A/N: Heeeey, guess what...It's another chapter of Snow Angel! Yay!
Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own RotG
It was Tuesday, at four AM in the morning, and Fergus and his sister were restocking the counter.
"You're an idiot, Fergus."
He felt almost betrayed at his sister's statement. "Come now, Pris. Aren't you at least a little curious?"
The female spirit began bringing in boxes from the back room, crystal arms that looked like they were made of spun glass lifting the heavy boxes with little to no effort."I am, but not curious enough to die satisfying it. You don't know what you're dealing with, Fergus."
"I'm sure he isn't that bad."
"Tell that to the people he killed," the rainbow spirit shot back bluntly. She dusted off her hands before beginning to unpack one of the boxes, bottles of whiskey slipping out one by one before they were placed in a neat line on the floor.
Fergus blinked. "...Killed?"
"What, didn't you know?" Her eyes were gray, signifying calm detachment, as she began restocking the counter with the bottles. "Jackson Overland Frost is the single worst serial killer the spirit world has ever seen. People say he's second only to Death herself."
"But surely there must be a mistake?"
Gray shifted to a determined green."Mistake or no mistake, I'm not letting my younger brother risk his life to find out if Frost can be reformed. People have already tried, and they have paid for it in blood. I'm not letting you join them, even if you are annoying."
Fergus decided to ignore that last comment. "Pris, you don't understand. You didn't see him or talk to him. I tell you, the lad's scared of something."
"No business of mine." Huffing, she began to unpack a second box, this time drawing out bottles of brandy.
"Have you no heart?"
"Not for killers, I don't."
As she rose to shelve one of the bottles, Fergus stopped her with a reassuring hand on the shoulder. "There are two sides to every story, Pris. I've already heard one side. Now I'd like to hear the other."
Prism seemed about to argue, but she paused when she saw the look on Fergus's face. "You're not going to listen to me, are you?"
Fergus shook his head, and Prism deflated, green darkening to defeated indigo. "Fine, then. Go ahead and talk to him tomorrow. But I'll be there as well, and if he tries to hurt you, I swear I'll kill him with my bare hands, second chances be damned."
"Thank you, Prism. That is all I can ask for."
"Yeah, yeah. Help me with these bottles, will you?"
Wednesday night brought the usual crowd in at around nine PM, and began to bring them back out at one in the morning. For the most part, the night was uneventful, apart from a short and unremarkable bar-fight around midnight.
Still, despite the lack of action, Fergus was more skittish than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. His mind went over Prism's words over and over again, and he couldn't help but feel that this perhaps wasn't the greatest idea.
However, pride can present a remarkably convincing argument, and he was resolute not to back down at this state in the proceedings. As much as she may have protested against the plan earlier, Fergus knew Prism well enough to realize that she would be mocking and deriding him if he showed signs of giving up.
Thus, he waited, while cleaning (although "cleaning" was a subjective term) some glasses to soothe his troubled nerves. It helped remarkably little.
Finally, at 3:08 AM, the door swung open to admit the white-haired teen that Fergus was waiting for. As usual, the teen wandered over to his table by the window, and as usual, any stragglers vanished seemingly into thin air.
Fergus shared a glance with his sister, who inclined her head in Frost's direction with an impatient "well, get on with it" expression on her crystalline face. Thus encouraged, Fergus firmly marched over to the younger spirit.
"The usual, lad?"
If anything, the teen now looked worse than before. Dark circles stood out against the pale white of his face, making him look as if he'd been punched in both eyes. His breathing was short and erratic, his eyes were shiny with panic, and there were stress lines etched in his forehead which had not been there before. He looked exhausted and stressed out, and Fergus found that his heart went out to the poor lad.
Still, he didn't say anything, even as the teen nodded in confirmation, and even as he placed the Jägerbomb in front of him. He knew enough to realize that more pressure would only discourage the young man from speaking his mind.
He waited until his companion finished three drinks, one after another, before he hesitantly broached the topic. "Lad, is everything alright?"
He'd been expecting the firm nod that served as a reply to his question. Mentally sighing, he tried again. "Are you sure? You don't look too good."
The second nod was forceful, as the look in the bright blue eyes practically screamed at Fergus to go the hell away. The leprechaun took this as a cue to turn to his sister for help, and in response to his pleading stare, Prism rolled her eyes before jumping down from her seat on the counter and striding confidently over to the table.
Her eyes were orange, midway between red and yellow, signifying anger but also a reluctant curiosity. Hands on her hips, she pinned her gaze on Frost. "Listen here, kid. Now, if I had my way, you'd be already outside in the cold, and I'd make sure you'd never come back. However, since my brother insists that someone give you a chance, I'm willing to hear whatever explanation you'd have to offer, both about your pitiful state, and about the blood on your hands. So spit it out quick, Frost, because my patience is almost at an end."
The younger spirit looked flabbergasted, his mouth partway open. He blinked before carefully beginning to speak. His voice sounding raspy, as if from disuse. "Look, I don't know who exactly you are, but please just leave me alone-"
"If I have to harbor a killer in my bar, I at least would like to know why he's a killer."
Fergus stared at his sister. "Your bar? Your bar?"
Before an argument could be started, the frost teen spoke up again, voice brittle with defensiveness. "Well, for starters, I'm not a murderer...technically."
