarding. He'd actually jumped into the trees a few times, grabbing the pale, laughing boy around the waist and dragging him back down to earth.

It was during the 1990s that Aster noticed something off about Jack. He tired too quickly in their games, and with each year that followed seemed more and more drained.

"I'm fine," Jack assured, though the dark bags under his eyes and the way he smiled loudly said otherwise, without him meaning to. "Please, don't stop playing with me now."

There'd been something in the way Jack spoke those last words that made Aster set his apprehension aside. That was something else he'd discovered. If Jack Frost asked it of him, E. Aster Bunnymund found himself hard-pressed to ever say no.

Aster was almost chagrined to admit to himself that he'd fallen in love with a figment of his dreams. How pathetic was that? He'd been so lonely his mind had gone and created an ideal partner for him. It was times when he thought of that that he wished more than ever that Jack was real.

It was 2001 when things changed. Pitch Black, the Bogeyman, launched an attack on the Guardians and the world with a vengeance. He took advantage of the terrorism scare in the USA, riding the backs of paranoia and fear to spearhead his attack. He brought an army of nightmares with him, and he boggled at where Pitch had managed to get the power to create such a huge army running on the limited resources Aster and the other Guardians had always believed he'd had.

From 2002 to 2011, Aster hadn't been able to make his Easter rounds himself. He'd had to leave it up to the googies to guide themselves to their spots once he got them through the tunnels, inevitably having to go fend off some attack from Pitch. In all that time, Aster hadn't had a single dream of Jack Frost. He considered asking Sandy for sand to help him sleep, hoping that its good-dream-giving properties would be able to call the boy to him, but decided against it. Jack Frost was something private, the perfect partner that his mind had created for him. It would be strange and difficult to explain to anyone else, even a friend he'd had as long as he'd had Sandy.

Then on Easter Sunday 2012, with the aid of a group of young believers from Burgess, the Nightmare King was defeated. It nearly cost them the lives of Sandy and Tooth when her wings had been incapacitated in battle and she'd plummeted to the ground, but in the end they'd all come out alright. Most importantly, they'd come out alive.

They'd put the children back to bed, and Bunny wondered that he'd never gotten to see these children at egg hunts the past eleven years, as he'd never been able to visit Burgess or anywhere else in that time while they battled with Pitch. It had mostly been spent in the Warren, doing work, or at the Pole, doing more work.

That night, in the early hours of the morning, the Guardians all stumbled away to their homes, ready for the first night of true rest after eleven years of war with the Bogeyman. Aster tumbled into his nest, smiling to himself the tiniest bit when he thought he was even more tired than '68, and fell fast asleep.

Asleep:

He knew this place.

Aster looked around at the frozen world, his head moving rapidly as he took it all in. The white plains still proved bright, and he had to blink until he adjusted to it. He was back, in this changing yet unchangeable world, in the exact spot he'd always appeared in. The ground was still littered with the marks of their first snowball fight, an eternal testament to the first time they'd really bonded.

They.

Where was Jack Frost?

Aster frowned when Jack didn't miraculously appear behind him like he had every other time, and took off running towards the distant forest. If Jack wasn't going to find him, he would just have to find Jack.

The trees were the same as ever, and Aster weaved through them with ease. But there was something strange about the world. It felt…dead, almost. It was hard to imagine a frozen land with a solitary inhabitant containing such a thing as life, but for Aster it always had. Jack had put it there with his presence, but now…

The world felt empty and that scared him.

Which explained the relief that nearly brought him to his knees when he finally found Jack.

The boy stood on a frozen lake in the middle of the forest, which was new to this world. Aster had never seen it there before, and he and Jack had explored the place top to bottom over the years. There was something familiar about it, but he chose to ignore that feeling in favor of the person he'd longed for for over a decade.

"Jack!" Aster stepped onto the lake, never hesitating even when his feet tried to slip under him on the ice.

The boy spun around, eyes wide and shiny with tears, staring at Aster with disbelief. "Aster?" he said shakily.

