Hola Humani! Yes, I know I haven't posted in a long time. Well, I'm busy! Anyway, did you like Death's surprise appearance? Kinda creepy. And Pitch, being afraid of something! That's certainly a new concept.
I guessed that, when I first wrote this, people weren't going to be a big fan of Pitch killing someone. but I had to do it! It get's better, I promise! Ready to find out what happens next? Good. Buckle up.
Several thousand miles away, Toothiana was giving orders to more of her fairies.
"D.C, sector nine, grit eight. Three Molars and a bicuspid at 413 Arlington avenue. Lausanne, Switzerland. An incisor and a premolar. Same house."
Tooth buzzed over to a tiny fairy who held out a tooth for her to inspect. "My my, Eleanor Rosalie has had a bit of trouble with brushing, hasn't she?" Tooth said reprovingly, squinting at the tooth, which had a large cavity in the center. "Just look at that one! It's barely holding together. Go take it to be cleaned, will you?" She said to the tiny fairy who'd given it to her. The fairy squeaked in agreement and gave her mother a smart salute.
Tooth flew up and towards the place where her little fairies got their coins and saw Baby Tooth carrying a little boy's first tooth.
"Oh, that is incredible! Look at it, the little darling." She cooed as Baby Tooth handed it to her. Baby Tooth squeaked in agreement and they both stared dotingly at that one tiny pearly-white. It was so small and pale, like a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow.
"Well, you'd better get that to storage, Baby Tooth." Tooth said after snapping out of her tooth-revere. Baby Tooth gave her mother a look and Tooth laughed, making a shooing motion with her hand. "Yes yes, we all love the first teeth. Now hurry! The day's almost over! Remember, I'm going out in the field tonight and you're staying here to make sure Pitch doesn't go after the teeth again!"
Baby Tooth nodded and struck a fighting pose, holding her little fists out like a boxer.
Tooth laughed. "Yes yes, my little warriors. But seriously, I'm leaving at sunset! and I won't be back until sunset tomorrow. Have to get the rest of the world, even if they aren't in my hemisphere."
Baby Tooth nodded, saluting one more time and flew away with the little tooth. Almost immediately Tooth got an order and said to no one in particular, "Phoenix, Arizona. Golden Avenue- oh!" She said, suddenly feeling a painful twinge inside her stomach.
Three fairies who were hovering close by heard their mother's exclamation and buzzed over to see what was wrong. Their mother just hovered there, holding her hand against her stomach. "I don't know. It feels like something is- AGH!" She cried, dropping three or four feet in the air, clutching her stomach as she doubled up in pain.
The little fairies began to squeak in fright. Their squeaking became louder and the other fairies stopped what they were doing. If one of their sisters was squeaking like that, it could only mean one thing: Mom was in danger. Like a swarm of bees the tiny hummingbird girls flew towards their mother who was just barely managing t stay afloat. They flew beneath her and gently bore her weight down to a platform where she collapsed, heaving slow ragged breathes. Her hands were clutching her stomach and she was groaning. It sounded like she was in a lot of pain.
The tiny girls started squeaking in confusion and buzzing around their mother until Baby Tooth came through, parting the cloud of fairies easily and shooing them all back with a few squeaks. She told the others to go back to what they were doing and thanked them for helping. Reluctantly, the other tiny fairies flew away and went back to their jobs, cleaning, finding and storing the teeth of children all over the world.
Tooth, though her face was twisted in an unnamed pain, looked up and saw, with tears of pain mixed with an expression of pride on her face, that Baby Tooth taking charge like a real Tooth Fairy should.
"Good girl." Tooth whispered, then the pain in her stomach became too much and she slumped into unconsciousness.
~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~
A few thousand miles away, in Cloud Castle, Sandman was sitting at the desk in his room, writing about his day in his journal. He was the only Guardian who wasn't too worried about Pitch attacking again. For one, he'd been practicing against the black sand Pitch used.
He'd managed to obtain a small amount and, with a little tinkering in his workroom, he'd managed to make more and even to create a special kind of dream sand that combined the black color of Pitch's nightmare sand and the properties of his own dream-sand. It was, essentially, a teaser sand that looked like Pitch's, but it couldn't hurt him and he used this sand to practice dodging arrows and Nightmares, which had been Pitch's primary choice of weapon when they'd first fought in the Nightmare War.
