"H-How...?"
The world was falling down around him. Everything was spinning. His head pounded.
He could not breathe.
It could not be. It could not be. This was just a dream. A messed up nightmare. He could not know. This was not right. He had been so careful. This was wrong. He could not- It was not true.
Panicked he grasped at his chest when a wave of cold shot through it, causing him to buck over and had him gasping in pain and horror.
This was wrong. This was wrong. This was wrong.
He should not be able to know. There was no way he could. This was not real.
He had never told anyone anything about himself that could possibly make have made him able to figure out anything about this.
Their eyes met, warm gaze against a panicked stare.
There was honesty in his eyes. That nearly was what scared Jack the most.
His breathing quickened. He did not know what to do. He had never expected anyone to know. What had he done wrong?
Was it his dagger?
No. Yes. Maybe. But how?
His mind raced for an explanation. To figure out what he had done wrong but he could not find it. He had done everything he could to keep it secret. This made no sense.
He knew he was not lying about knowing. His questioning about his knowledge of history made so much more sense; His weird obsession with him; His constant knowing looks of worry towards him; His ever present comforting hands on his arms; His fury at the two others for wanting to leave him in the mists...
It all made sense.
But it should not because it could not for it it did that meant it was over.
He tried to kill the panic in him. To silence it before it got too out of control but he could not. This was wrong. This was too much. This should not be real.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
A wave of cold shot through his body again. He looked down horrified as he saw as a gentle layer of frost began to cover his fingers.
His breathing was too quick, too shallow for the world to stop spinning. He tried to remove the frost, to dry off his fingers in the ground and be free of it. Wherever it touched it spread, continuing its delicate swirling designs wherever his fingers had been.
It was spreading too fast. It was snowing the wrong kind of snow. The frost was turning to ice and it was getting thicker, and he could feel the cold in his limps and he was panicking and he was scared and his companion knew and he saw him use it. He could not breathe. It was cold but the wrong kind of cold, and if he knew he would expose him and if he exposed him he would find him and he would do things, horrible horrible things, and he could not breathe-
No. No. No. No. No. NO.
He had to get it under control. He had to remain calm. He had to try to get it together.
But his staff was gone. He did not have it. The one thing to help him, the one thing to help him keep it together, to keep it hidden was not with him and if it was not with him he could not do it and that meant it was over and if it was over then so was he.
He shut his eyes, fighting the panicked tears that threatened to fall, ignoring the stare from his companion as temporary horror blinded him.
He could do this. He could do this. He could do this.
A pained gasp erupted from him as a horrible sting of cold went through him once again.
Do not panic.
He should not panic.
But he did.
His hands were covered in ice. He scratched at them, desperately breaking off the ice that kept growing even as it broke his skin and blood began to spill.
He felt small hands on his back, but he was too far gone to notice. His mind was pulling him away at the sight. It was dark. It was dark and it was scary and he was alone as he watched the blood on his hands in horror.
Red on white. Red on white. Red on white.
He could not breathe. His breathing was too shallow, too fast as he desperately looked around, suddenly no longer in the alleyway or the dark but back home. The high walls, the rich gardens, the people dressed in colorful silks and fabrics. Yells and screams echoed in the air as magic erupted from his being. A horrible display of deadly snow and ice engulfing his home.
He could hear his mother's voice desperately call his name. He could barely see her figure as she tried to fight her way to him, his father by her side, ignoring the guards trying to get them to safety.
He yelled at them, reached for them, told them to go away before they would succumb to the fate threatening them again. He could not watch them die. Not again.
Flashes of green shot from his mother as she fought against the snow whilst silvery lights came from his father, yet none powerful enough to stop the out of control magic coming from him.
Horrified tears fell from his eyes. His heart near stopped beating as he watched them be engulfed in the horrible display of snow and ice. Their pained and desperate screams cut through the angry wind, through his very core in the purest of pain. The ice cut their bodies, sending a ray of blood into the storm.
He could not move as he stared at them in terror, his screams for them to leave drowning in the wind.
He was shaking. Frozen into place as he watched his mother fight to reach his side; her bloodied and cut hand just managing to grasp his desperately before she was pulled away from him, killed by the icy storm ripping apart her body.
