Hewo!
To anyone who cares, any suggestions as to a new title? It was just a temporary thing, and I still think it's too generic and plain and not RIGHT, so there. Any ideas?
AANNDD that's it.
Luv ya!
doubtfulfig
P.S. This brick wall is being stupid. I hate writer's block.
Jack didn't knock, just in case he'd interrupt something, like sleep, or North's examinations. He just pushed the heavy door in a few inches, just far enough to poke his forehead inside. He'd done that enough times in his life, peeking around windows and doors and through screens… Just enough to see, never enough to be a part of.
But North still sat up straight and turned in his seat. He beckoned with one of his massive hands, and so Jack slipped inside and settled on the footboard of Emmett's bed. His head was almost lost in the pillow. It looked like someone had taken to water-colour across his face, with blue and black and purple blending themselves together. Cuts and — wait, were those bite-marks? — peppered his fair skin, and although he had just been bathed, his wet head left slightly red smudges on the bleached cotton of the pillowcase. His face was slack, for once sporting no emotion. The few times Jack had caught a glimpse of him, through the mob of Yetis, he was either succumbed into sleep, obviously wrought with nightmares, or wide awake, thrashing around, begging North to stop. He squealed at such volumes, writhing against the Guardians' grips, words and pleads that sounded very un-Emmett like. That was when Phil had push past Jack with a syringe, making him suddenly feel nauseous, causing him to retreat to the quiet of Willow's room.
It wasn't that quiet in there, to be honest. Most of the time, she'd interrupt his thinking with soft moans in her sleep. She'd never know the countless times during the night he'd sit by her side, holding her hand until she slunk back into a dreamless sleep. And Jack had a feeling that, if she ever did know, she'd skin him alive.
But it was better than watching his friends wrestle a bloodied kid into a stretcher.
"How's he doing?" Jack murmured, setting his staff down so it leaned against the wall.
North sighed. "As best as can be." He tore his clear blue eyes from Emmett's closed ones, giving a faint smile to Jack. "How is Willow? That is where you were, is it not?"
Jack looked up at North through the chunk of white that always hung over his eyes."She's going to be fine. Just a few shallow cuts, bruises," he gestured to Emmett, whose intense circles under his eyes seemed to cut into his skin deeper than the gashes, "but Sandy got the sand out. She's breathing just fine now." Although she's whimpering in her sleep. She can't escape Pitch's grasp, but she'll live through it, I guess. Jack couldn't decide if that was a blessing, or a curse.
"Good." North's husky reply jerked Jack out of his thoughts. He leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees, sighing again through his fists, which clasped under his nose.
Jack studied him. He knew North to be a big, boisterous old man who didn't act anything like an old man. A Guardian who could zealously defend the smallest mouse, had they proven themselves worthy. Jack knew that better than anyone — who are you, Jack Frost? What is your centre? — but now, no gleam sparkled under those crazy eyebrows. Now they hung low over his eyes, hiding away the majority of the translucent blue. They burned on low, simmering with something unsaid.
Jack turned back to Emmett. He seemed to be sleeping as peacefully as it could be expected. His eyes flickered around behind his eyelids, but there was no sign that the dream he was immersed in was a nightmare, or one induced by Sandy's dreamsand. "What's wrong?" Jack asked, returning his gaze to North.
"Ach." North brought his hands down to his knees, as if bracing himself against them. He shrugged, gesturing vaguely with his hand, as if he'd given up. "His leg has been crushed. Was bleeding too quickly and smashed too severely for me to save it."
Jack could only look back at the little boy. Now that he looked, he only saw the outline of one leg from under his blanket. The other ended at his hip. He gaped and closed his mouth again, before imploring North, "But… You're a Guardian. You must've been able to do something —"
"Jack." North's smile was despondent, and knowing. It made whatever had lit inside Jack's gut dim a bit. "There was nothing."
He could only nod. The darkness pressed heavily against the window — it was almost dawn, and that's always the darkest hour, right? The black tried to seep its way inside, and it seemed to be winning, just because of the huge quantity of shadows the fire in the corner sent sprawling across the walls.
"So." Jack said, breaking the brittle silence. "What are we gonna do?"
North shook his head, eyebrows raised. "Keep them here, for now. They will not be going anywhere until they are better, and all questions are answered."
Jack nodded, knowing North was referring to the death that had seemed to set all of this in motion. He desperately wanted to know, too, but he figured it was too soon after their encounter with Pitch to ask them to talk about something like that. Jack couldn't even think about it without shuddering, and he hadn't been the one who spent two weeks immersed in shadow.
Just days of scouring every inch of the surface of Earth, and days of following the rabbit down his rabbit-hole.
North's sigh was blusterous, like the winds Jack had inflicted upon Alberta only a few days ago. "Shostakovich. I need food," he stated simply, running a hand down his beard.