Aster reached him, and grabbed the boy into his arms with no hesitation. He gave into instincts long buried and rubbed the underside of his chin across the top of Jack's head. He wrapped every bit of himself around the boy as he could, and if he could have wrapped his very soul around Jack he would have.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. He pressed kisses to Jack's hair, not even trying to hold himself back anymore. Who cared if it was just a dream—this was his Jack and he'd missed him.

Jack was shaking, and when Aster pulled back those blue eyes he remembered so clearly were filled and dripping with tears.

"Aster," Jack said, running his fingers across Aster's shoulders and face with reverent hands, cool skin carding warm fur. "I missed you."

Aster pressed his face into Jack's palm. "I missed you too Jackie."

"I love you so much."

Aster's eyes went wide, happiness and caution swelling together in his chest. "Jack?"

Jack's eyes scanned Aster's face like it was the last thing he'd ever see. "I wish you were real," the boy murmured longingly.

"What?" Aster was confused. Jack wished he was real? Aster was real. It was Jack that Aster wished was real.

"I'm glad I got to see you before…"

Aster snapped away from his thoughts, focusing sharply on Jack's calm face. Jack's hands were still running across his chest, shoulders and face. "Before what?"

"He really drained me dry this time. I'm so tired, Aster." Now that he mentioned it, Aster noticed the dark circles under Jack's eyes, how sickly his skin seemed rather than its usual winter-pale. Jack was exhausted, and Aster suddenly feared the boy would collapse.

"Jack—" Aster tried to question him, but a sharp crack! rent the air. Aster pulled away, looking down at the ice beneath them. Several hairline fractures and a single, large crack had appeared in its previously unmarred surface.

"It's almost time," Jack sighed.

"What's going on?" Aster put his hands on Jack's shoulders. "Jack," he said, and was forced to stop.

Jack had looped his arms around Aster's neck, and was kissing him clumsily and desperately. Despite that, Aster's heart soared and broke simultaneously. Soared because it was their first; broke because Jack was making it feel like it would also be their last.

Jack pulled away slowly, seeming to linger for as long as he possibly could. With his arms around Aster's neck, Jack's eyes searched through his, and brightened when they seemed to find what they were looking for. Jack took a long breath through his nose, and pulled out of Aster's arms. The ice creaked under them.

"Jack?" Aster tried to reach for him.

Jack shook his head, and then shoved Aster away. Aster fell onto his back and skidded to the lake's edge. Aster sat up rapidly, and locked eyes with Jack in the center of the lake. Bright blue and wet with tears, Aster wondered if anyone had ever looked at him so lovingly before. Jack was smiling. Terror lodged itself with steel bands in Aster's stomach.

If he'd ever thought Jack's smiles were loud before, this one was screaming.

Then the ice gave a terrible moan, and Jack fell through.

"Jack!" Aster fought the slipperiness of the ice and tried to force himself to his feet, but he could already feel the fading. He was waking up. He couldn't wake up now! He had to save him! He had to protect—!

But it was no use. By the time he was finally standing, the dream was nearly gone, the trees fading to wisps of gray smoke.

He had enough time to make the connection between this lake and the one he'd stood upon in Burgess mere hours ago in the final battle with Pitch before he woke up.

Awake:

Jack Frost woke, feeling more exhausted than when he'd fallen asleep.

He'd spent most of his time sleeping over the years. There wasn't much else to do in his tiny prison, a cocoon of ice wrapped in shadows at the bottom of a lake. A lake he'd first woken up in so long ago, a warm voice whispering him his name before it had disappeared. He'd been so close to the surface of the lake then, had nearly pushed through, but then the shadows had come. Under the water, where it was dark and cold, there'd been so many of them. They'd pulled him back down to the bottom, away from the light he could see through the layer of ice on the lake's surface. Jack had broken free of the shadows, but more had stretched out to try and grab hold of him. He'd known instinctively that he couldn't let them get him, and had formed the icy cocoon around himself in a split second.

