Jamie only gets to bask in the feeling of pure, unbridled terror for a few short moments before it begins to warp, slipping away into anger and out of his grasp. The loss stings, a sudden sharp stab where his heart should be, and before he even knows it he's decided he wants it back.
There's something dark and glittering scattered about on the floor around him, something that looks and feels like the dreamsand but black as a moonless night, its soaring feeling of infinite possibility turned to a heavy, inexplicable menace. This has to be what's left of the shattered nightmare, and with just a little coaxing it swirls up and around his hands, whispering the rattle of wind in bare treetops and soft footfalls following just out of sight. He lets it curl around his arms, settling under his sleeves like a secret, before turning his attention back to the trail of quickly-vanishing fear.
He still doesn't know the workshop well enough to find his way through its halls and rooms to the source. Luckily, he doesn't have to. The shadows under the bed swallow him up greedily, and when he sees the light again he's looking out into an unfamiliar room, perfectly circular, the walls lined completely with bookshelves which are full almost to overflowing. Part of the reason that the room feels much smaller than it truly is is the preponderance of books; the other is the people. In this already-crowded room, even five is enough to comfortably fill the space. It looks like it should be cozy, but the air is a soup of worry and apprehension.
He doesn't recognize the six-foot-tall rabbit who's shouting at the apparently unruffled North, but he doesn't have to. He recognizes the fear that the stranger's anger is rooted in, potent and ancient and recently unearthed. The rabbit is trying to claw it back under control and no that won't do that won't do at ALL.
It wouldn't take too much of a push at this point, to tip the balance from rage back into terror. It's there, simmering just under the shouts and the bluster, a fear of loss that blooms into a fear of failing and of helplessness, an old and deeply-rooted phobia that speaks from unfathomably long experience. Jamie has to wonder just how many families this creature has lost, that he's so scared of losing this one.
He slips shadow-thin behind Tooth, whose jewel-bright plumage fluffs up seemingly unconsciously at his passing, and Sandy, who looks around as though he's heard something. He couldn't have, shadows don't actually make a sound, but Jamie still freezes on the spot until the little man shakes his golden head and stops staring searchingly at the patches of dark between the bookshelves.
Neither the rabbit nor North seems to have noticed anything amiss, too wrapped up in whatever they're arguing about to notice a shadow moving around without anything to cast it.
"I knew ya were soft-hearted, but have ya gone soft in the head, too? Ya invited it in?"
North waves a hand dismissively. "Is all under control! Jamie has been excellent houseguest -"
"Not the point. Pitch finally went through with it and made 'imself a Fearling Prince, and you invited it in."
Jamie's not prepared for the sudden rush of fright from Tooth, the almost resigned bloom of dread from Sandy. The feeling is heady and rich, spiked with just enough urgency to set off the almost mellow layers of deep and long-held worry. After days of nothing but faint anxiety and the occasional stab of panic, it's almost intoxicating.
"But Pitch hasn't made anyone into a Fearling since the Dark Ages!" Tooth's fluttering picks up speed as she looks nervously from the rabbit, to North, to Sandy. "I thought he couldn't anymore, not after we beat him back into the centre of the earth. Wasn't that why he tried turning Sandy's dreamsand into nightmares?" She turns to Sandy for confirmation, and the little golden man shrugs, the sand above his head swirling into a clock, out of which springs a tiny golden bird, its mouth opening in a silent cuckoo.
The rabbit makes a noise halfway between a snort and a laugh. "Yeah, he's got kangaroos loose in the top paddock and no mistake." He doesn't sound amused in the slightest. "But the nightmares didn't get 'im very far, did they? And now it looks like he's goin' back to what works."
"If Pitch is rebuilding his army -" Tooth starts, and her hands flick down to her hips, where those wicked golden swords had hung.
"Then every child is in danger," North finishes, nodding, and he seems awfully unperturbed. "This is why I put out call. This time, we have upper hand. This time, we will not fall into trap!"