That was a lie, Jack knew, since Guardians didn't exactly need food. But he knew it would comfort North to snack on a few cookies. And he deserved comfort, after a night like tonight.
He watched the Cossack smile, at least half-genuinely. After all, cookies were his third love, after children and his fellow Guardians. Then he hoisted himself to his feet with a good-natured grunt. "Will be back in few minutes to check temperature."
"Kay. I'm not going anywhere," Jack replied, sending a half-grin back in return.
A heavy hand clapped onto Jack's shoulder, then North was gone, leaving the room silent except for the cracking wood.
He'd always wondered what fire really was. Is it a thing? Something tangible, something that would tickle your fingertips if you could somehow steel yourself against the heat? Something whose diet consisted of wood and homes and forests?
He hated not knowing these things. He'd never had the chance to go to school, goof around with his buddies, learn things about the world. He didn't think he'd mind the boring stuff so much, now. It seemed like a reasonable trade-off: knowledge and friends for a few hours of boredom. He'd willingly pay that price.
Just as the logs in the fire snapped, spitting out a shower of sparks, Emmett's eyes flicked open with a jerk of his head. It took him a frantic moment to grasp his transition into reality, darting his big brown eyes around. Then he caught sight of Jack's sly grin. Then a smile of his own split his face — and a few scabs.
"Jack Frost!" he whispered, with no small amount of enthusiasm.
"Hey, bud!" Emmett's radiance drew Jack's spirit up, strengthening his smile. "How're you feeling?"
"Ok," he said before clearing his throat. "Ouch."
"Try not to move too much," Jack said, watching his wince as he tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position.
"It's weird," Emmett murmured, finally settling back down. "I can't feel my leg." One of his hands emerged from under the quilt, fumbling around at his waist level.
"Ah…" Jack wished North was here. He'd be better at this kind of thing. This doesn't count as snowballs and funtimes. It's not part of my job description. "Emmett, I'm... I'm so sorry."
His hand stilled at the stump protruding from his hip. His face tightened. "Oh."
Jack felt a pang in his heart, as if it was him in that bed, with one less limb. How absolutely deafening it was, how completely crushing, to lose something that would handicap you forever. No wonder they called that kind of trauma "crippling". Jack felt his eyebrows collide, and he had to clear his throat of the emotions prowling around there.
"Will I have to be in a wheelchair?" Emmett asked. He drew his hand up to his chest, shying away from his hip, like he suddenly didn't want to know what it felt like down there.
Jack's smile was sad. "I don't know, buddy. Probably."
He had to take a double look at Emmett's face. He was… grinning. "Awesome."
Jack sat up straighter. "What?"
"I'm gonna be like Professor X!" Emmett continued enthusiastically, basically bouncing in his bed. "Or like Jake Sully from Avatar!"
Jack's mouth crept up his face. "Well, if you put it that way... Actually... I used to know a kid who lost a leg. Well, part of it."
"Really?" Emmett's eyes, alive with energy, widened a bit. "Was he cool?"
"I couldn't have asked for a better friend. He had a metal contraption thingy as a replacement for his foot," Jack mused, thinking backwards. "Gods, that was a long time ago." It made him snort, all of those memories bundled up at the back of his head - like a piece of paper accidentally crumpled and chucked into the trash behind the desk.
"Cool!" The gap in Emmett's smile made Jack's heart twinge, remembering another kid who'd lost a tooth. Another one of the few who'd believed in him when it mattered most.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, Jack put on that wicked grin, the one with the one eyebrow raised a touch and half of his pearly whites exposed. "Man, you could pull some awesome wheelies with a wheelchair!" Jack raved, hopping to a crouch, so the balls of his feet rested on the footboard.
"I know, right? And I won't have to walk anymore!"
Jack let out a "haha, heh", then bounced into a cross-legged position at Emmett's feet — well, foot. He hoped that the excitement Emmett donned would overpower the grief he no doubt would hold for a long time.
Just as Jack thought it, confusion drowned the eagerness in Emmett's face in the blink of an eye. "Wait, where's Willow? Is she ok?"
"She's fine," Jack said, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "Sandy's taking care of her."
"Sandy?"
"The Sandman."
"Really?"
"Really really."
"Woah! So where is she? Can I see her? And Sandy?"
"I don't know, buddy. I think we may need to give her some time. You know, recovery." Jack eyed Emmett's splotchy face. "Maybe you need some time, too."
Emmett nodded solemnly. "That's ok. As long as she'll be ok."
Jack nodded, his grin softening into a gentle curve of his mouth. "We won't let anything happen to either of you. You're safe here."
"What's 'here'?"
"The North Pole."
Jack chuckled at Emmett as his jaw dropped so far, he figured he'd start drooling onto the blankets. "Like, the North Pole?"
Jack winked. "Let's just say, whatever you need, we'll make for you. Toys, clothes… Whatever. The workers here are very capable."
