Title-Brave Pt 8

Summary- The one where Jack knows he is a killer and how it all started.

Characters- Bunnymund, Jack Frost, Sandman

Rating-T

Jack could tell it was too early in the morning for the sun to be awake yet before he even opened his eyes. The Pole was too still for it to be daytime. Jack took inventory of his injuries mentally, noting the burning in his ankle, the throbbing of his shoulder, the sharp stabbing pain that came with each breath, and the dull feeling running down his right arm that was almost as if it had fallen asleep. Jack couldn't remember when he had started the routine of taking stock of injuries before opening his eyes, he just knew that after every fight he would do it first thing in the morning. It somehow made him feel prepared to face the day, knowing his physical limitations. After that checklist was complete, Jack moved his attention to what was outside of his body.

He was on a couch, leaning against a soft warm wall. Off to the side he could hear a fire burning low and, closer, the steady thrum of a heartbeat. It was a quick heartbeat, light, which meant if was Bunny's. In centuries of silence, Jack had become acutely aware of the different sounds of the world, each one unique and important. That heartbeat was firm and strong and suddenly Jack realized there was one less heartbeat in the world because of him.

He had killed another being.

He, Jack Frost, was a murderer. Never before had that title been given to him. He had been called a trouble maker, pest, show pony, annoyance, idiot, pain, worthless, show off, but never had he been labeled as a murderer. Before that thought could send him into a panic though, the utter exhaustion of using as much power as he had hit him again, pulling him back down, though his mind held on long enough to start a dream that was more of a memory than a dream.

Backtracking would be impossible. He would look back at this moment in his life and always wonder what would have happened if he acted or what would have happened if he did not act. Never before had the world stopped around him, never had he felt frozen in time, but this instant in time, he could physically feel the world stop spinning. It surprised him that he was not flying forward, slamming into the stage several rows in front of his seat with the force of the earth stopping its perpetual rotation. Mocking, almost, was a better word for it. Time was mocking him, giving him the chance to choose, so when he did look back, he would not have the excuse that he did not have time.

The man was taking an impossibly long step, his jet black dress boots catching the tree branch flitered sun light in just a way that made them darker rather than lighter. Dust particles drifted about the boots, glinting in the sun like the snowflakes Jack created for fun. A small albescent scuff ran along the heel of the boot, disappearing up under the creased charcoal pant leg. As the boot hit the packed ground with a resounding smack, his eyes darted to the face of the young girl he dragged with him. Wide eyed and drained of color, this cringing hostage was the pivotal factor. She couldn't have been older than Jack who had only been a spirit for half a year at that point. She was a winter sprite, her hair a silvery blue, clearly terrified and unaware of what she had done so wrong that she was being dragged before Mother Nature and her fellow sprites by Old Man Winter. For an instant that seemed longer than an instant, the Spirit of Winter and the young winter sprite's eyes locked and the one sitting knew he had no choice at all.

Jack lunged out of his seat and time lunged with him as if to make up for the unnaturally slow pace it had been traveling at. His left hand latched on to the barrel of the ice formed Harpers Ferry Model Flintlock pistol, forcing it away from him while his right hand pushed the sprite out of the man's grasp. Shots rang out several times, sounding like glass shattering as the ice bullets hit trees, before Jack threw all 123 pounds that made up his body onto the arm holding the gun and forced the man to let go. He rolled onto his back, gun trailed on the man, breaths coming in slow gasps.

"Give me back my gun," snarled the man in a voice much deeper than expected.

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea," responded Jack as the other spirits looked on. "Now, who are you and what do you want?"

"Give me my gun, little boy, before you get hurt."

"Have you ever heard of the golden rule?"

"What?" asked the man, pausing in his slow advance towards Jack's prone figure.

"You know, the golden rule," repeated Jack, talking to by himself time while he wondered why no one was doing anything to stop the now unarmed man.. "He who had the gold makes the rules. Well, I'd say I have the gold, in this case the gun, so I now make the rules."

