The dirt on his cheek itched, just as the dirt on the back of his neck and ground into his scalp did too, aggravated by the not-sweat that formed as the steady warmth of the Warren systematically melted the frost the Jack had to summon to his skin to keep cool. If Jack were smarter, he'd have learned by now to stop touching his face, rubbing his neck, or running his hands through his hair while working. The actions did nothing but smear the dark soil caked to his hands all over the rest of him, but old habit's died hard and he fidgeted when he was nervous. Which he almost always was, around Bunny.
The guy had a wicked temper and was a crack shot with the boomerangs, so sue him.
Regardless, a week into this routine he should have known better, but Jack was a slow learner, for the most part. Which was why he was back here again, today. Not that Bunny ever thanked him, or was even nice to him, but it didn't really matter. Thanks and niceties weren't why Jack was here. He was here because of the slow learner thing, wasn't that right? Or maybe because he was just crazy, hadn't someone said once that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results? Over a week into this routine and Jack could've set a watch to Bunny's behaviour. Step on anything you shouldn't, he yells. Frost anything you shouldn't he yells. Ask a dumb question that you shouldn't, he yells. How they guy hadn't gone hoarse yet Jack didn't know. But Jack was prone to exaggeration too, couldn't be that bad, right? After all, Jack had come back.
Why had he come back again?
Oh, yeah, right.
Unable to stop the action, Jack found himself itching behind his ear, both from nerves and actual itch, doubtlessly compounding the problem by smearing more dirt onto his already filth skin. Jack had tried washing up in his lake, but the water was still frozen enough that his clothes would've just iced solid, and the air was too cool for proper drying. Not that he could've stood around in the buff waiting for them to dry, now that he had believers he couldn't run the risk of traumatizes the younglings with his pale, pasty ass. Well, formerly pasty, Jack was as muddy as his clothes, and no amount of cold lake water scoped with bare hands could fix it without soap, and likely some kind of washcloth. Assuming of course, the Jack's fluctuating powers didn't just re-freeze the water solid at the first touch. It sucked; Jack hadn't been this out of control since he'd been reborn. Flying especially sucked, because even his control over wind had shifted, like a sudden growth spurt, leaving him tumbling onto more than a few rough landings. The remnants of bruises throbbed uncomfortably under his clothes, but Jack refused to let it show. Jack had debated asking Jamie to borrow his bathroom, but for the same reason he hadn't, have a frozen water pipe would doubtlessly be hard to fix and raise a lot of questions so far into springtime. The land may still have been thawing, but thawing it was, and Jack knew when he wasn't wanted.
Jack had also debated asking Bunny for soap next time the other Guardian offered him the washbasin, but Jack wasn't about to overstep his bounds. It was enough that the other had offered at all, or, more likely judging by the faintly disgusted look on the Rabbit's face, that Bunny had simply been tired of working alongside a walking pigpen. Jack had been massively uncomfortable the whole time he'd splashed himself down, hyper aware of the Rabbit's larger frame nearly hovering over him as the water in the bowl had slowly blackened with grime. He knew it was a futile effort in the end, but the offer had been made and Jack would never say never, not when the alternative was to never have an offer at all. Friendships were give and take, right? Couldn't be that hard to make them work. Maybe.
Scoop soil. Lay seed. Pack soil, gently. Tamp down on frost so hard that hand shake. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatrepeatre peatrepeatrepeat...
Jack blinks, sways a little, glances up from under his bangs to bee if Bunn's noticed. The Rabbit is a few feet ahead of Jack, back mostly turned, which is a no, he probably didn't. Good, it's easier to be here like this when they don't look straight at each other; when their eyes never meet. Jack rises to his feet as smoothly as he can, refuses to allow himself to stumble on legs that are stiff and numb from hours of kneeling. He saunters as casually as possible to the tureen of water left nearby for refreshment, scooping himself a ladleful and freezing it in his mouth so he has an ice cube to suck on while he works. Usually he could just form the ice from the water in the air, but he'd been warm for too long and is a little dried out, so outside water it is. Before he returns to work, he frosts the outside of the tureen, using the condensation to continue keeping the water cool. He needs more water than this, the ice is already melting away on his tongue, but he is a guest and gulping away like a greedyguts is unmannerly. His mother would never approve. Not that she was alive to approve, but he likes to think that her approval or at least the fantasy of it might still matter somehow.
In the back of Jack's mind he can still hear her voice, entreating him to be careful that day he led his sister straight into his own untimely ending. He's a careless sort of person really, always had been. As the woman who'd birthed and raised him, she should have known better.
MiM but sometimes he wished she'd have known better.