A chocked sob and a devastated scream escaped him as the storm subsided and all he could see before him was the frozen and broken and bloodied corpses of his parents, so desperately having tried to reach him in time, so desperately having tried to help him, laying on the frozen and snow covered ground, hands reached towards him, their last screams forever frozen on their faces.
He fell to his knees watching in shock at what he had done. What he had caused. He did not move when the familiar figure of his grandfather shot past him, desperately shaking the lifeless body of his daughter, tears streaming down his face in horror.
A howl of anguish erupted from Jack, his voice broken when the scene started over before him.
He so wanted to forget the screams and their faces. The hatred and devastation in his grandfather's eyes as something inside him snapped.
Jack's blood-covered hands pulled out fistfuls of his own hair.
He did this.
He did this and he was at fault and he just wanted to forget.
He scratched at his eyes, feeling the warm blood as his nails broke the skin and the hot liquid tickled down his face, somehow finding it less painful than the memory he so desperately wanted to forget. He wanted to scratch them out, to try to relieve the pain and anguish. To feel some sort of punishment for his action.
Something tried to force his hands away from his face but he could not let it remove them. He deserved the pain. He deserved to be tortured. To be burnt and beaten and locked up forever. He should never have been brought back. They should have let him die. Why could they not just have let him die for what he had done?!
The cold shot through him again, spreading faster, more determined.
He did not care. He did not care if it consumed him. He just wanted to pain to stop. Let it make an end to it all.
This was not right. This was not how he had wanted his life to be.
His parents…
Oh gods.
Uncontrollable sobs escaped him. He collapsed in on himself, feeling the hard frozen ground against his forehead for but a moment before he let out a steady stream of vomit, nearly having him chocking on it from the pain exploding in his stomach from the burn.
He needed his staff.
He needed his staff so badly.
He could not breathe. The steady stream of vomit and green bile kept him from getting air in his lungs.
His head was spinning. He felt the world was doing circles around him, turning upside-down over and over.
He was shaking too much to keep himself from collapsing into the pile of warm vomit beneath him, unable to focus on anything but the constant horrible memory that kept replaying in his mind as were he seeing it being acted out before him again and again.
The world was cold.
So very cold.
He curled in on himself, hiding his face in his hands, scratching at his eyes to try to make some of the pain he felt go away. Make it disappear. Make the memory go away. Make it stop appearing before his eyes.
Small calloused hands roughly forced his hands away from where they scratched at his eyes. He tried to pull himself free but to no avail.
He could not look up at him.
Him...
Him.
He was after him. He was going to kill him when he found him.
But he deserved to be killed.
He deserved all the pain he would wish upon him. All the torture in the world.
But he could not and it pained him so much.
Why could he not just be killed as he should be? Why should he be denied the luxury to die simply because of who his family was?
By the gods if only he could allow himself to perish.
Hands grasped at him, pulling him up from the ground and the pool of vomit. He was held into an embrace he barely realized, gently being rocked back and forth as a quiet hushing sounded in his ear.
Tears spilled from his eyes, mixing in with the hot blood dripping from the wounds around them.
It was cold, so horribly cold he could not feel his own legs.
Did he even have legs?
He did not know. He did not care.
The embrace was so warm. So soft. So gentle. So protective.
Near desperately did he grab at the arms around him, holding on to them as for dear life as howling cries broke from him as he sought the warmth and comfort he so desperately needed yet hated himself for allowing himself to receive.
Go to away go to away go to away go to away go to away-
"I-I," he tried, desperately clinging to the small man holding him. He could barely get the words out through his sobs.
The small man simply hushed at him, tightening his embrace as good as his arms allowed it around Jack, rubbing soothing circles on his back.
Jack broke even more as he buried his face in his chest, allowing himself the luxury of letting his emotions flow freely for but a moment.
It was so warm, and he was so cold.
He did not deserve the warmth. He did not deserve to be embraced like this yet the longer it lasted the more he longed for it. The more he needed the warmth and the safety it brought.
Sandy continued to rock him back and forth, soothing him the best he could, voiceless as he was.
