Jack insists on giving Jamie a tour of the workshop, and Jamie, despite feeling somewhat wary after yesterday's – well, last night's – near-collapse, trails along. It's a fascinating tour, to be fair, and before long Jamie's absorbed enough in the sights to forget the weakness that trickles through his limbs and slows his steps.
At least, he forgets it until they reach the observatory.
The balcony is open to the night air, a cool breeze beckoning Jamie forward. He follows, gladly – it's stiflingly warm and noisy inside, and the dark and the quiet seems like a little patch of heaven.
And then he steps out from under the roof and into the moonlight.
The silvery beams that were once so reassuring now seem harsh and unforgiving, pinning him down like a bug under a magnifying glass, their light cold and sharp and cruel. Jamie flinches, draws back into the shadow of the roof. For an instant, he swears that the same sweet, sad voice that first called him by his name now repeats it, sounding sadder than before, and another unfamiliar surge of hate floods through him. When all it's ever done is watch him suffer, even hurt him, what right does the moon have to sound so disappointed –
"Jamie?" Jack's voice is tentative, but the way he holds his staff is sure and threatening, and the cold pulse of his fear shocks Jamie back to reality. "You okay, there?" It's clear from the look on his face that Jack isn't worried about Jamie, so much as worried by Jamie.
We do not know what Jamie would do.
They're scared of you.
"Fine," Jamie answers, too quickly. His head is pounding, especially around his eyes, and Jack's still looking at him like he's a wild animal that might bite at any moment. "Can we go somewhere else?"
"Yeah," Jack says, and it's just as hurried. "Yeah, good idea. Hey, do you want some hot chocolate?"
"Sure," Jamie agrees. Anything to get away from the moonlight.
…
The yeti in charge of the kitchen keeps shooting suspicious glances at Jamie. Interestingly enough, he's also keeping his watchful eye on Jack, growing tense whenever the winter spirit comes within two feet of anything glass and groaning audibly when Jack jumps onto a counter to get the cocoa powder from a high cabinet. Jack doesn't seem to notice, walking the length of the counter to plop the tin of cocoa down beside the stove before leaping back down. "Mind grabbing the milk for me, Joe?" he asks, and the yeti rolls his eyes and opens a door that turns out to lead not into another cabinet but straight out into the snow.
"You don't need a fridge when you live at the North Pole," Jack says, in answer to Jamie's unspoken question, and the yeti grumbles something unintelligible and gently but firmly presses Jack into one of the kitchen chairs. "Oh, you're going to make the cocoa for us? Aw, Joe, I didn't know you cared."
Jamie doesn't know what language the yetis speak – if it's a language at all – and he definitely doesn't understand it, but even so it isn't hard to tell that Joe just wants to keep Jack away from the stove.
The silence that follows is almost painfully awkward, as Jamie tries to think of a way to phrase the millions of questions that are still swarming around in his head. What he really wants to know is why Pitch had said that the Guardians betrayed him, but he can't exactly ask, "So what horrible thing did you do to me?", and he has the very strong feeling that letting them know he's been talking to Pitch won't end well. They already distrust him; he doesn't want to give them a good reason to.
Luckily, he doesn't have long to stew over it. The cocoa isn't even done before the kitchen door creaks open, and a smallish, roundish face appears around it, casting a quick and searching glance over the room and lighting up in a bright smile when his eyes fall on Jack. Jack, in turn, pops out of his chair – earning a groan from the yeti – and hurries over to the door in two bounds, throwing it open to reveal that the face belongs to an equally smallish and roundish gentleman. "Sandy! Hey, it's good to see you!"
The smallish gentleman cants his head to one side as something golden swirls above it, forming into the shape of a candy cane, which morphs into a question mark. For some reason, the shimmering shapes look familiar, but Jamie can't quite put his finger on why.
Jack shakes his head, and then apparently remembers that he can speak. "He's been in the library since sundown." He paused, stuffing both hands in his hoodie pocket. "I wonder if he'd like some hot chocolate. Wait, what am I saying? This is North, of course he would. Guy's got a bigger sweet tooth than – Jamie? Crap, where'd he go?"
"Nowhere," Jamie answers, quickly. He hadn't really meant to hide, but his disastrous first encounters with two of Jack's friends must have made it a reflex. He shoos the shadows away, bracing himself for the little golden man's reaction.
Instead of the blow he's half-expecting, Jamie gets a wave and a friendly smile. And if the smile looks just a little sad, Jamie's not going to question it. Unlike the others, this little gentleman doesn't seem frightened at all by Jamie's appearance, or the way he slips out of the shadows.
"See, that's why North put out the call. Jamie, you have to stop vanishing on us," Jack jokes, as if answering an unspoken question. "Hey, Sandy, do you -"
He doesn't get to finish the sentence, because that's when Jamie remembers where he's seen that sparkling sand before. "It was you!"
And that gets him their full attention, a sliver of apprehension from the little gentleman and an almost painfully hopeful smile from Jack. "You remember Sandy?"
"No," Jamie has to admit, although the way Jack's face falls makes him wish he did. "No, I – you sent me a butterfly. In the dark."
The little man's – Sandy's – face is a picture of confusion, but he waves his hands and the sands swirl into the shape of a golden-glowing butterfly. Jamie nods in recognition, and tries to quash the tiny tendril of resentment that coils up inside him at the thought that he last saw this under the full moonlight. How long ago was it? How long was he trapped in darkness, alone –
"Whoa, hey, you didn't tell me you'd found him like this," Jack says to the little gentleman – Sandy - sounding almost as hurt as Jamie feels.
"You knew I was down there?" There's more venom in the words than he'd meant them to carry, but the Sandman doesn't seem offended, simply shaking his head. A series of gestures, accompanied by swirls of sand, leave Jamie none the wiser but feeling somehow comforted.