He gave the sand weapons and creatures basic motor functions and reason. That was all. The Nightmare would attack only when Sandy blew on a dream-sand whistle, and the arrows would only fire when he made a certain move. That way he could practice the same moves over and over again. There were a few times, however, when the arrows managed to actually catch him, but the sand had just melted back into his outfit and turned back into golden dream-sand.
For another, Sandy knew that he wouldn't dare attack Cloud Castle, where he was strongest. Even Pitch wouldn't be that stupid. No, he'd most likely wait and attack while he was out on his rounds.
Sandy sighed and wrote another paragraph in his journal, which he'd kept since he'd been re-born.
Sometimes I think that we shouldn't have just left Pitch alone. We left Jack alone for far too long, and look how that turned out. Sandy sighed. And because we- no, I left him alone for over a thousand years, I take partial responsibility for the things Pitch has done. I can't help it! I guess I now know how Bunny and the other Guardians feel. About Jack, I mean. They had this sense of failure all around them for the first few months Jack spent as a Guardian.
Sandy frowned at that last sentence and then erased a word.
They had this sense of guilt all around them for the first few months Jack spent as a Guardian.
He nodded. Better.
They felt guilty that they couldn't help him see Wonder, or Hope. Toothiana feels particularly guilty because she never helped Jack find his memories. She doesn't say this, of course, but I can tell.
Sandy stopped writing and stroked his chin. He'd developed that as a habit from watching a few too many Sherlock Holmes movies.
Anyway, back to Pitch. He wrote carefully. I can't help but feel a twinge of pity for him. He used to be a great man, according to the records. I can't imagine how much it must hurt to fall from being a great General, to becoming the thing hated by all. Well, Sandy reflected. Not all. There are plenty of modern children, Goths, I believe they're called, who enjoy calling up dark spirits or Demons. (which usually turns out to be Pitch in costume, ready to scare the living daylights out of children.) I can't say I approve. If children want to call up demons, they should watch Wishmaster first and see what happens.
Sandy chuckled, having seen Pitch sitting on the arm of a child's couch or on the floor of a bedroom many times when those particular movies were playing.
I wonder where Pitch is now. It's been so long since I've actually seen him. Sandy wondered. The hole in the ground he calls a lair is still there. It only dissapeared for about a month or two. But the broken bed frame, which I actually thought was rather clever, is gone though. Now it's just a big dark hole where plenty of unwilling children will probably fall into. Sandy chuckled again. I can just imagine Pitch running around his lair, shouting himself horse at children he's just found, lurking in corners and messing with his stuff. They wouldn't even be able to see him, much less hear him. He he!
Sandy broke off as a wave of chuckling escaped his mouth and his mind flashed with images of Pitch trying to corral a bunch of shrieking little kids, but going through them each time. Then he stopped as he realized what he was laughing at.
No, He thought. That is nothing to laugh at. All of us have felt the pain and sorrow of not being believed in.
Sandy sighed and picked up his dream-sand pencil once more.
I really should write more about my own experiences, rather than focus so much on Pitch. Still, my heart is telling me that what we did, leaving Pitch alone for so long, is going to come back at us again. I can't shake the feeling. I just can't! Not only that, but I really don't want to hurt Pitch. True, he was an insufferable moron during the time we knew each other before he began his life-long pursuit of trying to kill us, but at least he wasn't homicidal, like plenty of other spirits I've met.
Sandy chuckled again.
Not for a while, anyway. He had his share of bad moments, just like all of us. I can remember quite clearly the many times Tooth tried to run away from Santoff Clausen when she was chosen. North tried that too. So did Bunny. Then again, Tooth and Bunny were both magical beings right from the start, and Nicholas had always seen potential in everything, so he didn't try to run away that many times. Only about sixteen or so. I am glad they never saw my reaction to being a Guardian, Sandy wrote solemnly. I don't think I could stand to-
Sandy suddenly stopped writing. Something was churning his stomach violently. Even though his clothes and hair was made out of dream-sand, his body was still human skin and bone. And his stomach still digested food the way normal people's did, although at the moment he wasn't so sure.