Jack did not understand. This was wrong. How could he not freak out about it? He should be doing anything but continuing to sooth him.
If he really knew who he was… If he truly knew about his powers…
The wind caressed his hair as it whispered to him.
He took a shaky breath, trying to calm himself the best he could.
He did not dare look up and face him.
Jack clenched his jaw to the point of hurting when a wave of cold shot through him again, making him squirm in pain and horror of the sensation.
Cold. Cold. Cold.
His fingers dug into the small man's arms as were he his lifeline.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was sure he was hurting him at this point, clinging to him as desperately as he was.
He should not do this. He should not let himself cling to him like this. He knew about him and that made him a danger but by the gods he needed someone, anyone, right now.
He did not like the cold. He did not ask for this. He never wanted it. This was so wrong.
"Make it stop." He heard his broken voice beg, well-knowing there was no way for him to help him. Though he may know what was going on with him, there was no way he would be able to help him with the nightmare inside him.
Sandy hushed at him, continuing to lull him side to side with a light frown. The circular motions he made on Jack's back seized for but a moment before continuing anew, having hesitantly rummaged through one of Sandy's pockets only to return covered in what may very well have been golden sand.
Jack barely spared it a glance as he returned to covering form the cold within him against Sandy's chest as the sand covered hand gently began caressing Jack's hair.
Jack's brows furrowed at the sensation, unsure of what to make of it as his body began to lose all tension as exhaustion seemed to take over.
Confused he pulled his head back and tiredly locked his gaze with Sandy's; he was smiling warmly at him, though slightly worried.
Jack said nothing. A sudden tiredness fell upon him and try as he might at fighting against it he remained unable to withstand the unnatural exhaustion taking him as unconsciousness took over, sending him falling into the dark abyss of the Dreaming World.
It was a weird transition.
The world was spinning. The world was dark and silent but white and thunderous as a storm in winter. Each force battling each other for dominance in the tiny pocket of the Dreaming that was his own.
He found himself limp and cold and pained. Magic was tearing its way out his chest, engulfing his body as it tried to take him over. To escape.
He did not dare to open his eyes to look. His mind was distant. Gone. He could sense the eternal abyss around him. The hundreds of eyes in the dark watching, observing.
He knew who they were, those watching eyes in the dark of this place, the light quickly having caught their attention and drawn them to him, miserable ghostly forms desperate to follow.
He did not understand how they had not found peace yet.
They wanted him to understand, he knew.
Even with the thunderous magic deafening his ears he could hear their pleas and begs as their ghostly figures followed him down. Down. Down. Down through the eternal abyss around them.
They whispered and they yelled and they begged and they pleaded but never were they strong enough to reach him. The magic and light chased them away, kept them at bay.
They needed his help.
Help us. Help us. Help us.
They had still fragments of the past to show.
Always fragments.
Never anything whole.
He almost accepted before he tried to breathe in the magic they whispered for him to feel. It was like taking a breath of ice cold water that filled his lungs. He coughed, eyes opening in panic. He found himself drowning, blinded by the light engulfing him, tearing away at his soul, crushed by its depths.
He tried to tear at his throat for air, tried to scream for help but only bubbles of air escaped him, left behind as they ascended away from his falling body.
He needed air. He needed to breathe. He did not want to sink to the bottom of the waters. He did not want to drown. Not again.
A flash of colors shot through his vision.
He almost thought it to be his chocking mind playing tricks.
Something reached for him, a figure he did not recognize. It followed him down, fought its way through the storm surrounding him as were it nothing but a little bit of wind. Small pristine hands quickly found his chest, closing around the source of the wild magic emitting from him and send its own against it, fighting the cold with warmth.
He heard a yell in an ancient language he did not understand.
A sudden terrible pain shot through him as the magic finally seemed to subside and retreat back into its confines within him; the hands dug their nails into his skin to the point of it nearly drawing blood as they fought to stay against his skin.
The voice screamed as a sudden horrifying wave of magic shot out through the hands and into his chest, nearly knocking him back to the Waking for but a moment, only to return it in time to see the magic disappear and subside within him.