"Little late for that," the rabbit snaps, and at least he's still on edge. "Getting us all together worked last time, what's to say he hasn't done it again? Seems awfully convenient that this kid just dropped right into our laps -"
"It's my fault, okay?"
Jamie isn't the only one who starts at the sudden outburst. He'd almost forgotten Jack was there, curled up perched on the back of an armchair with his hood up, as if he wants to disappear.
"Jack, that's not -" Tooth starts, reaching out, but Jack cuts her off with an angry sweep of his staff.
"Don't say that. I caused this, and we all know it." He sighs, and the scowl that mars his face softens slightly. "Don't get mad at North. I'm the one who found Jamie, it was my idea to come to you guys…" His shoulders slump, and he stares down at his bare feet when he mutters, "I couldn't just leave him alone."
It's a lie, it's a blatant and bald-faced lie, Jack already left him once without a moment's regret and Jamie hates that he doesn't hate him for it. Hates that he still just wants to make Jack smile again.
Suddenly everything is sharp-edged and simple. Enough waiting. Enough hoping. Enough distrust, enough shame. After what they did, they have no right to be disappointed in him, no right to expect anything from him, and they will SCREAM for him –
The hiss of fleeing shadows is all the warning he gets before a burst of dreamsand explodes, bright and burning, against the patch of deeper dark Jamie's standing in. Eyes stinging, he stumbles out into the room, and before he can move, there's tendrils of dreamsand wrapped around his wrists. He snarls, trying to pull free, but the restraints hold and Sandy's glare really shouldn't look this intimidating. Jamie tries to step backwards, back into the dark, but before he can move the rabbit grabs him by the shoulder and slams him up against the bookshelf. All of the air is knocked from his lungs in one long 'oof!', and the books above his head rattle ominously.
"What th' hell d'ya think you're doing?" the rabbit demands, voice low and threatening. Jamie struggles to pull in a breath, pushing back the insistent shadows pulling at his ankles, his sleeves. Starting a fight now will only make things worse – although, looking around at the others' expressions, it's a little hard to imagine how it could get any worse.
He can't look at Jack. Can't bear to see that betrayal in his eyes.
"Let go," Jamie snaps, or tries to. It comes out as more of a wheeze, and he tries, unsuccessfully, to wriggle free of the furry arm holding him pinned against the bookshelf. One of the shelves is digging into the small of his back, but at least the books overhead have stopped threatening to fall on him.
"Not a chance," the rabbit growls, eyes narrowing. "Why were ya skulking around? What're you and your master plotting?"
"I'm not plotting anything! And I don't have a master." Jamie squirms, to no avail, feeling the first flickers of red-hot rage. "Let me go."
"What, and let ya run around spying on us? You're not going anywhere." The fearful anger that rolls off of the rabbit is almost overwhelming and before he really knows he's going to, Jamie's already said it.
"You're not scared, are you?"
The arm pinning him in place tenses, and the rabbit says, "What?"
Jamie knows he's struck a nerve, but it's not enough to stop him. "You're not scared that it might already be too late?" That gets him a growl, and another rush of thinly-veiled terror, and it's not enough. "That there's nothing you can do and this time, you're going to lose them, just like you lost everybody else?"
He realizes he's gone too far at the same time as the rabbit pulls back his other arm, paw curled into a fist. Jamie flinches, shuts his eyes, braces for the blow that he knows he won't be able to dodge.
It doesn't come.
"Bunny!" Jack's voice shouts, and Jamie risks opening his eyes again, to see the rabbit deflate, lowering his raised arm. Jack leaps off the armchair and hurries forward, but the rabbit shoots him a look and his light steps falter, stop dead.
The arm pinning Jamie to the bookshelf relaxes, and the rabbit pushes him away, shaking his head. Jamie stumbles, off-balance, and hits the floor hard in a tangle of limbs and shadows. He tries to scramble back to his feet, only to be pulled up short – he'd almost forgotten about the dreamsand bonds on his wrists. The look Sandy gives him is steely, and just a little sad, and Jamie stops struggling against the restraints.
