Bargaining

"Please, just- just tell me why I'm here. Tell me why no one can see me."

Jack's voice is small and desperate in the wide expanse of the cold night air; his breath comes out in puffs. His gaze is resolute, but it appears that it is still impossible for him to get through to the target of his plea: the brilliant, glowing orb that shines in the dark sky.

He turns away from the moon and brings his hands up through his hair, shaking it out in frustration. He's getting nowhere, he's always been getting nowhere, and now he is just simply at a loss. Finally, he faces the sky again and says, "I'll do anything you want. I'll be the best damn Immortal Spirit this world has ever seen. I'll make amends with anyone I've wronged- I swear it. And I'll stop making such cold winters." Jack pauses, letting his gaze trail down to the sea of trees and jagged cliffs below, when a thought occurs to him. "Maybe… maybe that's what you brought me here to do- to control the harsh weather! That's my purpose! Instead of making sure there's enough snow, I'm actually supposed to restrain it. And if I fulfill it, you can tell me everything!"

Even as he says this, Jack knows somewhere in the back of his mind the plan is illogical, because he technically does not always control where he brings his cold; it is more a force inside of him that knows where to bring it. Lessening and changing what he felt to be the laws of nature would most likely result in disaster.

But at this point, Jack is unconsciously slipping into a delusion.

It is indeed true that Jack had realized he'd been susceptible to illness and weakness early on in his life. However, he hadn't realized that essentially reconfiguring the winter seasons around the world to be gentler would have such an impact on his health. It was as if because he hadn't used all of his potential energy in the right way, the energy built up inside him until it released in bursts of sporadic, unintentional snowstorms over random places (such as a spot over the Pacific), leaving him drained and sluggish. As a sort of paradoxical cycle, over-performing would make Jack tired, but under-performing would as well, because it created over-performing.

However, despite his tired state, Jack keeps taming the cold around the world while his body racks with extreme fatigue.

It's not too long in his venture when Jack realizes with dismay that his efforts seem to be getting him nowhere with the Man in the Moon. His attempts to find Bunnymund are in vain; the Immortal is bent on avoiding him (not that he hadn't been ignoring him before) after the meadow incident. It was difficult to communicate with North since he was in the Ice Castle at the North Pole the majority of the year, but then, Jack can't remember wronging North anyway. Honestly, he can't think of an Immortal besides Bunnymund he's personally wronged- but he has to have done something terrible for the Moon to withhold all he knows. So Jack thinks that perhaps his wrongdoing is in his weather (never mind the fact he is not really the one who dictates the patterns of nature and climate).

Of course, this suppression cannot last forever, and it is when Jack is bringing a light snowfall to Northern Germany that he feels the fatigue that has been building up inside him come to a sort of culmination.

The air is thin and has the sort of crisp feeling that it gets when nearing heavy precipitation – it is almost as if it is in want of harsher snow. But Jack keeps it light anyway, still under the obsessive idea that it is what the Moon is asking of him. He's flying over a forest toward a village when he wobbles a bit, startling himself. He shakes his head, blinks a few times, hard, and then opens his eyes wide. Though he can admit he's tired as hell, he stubbornly can't bring himself to stop.

Flying over the village, he glances at the cobblestone and terra cotta rooftops below, the reds of the clay buildings standing out amongst the dulled colors of winter. Jack wonders vaguely if the people are confused at the lack of snow and ice this year. Maybe just for a while, he'd touch down to one of the roofs and rest. Just for a while. Gripping his staff, Jack rides the wind down to the lightly slanted roof of a house nearby. Most of the village is dark because night is closing in and everyone is blowing out their candles.

He leans heavily against the chimney on the roof, refusing to actually sit down. His breath is coming harder now and he rubs sluggishly at his eyes. When he glances up, he sees the moon is not visible tonight because of the clouds, but he also notices something high in the sky, something orange. Strings of orange, almost like… sand.

Dreamsand. He'd seen the stuff before, but he'd never met who creates it. The sand is beautiful, and Jack watches as the dreams of children whisk their way down to the village's homes, some in forms of dragons and knights, others in forms of elephants and tigers; all of it is whimsical and delightful and nothing like what Jack feels he brings to the world. Though he would later – much later – be declared the Guardian of Fun, Jack has not yet seen the joyous effect his weather is capable of bringing. All he can think of is the destruction and bitterness.

Who would want to be around the Bringer of Winter, of death to nature?

The words echo in his brain like poison and Jack involuntarily shudders. That had been a few years ago, but it still haunts him, most likely because it had been one of the very few times anyone had spoken to him at all. Still leaning on the chimney, Jack tries to edge himself away in order to take off, but is caught by surprise when his own body can't support itself on its own, and he falls on his back, gripping the roofs' shingles to stop himself from sliding down. The position is actually comfortable, and the sight of the moving clouds and dreamsand is soothing.

"So tired..." Jack mumbles (he'd gotten used to talking to himself sometimes because silence really could be deafening). But he can't let himself fall asleep when there is work to be done and answers to be earned.

Something else orange appears in his blurring vision; it looks to be a short man with pointed yellow hair. Jack blinks up at him as he nears. "You the Sandman?" he tries to ask, but he is pretty sure it comes out as an incoherent mess.

However, the little man seems to have heard him, because he nods once. Jack can barely see him, his eyes are barely open, but he still says, "I have things to do, cold weather to make… less cold… so… hope you're not here to make me fall asleep… Don't need to sleep often, you know…"

The Sandman says nothing, but waves his hands with graceful movements (Jack notes he is surprisingly graceful for someone so stout), creating beautiful sand snowflakes. As they drift around Jack, he tries to protest again, but his body has different ideas, and soon he is asleep.

With the help of the dreamsand, Jack dreams well for the first time in a long time.


a/n: I'm excited because apparently RotG has been doing better at the box office lately- I was planning on going to see it again in 3D this Saturday, and if everyone who loves it went to see it again the same weekend, we could really have a big impact.

But yes, anyway. This chapter wasn't actually as painful as the others because of Sandy. Next up is Depression though, so, that didn't last long. Also, Sandy knew who Jack was the moment he saw him, though he hadn't met him. Word travels among the Immortals, I'm sure.

Review and let me know what you think!