He gasped desperately as air finally filled his lungs again, eyes burned to the hands on his chest dripping with blood where the nails had cut through his skin.
It took but a moment for him to understand what had happened before his eyes shot up to look at the owner, who still seemed too focused on his chest to realize he was looking.
He had to blink twice to realize his eyes were not deceiving him. He was sure his heart must have skipped a beat upon seeing her. Although her form was flickering and somewhat unstable, Jack found her so breathtaking he nearly forgot how to breathe.
He could not stop staring at her. She seemed so… odd. But in a good way, even with her hair as odd and colorful as it were, dancing around her in a cascade of greens and blues and purples. And her ears, not quite like that of an elf, but weirder. Longer. Decorated in countless of golden jewelry.
He knew who she was. He had met her before. He recognized her voice and her eyes, now visibly framed by the most peculiar lashes he had ever seen.
"You're beautiful," he heard himself say to her but barely had he spoken the words before her head shot up with panic shining clear from her eyes.
She let go of him as if he had burned her. She looked near horrified at him. A language he did not understand left her the moment she was out of reach, making the dark around them change.
He recognized this trick. He knew she had done it against him before.
He begged her not to have him leave. He had questions he wanted answers to. Answers he knew she could give if only she would let him know.
He wanted to at least know her name.
She shook her head at him, not taking her eyes off him as if she feared he would attack as she watched him disappear from the dark as she forced his eyes to close only to open them up again and find himself back in the alley, his stiff and cold body still being held by Sandy. There was still daylight. He could not have been out for more than perhaps an hour or so.
Jack blinked confused for a moment as his mind needed time to readjust to being back to the Waking World so suddenly.
He felt frustrated at her. Making him leave without any answers.
At least he still remembered her.
Somewhat.
He thought.
He frowned.
Did he not?
He knew she was a she. She had pink eyes and-
G-green? Green hair? No, that could not be right. That was absurd. No species of humanoids he knew of had green hair. Not the elves in the kingdoms far to the east nor the dwarfs in the mountains far across the sea. Neither had the fairies lurking in the forests of this very kingdom or the sirens waiting for sailors and other unfortunate souls to lure to their deaths by the coasts.
She was female humanoid with pink eyes. She always made him forget when he left, because… because…
Pink eyes. She had pink eyes and-
And...
What was he thinking about again?
Confused he looked up at Sandy; the small man had his attention on a large rat looking for food at the opposite end of the alleyway.
The ice was somewhat gone, he found. At least to the point of it no longer being abnormal enough for attracting any unnecessary attention.
The wrong kind of snow still fell from the sky. He was not surprised as he could still feel the cold in his chest seeping out. It was still fighting against him, but something must have happened, he guessed, for it to have been pushed back and away and into its restraints once again.
He figured Sandy must have done something to him to allow the magic within him to go back to sleep but how was that even possible?
Jack swallowed, mind racing to find the answer but he simply could not figure out how any of this made any sense.
"How did you do it?"
Sandy jumped at the sound of his voice, hand flying to his heart as had he had a near heart-attack.
He sent Jack a disapproving look.
"How did you push it back?" He tried again when his friend finally seemed as though he was not on the brink of death.
Sandy looked at him with confusion, clearly not understanding.
"My magic," Jack near whispered at him, finding no need to pretend he was not in possession of it. He clearly knew everything about it. Horrifying as that was. "How did you make it stop being wild?"
That left Sandy thinking but eventually he just shrugged, pointed at Jack and made a sleeping gesture.
"So you did not do it, but I did it by sleeping?" Jack asked incredulously.
Sandy just shrugged as had it been a lucky guess from his side because that was apparently something that was happening. Lucky guesses on how to control magic gone wild.
Jack ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. Right. Made total sense. Of course naps were the key to everything when it involved out of control magic trying to consume its host.
Jack let his gaze run down the alleyway, looking for any prying eyes or ears before turning to look at Sandy who was watching him with a worried expression.
"I'm fine," Jack said with a frown. He could feel the magic still seeping out of its restraints but nowhere near as horribly fast and forceful as it had before he had been brought to unconsciousness, but without his staff who knew how long it would last before it would grow out of control again.