"I asked Sandy to keep an eye out for you, make sure to send you sweet dreams," Jack explains, seeing the look on Jamie's face. "After you -" He stops, bites off the sentence mid-word, and his face turns shuttered and dark. When he smiles again, it's too bright, too brittle, like a day so cold that clouds can't form, a brilliantly deceptive blue sky that will freeze you to the marrow within minutes. "After some bad stuff happened. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"And you couldn't do that yourself?"
Jack shrugs, and it's quick and tight, not the expansive, expressive kind of gesture he usually makes. Jamie gets the feeling that he really wants to know whatever it is that Jack doesn't want to tell him. If only he knew how to ask, and get a truthful answer. "Anyway. Sandy, you were saying?"
It takes a while, and more wrong guesses than anyone would like to admit, but they finally figure out that Sandy had aimed his dreams at Jamie, rather than where Jamie happened to be at the time. So he hadn't even noticed anything was wrong until –
"Wait. The dreamsand came back…what? Bigger? Uglier? Sandy, you're not making any sense."
The little gentleman huffs in frustration, and whips up another butterfly, which he blows directly at Jamie's face. Before Jamie has time to react, it lands, feather-light, on his nose.
There's a pinprick of warmth, and he wrinkles his nose, feeling a flicker of something he can't quite name, and the butterfly turns black. It happens slowly, great looping whorls spreading over the little sand-shape's broad wings, until the whole thing's completely covered in a faintly-shimmering darkness. It's pretty, in a strange and slightly unnerving way, and when it flutters those black wings the brush of cool air against Jamie's cheeks almost feels like a kiss.
The reaction is instantaneous. Jack stumbles backwards, and the look of dumbfounded horror on his face would be enough of a giveaway even if Jamie couldn't feel the rush of his fear. His expression quickly turns grim, though, and he swings his staff around to point at the butterfly now fluttering around Jamie's head.
"What are you doing?" Jamie asks, and Jack's staff glows blue, a faint sharp scent of snow filling the air. Jamie grabs the little sand-creature out of the air and cups it protectively in both hands, noting as he does that its wings have gone serrated along the edge, more like a bat than a butterfly. Its wingbeats stir up faint impressions of dark wings overhead, some unseen airborne terror.
"What are you doing?" Jack demands. "That's a nightmare."
"I know," Jamie answers, and he really doesn't know why this is such a big deal, but the temperature in the kitchen is dropping fast. He looks to the Sandman, hoping for a clue, but all he gets is a wary, scrutinizing look, and a gesture towards the little nightmare that is clearly intended for Jack, who doesn't notice.
"You just turned that dream into a nightmare and now you're trying to act like it's nothing?" Jack doesn't look away from Jamie's closed hands, but he's clearly not talking to Jamie when he asks, "How long did Pitch say it took him to figure out how to do that?"
Of course. That's why he's so upset about the nightmare, which even now is trying to seep between Jamie's fingers. It's only a little fear, barely big enough to make a sleeper frown, but having it around still feels comforting, like a particularly companionable pet. Jamie tries to ignore the pang of loss when he offers, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. You can have it back -"
The ripple of fear is dull and remembered and, surprisingly enough, comes not just from Jack. But the Sandman shakes his head and holds out one small hand and Jamie, grudgingly, lets go of the little creature. It nuzzles against his fingers, and he has to blow on it gently to get it to let go, giving it a little nudge towards the Sandman. Its black wings beat out a steady pattern of night air and high-pitched, squeaking cries, abruptly silenced when it lands on Sandy's finger and gold scrolls across it again.
Suddenly, Jamie feels heavy as lead and very, very tired. He slumps down into his seat and doesn't even have to try to ignore the looks he gets.
"Well," Jack finally says, and the kitchen seems instantly ten degrees warmer, "I guess having little nightmares come back instead of dreamsand would make me wonder too. Thanks for telling me something was wrong, anyway. I wouldn't've even known to look -" And he halts again, biting back words like he's dragging himself away from the lip of some massive, overhanging cliff. "Hey, why don't we take North some of that cocoa? It's got to be almost done by now, and he did want to see you guys." The last sentence is aimed at Sandy, who nods knowingly.
Jamie can't bring himself to care about working out whatever Jack's not saying. "You go," he says, and it comes out a little more like a sigh. "I just want to sleep."
Jack looks at him, long enough for Jamie to start to feel uncomfortable even through the haze of exhaustion, and nods. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."
Sandy waves a hand, and a tiny golden-sand figure above his head slides into a tiny golden-sand bed, a tinier golden-sand butterfly appearing and fluttering around the little figure's head. Jamie can't make heads or tails of this, and it must show on his face, because Jack sighs. "He's offering to send you good dreams."
"Oh." Jamie remembers the oppressive dark he'd found himself in the first time he'd fallen asleep, and almost agrees immediately before a traitorous little voice in the back of his mind whispers, He won't find you if you're not in a nightmare. How he knows, he has no idea. Why he cares, he has even less of a clue. If he believes a single word of what Jack's told him, Jamie shouldn't be looking forward to seeing Pitch again, should be afraid of what the Nightmare King can do, should be keeping his distance.
"…yeah," he finally answers. "Please. I'd like that."
And he tries to ignore the thought that whispers that Pitch wouldn't have made him destroy the nightmare.
AN: The first chapter is now a comic! obi-quiet. deviantart dot com slash art/So-Darkness-I-Became-Pg-1-357809007 (Sorry about the link formatting, ffn is getting a bit ridiculous about what it eats and what it doesn't. Just copy and paste into your address bar, replace the 'dot' and the 'slash' with the appropriate symbols, and take out the spaces.)
Thank you to everyone reading, and especially to those of you who left such lovely reviews! I really appreciate it.
