Authors Note:
This story was written collaboratively with a friend through roleplay. Each small break is changing POV. Begins with Bunny (her), switches to Jack (me), her, and so on. Should still be an easy read. Mild redundancy though. Chapters only set up for length sake!
It all started with—well, Bunnymund didn't really know what it started with (still don't, actually) but he damn well knows what came off it. Nothing good, that's for sure, since now he's got a pint-size runt screaming and running around and generally being a pest in his Warren. Bunnymund hadn't even volunteered to take care of the mini-Frost, for Moon's sake, but North just had to go and get that annoying feeling in his belly again, and really, there's just about zilch that even the Easter Bunny and the rest of the Guardians could do against the gut instinct of Santa Claus.
Tooth had given him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, eyes shining in a way that rubbed his fur in an uncomfortable way, followed by Sandy's solemn nod and an attempt to convey his condolences with various sand-shapes above his head that didn't work so well—and Bunnymund had taken it all in, even if it made his skin crawl to have to accept pity, because he knew he was going to need all the luck he can get his paws on to get passed this with his sanity still intact.
But it's been a few days since then and Bunnymund can honestly say that it's not all that bad. Not as bad as he had thought it was going to be, at least, though he had held his expectations as low as they would go, so no surprises there. Mini-Frost was surprisingly easy to take care of when you get used to it, and Bunnymund is nothing less than a quick learner when he puts his mind to it (but never flying—that's a whole other story). Give him a few of the best-looking googies and the kid's set to go for the rest of the day.
There is just one thing that made Bunnymund's shackles rise, though, and that's Mini-Frost's attachment to his bloody stick. He carries it wherever he goes, despite the fact that it's at least thrice his height, and has the tendency to shoot off ice-lasers whenever he's feeling a little adventurous. Bunnymund is convinced the kid's doing it just to get him annoyed—like now, sitting on the bank of one of the rivers of dye and being surrounded with the stone eggs, Mini-Frost starts to giggle and taps the front of the staff against the grass.
Bunnymund's ear twitches from where he's tending to the patch of frozen grass, victim of another "accident", and turns just in time to see a bolt of ice shoot out, scrape passed one of the stone eggs, and end up skidding against the surface of the river.
"Oi!" he yells, jumping over to assess the damage, and gives Mini-Frost a first-rate glare. "What'd I tell you 'bout freezing the river?" He leans down to tap against the crystallized ice, and sighs, wishing that North's belly hadn't chosen him out of the others for the umpteenth time. "Third strike is out, mate, hand the stick over."
Where it actually began was with a lesson, from North no less. It was practically impossible for anyone he cared about to get on his bad side, and even when you did he was never really "angry". He was never afraid, however, to teach you a good lesson or get you out of the way when he was busy. This time he was definitely busy. With Winter not quite started yet and temperatures still uncomfortably warm (for him at least), Jack was typically found in someplace that would stay cool all year round. Like the Pole. And with nothing to do he gets bored, restless. That is precisely how this whole mess started. As it turns out, even though none of them had previously spent a great deal of one-on-one time with children beforehand, children can be a lot less of a handful then him when he is feeling restless or mischievous. At least they'd thought so.
When it started he wasn't bad. He was a little disoriented, being a child, knowing he's a child, but not knowing where he was. However he did recognize the people around him. Whether from his memories as a child or from his memories as a young adult, he was happy to see them around. It comforted him in his state of confusion. The fear of being in an unfamiliar place didn't last long; it simply didn't stick with him. There were too many things to look at, too much to explore.
In the end they didn't know what to do with him. He wouldn't stay put and even though he couldn't fly quite as well he could float a couple feet off the ground. He wouldn't let go of his staff, and as he was re-discovering with renewed interest his powers, nearly everything was freezing over. There were brief moments when they could keep him entertained, cooing at the pretty fairies or chasing after a toy. Once Bunny had arrived though, all bets were off. It became evident very quickly that nobody could take his place. Very simply, he adored him. He always had as a kid.