He really should figure a way to get it back. Even if that meant killing everybody in this city. Sort of.
"You… You know who I am?" It was honestly a statement more than a question, still he looked at his small friend who nodded in response. He could not help but dread what was coming as Sandy drew letters in the snow. The name presented to Jack might as well have been a slap in his face.
Shit.
Jack stared at the words. Slowly he turned to look at Sandy with wide eyes. The small man just smiled back at him with a warmth he had rarely seen from him before.
It was kind of unsettling.
Still, he could be lying. This could still be a trick like before when the guards had attacked him but not really. He nearly wished it was, but the constant presence of seeping cold debunked that theory before he had even given it much thought.
"Who are you?" Asked Jack, voice shaken and barely more than a whisper.
Sandy sent him a look. There was but a moment of hesitation from him before he eagerly began to write what little he could in the gentle layer of white fluff surrounding them.
It was but a few words. Barely a handful before he stopped to think. Then he continued, until finally settling back, looking at Jack with the most peculiar look he yet had sent him.
Jack just stared at the words, barely managing to make heads or tails of the scribbled lines as if the ability to read had been lost to him.
When their meaning finally managed to come to him he did not know how to react.
There was so much information there in those few words before them which this small chubby man impossibly could have known. It was terrifying. There was no better word for it.
Jack bit his tongue as he quickly erased the words with a wave of his hand, near too shaken by this new revelation of his apparent connection to the man by his side to do it properly. The magic felt strange when he used it. It took more out of him than he had expected it to, to simply let a fresh layer of snow appear where words had been scribbled.
He could not help but keep watching where the words had been, his mind racing. He could not remember any mention of Sandy from his father. He was certain he had heard Sandy's last name before. He just could not remember in what context. But if he really did tell the truth, his father had never been a bad judge of character, so it was not going to be all that bad.
Right?
Hesitantly he looked at Sandy who in return was looking expectantly at him.
"Do the others know?"
Sandy pointed at Jack and shook his head then pointed at himself and nodded.
A shaky breath left Jack. Okay. Good. That was… That was good.
The wind gently caressed his skin and played with his hair. It did the same with Sandy's.
It was calm. Slightly warmer than it had been before. It did not seem to object to Sandy's presence and if that was the case then…
There was really no running from it, was there?
Jack got to his feet, unsure of what else to say or do. His limps were stiff from the cold, and although the burn on his stomach was kept at bay from the cold, he could still feel the pain enough for him to have to support himself against the wall behind him before finding his balance.
Nervously he plucked at his nails as he walked back and forth the small alleyway. He did not spare Sandy much notice as he near frantically tried to figure what to do.
He could not kill Sandy for simply knowing. He had not done him anything as of yet, merely let him know that he knew his secret which in itself was near bad enough and really should be enough reason for Jack to just run off, yet Sandy had done nothing but be protective of him for reasons now known to Jack. He could have ratted him out the moment they met yet had not done so.
The wind pushed at him again, a little rougher but still warm.
He could not help but glare at it as it whispered in his ears.
"That's a horrible decision," Jack whispered at it. It responded by hitting him extra hard.
Jack groaned. He was not going to have a discussion with it, well knowing it would not budge in its opinion.
"At least tell me if he is speaking the truth," begged he in a low voice, almost wishing the respond to be a no.
It was not.
"Fine, miss know-it-all." With a grumble he turned to watch his so-called friend as he was still sitting on the ground expectantly. There really was only one thing to do then. "I chose to believe what you said and… You haven't really done anything that makes me think you're like evil or a spy or something so I'll trust you. For now. Just don't make me regret this."
Sandy's face lit up. He sprung to his feet in a way that nearly seemed like he was floating for a moment. He quickly found his way to Jack's side, near beaming like a little star.
Despite Jack's in truth worried and rather horrified state he could not help the tiniest of smiles from showing.
Even if smiling felt weird by now.
:*・° .。.:*・° .。.:*・° .。.:*・° .。.
It was far into the evening when the two of them finally walked back towards the tavern. Sandy had insisted on spending time with Jack before they would return to the guaranteed questioning their two other companions would have to them.