The shadows, deprived of their target, had wrapped around the cocoon instead, pulsing and squirming. He was so frightened, and they seemed to feed off of it.

For as long as he could remember he'd been like this, trapped at the bottom of a lake, a source of sustenance for these shadows. They drained him of his magic, which was tainted by his fear. It was all he could do to keep the cocoon stable, sleeping often to replenish his ever-dwindling supply of magical energy.

Sometimes he could see a face in the shadows, watching him through the ice with gold eyes sharp with malice. Jack saw this face, and knew it to be the master of the shadows that trapped him.

Eventually time blurred. How long had he been down here? Did anyone other than this shadow master even know of his existence? What of the warm voice that he'd heard on his first awakening?

He didn't know. He didn't know anything.

Which was why in a final bid for help, he used a dangerous amount of energy and desperately sent his magic forth into the world. He didn't know what it did up there, but he hoped someone would realize and find him, somebody please find him—

That was when he felt it for the first time. Something warm and gentle. He'd barely had time to brush against it with his magic before he'd grown too exhausted and had to pull back before his energy dried up and the cocoon gave out. His tiny magical reserves that he'd managed to save were dry after that, and he was never able to make another attempt.

But that first one had been good for something at least. He'd managed to lock onto that warm signature, and he would eventually come to judge time by the frequency of its appearance. He guessed it was once or twice a decade, but he could be wrong. He had no light source to judge night and day by, so he couldn't tell for certain; he just knew it felt long. He began hoping for the times it would come, because when it came, that meant he would see Aster in his sleep.

The first time he'd seen someone else in his dreamscape it had been Aster after brushing against that warmth he'd sensed. He wondered if his mind had used the warmth for inspiration in creating Aster, because he carried the same feeling with him.

Aster made sleeping wonderful. When Aster wasn't there he was wrought with nightmares, or stuck standing in that barren land of snow and ice by himself. Aster made him feel free.

The shadow master had begun feeding off him in earnest at some point, and Aster had expressed concern in his dreams. Jack had brushed him off. It wouldn't do to spend the little time he had with this figment of his imagination worrying about what happened to him when he was awake.

Then the warmth had stopped coming. And with it went Aster.

A hundred years. It had to have been at least that long since he'd dreamed of Aster. It felt like a hundred years.

The shadows had kept up their quick pace of leeching Jack's energy, and it was all he could do to keep them from draining him entirely. He'd grown steadily weaker and weaker.

And then, just before his most recent dream—with Aster, wonderful Aster, who he'd gotten to see one last time—the shadow master had taken more than he ever had before in one sitting. He didn't know what the shadow master was doing with Jack's energy other than feeding off of it, but Jack feared he had reached his limit. He might really have been drained dry this time.

He'd barely felt the warm presence before he'd passed out, and had that wonderful, glorious dream.

Jack watched impassively as the shadows retreated from his cocoon, and through the ice he could finally see light far above him. The shadow master was gone, and bitterness churned in his gut. If the shadow master hadn't taken so much of his energy earlier, Jack would have been able to fight to the surface now. He'd have been able to greet the world, and maybe meet the warm presence that he'd based his Aster off of.

But that was impossible, now. He could already see the fine cracks in his cocoon. It was all he'd been able to do to keep the cocoon going and his body in a relatively healthy state despite his small, cramped space for so long. In the condition he was in, he didn't have enough magic to keep it going, let alone sustain him from mortal weaknesses like a need for air. As soon as the ice of his cocoon broke and his stiff, tired body was exposed to the open water, it would be sink or swim. And at the moment he certainly couldn't swim.

Jack Frost knew he was going to drown.

The ice cracked again, and a single drop of water dripped onto his cheek. He closed his eyes, too tired to stay awake for his death. Just before he fell into unconsciousness, he felt it. The warmth was close by, and it almost seemed to be getting closer.

He smiled. It seemed fitting that it would be there in his last moments.