The first thing he did was stare in amazement with the biggest smile on his face. The second thing he did was run up and hug his leg, as that was about as high as he could reach. It was hard to separate him, and if Bunny even looked like he would leave without him he'd cry out a loud "No!" or get wordlessly upset. Which is exactly how they ended up where they were now. He'd been given free roam, because really how far COULD his tiny legs take him? Far enough to nearly freeze the river of dye apparently. And when he's commanded to give him the stick he just hugs it tighter and stomps his foot, shaking his head. He isn't angry, in fact he's trying not to laugh, trying and failing. He laughs and backs up, trying to run down the river. Instead he ends up tipping over into it after stumbling over his own two feet (which he's never been very good on anyways) and winding up covered in dye. The river isn't deep, and he's just sitting there, clearly enjoying himself. It doesn't bother him at all. He smiles brightly and laughs to himself, looking around and pointing at all the spots of dye on him naming off the colors one by one. "Blue! Yellow! Green! Purple!"
Bunnymund counts it a blessing that Easter wasn't just around the corner, or else he might've done something he definitely will regret—just what that something is he doesn't know, but if his progress ever gets stopped by the mass areas of ice frozen all across his Warren, then it's assured that it won't be anything pretty. As it is, he can only raise an unimpressed eyebrow as Mini-Frost refuses to relinquish the staff, even stomping his foot as an added bonus, and where the hell did the runt learn to do that, anyways?
And fine, the kid's kinda cute when he's laughing, with the big toothy smile, but they had a deal dammit—ignoring the fact that he shouldn't be making agreements with 3-year olds—and there is no way Bunnymund is going to let his home become a Winter Wonderland. But before he can slowly, but surely, coax him into giving up the stick, Mini-Frost's already wobbling backwards, unsteady on his two small feet, towards the edge of the river.
"Hey, careful wher—"
His warning comes a little too late, though, and he instinctively shies away from the splash as Mini-Frost—Jack; might as well starting calling him by his name, though only when it's just the two of them, since Bunnymund can't have the others thinking he's getting soft—tumbles into the river and covers himself with the colours and patterns of Easter. Bunnymund puts on his most annoyed face, but the smile pulling at his lips makes it essentially ineffective, because it's next to impossible to be upset when Jack's obviously having a blast. He'll just deal with the matter of confiscating the stick later.
"The river's only for eggs, buddy, not kids who can't walk properly," he chides, following his arms across his chest. Ain't it grand to not have to deal with this when it's work-time? "Now get outta there so we can get you clean again. Can't have you watering the egg-plants without being spick-and-span, now, can we?"
He barely even registers the warning before he's fallen in. And he hardly even sees him as threatening. It was near impossible. He was furry, welcoming, and… Just impossible to fear. So it isn't much surprise when he never really takes his threats seriously. So he continues to enjoy himself, at least for a little while longer. Until he decides to bring a dye covered hand to his mouth and put a finger in to taste it. He screws up his face in disgust and sticks his tongue out, making a noise. It might look pretty but it definitely did not taste so!
Combined with the word 'eggs' he's more then happy to scramble up onto the bank and out of the river. From what he remembers that word can only mean good things, fun things. He is more then willing to have something to do with it. He blinks around and pipes up. He doesn't quite speak full sentences yet but he has always been a talker. "Eggs!" He scans the grassy field, crouching down as though it might somehow help him locate them. And then he locks onto them walking in a line and smiles widely. "Get egg!" he's teetering off as fast as he can manage, running after the little eggs that are MOVING, and he's never seen that before. It just makes him want to chase them MORE. He doesn't even notice that he's left his staff on the bank of the river.
As soon as he approaches them, however, they scatter. Running this way and that, and it is nearly impossible to decide which one to chase. So he attempts to run after each one for a little bit, but he just isn't quick enough. He lets out a whine of frustration and tries again, holding his arms out trying to grab them. The second time he trips he gives up, sitting up in the grass and pouting. He turns towards Bunny with wide, pouty eyes and points towards one of the eggs. "I waaant!"