Jack stopped dead in his tracks when the tavern was finally visible to them, nearly having Sandy stumble over his own legs.
"What do you think the chances are of them not wanting to question me?"
Sandy made the universal sign of very little.
Jack sighed. From the fire to the dragon's den.
Just how much drama was one guy supposed to survive for a single day?
He let a hand run through his hair, mind circling what was to come.
He did not want to go inside. Their companions were going to have questions, and what was he even going to say? What would be his excuse for running off like that? And his behavior with that Rat did not exactly make it any easier for him to want to go see them.
By the gods he just wished for this to be over. To go to bed. To not have to deal with any of this. To forget Sandy knew everything. Even if spending those few hours together afterwards had helped settle Jack's nerves a bit about the whole deal. Just wandering around, talking as best they could with crowds of people around and Sandy having managed to get some parchment and coal to write on, making their conversation somewhat easier.
It was no lie if Jack said he would much rather continue to spend time with Sandy alone than he would return to the tavern.
Was it too late to walk the other way and find another tavern to stay in?
According to Sandy who already had made his way to the door and opened it then yes, yes it was.
Jack stayed behind and looked his small friend disappear. It did not take long before his head popped back out with a raised eyebrow, watching him. When Jack made no move, he was near dragged back in by Sandy, immediately being met with the familiar stench of alcohol and sweat and food the moment they went through the door.
At least the filthy tavern was lively, as usual, save for, much to Jack's dismay, their two companions who both were sitting at a table with direct view to the door, empty tankards before them.
They looked… Saying they looked pissed would be a mild description. The Cossack at least looked a little worried. Still angry though.
Jack could only imagine why.
He swallowed.
He looked at Sandy who just sent him a reassuring smile.
Just why did he think it was a good idea for him to pull Jack into more drama.
Their two companions got up from their table, signaling for them to follow them back into their room. Jack only hesitantly followed.
The door closed behind them.
Jack already felt claustrophobic.
He guessed it had been, he would not say nice per se, but an experience to be alive at least.
He could just imagine the seer amount of questions they were going to have.
"Jack, sit down." The Cossack said.
Jack obliged and sat down on the bed, left to the mercy of their two companions and what questions he knew would come.
He eyed Sandy who just stood off to the side with an encouraging smile on his lips.
Maybe he would have a chance at running out the window?
The Cossack cleared his throat, drawing Jack's attention to himself. "How is your stomach?"
Blinking Jack looked from him to Sandy and back. "It's fine. Sandy patched me up."
"What happened to your face?"
"I fell into a pile of rocks."
"Must be some eye-hating rocks, no?"
"Yeah," said Jack slowly, looking away. He sighed. Might as well get this over with. "Listen, I know it was not a good idea to talk to the Rat like that. I tried being polite about it. I know I offended him. I know I made mistakes and I'm sorry. I paid the price with my stomach. You both saw that so there's nothing to worry about."
"You accused him of murder," the Southerner blurted out, looking at him incredulously.
"Yeah, my bad. But he did take my staff, and I think I paid the price for being rude or do you think I should have been burned more?"
The Cossack sighed as he visually deflated. "Of course not Jack, but what you did was very stupid. You're right, you did pay, but we have… questions. You did and said things that-" He trailed off, waving his hand in the air.
Jack tried his best at not showing he knew exactly what they meant.
He failed miserably.
He blamed the stress and exhaustion from all the drama that had went on earlier that day.
The Southerner scoffed. "Ain't nice ta lie to yer friends that saved yer arse."
The Cossack nodded, reaching out and placed his large hand on Jack's shoulder. "We will not be mad if you are hiding something from us. We just wish to know. You are very secretive. If something you are hiding, like trouble, we wish to help. We're friends, da?"
Jack averted his gaze from the piercing blue eyes staring at him. Instead he looked at Sandy. He nodded to him, urging for him to speak.
Jack crossed his arms, looking back at the Cossack.
"I'm not hiding anything-"
"Aw cut the crap," the Southerner cut in. "I ain't buying that. Ya can read, ya spoke like a bloody noble, ya freaked out when they took away yer firewood, and ya know 'bout some noble house I ain't ever heard about. We all know ye ain't a bloody Shepherd's boy."