Then he gave into the darkness, just as the ice gave way to water.

Aster charged onto the lake in the forest of Burgess.

Here. This was the lake he'd seen in his dream. Jack had to be here.

He panted harshly, ears twitching wildly above his head as he listened for something, anything—anything that meant Jack was real and that he was okay.

Aster closed his mouth, struggling to control his breaths and calm down. He closed his eyes and thought. Jack had been here in the dream. He'd been standing in the middle of the lake, and it had cracked and Jack had fallen—

His eyes shot open, and he dropped to his knees, pressing his face close to the ice. He squinted, but the dim light of dawn hindered more than helped his attempts. He pressed an ear to the ice, trying to listen for anything that might sound like a person struggling beneath, but couldn't hear anything.

Maybe Jack wasn't here after all. Maybe it had just been a bad dream, and he'd made it up. He'd gotten used to nightmares the last decade while fighting Pitch. It was inevitable that they wouldn't go away so quickly.

He pressed a hand to his face, and sighed. It was almost funny. Really, when was the last time he'd scrambled around so desperately like this? It was probably during Easter of '68.

Something had brushed against his core. Something cold. Something lonely.

Something scared.

Aster froze.

…No. It couldn't be.

But that was the year the dreams had started; the year he'd first seen Jack Frost. And then every year after, once he'd finished going about his rounds watching the egg hunts and hiding some googies. Excepting for the time spent warring with Pitch, he'd seen Jack every year on Easter.

A thought came, slow but desperate.

The years he hadn't seen Jack were years he hadn't done his rounds—years he hadn't come to Burgess.

Could it be?

Hesitantly, Aster reached into the lake with his magic. He felt nothing. He sent it deeper, towards the bottom, just in case.

A barely there magical signature brushed against his.

Aster tore at the ice. He clawed at it until his nails were raw and bloody, leaving streaks of slippery red. When he'd managed to claw the rough shape of a wide circle he pulled back, lifted his leg, and kicked.

The ice crumbled, his foot going under into the freezing water. He pulled it out. A few cracks skittered off around the area he'd broken through, but otherwise the ice seemed ready to stay intact. Aster prepared himself, glad he'd been in such a rush as to forget his bandolier, as taking it off would have cost him precious seconds he couldn't afford, and then dove in.

The water made his fur feel heavy and made his movements slower than he'd have liked, but his powerful legs and arms propelled him down to the lake's bottom. He could see a faint shimmering through the darkness, like glass reflecting light. As he got closer he realized it was a shape. An oval-like object. He was closing in on it when it suddenly cracked inward, breaking into chunks that floated in the water serenely. Ice. It was made of ice.

And there was something inside of it.

Aster couldn't see clearly enough to make out the features, but it was long and humanoid shaped. It wasn't moving.

Jack.

Aster grabbed hold of what he realized was the cloth of Jack's shirt, and pulled them towards the surface. It was slow and heavy going, so he gripped and ripped away the burdensome cloak Jack wore that hindered their progress. Relieved of the weight, he managed to swim them faster for the surface. When he reached the hole he'd made Aster shoved Jack through first before following himself.

Gasping for air in his burning lungs, Aster collapsed on the ice. His fur dripped, and he shivered with chattering teeth. He was okay. He wasn't in the water anymore. He had gotten them out.

Aster turned and crawled toward the person he'd pulled out, and yes, it was really Jack. He was real and here and—

—not breathing.

Aster panicked. He reached out, ready to do some sort of first aid, when Jack's body gave a horrible lurch and the boy began vomiting and coughing water. Aster rolled him over to make sure the water didn't just go back in, wincing when the thick gurgles came out wet and painful sounding. When it stopped coming up Jack's body ceased its convulsions. Aster carefully lifted Jack into his arms, and to his eternal relief the boy was breathing. Unconscious, yes, but breathing.

He brought up a hand, brushing wet hair out of Jack's face, in hindsight not doing much since that just meant it was Aster's fur that dripped on him now.