Sandy put the pencil down and rubbing his stomach tentatively. What was that feeling? It was like a nest of snakes was writhing in there. And, unfortunately, Sandy could justify this metaphor. He'd literally experience the feeling before, three thousand years previously, when he'd been naive enough to take Anansi the spider up on an offer for dinner with him and his wife.
The churning feeling grew stronger and Sandy tried to rise off his chair to reach the northern lights switch all Guardians that had their own homes had, but the feeling intensified too quickly and Sandy fell off of his chair and onto the floor, clutching his stomach and wincing against the pain.
He laid there for a good forty minutes as the pain cranked up and up. The writhing snakes became circling dragons and the circling dragons became thrashing Leviathans. Sandman had a very high tolerance for pain, but the agony growing inside his body was burning him from the inside out. He wondered, trying to shut out the thoughts of immediate doom that everyone who experienced pain had, what was causing him so much pain? Had it something to do with Pitch? He had just been writing about him.
Like the Guardians, Pitch Black had the ability to sense whenever his name, pseudonym, or alias was mentioned, thought, or even written down. That was how, in the days he'd tried to kill them, Pitch had found their homes so easily. They had all been worried about Pitch finding them that they'd talked at great length about what they would do if Pitch attacked. Only after, at least three hundred years after, did they discover about that particular power.
Sandy's thoughts were interrupted by another sharp pain coming from his stomach. He cried out in silent agony, thrashing to the left, then the right. The pain was unbelievable. He wanted to scream. He tried to scream, but the only thing that happened was a sharp, jagged musical note appearing above his head.
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At the end of the earth, North was busy in his workroom, making a caboose for another ice train and listening to Russian Orchestra when the first wave of pain hit him.
"Bum! Bum-bum-bum-bum- Zunt! Bum bum bum-bum, Zunt!" North said, happily singing along to the tune of the Russian orchestra. "Vere eez dat eggnog?" He hollered over his shoulder as the song grew louder.
The elves who were supposed to be bringing North's eggnog were in the room next door, licking the bottoms of the tall glasses that were supposed to be for North. When they heard his voice, they looked up nervously and their little bells started to shake.
North, however, wasn't paying much attention to his lack of eggnog anyway. He was laughing at the perfect little caboose he'd made.
"Ah," He said as he connected the caboose to the second-to-last car and sent it puffing along the never-ending ice train tracks. "Eez always nice to see finished vork." He smiled happily as the tiny train made it's way around his workshop, jumping gracefully from table to table and turning sharply when he came in near contact with a wall.
North grabbed another chunk of ice and started hacking off pieces to use as back-up cabooses, in case Jack or Phil came barging in, like he'd told them a thousand times not to do, singing a Russian work-song as he did.
"Eti ruki ya ispolʹzuyu, chtoby moya rabota budet
moy volshebnyy kran palʹtsev i chip
led ya ispolʹzuyu, chtoby sdelatʹ ikh,
moi ruki ya ispolʹzuyu, chtoby sformirovatʹ ikh
okhladeyet , no mne vse ravno ,
za chudo detyam diski moikh rukakh.
Dlya togo, chtoby dlya nikh prekrasnyy podarok,
dlya detey v mire."
Translation (Roughly):
These hands I use to work my will.
My magic fingers tap and chip
the ice I use to make them,
my hands I use to shape them
grow cold, but I care not.
For the wonder of children drives my hands.
To make for them, the perfect gift,
for the children of the world.
North was about to launch into the second verse, which mainly consisted of his brave warrior exploits, when a violent shudder that quickly ran through him. It rattled his bones and set is belly quivering. North coughed, wondering if it was stale eggnog.
After a few minutes, the shudder passed and he continued on carving and singing in his mother tongue.
"Kto tak vsegda, khrabrym i smelym, kak Nikolay Sankt-Sever, Koshmar istrebitelʹ, mech-zhiznelyub, naiboleye boyalisʹ- AGH!" North suddenly yelled, clenching his fists and doubling up in silent pain.
A/N: Translation: Who so ever, brave and courageous, as Nicholas St. North! The Nightmare fighter, the sword-swinger, the most feared-
Phil was checking the wrapping paper supply and grunting to the Yeti who'd messed up the order at that moment. After reprimanding the Yeti in question, he flipped through his checklist to see if there was anything else he needed to get done before daylight.