The rabbit's – Bunny's – voice is oddly gentle when he says, "This ain't your mate, Frostbite. Jamie's gone."
They want a little boy who doesn't even exist anymore.
Jack only meets Jamie's eyes for a second, before turning back to the rabbit. The way he leans on his staff is too casual, and his smile looks as forced as the easy cheer in his voice sounds. "What, and you of all people are saying there isn't any hope?" His smile dips, and vanishes, in the face of the rabbit's seriousness.
"Yeah," the rabbit says, gruffly, and it's almost an apology.
"Now, let us not be having any of this!" North booms, clapping the rabbit on the shoulder with such exuberance that he stumbles forward. "Where there is belief, there is hope, da?"
Jamie tunes out the ensuing argument. He's heard more than enough.
The nightmare sand coiled under his sleeves swirls into action with little more than a thought, curling around the tendrils the Sandman wrapped around his wrists and turning them dark. By the time Sandy catches on, the cuffs are corrupted enough for Jamie to break them open. That isn't going to convince anyone that he's trustworthy, but somehow he can't bring himself to care.
The shadows, at least, are happy to have him.
…
"Jamie?"
The sound of Jack's voice makes Jamie freeze on the spot, even though he hasn't been moving. In fact, he's been lying curled up under the bed in the guest room, wallowing. If he's totally honest with himself, he's only still in the workshop because he's been hoping someone – no, not just someone – would come looking. Now that Jack's here, though, it seems like the stupidest thing Jamie could possibly have hoped for. Maybe if he doesn't say anything, doesn't move, Jack won't notice that he's here, and go away.
"Hey, I know you're here. Enough with the silent treatment." Jack's voice draws closer to the bed, his feet padding softly against the hardwood. "It always gets darker and creepier in here when you're lurking under the bed, so don't even try to pretend you're not down there."
Apparently not. Jamie sighs, rolling over only to find himself face-to-face with the winter spirit. Jack's smile looks a little strained, but it's there, and bright, and doesn't so much as waver when he meets Jamie's eyes. "Has anyone ever mentioned that only seeing a pair of eyes glowing in the dark is a little unnerving?" Jack asks, his tone light and teasing, and Jamie's ears burn. He hadn't even noticed he'd let himself dissolve into the shadows like that.
"Sorry," he mumbles, and he's not even sure for what, the creepy eyes or the eavesdropping or his entire existence.
"It's okay," Jack answers, and his smile is just a little sad. "I'm sorry. Things got way out of hand in the library."
Jamie shifts forward a little, out of the dark. "I shouldn't've been there. I just -" He stops cold. There's really no way to explain that won't make Jack look at him like he's done something unforgivable.
Jack waves a hand, a move that's made a little more difficult by the fact that he's lying on his stomach. "Not your fault. We shouldn't've just abandoned you up here." He blows out a breath, a puff of cold air that ghosts across Jamie's nose with the sharp, familiar smell of snow. "I'm sorry. I really am. Don't listen to anything Bunny says, please."
Jamie knows he shouldn't believe this. He's seen for himself how they really feel. But – this is Jack. Jack, who saved him from the dark. Jack, who matters, even if Jamie isn't really sure why. Jack, who cares.
And he lets himself hope, just for a moment, that Jack also understands.
"North's found a couple of spells that could help, and – just – it's not hopeless, Jamie. You have to believe in me." Jack's smile is almost blinding against the dark. "We'll figure it out, undo whatever Pitch did. We'll fix this."
It feels like something inside of him shatters into a million jagged pieces.
"I don't need fixing," Jamie snaps. It should have been menacing, terrifying, and would have been, if his voice hadn't choked off in something painfully like a sob on the last word. Jack's smile vanishes instantly, eyes widening with gathering horror.
"No – I didn't mean -"
The rest of Jack's sentence goes unheard. Jamie lets the dark swallow him up again, not daring to look back.
This time, when the shadows beg him to come back down to the place where no light goes, he listens.