It wasn't fast, but it sure felt like it. It started slowly working it's way through his body, touching organs and muscles, only with the slightest finger, but decaying them in an instance. "It happens when you're old," Jamie smiled, feeling the warmth of his sister's fingers on his cheek. Her face was worn around the edges, with wrinkles here and there. Purple danced beneath her eyes, unable to be masked by a dash of mascara or cover-up. She was tired too, but still she fought on. Good, he thinks, Please keep going. But the smile that played on her lips, turned down at its edges and Jamie felt the last bit of his heart beating, sink.
"Why was it like this?" Sophie asks softly, her voice lacking the energy Jamie's grown used to, "Why us? What did we ever do?" Slowly she lowers herself on the bedspread. It's bleached, like everything else in the room, and smells strongly of antiseptic. Above them the fluorescent light gives a shudder, and blinks, once twice. It dims a little, but doesn't go out.
"What do you mean?" His voice is old, cracked. It's the sound of an old toy left on a shelf, forgotten, covered in dust and grime only to be found years later by new fingers. He hasn't used it in so long.
"My husband," she whispers, "your children, your wife." Her mouth moves as if to say more, but the sound stops coming. Her shoulders shudder sharply, and Jamie can't help himself as he tries to reach for her hand. But there's no feeling despite his mental command. It lies there on his chest, just as the nurse put it, unmoving. It hasn't moved in a very long time.
"And now you," she adds, turning to face him, "I'm going to be all alone, Jamie."
"No," he murmurs hoarsely. And he wants to say more, so much more. But there's blackness fading around him swallowing him from all sides consuming his body, his heart, and he can't reach for her, can't move, and everything's going too dark.
He awakens to the sound of a computer failing, a long string of mechanical whines that every so often is interrupted with a mechanical hiccup, but he pays no mind to it. The room has grown even dimmer, as if someone has flipped a switch. Through the flaps in the window, he can see time has passed, possibly hours, and he's alone. His throat is tight, as if somethings wedged far up in it, and he gags trying to rid himself of the feeling.
Beside his bedside the radio crackles to life, finally finding a source in a storm of static. Holiday music calmly plays from its speakers, slightly easing his fear. The songs are familiar, the usual tunes played during the Christmas season. Jamie smiles, though it hurts his jaw. Small things interest him now, make him happy. Funny how he never noticed them before when he had more of a body to appreciate them.
A frost had grown against the windows, growing on the panes and forming beautiful abstract pictures. The fluorescent bulb flickers again, only once this time, before going out again. There are cries out in the hallway, a number of them actually, but Jamie doesn't understand a word. Still the radio plows on, despite the long chord attached to the wall. Strange, the Bennett thinks, but doesn't think more of the subject.
How are you?
The sound is calm and collected, but it cuts through the sudden silence (save the radio) like a scream. Jamie raises his head the few inches it will go, but theres no one at all, and for a moment he wonders if he's imagined it, and if perhaps this is what happens when you're dying. You go insane moments before, hear voices maybe.
Jamie's not sure; he's never gone insane before.
Jamie.
"Whose there?"
Who do you think?
There's a crackle from the window, a sound like the popping of kernels in a microwave. The frost begins to climb even higher, past the window frame, past the sill.
"I don't know."
Fine. Riddle me this. Whose nipping at you nose?
"What's that got to do with anything?"
There was sighing, a low intake of breath, and Jamie felt a cold sensation take over his body. For a moment, neither side said a word. And then, very softly, do you even believe anymore, Jamie?
Now it's Jamie's turn to be silent. His throat's itching again, a sandpaper kind of feeling. And Jamie swallows, if only to fill the silence with sound. His head is pounding, as though every memory, every thought is rapping against the inside of his head trying to get him to remember. But what? Snowflakes and the cool feeling of slush down his back. The rush of excitement when he threw a snowball and was able to duck at the return.
And then the feeling of gliding on his sledding, sweeping against the smooth surface of ice, dodging cars and people, turning corners, ducking beneath carts, and then face first in snow banks. All these thoughts brought him back to one thought, one feeling. This overwhelming warmth in his chest that fluttered like caged butterflies.
"Everyone's got to grow up sometime, Jack."
The image is foggy at first, nothing but a blur in the side of his eye. It forms slowly, a pair of bare feet, long arms.
"It's good to see you again," replied the winter spirit, a gust of cool air forming from his words. He takes the room in quick strides, settling beside his child (or the man who had once been his child), with a look of contentment. "I thought you might've forgotten me."
Jamie shrugs, and then adds, "Well, you've got good timing." He motions to the monitors attached to his body, the surfaces of their screens covered with frost at Jack's arrival, "A couple days later and you would've missed me."
Jack's eyes grow closed for a moment and the smile, wide and welcoming, turns down, "I was afraid- I didn't really think Jamie that-
Jamie shakes his head, and smiles with his lips, "I'm dying Jack, it happens."
"No! But, you don't get it, you're my kid, my kid, and it's my duty to protect you."
"From Pitch, remember? You did that. Children are supposed to grow up Jack. Mine did."
"But you don't get it Jamie, you don't." Jamie feels the cold wrap around his shoulders before Jack puts his hands there. Pale fingers sink into his skin, but Jamie doesn't say a word, "I doesn't want to loose you. Why- why do you think I've tried so hard to keep you around?"
"That was you?"
Jack nods softly, "Sorry. I couldn't help myself. And uh, doesn't tell Sophie, but neither could Bunnymund."
Jamie laughs then, a real loud laugh. And it feels good, so good. A second voice joins his own, and Jamie can't help, but smile as the winter spirit joins in. Finally, he watches Jack place his hand on his own, "Too cold?" he asks.
"Can't feel a thing."
Jack sighs, long and deep, but he whispers, "I gotta go Kid. And I guess, well, so do you?"
"Yeah, but it's been fun."
"Sandy's gonna put you to sleep though. It won't hurt."
"I know." Jack's voice is hoarse, tired. Jamie watches something roll from his eye, a snowflake maybe? It floats down onto the blanket, bright white, but his eyes are too bleary to make it out.
"Good night Jamie."
"'Night Jack."