"You're real," he whispered. He pulled Jack close, wrapping himself around as much of the boy as he could. The implications of what had just happened began sinking in with a patient horror.

If he was correct, Jack Frost had been trapped in a cocoon of ice under the lake for at least several decades, perhaps longer. At least since Easter '68. Who knew how much longer? He could have been there for a century for all Aster knew.

The ice creaked under them, and Aster was quick to scramble them back to the safe earth of the lake shore. He summoned a tunnel as soon as they got there, and jumped down with his precious bundle cradled close.

He was taking Jack Frost home with him.

And he would never let him be trapped again.

Jack was warm.

He squirmed, feeling more lax and comfortable than he'd ever felt before. There were no frozen walls forcing him to stay in one position, no hard ice under his head. He felt warm and comfortable and this was not his cocoon.

Jack fluttered his eyes open. The room was dim, but faint light shone through a heavily curtained window. He was in a bed—nest?—and wrapped in blankets big and small, thick and thin, a multitude of pillows cradling him like a precious item.

Jack sat up slowly, and his body was grateful for the movement after so long spent in a solitary position. Everything ached and burned, but in a good way. He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did.

Feeling about, there was no sign of the shadow master or his shadows, and for the first time since his first awakening his magic was not tainted by fear and was entirely his own. It bounced giddily in him, not quite replenished, but growing in supply now that there was nothing leeching off of it constantly.

He swung his legs off the bed that held the nest he'd been sleeping in—were there twigs and leaves mixed in amongst the blankets?—and stood.

He fell back instantly. His muscles, while kept from atrophy by the little magic he could spare for his health and keeping him alive in the cocoon, were weak, lax, and shaky from disuse. He took it slowly, standing with a hand on the bed until he felt he could keep his feet under him. Then he took tiny baby steps toward the door, using the wall and furniture in the room for support.

He walked through what looked like a sitting room and kitchen after exiting the bedroom, and finally found a front door in the aforesaid kitchen. If he had to guess, he was in a cottage of some sort.

He pushed the door open, and stumbled into sunlight.

He shielded his eyes, which were stinging in more light than he'd ever seen in his time in the cocoon. When the pain receded for the most part, he managed to look around.

He had awoken in a cottage. It was on top of a hill, surrounded on all sides by plush green grass. A forest of trees and rocks could be seen to one side, and in front of him…

Jack had to pause as he gazed out on a huge field of brightly colored flowers. He'd never seen so many colors! Shades of red, blue, yellow, purple…colors he somehow knew, but that he'd never gotten to see at the bottom of the lake.

It was so different from the frozen landscape he'd crafted in his dreams.

And so much more beautiful.

"You're awake."

Jack's breath hitched, and he turned slowly. From his left Aster walked up the hill, a sketchpad and pencil in his hand. As he got closer, Aster dropped the pad and pencil on the ground, stopping about five feet from Jack's shocked still form.

"I was afraid you weren't going to wake up," Aster whispered. He looked over every inch of Jack, concern lighting his bright green eyes when he noticed Jack's quivering legs.

Jack swallowed, trying to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. Still figuring out how to react, he spoke calmly. "How long was I asleep?" He winced. His voice had cracked with disuse; of course, he'd had no reason to use it in a very long time.

"Three weeks." Aster's hands were relaxed at his side, his stance open, but his fingers twitched. He watched Jack carefully, like he was waiting for something.

Finally, Jack felt tears force their way into his eyes; his heart and body acknowledging what his tired mind was too shocked to comprehend.

"You're real," he croaked, and couldn't even bring himself to care that his voice still cracked.

Aster smiled, soft and gentle. "So're you."

Later they wouldn't wonder who initiated the kiss, because they'd reached for each other at the same time. They were both shaking, fingers clutching a bit too tightly at each other, but neither minded. Not now. Not after so long of wanting.

And Jack, staring into eyes that were crying as much as his, with lips pressed tight to Aster's own, smiled loudly.