Jack tensed.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"We know ya do so spill it ya dummy."
Jack glanced at Sandy again as if that somewhat could defuse the situation. "I'm just a shepherd's boy-"
"Jack," both the Cossack and Southerner spoke, with varying degrees of exasperation.
Jack sighed. "My name is Jackson Overland. I am a simple Shepherd's boy from the fields around the capital. There is nothing more to me than that."
A frustrated groan escaped the Southerner. He seemed near ready to shake Jack for whatever answers he sough had the Cossack not sat in the way. "Look at him! He's bloody still lyin'!"
"Am not!"
"Are so."
"What do you honestly want me to say?" Jack asked incredulously.
"The truth!"
"I am telling the truth!"
The Southerner threw up his arms in frustration, pacing back and forth the small room.
The Cossack merely shook his head with a slightly annoyed sigh. "You are a terrible liar, Jack."
"I don't see my pants being on fire so I have no idea what you are talking about."
The hint of a smile spread on the Cossack's lips at that though he quickly cleared his throat and got back at being serious as the situation apparently demanded. "Will you at least answer us a few questions?"
Jack sent him a look. "Such as?"
"How do you know Rat is commoner? How do you know he is not of noble house? How do you know of the marchioness Mont- montbi-?"
"Montbélliard," Jack scoffed. "If you are going to ask me about every little thing I did and said I'm leaving. I'm not going to explain myself to you."
The Cossack exhaled frustrated but nodded even if it was clear he was not satisfied with Jack's answer.
It had not fallen into good soil with the Southerner either. "I swear I'm 'bout ta spit the dummy if this dimwit ain't gonna say it."
Jack just shrugged. "You can't get something out of me that isn't there. What do you want me to say? That I'm some heir to a noble house who has run off from home due to tragedy and now wanders the lands looking for adventure? Maybe that I'm a mage? That's so stupid."
"Well are ya?"
"No I'm not!" Jack exclaimed.
"Being noble would explain yer dagger."
"Well sure, why not? Let's just go all out and say I'm the homicidal maniac of a prince in disguise as well now that we're at it, and that my dagger isn't actually one I found on the ground but actually belonged to Nightlight, the very spectral boy himself."
"Jack, this is serious."
"Oh it is? I thought we were just having fun coming up with ridiculous scenarios."
The Cossack groaned at him.
Jack ignored him. "Or if we should make a more believable scenario then I could be his manservant on the run because of me being as close with the prince as I was. Knowing everything about him as I was tasked with being by his side day and night, and thus a good target for the general to get his revenge or something."
"Jack."
"What? You are the ones insisting I am pretending to be someone I'm not."
Their frustration was more than clear. They each seemed to be on various stages of done with Jack, which to him was more than fine.
By the gods he just wanted this to be over.
Still.
A faint memory of voices demanded an answer. And if they were going to ask him these ridiculously invasive questions then why should he be denied asking them something in return?
"But let me ask you something." He was so tired. Both physically and mentally. "What happened to the girl you traveled with before me?"
Their frustrated looks turned to surprise then confusion.
Even Sandy seemed shocked.
"How do you know about her?" The Cossack asked as if in shock.
"Does it matter?" Jack shrugged. "I don't see why I can't ask you something as well."
"Because you shouldn't know 'bout her!" The Southerner exclaimed, clearly taken aback. "None of us ever mentioned her."
"The Siren Pixies told me about there was a girl traveling with you before you forced me to travel with you," Jack spoke, unwillingly remembering the words the Siren Pixies had whispered to him to lure him to them. It gave him chills. "So? What did you do to her? They told me you killed her. Is that true?"
"Jack."
Jack silenced but raised a brow at them expectantly. He would admit it was not exactly teary eyes he had expected to come from his inquisition about some dead girl. He was not really certain if he cared.
At least that was what he told himself.
