"NORTH!"
Bunny's ears perked up just as Tooth's feathers twitched. One glance at each other sent them racing through the halls of the workshop. Bunny's legs moved at a wild pace, faster than they'd carried him ever before. He bolted through the kitchen, knocking over a few elves and leaping over a few Yetis.
"Get North!" he heard Tooth yell behind him, presumably at Phil, the biggest Yeti, who was presently shoving his face into a plate of cookies. A glimpse backward showed him the hummingbird fairy jerking with an elevated amount of randomness, barely missing the slanted beams running along the roof of the corridor. He looked away before he could suppress a smile. He hoped for her sake Jack was alright. Poor little Sheila would implode if he had a smear of blood on his cheek.
Which was a bit of an understatement, as it turned out. It was in his hair, on his face, even his staff was slick with ichor. It left a sad trail of red behind it when it skidded across the floor.
"Aheh..." Jack seemed to gag on the words before he could yell them out into the workshop. He was crouched on the ground, cradling a bloodied body, staring wide-eyed at the face.
"Frostbite!" Bunny made it to his side first, only because Tooth had to stop to scream in horror at the sight of the wintry boy.
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" He glanced over his shoulder desperately. "It's all hers! Somebody has to go and get Emmett!"
Simultaneously, two Yetis cracked their knuckles and stepped through the portal without a moment to lose.
Tooth fluttered around above, random jerks sending her in a haphazard path. Her hands were clutched under her chin. "What happened, Jack?" She didn't take her eyes off of him.
"I-I don't know," he muttered. The girl's head twisted in his lap, her brows gnarled and her eyes wide. "She was like this when I found her, but she was awake, she just-"
"Take it easy there, mate," Bunny said gently. He waved a paw in front of her face, but those wide eyes weren't seeing anything. Nothing but fear. "We'll take care of 'er."
Jack only had eyes for this torn girl, but he nodded. "I think he did something to her. She's having issues breathing."
Bunny could hear it. Something rattled in the base of her throat, and it didn't sound like it was going to come up easily. He glanced uneasily at Jack, and Tooth, who finally landed next to Jack.
Before they could say anything, North bounded up toward them, herded by a flock of Yetis. "What is going on?" he boomed, pushing back the few concerned Yetis who reached to Jack. At the sight of the flood of red, his brows set low on his forehead. "Jack. Are you alright?" His accent was heavy. It's funny how panic can do that. Like going back to your roots would strengthen you in times of trouble.
Jack's lips were pressed together, and he was blinking rapidly, but otherwise he looked fine. His nodding head supported that theory. North forcefully scooped up the girl, torn up and bloody, her hair matted and hanging loosely down into Jack's face.
"Out of way. Out of way! Bozhe moy, if I step on pointy heads, I will not be sorry!" Jack grabbed at his staff to follow North as he pushed through the mob of Yetis and little red bells. Warmth bit at his fingertips, making him flinch back; it took him a moment before he realized it was the blood, creating a thin crimson film around the rod. He steeled himself against it, willing his hands to ignore the heat, and snatched it from the pool surrounding it.
"Do you know what's wrong?" Jack asked, floating next to North as he headed toward the infirmary. He didn't quite trust his legs to walk — not after the heat and the dissonant smell of blood.
"You do no one any good by panicking, Jack," North said briskly. "Is head wound, will bleed excessively. Does not mean is serious."
"Her breathing. He did something to her breathing."
"I can hear, Jack, but is nothing I can deal with until she wakes up."
Jack clamped his jaw shut. Arguing with the Cossack never ended well. He just flitted back to the portal to lead the Yetis, slinging an unconscious Emmett between them, to the room North headed to.
He could tell it was going to be a long night.
Waking up cold was becoming something of a habit.
My body was shaking, but I don't think it was because it was cold. There were voices, everywhere, and jingles and thuds and voices, and I just wished they would stop for five seconds. Then maybe I could wrap my mind around the pain that was entangling itself in my head.
"What are you saying?"
That voice.
"Come on, Willow."
There it was again.
It wasn't until a something chilled ran along my flushed cheeks that everything rushed back.
"Jack."
That one word was just a syllable, a few consonants and a single vowel, and yet it was all I could get out. It seemed as if sandpaper was grating against my vocal chords.
"Hey, I'm right here." Knots in his tone loosened, and I'd never been so glad to hear a voice in my life. It shushed a bit, as if he turned around to talk over his shoulder. "North, get over here, she's up."