"Garf Trogada. . ." (Let's see. . .) He said, flipping through the pages of orders he still had to fill. Ha ha. Phil. Fill. He'd almost make a joke.
Phil pushed past the crowds of Yetis who were carrying huge mounds of packages and through the massive workshop. He was careful to watch where he stepped though. About six years ago he'd accidentally trodden on one elf toe too-many and the elves had launched a full-scale war on the Yetis. They'd used paintball guns, small NERF blasters and miniature jet packs, none of which Phil had any idea how they'd gotten a hold of, and had nearly torn the place apart. Luckily it was the day after Christmas and there were no presents to , the Yetis were on their one night a year off and they got to spend it ducking flying water balloon missiles and running from hyped-up elves wearing jet packs instead of relaxing, as they well deserved.
But, just because he couldn't step on their toes, it didn't mean he couldn't occasionally kick one, (by accident, of course,) sky-high like a football, just to remind them who was boss.
"Huh. Football." Phil said to himself as he fussed over the cookie ratios. That's a nice idea. An elf-shaped football. I must tell North about that one. He thought as he climbed one of the many staircases that led up to North's workrooms.
Phil was not your average Yeti. His fur-color, a light violet rather than the straight brown of regular Yetis, was one of the many things that separated him apart from the hundreds of Yetis working at North's Pole. Not only was he North's number one yeti, but he was head of security, head sleigh care-taker and snow-globe maker, among many many other things. He was the only one allowed to go into the upper floors, where North's private rooms and vaults were, and he even did a little toy-designing in his spare time, if he had any.
But Phil's talent didn't stop there. He'd proved to be a reliable comrade and a fierce enemy in battle, he was a top-notch engineer, and he even had some musical talent from the annual Yeti Christmas Carol. He was a loyal friend, a great cook, but most important of all, he was also a great friend to the Russian man.
Needless to say, Phil was an exceptional Yeti.
One of the other amazing traits he possessed was incredibly heightened hearing. Regular Yetis had sharp ears too. It was one of the many attributes that made them ideal security men, housekeepers, and cooks. They could hear the oven bell ring on a tray of cookies a mile away., but Phil could hear the individual clicks of the timer from ten miles away.
He heard the cry of the Guardian the instant the sound left his lips, even from twelve floors down. Instantly he knew that something was wrong. North didn't yell like that unless he's cut himself with the chainsaw, (which, believe it or not, did happen many many times,) or something has infiltrated the pole.
Flinging his clipboard aside, Phil charged up the staircase, not resting, not taking even a moment's pause. The stairs shook with the pounding of the giant yeti's feet.
Back in North's workroom. . .
It felt like something was pulling on his heart. Squeezing it. If North didn't know better, he'd have thought it was a heart attack. Something had reached inside his body and started yanking, hard, at his insides. The pain was immense. Like being burned alive.
North tried to control his mind. He tried to think straight, but the mysterious pain that had him hunched over was like a giant wave, crashing on top of him, over and over again.
Finally the pain stopped for a few seconds. Long enough for North to set down his tiny pick and hammer, which he'd grasped so tightly that the intricate metal was cutting into his flesh, and staggered to his feet.
"Phil!" He called. His voice was husky and barely audible. Still, Yetis had good hearing.
Phil's suspicions were confirmed when he heard his friend's haggard call. He burst through the door, shortly followed by a small crowd of elves with empty tall glasses and ashamed expressions on their faces that had been standing nervously near the door.
When Phil and the elves saw North, they immediately rushed over and tried to help. Phil slid the big man's arm over his shoulder and hoisted him up to his feet. The elves didn't actually do anything to help, but their bells jingled encouragingly and they put wide, but fearful smiled on their faces. They all knew that something dire was wrong with their old friend and comrade.
Phil helped North out of the room. After only a few feet, North was panting.
"Go," North ordered. "Go turn on de lights. I'll be fine. Something terrible has happened."
Phil looked doubtful as the warrior leaned against the door frame.
"Go!" North said, pointing. His word was accompanied by a ragged cough and hacking. It was like the Nightmare War all over again.
The Nightmare War! Pitch! Was he behind this? North thought desperately as he tried to fight for breath. North turned back towards his workroom and looked out the window. And then he fainted.