Scoop soil. Lay seed. Pack soil, gently. Hold back frost, stare at Bunny's back. Repeat. Accidentally misfire, frost your fingers together, then shake them out frantically while cursing 'cause the tight sheathe of ice pinches.
"Should do something about that power bleed. S'not safe." Jack blinks, Bunny's voice is level, even, but Jack's hackles rise. Not safe? Of course Jack isn't safe. He's winter, he's cold; he could be death and barrenness as easily as he was snow days and fun, if he chose. But Jack was Jack and there was no choice, not really, and didn't Bunny know that? Jack's chest hurts familiarly at the lack of good faith, but in rage or pain he couldn't say.
"I'm not dangerous." Lies lies lies, and the thickness in Jack's voice speaks true, but Bunny only shrugs, shoulder moving in an upward jolt, not hearing or not caring.
"You could spend some time on it, not that you do anything but kick around here all day, right?" Bunny's tone is even, or perhaps it's condescending, Jack doesn't know, because he hurts inside, because he's doing much more than 'kicking around here,' and shouldn't Bunny be grateful? Shouldn't that matter? No, it shouldn't, it doesn't, and Jack isn't here to be patted on the back. So instead of speaking, Jack simply shrugs back, well aware Bunny can't see him with his back still turned and returns to work, abandoning his currently dug hole for a couple of moments until it defrosts. Jack bites his tongue to help keep himself silent, chomping through the last bit of the ice as he does, the final cool droplets sliding down his throat. He's still thirsty, but he's afraid to stand again, because if he does he might run, but he needs to be here right now and can't leave, not yet.
"You should at least be out looking for more believers. You need them now, being Oathed n' all." Bunny says over an hour later, now facing Jack from three rows away. Jack's fingers clench in the soil involuntarily, but he's warmed up enough that the frost that comes is too weak to last more than a second before fading back to moisture.
"I'm doing fine, longears. No need to worry about the resident popsicle." Not this, anything but this, just leave it alone Bunny, leave it alone, leave it alone, leave it alone...
"If yeh wanna fade, that's your choice mate, sounds like you don't care to me. You waited so long for this though, just seems a waste." The twist of Jack's lips is bitter, he knows as he replies.
"Can wait a little longer then, can't I? I'm only kicking about here all day right? Not off spending myself frivolously on snowstorms or anything." The sarcasm is obvious, and Jack catches the furrow of a frown appear on Bunny's face. Good, remind him that Jack has claws, too.
"You say it like you don't think you've earned them. The believers, I mean." The word tumble into the air between them with all the discordance of a cat on a keyboard.
Despite that, the silence after they are spoken is nearly deafening.
Jack breathes around the pain of the nerve Bunny's just hit; tries to keep his head down, presumably to focus on his work, mostly to keep Bunny from reading his far too open face. He can't stop himself peeking though, and Bunny is staring at him, intent and unnerving, his expression unrecognizable. Jack had intended not to reply, but he can't stop the words that bubble to his mouth despite the tightness in his throat that turns his voice rough.
"I break stuff, you know. Things, rules, Easters... You tell me what I've earned." Hurt as they do to speak, the words catch Bunny exactly as Jack hoped they would; right in centre mass like a fatal wound, and the other male honestly, physically flinches. Spectacular double edge sword that, considering Jack feels somewhat like flinching too. Steadying his hands as best he can, Jack pats down the soil over another seed, unwaveringly continuing on with his work. Only cowards ran, and Jack has danced cheek to cheek with the Nightmare King himself, what fear does he have of an oversized Lagomorph?
Bunny stares at Jack for another long moment, the weight of his gaze damning, before grunting and returning for work. For hours there is no talk, no sounds but the tilling of earth and the shuffling of bodies in the dirt. They retire at sunset as usual, and this time Bunny again offers the washbasin, albeit with the kind of hesitation you'd use to offer a handshake to a leper. Jack almost wants to tell him to fornicate with himself in multiple creative ways just on general principle, but the thought of clean, none-lake water to wash in is too tempting.
This time, Bunny offers a bar of soap as well, and as awkward as it is to hunch over the washbowl trying to contain the suds, feeling those jaded green eyes on his back, Jack can still spare a second to luxuriate in the feeling of being cleaner then he has been in days. It's not a perfect job, just hands, face and neck really, as he's far too modest to even consider removing the filthy hoodie, but at times something is far better than nothing, after all. His clothes are still a lost cause, but he doesn't itch at all, at least for the next couple of days. Still, every day he returns. Jack's a slow learner after all, and this lesson hasn't sunk in yet.
If ever it will have the chance, 'cause heaven knows Jack's exactly the kind to poke at his bruises, too.