Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians
Jack looked down the deep, dark, cold crevice. Antarctic winds played with his hair, sending it in unknowable directions and rustling with his sweatshirt. He glanced sideways at his staff, the frost seemingly screeching at him as he bent down and laid it on the ground. He straightened up, letting out a breath, and stared once again.
Bunny had no idea what to do. He looked on warily, slowly tiptoeing toward his fellow Guardian, careful not to make a single sound. His ears twitched with each breath the boy made, his nose clogged with the scent of worry. Bunny didn't know what to think of the seventeen-year-old that stood there, toes dangling off the edge. He didn't know what to make of the air of finality that surrounded him, that stuffed his nostrils. He didn't see the fun, carefree spirit that froze his Warren every other day. He saw a mature, aged boy with too much on his shoulders.
The very winds held their breaths, as did Bunny, when Jack breathed in, cracking his fingers and giving the staff—the simple wooden Shepard's hook—a smile that seemed to chill the large Pooka.
Bunny saw Jack's feet shift, still hanging precariously off the edge of the crevice, still dangling with such a sure sadness. He watched as Jack Frost took yet another breath in, stilling the air. He watched as Jack opened his arms out wide, as if to make a snow angle. He heard with a certainty the breath he let out. He felt the air shift when Jack's eyelids fluttered closed.
He watched as Jack jumped off the cliff.
Aster stood there in shock for a moment, a moment that lasted far too long for him, before bolting to the edge of the cliff. His breaths were desperate as he called out the name of his brother, his friend.
"Jack!"
He heard no response, yet he also hadn't heard the sure thump of a body hitting the floor of the drop. He hadn't heard any cracks or cries of pain or gasps or thump… thump… thump thump… as he hit jagged rocks and ice daggers. He hadn't heard said rocks and ice cracking and groaning as the light, nearly invisible body fell upon them.
But Bunny couldn't see through the fog, the ice and the rocks and the snow and he didn't know what to do. He screamed and screamed "Jack, Jack! Jack! Jack!" but no such response of "It's all fine, Kangaroo," came. No such response came to reassure him his brother wasn't dead, wasn't lying at the bottom of the pit in a crumpled heap, bleeding out and dying.
All Bunny had to go on were his ears, his acute, trustworthy ears—but, quite frankly, he didn't trust his ears one bit.
And then suddenly he was falling, falling falling falling, and Aster faintly recognized that in his blindness the ice had cracked under his weight, and that he had slipped through the very crevice he'd been dreading.
His breaths came out in ragged, desperate words, but he couldn't scream; he wouldn't scream, because his voice had already been stolen by him. He'd just seen his friend die, his friend commit suicide and he didn't know why, he didn't know why Jack would—
And then a small, lengthy hand caught his arm, slender fingers reaching around his wrist and grasping it like that of a viper's drained of its poison. Aster's words caught in his throat as he stared at Jack—at this boy.
His white hair seemed to be both glowing and dirty at once. His angled features weighed down upon his face, showing the mental and physical [and the three-hundred-years of experience] scars that marred his features, seemingly unnoticeable to the naked eye. His blue orbs had darkened, hidden under his odd brown brows and long, careful lashes, carving into the unmistakable sorrow beneath the happy exterior of his confident composure.
This was a raw, powerful, grieving Jack Frost; a past memory of three dark centuries. And Bunny was terrified, because despite the extinction of his friends and family and brothers and sisters, he felt as if he could not even begin to compare to what Jack Frost had experienced.
This all was a shadow, a curtain that was never cleaned, never could be cleaned. The dust coated him, except in the form of frost—a form no one would question, not when it was hidden mistakenly by the creator.
And then they were out, flying straight through the air, through the mist and the invisible smoke—and then they were upon the ground giving each other the stare-down of the century.
Naturally, Bunny exploded first. "What in the living Hell were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed!"
Jack just furrowed his brows, crossing his arms, not a single word leaving his thin lips.
"Do you have any idea what I thought? I stood there, watching as your feet practically floated off the edge, and what do you do? You jump. You jump without a care in the world. You jump as if you don't have anyone who cares about you, as if Tooth won't cry when you hit the bottom, as if North wouldn't grieve for a forgotten son, as if Sandy's dreams won't become tainted with sadness, as if I—" he choked, face becoming uncertain. "As if I won't kill myself, hate myself for not saving you."
Jack bit his lip, tears gathering in his eyes. But would they fall?—no, they would not fall, because the tear ducts were so full, so used to carrying more of the salted water, that nothing could fall.
"I wasn't here to kill myself."
And the statement seemed to cause such a ripple in the air, such an unconformity, that the wind shattered at his feet, the cold, protective barrier both strengthening and cracking.
"You don't think I know that? That you all… care about me?" Jack breathed in, chest fluttering. "Do you think me heartless, Bunny? Do you think I care for no one? I would never do that to you guys. I never would, not until it was the only thing left to do. I hold you all too dear to strike you with something like… this."
Bunny didn't dare wipe at the tears matting his fur, staining his pride and fracturing his relief. "Then why, Jack? Why would you do such a thing?"
"I have died before… and I need to be reminded I am actually alive. I know that a fall like that one could, probably would, kill me. But I come here and live the fall because it is a reminder that I am not held back by Death or Life. I come here, drop my staff, and fall, because it feels exhilarating. I fall because I fly for a living, and despite that amazing feeling, I need to know that I am susceptible to Death's hold. But I do not wish to die, Bunny. Maybe before… but not now. Never when it would hurt more than heal."
The wind whipped through the plain, ruffling Bunny's fur as he looked up from his still-bowed head. His brows and skin and bones furrowed in warning, a warning of sadness and the explosion of emotion. His stance was tense, shoulders hunched and neck strained against the wind, the ever-lasting wind that ripped through their very souls—very beings, without the carefulness and caring nature that North held. This was a foreign being in a foreign sky. This was a mistaken, lost entity that had stumbled upon the war of wars, the battle of the fall.
And so the mighty, lonely, brave and hearty Pooka fell to the ground. The rabbit known as E. Aster Bunnymund could no long hold his weight because again, again he could not begin to feel what the boy in front of him did. He couldn't understand because despite being alone, he had had the hands of his friends to guide him. And Jack Frost had had nothing but the skies.
He hardly registered it was Jack kneeling down and clasping him tightly, steady and sure even with his shaking frame. Bunny didn't care for his pride as he melted into the freezing embrace. He didn't care that this was a child holding him, he didn't care that this was something he never thought he'd do. He simply relished in the touch of his bloodless brother, in the touch of family he didn't have with the other Guardians. And he asked a question.
"What made you fall?"
And the answer was so very quiet as the raspy voice came through:
"The sky pulled me down."
Chapter Playlist:
Bastille: Tuning Out...
Bastille: The Draw
Bastille: What Would You Do
Bastille: Durban Skies
What can I say? I've been in a mood lately. Dan's voice is pretty angelic :)
cArrY oN...
~MINI