The last two things North saw before he slipped into unconsciousness was Phil's worried furry face, staring down at him, and a blood-red moon casting it's scarlet light through the window.
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Jack Frost was, surprisingly, not flying around, spreading his wintery fun. He was actually sitting in the highest branches of an evergreen tree, looking up at the moon.
"So, what's the news?" Jack asked, not expecting a response. He wasn't disappointed.
Silence.
Jack sighed and leaned against the trunk. "Yeah, not much going on with me either."
Jack had just finished spreading his wintery fun in seventeen thousand cities. He'd instigated thirteen thousand snow days, ninety-nine thousand snowball fights, and frozen more ponds for skating than he could count. Needless to say, he was completely bushed. He pulled his blue hoodie over his head and curled up on the branch, ready to fall asleep and wake up the next morning, Bright and early to spread fun and happiness to children everywhere.
Of course, the sudden sharp pain in his gut blew all that out of his mind. In fact, the only things going through his mind, besides various curse words that Jack had learned from Bunny, North and Tooth, were, What the heck?!
The pain hit him out of nowhere. One second he was curled up on the branch, the next he was flailing around and rolling off the branch, falling to the snow-covered forest floor.
"AGH!" He yelled, trying to grab onto something, anything, to break his fall. His staff, which he'd left on the branch was tumbling a few feet in front of him, but he was falling too fast to catch it and before he knew what hit him, he was lying, face down, in the cold snow.
The pain he was feeling was immense. It clenched his stomach like a vise and he had to gasp out breaths. Jack tried to move, but movement made the pain intensify, so he just laid there, his hands clutching his stomach, wondering what was happening to him.
The sensation, though painful, was actually familiar to Jack. He'd felt almost the same way when Pitch had broken his staff.
Pitch. Jack thought savagely. Was this all Pitch's doing? But, my staff is here, He thought, trying to figure out-
"AGH!" He cried again. His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp jabbing pain to the side and he turned his head slightly to see what had caused it. What he saw made him scream like a girl.
He was looking into a huge, golden eye.
"Quiet!" The eye hissed in a scratchy voice, like a person who hadn't had a drink of water for a long time. "Do you want the whole forest to hear you?!"
Jack clamped his mouth shut, but that brought on another massive wave of pain and he whimpered slightly.
The eye seemed to relax. "I'm sorry," The eye apologized. "I forgot you are in pain. Are you Jack Frost?"
Jack nodded, bringing another wave of pain that was so intense his eyes started to water. He tried to see what was looming over him, but all he could see was the eye. It didn't help that he was on his stomach and he edges of his vision were too blurry from being pushed into the snow. Was he going to lose unconsciousness?
The eye bent down and Jack saw that the eye were surrounded by golden and orange and red feathers. Was this some kind of giant bird spirit? "My name is Summer. I'm here to help you." The giant bird, now known as Summer, said gently. "I know you can't move because of the pain, but my friend should be able to help with that."
Jack didn't dare turn his head again, mostly because he couldn't, but he could just barely see the shadow of a person on the edge of his vision. Who were they? Summer, he'd heard of, but this mysterious friend could be-
He stopped thinking and mentally grumbled at himself. He was acting like Bunny. Distrusting people who he'd never even met. What happened to first impressions make the best impressions?
"What indeed," Another voice said. Female, and completely human this time. Jack hadn't been able to place Summer, but from her name he assumed she was female. "This won't hurt a bit, Jack. Summer, back up will you? You're probably freaking the kid out."
Summer's giant eye blinked and drew back and Jack's suspicious were now confirmed. His eyes were still blurry, but he could just barely make out her huge feathered head, shoulders, and more importantly, her very large beak.
Jack tried to speak, but the mysterious girl said, "Shush. You're in safe hands, I promise. We're going to take you to the North Pole. Something very very bad has happened, but we need your to trust us, alright Jack?"
Jack saw the shadowy figure bend down to his level and he nearly gasped. It was a girl, but unlike any he'd ever seen. Her skin was a shade of translucent blue, and her eyes looked like tiny whirlpools. Literally. Even though his sight was blurred, he could distinctly see the tiny swirling tornadoes inside her pupils. Her hair was also tainted blue, though it looked originally brown, and she had a small smile on her face.
