Jack felt much better when he woke up. His heart still hurt and his head ached but he had slept well and so was eager to get up and moving. He couldn't stand another minute cramped in this bed in this boringly dull room. His empty stomach grumbled loudly, begging for food. With much more ease than the day before, Jack stood up and walked to the kitchen. He didn't realise how much he took flying, being free, feeling Wind gently carry him as he soared through the air for granted, until he remembered that his staff was broken and he couldn't do it anymore. He didn't know why but he couldn't fly without out it.
In the kitchen, the elves were busy preparing all sorts of yummy delights: chocolate chip cookies, gingerbreadmen, cake and lots more. Jack started in awe as he glimpsed at the marvellous room infront of him. A delicious smell caught his attention and he found himself attracted to the corner of the room where the hot chocolate was being made.
He didn't have it hot, of course, it instantly chilled as soon as his cold hands picked up the mug, sending spirals of delicate ice patterns over the cup. Happily sipping his drink and munching on a freshly made mince pie, Jack wondered around the workshop, looking for North. He was where he expected him to be, inventing gadgets and gizmos in his workshop. It was a place filled with wonderful creations and unthought of designs: the whole place had a delightful feeling wonder and creativity. Though he had only been inside a few times, Jack loved it.
He hovered outside the door, about to walk in when he heard North talking to someone though, as Jack peaked through the keyhole, he could see that there was no one else with him. Wriggling closer to the door, Jack heard the half-conversation.
North sighed. "I just don't know what to do without you Sandy. None of us can help the poor boy but you. I've never seen him look so afraid. His eyes... they just aren't the same. I'm worried and I don't know what to do. I don't know what I can do." North continued to talk to thin air but Jack wasn't listening anymore. He hated people worrying about him - he didn't like being the centre of attention. There were far more important things than him in the world, so why was their attention on him? He wasn't special, if he was why was he ignored so much? Trust was probably partly the reason behind Jack's dislike for attention: he had a hard time trusting people, with being alone for three hundred years and all. He didn't like to confide in poeple because it meant he trusted them and he didn't want his trust to be abused.
Annoyed, Jack stalked back to his room. He didn't want North worrying for him, he wasn't worth the time. He tried to think of something to do that would convince North that he was okay but his mind was blank.
That was when he felt the pain, the throbbing, head-splitting pain that knocked him back forcefully. He felt that palpitating in his heart again and gasped, dropping his mug, causing it to shatter on the ground with a loud 'smash'. Alarmed, his eyes darted around the room. Did anyone see? He hoped not. He rushed off but only made it a few steps down the corridor.
Obviously he was wrong in thinking that the path was clear. He heard quick, muffled footsteps behind him and hoped to the Man in the Moon that it wasn't North. It wasn't North; it was Bunnymund, but that was the next worst thing.
"Are ya alright mate?" The bunny asked inquisitively and Jack sharply answered "I'm fine" before continuing down the hall, abandoning the smashed mug and the spilled contents on the floor. If he stayed too long, North would come. But his chest throbbed again and it felt like his heart was being torn from his body. Horrible burning sensations ran through his veins, his vision blurring until all he could see was swirling colours and he crumpled on the floor, gasping for breath. In an instant, Bunnymund was kneeling beside him, but Jack pushed him away, clutching his chest in agony.
"I'm fine." He stated before the Pooka could even ask him the question again, though he didn't know if it was to convince the bunny or himself.
It hurt. No, it didn't hurt, it felt like he was being tortured. Thump thump thump went his heart in his body, beating painfully as if it was trying to tear out of his own body. Unable to get up, he fell even further down onto his back. Odly, the floor was cold. Jack was cold. Why? Jack couldn't be cold, he was literally the personification of winter. He was probably the only person in the world that thought snow and ice was the perfect temperature. In that moment, with his chest aching and his heart throbbing, Jack longed to be back in his element with his staff, creating dangerous snowstorms and delicate snowflakes, unleashing his powers in the Antarctic like he often did when they became to much to cope with or he just wanted a bit of fun, to see what he was capable of.
Right now though, all he could focus on was the high-pitched ringing in his ears and the miscellaneous slur of colours, unwillingly blending together into incomprehensible hues, mutilating his perception. His limbs ached all over as waves of nausea crashed into him like a ramming bull.
And all he could think over the pain was 'why me?'.