Prism quirked a rainbow-streaked eyebrow. "Oh? Care to explain?"
The teen shrunk in on himself clutching his ever-present staff closer to his chest. "I really don't want to talk about it, thank you."
"You damned well will talk about it, or it's no more Jägerbombs, for you, young man."
Fergus nearly chuckled at the look of horror that spread across Frost's face. The winter spirit was quick to compose himself, however, expression closing off as his voice turned steely. "It's honestly none of your business."
"It's my business if there's a murderer in my bar!"
"It's not your bar!"
"Shut up, Fergus!"
By now, Prism was practically frothing at the mouth, eyes red in blazing anger. She seemed to have forgotten the original point of her inquiries, instead insistent on prying answers out of the teen. In an attempt to calm her down, Fergus placed a hand on her arm, but she was quick to smack it off.
She rounded on Frost, towering over him, and Fergus noted a flash of panic in the cold blue eyes. Prism, however, was oblivious as she began shouting at the cowering spirit, each word like a bullet from a machine gun.
"You murdered people, both humans and spirits! You're a sick person, with a heart as cold as your stupid ice! At least tell me why!"
The wall, the table, and the chair served to enclose Frost, the only avenue of escape blocked by the wrathful rainbow spirit. Frost clearly realized this, for the panic in his eyes rose, and his thin hands began to shake ever so slightly. His voice wavered a little "I am under no obligation to tell you anything."
Prism seemed to loose it, then. Raging at the thought that she was speaking with a killer, she lashed out, grabbing the edge of the torn brown cape.
What happened next was, and yet was not, expected.
A bolt, bright blue with winter magic, hit Prism smack in the chest, while at the same time a cold, pale hand shoved her roughly away. Under the force of these two impacts, Prism staggered back a few feet, eyes wide in shock as frost began to spread over the front of her blouse.
She recovered shortly afterwards. Livid with anger, she turned towards her opponent, ready to sling more insults at him, only to pause.
Jack Frost was hunched over like a cornered animal.
A strange mix of anger, sadness, and fear tainted those blue eyes, as he glared furiously, staff between him and his potential attacker. With a voice like splintering ice, he snarled, "Don't. Touch. Me."
Both Fergus and Prism froze.
Frost then edged out of his seat, his free hand scrabbling at the worn tabletop as he hastily rose, still keeping his staff between himself and the two siblings. Gaze fixed on the two, he reached into his vest pocket, drew out some coins, and threw them onto the table, hand shaking horribly. The haphazard mix of kroners, shillings, and rubles skidded across the wooden surface, some landing on the floor.
There was silence.
A half-choked voice broke it. "...I have DID. It...it stands for dissociative identity disorder. You can p-piece it together for yourselves," a deep breath, "There are times when I'm not in control of my actions. I try, but it doesn't always work. Sometimes I can't help but slip."
Neither of the two siblings could say a word. Sighing, the spirit turned away, eyes downcast, even as he whispered. "I...I'll just go now."
Before either of them could blink, he was gone.
There were times when Sandy seriously hated being mute. Now was one of them.
Images flashed above his head, as he tried to get the other Guardian's attention to the fact that Jack had disappeared. All of them, however, were far too absorbed in their related activities to notice the fuming Sandman.
He briefly toyed with the idea of throwing an elf at them, but the way things were going, by the time he managed to get their attention and explain things to them properly, Jack would be long gone to who knows where. If he left now, though, he still had a chance of catching up with the winter spirit.
Decided, the Sandman floated out the open window, none of his companions noticing his abrupt departure. Once outside, he soon spotted a flash of blue in the distance, and swiftly began to pursue it.
Jack Frost felt, in short, like hell.
As he touched down in Antarctica, he couldn't help but feel that he'd left the meeting just in time. Already, it seemed as if the world was foggy and far away, and he felt confused and disoriented. His head ached horribly, and the sparks dancing across his vision were now bigger and brighter.
Almost there…
He stumbled haphazardly through the barren plain. The cave he normally used was only a few steps away. If he hurried, he could lock himself away before his 'fit'.
The wind was howling, and a haze of snow blocked his vision, only adding to his bewilderment. He knew the way like the back of his hand, however, and it wasn't long before he reached a narrow crevice in the ground, which he knew led down to a wide, deep cave.
Only a few more steps…
He was there, he was almost there, already he was preparing to step inside-
A rope, golden as the sun, soft despite its grainy appearance, wrapped around his waist and hefted him up into the air.
A/N: Prism isn't all bad. She just has no patience for killers :P And she has a bit of a temper, the dear.
Also, about the eyes color changing thing...Yes, her eyes do change colors in accordance with her mood. But it's a bit more complicated than that. The same color can have dozens of different meanings (so blue can mean sadness, but also serenity, melancholy, nostalgia, a mix of happy and sad, depression, contentment, etc etc etc).
Prism and Fergus weren't born as siblings (because two siblings both becoming spirits is so improbable, it's basically impossible). Instead, as spirits they became close friends, did some sort of blood-exchange ritual (think Loki and Odin), and declared themselves siblings. Fergus is Irish, Prism is Canadian. (Although I can't write an Irish accent to save my life, so you'll have to imagine Fergus has one).
By the way, rainbows are a symbol of hope. Remember that. That's important.
...Review? Pretty please?