"Woah."
Jack sat back, pulling on his feet, giving the poor little kid a moment to absorb the whole shebang of it all. He seemed slightly out of breath. Then he caught it. He slid his eyes over to Jack with a worried crease appearing between his eyebrows. "Do we have to go back there? Back home?" His voice was so heavy, but so tiny.
Jack swallowed. "We're not making you go anywhere. Not until you're feeling completely better."
"Ok." It seemed to pacify him. The crease disappeared, but the worry stayed behind the brown of his eyes.
"So…" Jack ran a hand down his neck. He didn't want to intrude, but he figured he'd get better answers out of a seven-year-old than a teenager. A female teenager. With complicated feelings. It made Jack wince just thinking about it. Maybe a man-to-man talk would work out better.
"So, Emmett. Can you… Can you explain to me exactly what happened back at home? I mean," he added quickly, sensing the kid's defences fly up, "if you don't want to talk, that's cool, too. But we have to know eventually."
"No. It's ok." Emmett licked his lips, breathing in slowly. "It's just that Daddy wasn't nice to us."
"Your dad was the one… ah… you know…?" Jack prompted gently, motioning to his head. He wasn't really sure how to word it.
"Yeah." Emmett's hands fiddled with their fingernails, picking stuff from underneath.
"How was he not nice?"
"He'd hurt us." Emmett's gaze stayed lowered. "Mommy and me."
Jack's heart slowed, like his blood thickened, making it harder to pump it around. Maybe that explained why his fingers seemed to go numb, too, in a sort of raged despair. He didn't ask what his dad did. But he figured he knew. It made much more sense, now: Willow, wielding a lamp to defend herself when he popped open her window. The almost frantic dismissal of her boss's offer to give her a ride. And when Emmett came in, asking if he'd been hurting her… and her kneeling next to Emmett, murmuring "Not who you expected, huh?"
Jack groaned. Oh, no.
He didn't say any of the thoughts of bitterness or grief on behalf of these kids. But then a thought came to him. "But he didn't hurt Willow?"
Emmett mutely shook his head.
"Why not?"
He shrugged. "I guess it's because she's new."
Jack quirked an eyebrow. "She's… new."
"Yeah." Finally, Emmett's eyes met Jack's. "We're Will's foster family."
Oh. His eyes slid closed in sudden understanding.
Emmett kept going: "Will's been on an adventure for, like, her whole life. She's been testing out families all over the place — you know, making sure they were ok for other kids, and stuff like that. Some of them ended up being slimy toads the moment she stepped into their house, and some had kids that turned into vicious dragons the moment their parents turned their backs. Some of them were as evil as Cinderella's step-family, and treated her like dirt..."
Jack listened to Emmett's various descriptions of Willow's past families with a downcast heart. Each horrible explanation made him long to talk to Willow, to ask why she didn't just run away from it all. But he didn't have to ask him why she stayed, this time around. He was looking at the reason right now.
When Emmett's explanations slowed, Jack cut in gently: "So, your dad. That night. He was going to hurt you?" He thought of the switchblade lying inches from that limp hand.
Emmett nodded slowly, hair spreading over his pillow.
"And Willow…" Jack didn't know how to put it. "She was protecting you?"
Another nod.
A small weight unhooked itself from his heart — she did it to protect them — but a new one, a heavier one, lodged into it at the thought of Emmett's lifetime of pain, and Willow's lifetime of remoteness.
Jack breathed slowly through his nose, examining Emmett. He was back to playing with his fingers, picking very intensely at hangnails splitting away from the nailbed. So many questions swirled around Jack's head, bouncing against each other kind of uncomfortably, and so many assumptions that made his heart laden with a kind of sorrow he hadn't felt in a long time, but with one look at Emmett, he knew now wasn't the time. He cut the conversation short, for the little, tired child's sake.
"I'm still waiting on that snowball fight."
Emmett smiled, exhaling heavily out of his nose, before looking up.
"And it will be even more epic, now that we're here." Jack wiggled an eyebrow at him, drawing a giggle from his lips.
"What do you mean?"
"Ah, I can't give away all my secrets in one sitting, now, can I?" Jack teased, lifting from the bed onto the floor. "Once you're all better, we'll make sure to have ourselves a day you'll never forget." After all, you're in need of a lifetime's worth of enjoyment.
"And Will?"
Jack smiled as he grabbed his staff. It left a delicate design of swirling ferns blossoming on the wall, from where it touched it. "We'll drag her butt out there, or my name's Tinker Bell." Jack slung his staff over his shoulder, making his way to the doorway.
"Hey, Jack?"
He turned his head, cracking the door open a bit.
"Thanks." Just a sigh, barely a whisper, as he fell back onto his pillow.
Jack watched him for a moment, before trying for a smile. "No prob," Jack murmured, more to himself, letting the door slide shut behind him.