"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you."

"Don't move another inch or I will shoot you."

The way Jack said it left no room to think he was kidding. He wasn't sure where this sudden resolve had come from-he thought maybe from the scared look of the winter sprite and his strange urge to protect her-but his steely blue eyes told Old Man Winter that the gun in his hands was something he would use without hesitation if he thought he needed to.

He took another step, bringing his 6 foot 5 inch frame closer to Jack.

Jack pulled the frozen trigger.

Nothing happened.

"Now see, I told you not to be so cocky," chuckled Old Man Winter, flashing a grin.

"Who the hell tries to hold up an arena full of spirits with a gun and doesn't pack enough ammo to do so?" snapped the Jack..

"You're adorable," laughed Old Man Winter, unaware that Jack honestly did not know that Old Man Winter had been about to kill the girl and the other spirits were there to watch. He pulled out a long blade from his robe "Now, it looks like I get to make the rules again."

"My name is Jack Frost," said the Jack, scrambling to his feet as he shifted his hold on the gun. "It's a stupid name, but the Man in the Moon told me it, so what can you do? Most people just call me Jack, though. At least, that's what they would call me if anyone ever talked to me. As it is, I call me that."

"I don't care."

"I have two older brothers," Jack continued, making things up off the top of his head. "William and Charles. They are identical twins, but it's easy to tell them apart if you know them."

"I really don't care."

"My favorite color is blue because it brings out my eyes. I think that snow is the most amazing form of precipitation. I hate raisons because I think they look like little brains. If I could eat any food for a year, it would be carrots because I want to see if it will really turn my hair orange. When I was three months old I –"

"Shut up!" screamed Old Man Winter. "Why are you telling me this?"

"So you know that I am a person. It's a lot harder to kill a person than it is to kill a stranger."

"Want to bet?"

He tackled Jack, knife raised, howling like an angry dog. Having shifted his hold on the gun, Jack whacked at him, his staff forgotten several feet away, with the handle before falling under his weight. It was impossible to tell who was winning and everyone was too interested in the unexpected but much appreciated fight to intervene. It was not until a grunt of surprise followed by silence that anyone dared venture out of their seat. Mother Nature rose and saw that Old Man Winter was either unconscious or dead and Jack was trying to disentangle himself from his dead weight.

"I'm a mess," Jack whispered, looking down at his rumpled clothing.

He was not sure if the blood smeared about was his or Old Man Winter's, but at that moment in time, he really did not care. The most immediate danger had passed for now but the way the remaining spirits were glowering at him, Jack thought it would be best to leave before he thought to hard about what had happened.

As he flew away, Jack knew that years from now he would look back and wonder what would have happened if he had not acted. Would the other spirits have left him alone if he had not knocked out Old Man Winter? Would he have had a shot at making friends? His stomach boiled in protest of what he had done to the older winter spirit. Knowing he was in the right did not fix it, because that one act changed everything.

Sandy drifted in, checking on his fellow Guardian's as he made his rounds, and sent a small stream of sand to settle over Jack and Bunny, adorably curled up on the couch together, sending both into a deeper sleep. Sandy knew that the moment Jack was well enough to be left alone, Bunny would join the older Guardians in their plans of revenge, but for the moment, he let them sleep, unaware that the oblivion of sleep could only help heal the physical wounds, not the mental ones that still gushed blood in the young Spirit of Winter's soul. That healing would take much longer.

*Chapter 50! This is the 50th chapter! That is a lot of chapters!

Okay, so have I told you how amazing you are? Because you are amazing! Like, very amazing.

Some of you may have noticed that I have posted a new, unrelated story. I want you to be aware of that, that it is not at all my normal topic of writing, and that it will in no way take time from this or any other story I am working on because it is entirely written, I just have to post it chapter by chapter. So yeah, it will not take away from this story. If you like Bunny and Jack as a couple, then feel free to read it. It will probably be the only BunnyxJack story I ever write.

Requests welcome. You are the best!

Always-Ari