"Don't you dare saying any of us killed her," the Southerner spoke threateningly at him, even taking a few steps forwards but was blocked by the Cossack who held an arm out at him. "We did everythin' we could. We looked for that sheila for days, weeks! We tried ta help her, so don't ya dare accuse us of doin' somethin' like that. You weren't there."
Jack just stared, surprised at the slightly over the top reaction. It had just been a question, nothing more. "Then don't accuse me of being something I'm not. If I can't ask you about her, you shouldn't ask questions about me either."
The Cossack sighed and dragged a hand across his face. It took quite a while before either said anything. "What did they tell you?"
Jack looked carefully at his companions.
The Southerner's hands had turned into fists by his. He seemed almost pained.
"They told me you killed her and took me in to replace her because you miss her and feel guilty about it."
Silence.
"We do," the Cossack finally said, eyeing the Southerner hesitantly. "But we did not kill her."
"But she still died?"
"She did." The Cossack let a hand run through his hair. He did not respond to Jack's clear confusion of his choice of words at first. It was clear his mind was working when he continued. "She was special. Very special. She was… she was a good girl. Very kind and brave. Brightest smile you will ever see. Very protective of those she cared for. She was wonderful dancer. Best you will ever see. Very useful for distracting while we pick-pocketed. Birds loved her."
"She was the best of us," the Southerner added with a barely hidden sadness in his voice. He was looking out the window with a distant stare.
Jack eyed him. "What happened to her?"
The Cossack shook his head. "It does not matter. We would rather not speak of it."
"But you still think she's out there?"
"Yes, but it is very... complicated."
Jack waited for him to continue. He did not. "You're not going to tell me?"
Shaking his head the Cossack looked at his friend. "No. It is too complicated. It is better if I don't. It will confuse you."
"Try my?"
All he got for that was a no, which he respected, of course. He was merely unable to understand why he did not wish to tell him. They were on the topic already. Boy was he one to talk about stuff like that.
"How long since-?"
"Two years," the Cossack answered. "I think she would have liked you. If not for you then your teeth."
Jack blinked at him. "My-My what?"
"Your teeth. She had obsession with teeth. Guess that is why she did not fall for Bunny because of buckteeth."
The person in question sent him a warning look. The Cossack just waved him off.
Jack looked back and forth between the two men. "They were a couple?"
"No, but Bunny did have crush on her. Tried to court her. Always ended up rejected every time. It was really sad to watch in the end."
"North!"
"What? Is truth."
The Southerner looked at his friend as if he had just betrayed him. He looked as if he were to say something but decided against it and instead turned back to staring out the window. Jack could have sworn his eyes were teary.
The Cossack sighed, rubbing his temple.
"That's why you hate me? Because I'm taking up your girlfriend's place?" Jack asked, incredulously.
"She weren't my missus," said the Southerner, trying to sound tough. It did not work. His voice was breaking.
The Cossack's gaze was troubled when finally he looked back at Jack. There was a faint hint of a frown between his brows.
"What was her name?" Jack asked curiously.
Hesitantly the Cossack spoke. He sounded so sad when speaking her name. "Toothiana."
"That's a weird name," Jack could not help but say.
That earned him a snicker from the Cossack. "Her name is very fitting for someone obsessed with teeth, no?" He trailed off sadly.
Jack stayed silent, observing his companions. All had they that particular stare only people remembering a fond past would have.
He did not have the heart to pull them out of it right away, so he stayed silent, thinking, as time passed them by. Memories were important after all. Sometimes they were all you had left of loved ones and boy did he know it.
"I'm sorry."
They all blinked. It would have been near comically if not for the dark undertones of where their thoughts had been located.
"For bringing her up I mean."
Surprisingly it was the Southerner who spoke first. Less surprisingly was it he did not spare Jack a glance while doing it. "Not yer fault for bein' curious."
"You in your right for asking," the Cossack said with a smile. "But I am surprised you ask now about her. It has been, what, weeks? A month? Since we were there."
Jack just shrugged and sent him a small smile. "What can I say, I like to play the long game." And it helped take all attention off of me, Jack thought to himself, silently celebrating the small victory though he could not help but wonder just what had happened to this Toothiana that was so horrible they did not dare to talk of it.
He guessed it did not matter.
She was dead after all.