She looks like a ghost, Jack observed. He didn't dare say anything out loud though, for fear of either insulting her or the pain that would come of moving.
"A ghost? Hardly." The girl laughed.
Jack's eyes widened. She could hear his thoughts?
"Yes, Jack. Although unintentionally, I assure you. I have somewhat annoying talents, though useful. But that is a discussion for another time" The girl snapped her fingers and Jack felt himself being lifted slowly off of the ground. There was no pain, and the pressure on his stomach helped things a little bit, but then the invisible force turned him over and Jack felt a cry bubbling up inside him.
"Jack, if it hurts I'm sorry. I'm trying to be as gentle as I can," The girl said.
Jack wanted to give her the thumbs up, like Sandy had done to him numerous times, but he knew pain would follow, so he just blinked.
It's OK. He thought. But, can you at least tell me who you are?
The ghost-girl laughed. "Well, we could, but I have a feeling you are going to lose consciousness shortly and not remember any of this later, so I think not."
Jack felt himself be lifted up high, high in the air and settle on something was and soft. The pain of movement was lessened somewhat.
He tried to open his eyes one last time, but all he saw was gold and orange and red.
"Fall asleep, Jack. Let Sanderson's magic take you in. We'll see you when we wake up." The ghost-girl said gently, and Jack felt himself float away into a blissful dreamless sleep.
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Bunnymund felt the pain as well. Luckily for him, he was in his Warren when it happened. Unluckily, he was in his own private rooms, where no one was allowed to disturb him.
He was working on a new kind of chocolate when it happened.
"Two cups of pure ground sugarcane,"
Aside from being a master of Tai-Chi, an expert tracker, marksbunny, sorcerer and painter, the Easter Bunny was also actually a master chocolateer and had, in fact, invented chocolate. Bunny still fondly remembered his first chocolate-making. He'd singed his own eyebrows and had used far too much sugar, but the Aztecs didn't care. They enjoyed it greatly and were the first people who had asked to learn his recipe.
"A cup of milk,"
Since then he'd made thousands of different types of chocolate, ranging from bittersweet dark to heavenly milk. He'd been the first being to make Chocolate Liquor and had been the first to try it on fruit, such as strawberries.
"Six ounces of- AHHHH!" Bunny yelled, dropping his measuring spoon and spilling cocoa powder everywhere.
Bunny leaned forward, towards his work table, so he wouldn't fall to the ground, but as he strained to hold himself up his arms spasmed and he dropped to the floor, landing hard on his knees.
"ARG! Bloody hell!" Bunny swore, thrashing to the left and inadvertently banging his left leg against his table. "Son of a- (Censored)!"
The pain in his stomach was unbelievable, and the pain in his knees and legs was swiftly catching up. His whole body was racked with pain.
"HELP!" He yelled, forgetting that he was the only person there, apart from his eggs. "Somebody, help me!" His voice was hoarse and barely audible. The movement of his jaw sent pain ricocheting around his skull and he had to bite down on his tongue, hard, to stop himself from crying out. Miraculously, someone answered.
"ASTER!" A booming female voice yelled from somewhere in the Warren. "Aster, where are you?!"
"HERE!" He croaked, not even caring who it was or why they were here. The pain was so incredible, he'd be willing to accept the Grim Reaper himself's help if he offered it!
A minute later his door burst open and a tall, elegant woman in a shimmering green dress with flowing brown hair, and bare feet ran into the room. Her deep green eyes looked around carefully.
"Aster, where are you- Oh!" She said, her eyes alighting on Bunny's shuddering frame, sprawled on the ground. She instantly dropped to his side and rolled him over gently. It was painful, but Bunny just bit back the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes and looked into the face of his savior. "Aster, there you are. Thank Manny!" Her voice sweet and low, like a bird singing, and it was a voice he knew all too well.
"Mama E?" He croaked, attempting a chuckle that turned into a ragged cough.
"Dammit Aster, don't call me that! It's Gaia to you!" Gaia said sternly.
Bunny resisted the urge to laugh and wondered why, and how, she'd come here. "Gaia. What are you doing here?"
Gaia, more commonly known as Mother Earth, tutted and said, "Time for that later. Come on. We've got to get you out of here." She said, taking his paws in her long, thin hands. They were covered in ink and henna tattoos.