"Vat?"
A really heavy Russian voice boomed underneath the rest of the noises, a clear bass tone that, from what I could tell from its mutterings, seemed to forget about the occasional pronoun.
Voices, too many voices...
"Nonono, Willow, it's OK!" His voice was high, in a kind of reassurance, as gentle hands held my shoulders, cold seeping easily through my shirt. I didn't realize I was thrashing my head around until I found myself wrestling against him. "This is North. He's a friend."
"Guardian?" I rasped.
A beat of electricity — concerned glances, I imagined — and then: "Yes. He's going to help you."
"Open eyes." The Russian voice — North — instructed forcefully, but with the kind of gentleness of a grandfather tending to his injured grandson. Obediently, I slit my eyes open, but the overall white of it sent them shut again. I shook my head, but that just swirled my brain against my skull. "Bright."
"Vat did she say?" Heavy pauses, heavy syllables. I felt hair tickle on my neck. That was what clued me in. I figured out who this North was — it was Santa's beard, brushing my skin, as was leaning in to listen.
"Too bright," Jack murmured quickly. Then, louder, "Hey, everyone, listen up!" I winced as the noise amplified the pain from excruciating to unbearable. "I need everyone to clear out, except for Bunny, Sandy and Tooth. We need quiet more than we need your help right now, but thanks! If we need you, we'll call you."
Grumblings and endless twinkling bells. Finally, silence slammed the door shut behind the mob.
"Sandy, dim lights, if you please." The russet voice that belonged to North spoke, quietening as he saw me flinch back from the volume.
Cold fingers clutched mine. Suddenly the black behind my eyelids deepened, and I focused all my might in not allowing myself to succumb to delirium.
Do you believe in the Bogeyman?
WILLOW! HELP!
Hopeless shrieks, helpless strained muscles.
The voices rattling around my brain weren't real, but they still drew writhing moans from my chest. I flinched back from Jack's hands, brushing against my feverish cheeks, but they became my anchor in the blackness behind my eyelids. They seemed to chase the darkness away, shooing the pitch black memories out of my head.
I guess I am afraid of the dark.
The same deep voice was gentler this time. "How is now?"
I nodded a little. Swallowing hard, I squinted as light, however little of it, flooded through my eyes and into my brain.
"There!" North said encouragingly. "That is right! Now, look at me."
It wasn't so bad now. I just needed to get used to it, like diving under sub-zero water.
Focusing took a bit of practice. There was a huge blur of white, then next to it, a smaller one, and a blast of colour on the other side of the bed I was lying in, and a short, squat little yellow thing next to my elbow.
Slowly, definite lines lines drew themselves into the blurs, turning the huge white orb into a bearded face, and the other into Jack's wisp of white hair, flopping down onto his forehead. I couldn't focus on the other three shapes. The pain that stabbed the back of my eyes chastised me for trying.
"There they are, marvellous hazel eyes, they are!" North beamed at me — I could see straight, glinting teeth, despite the beard hanging over his mouth. His face was just as anyone would imagine Santa — rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed, all that stuff, but the first sign of difference was his thick eyebrows. They looked angry, flaring in dark arches toward his temples, but they fit in strangely with the approachable-ness of his face. Wrapping rather indelicately around his arms were bold tattoos, "Naughty" and "Nice", and I could see a gold glint behind each of his shoulders... they almost looked like handles of swords.
"Now," he murmured, crossing his big forearms, so the words inked into his skin folded almost gracefully onto each other. In a bold, intimidating way. "We need to know what Pitch did to you." His chair creaked kind of loudly as he leaned inwards.
I shot a wide-eyed glance to Jack, before wincing at the sloshing of mushed brain against my temples. Both sets of eyes were pinned onto me. Jack squeezed my fingers.
"Sand," I managed before coughing. Each hack shot stabs of pain through my head.
"Sand?" Jack repeated, narrowing his eyes. He exchanged a confused glance with North.
Soft ringing, like the kind of magical noise you'd associate with a fairy godmother, interrupted the two Guardians' glance. It was gentle — it reminded me of the disc-like percussion instruments I'd seen at band camp; they fastened onto a special stand, and they only produced that kind of soft shing by drawing a bow across the edge.
The noise was accompanied by the soft brushing of tiny fibres. Like sand being chucked against itself. Before I could panic, though, a little body landed lightly next to me. It was like a puppet suspended by a string.
That was all I could remember. The little golden body, and then I slipped away again.