Bunny shook his head, though it caused a sharp tendril of pain to shoot up his neck and slipped his paws out of her hands. "Can't. Hurts too much." He croaked.
"Aster, we need to get you out of here!" Gaia said angrily, pulling at his arms again. "I promise I'll explain everything, once we get you out of here."
Bunny gritted his teeth once more, which he knew Tooth would vastly disapprove of, and slowly, with an enormous amount of effort, rose to a half-standing half-leaning position. The pain was unbelievable, and soon tears began to form on his face. Gaia noticed this and gently pushed her head and shoulders beneath his arm to support him better.
"Come on, Aster, I know you're a tough bunny," Gaia said, easing him slowly out the door to his room. "We just need to make it down to the flat area, then I can get us a ride."
Bunny was to focused on trying not to cry out to hear her. Together, with Bunny leaning almost completely on Gaia, they hobbled down the grassy path to the flat area where the river flowed. Eggs gathered around their feet as Gaia sat him down on a flat rock, giving him a chance to catch his breath, which was ragged and short.
"Aster, look at me!" She demanded suddenly, taking his face in her hands and peering into his eyes and Bunny was forced to gaze directly into her cool green ones. His eyes, however, were red-rimmed from painful tears, but nothing worse than that. "Good." She said to herself, releasing the rabbit. "It's not that bad."
Bunny hadn't the faintest clue what she was talking about and, even though his words hurt, he tried to say them. "Mama E, Gaia, what are you doing here? What's happened? Why-"
"Shut up, Aster." Gaia ordered, not even looking up from the tiny green bag attached to her dress that she was fumbling through. "Talking wastes your energy." She continued to fumble for at least another three minutes, then she said, "Aha!" triumphantly, pulling out a small green seed.
Bunny frowned and said, "What's-"
"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Gaia demanded, turning and staring down her small nose at him.
Bunny gulped, but he kept his mouth shut. You could argue with any spirit, anytime, any place, except for three: The Grim Reaper, Manny, and Mother Earth.
"That's right." Gaia said, giving him the look all mothers give to their children on a daily basis. Don't try to mess with me.
Gaia threw the seed a few feet away from them and Bunny watched in amazement as the seed hit earth and instantly started to grow. In less than a minute, an elegant brown Cadillac was standing in front of them, with white-wall tires, what Bunny guessed was bullet-proof glass, and a bumper sticker on the back fender that said Green Momma.
"Since when did you upgrade to a caddy?" Bunny asked, forgetting the shut up rule.
"Since the nineteen thirties." Gaia replied, grabbing his arm and tossing him in the passenger seat."I was sick of people telling me that you didn't ride around in carriages anymore. And I thought I told you to-"
Bunny quickly zipped his lips and threw away the key.
Gaia gave him another Don't mess with me look and slid into the driver's side, producing a black key out of nowhere. "OK, listen and listen good, Aster, 'cause I'm not going to repeat this."
Bunny nodded, bucking his seat belt tightly. Mother Earth drove worse that North.
"Something bad is happening." Gaia said, putting the car in gear. "Really bad. My sources tell me that the Guardians are in similar situations to you, and my gut tells me that so are the rest of the spirits of this world. I felt the same pain you're feeling, but much less intense. Mine only lasted for a few minutes." She grimaced at the memory. "Your seems to be going away quickly," she observed.
Bunny laughed and ended up turning it into a cough. "Nah, Mama E. I'm just good at hidin' my emotions."
Gaia nodded, revving the engine. "Ah. I see. Well, the other Guardians are all unconscious, as my sources have it. I sent people already to bring Jack Frost, Sandman, and Toothiana to the North Pole. Father Time is calling all spirits, good and bad, under flag of truce there so that we can figure out what has happened."
Bunny listened carefully. Now that the pain was somewhat lessened by the lack of movement, he found he could think straighter. So the others were unconscious, and every single spirit across the globe had felt this quick sensation of pain. Father Time was calling them all to the Pole.
Oh goodie, He thought sarcastically. I'll get a chance to meet some old friends again.
"Don't look so glum, Aster!" Gaia said, turning the key and putting her foot down on the gas. "You might see some old friends!"
