So I've had a lot of people comment that Bunny's being mean to Jack, and the fact of the matter is that yeah, he is. These are two characters who've done nothing other than butt heads for decades, at least. Now that they find themselves in something of a forced truce, they have no idea how to deal with the other. They both have preconceived notions, they both have biases and prejudices against each other, and they both have rather epic amounts of baggage on top of all that. Don't worry, Jack will give as good as he gets, but truthfully speaking this is not a fluff fic like my Heart(h) verse, or my Homework verse. This will get worse before it gets better, if it in fact gets better at all. If this is troubling, then this might not be the story for you.
Hopefully I haven't scared too many people away, but I felt it needed to be addressed just due to the number of comments I'm receiving in this vein. Those of you still interested, thanks, and I'll try not to keep you waiting so long for the next chapter.
Jack wakes up with a headache. A serious, oh-MiM-kill-me-now-I-don't-want-to-live-anymore-an d-give-all-my-stuff-to-BabyTooth-when-I'm-gone, pounding, resonating, pulsating migraine. Jack feels like death frozen over, and as an actual dead guy that's totally saying something. Rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face into the cool pillow, Jack groans a bit as the motion makes the throbbing in his skull increase. Honestly, it's feels like even his hair hurts. Or his eyelashes. Perhaps even his toenails, if that's possible. He wonders vaguely if this is what a hangover feels like, having never had one for the comparison, and if it is, well, he's done good avoiding this shit for three whole centuries plus. On top of the pain, his mouth feels stuffed with cotton, his eyes are gritty and dry despite being closed, and he has about as much strength at his disposal as a baby duckling.
Also, he realizes with the fuzziness of someone in deep pain and still half asleep, he doesn't have a proper bed, only catching quick catnaps up trees or in snow banks when he'd depleted his power reserve enough to make it absolutely necessary, which hasn't happened too often in his life so far. In fact, whatever he'd done must have been a doozy to lay him up like this. In a bed. Which wasn't his, because he didn't have one. So, someone somewhere had taken him to bed. Their bed. Were they here with him? Jack flops first one arm out to the side, then the other, flailing about with absolutely zero coordination for another body. He doesn't' find one, but he doesn't find the edge of the bed either, so maybe they were here, but out of arms reach. Jack tries to listen for breathing, but doesn't hear anything. So he's alone. Unless they don't breathe. Jack doesn't breathe all the time, so he supposes it's possible. He tries to crack an eye open, but the bit of light that shines through feels like it's stabbing his eyeball, so he makes a sound that totally isn't an unmanly whimper and yanks the quilt he's tangled in up over his head and resolves to sleep some more, possible bed partner be damned.
Wait, he's still dressed right?
A quick fumble answers that question in the affirmative, and Jack relaxes again with the intent to slip into slumber again. Not that he's a prude or anything, but he'd at least like to remember his first time so he could write a thank you card or something, or a fruit basket maybe if they'd earned it. Hey, maybe Sandy will visit and there will be little sand bananas dancing above his head...
Jack wakes again feeling slightly less abysmal, but with no further ideas as to where he might be. He has the strength now to sit up, although he still feels drained. Truth be told he'd never been this tired before, never exerted himself to the point where he was this disoriented and uncomfortable after. Not even after the run-in with Pitch a few weeks ago... Admittedly though he was still recovering from the power use that altercation, and Bunny putting him through his paces, both in the garden and on the so-called training field certainly hadn't helped...
Oh hell, Bunny. Suddenly, Jack remembers everything, with an agonizing clarity that has him thumping back onto the bed with a groan of frustration. Bunny. The root of all Jack's problems of late. Bunny with his shitty attitude and his eternal sour mood and his stupid fur and stupid rabbit-nose and long dumb ears and ridiculous Aussie accent. Jack groaned again, scrubbing at his face with his hands, which, he noticed belatedly were still grimy with topsoil. Here he was, still weak from the overusing his powers, control all shot to hell despite the work he'd been forced to put in, and more than likely dehydrated by the combination of his body fighting to temperature regulate in the warmth of the Warren combined with the hard labour he'd been doing for so many days. Could nothing in this day (evening, night, whatever) get any worse?
"Ya whine like an infant Frost. Couple glasses o' water and you'll be back on those grubby little feet o' yers in no time."
Y'know, one of these days, Jack will learn that asking himself those sorts of rhetorical questions does nothing but court trouble. That day is not today however, obviously.
"Glass ain't good enough; bring a bucket. I'll drink what I want, and drown myself in the rest." Jack's voice was hoarse from disuse, cracking once or twice during the sentence. The thought puts a frown on Jack's face, the line furrowing between his brows. How long had he been under, dozing away blissfully unaware in Bunny's nest? Were his clothes covered in Pooka fur now? Do giant lagomorphs get fleas? He is still dressed, right? Which is a dumb questions, because Jack can feel his hood bunched up uncomfortable under his neck. He'd adjust it, but he feels too lazy right now. Jack is staring dully at the ceiling of what looks to be a hollowed-out room underground, but not far enough underground that a window was impossible, although it was high up on the wall. The light had a certain golden quality to it that said it was either rising or setting, but Jack couldn't tell which. So, evening or morning then. How many days after his collapse he couldn't know unless he asked Bunny.
Bunny. Hellfires and damnation, the rabbit must've scraped him up outta the dirt and carried him to bed like a Disney princess or something. Jack couldn't help but frost over a bit at the shame; gearing up for some sort of damsel comment as Bunny's footsteps approached the edge of what Jack knew now was probably his nest. Sure enough, Bunny's head appeared in Jack's field of vision, upside down and mouth twisted into what could've been either a scowl or really bad constipation, who knew. There was a soft thud as the bucket was set of the Jack's left on the edge of the cushioned depression that made up Bunny's nest. Turning his head to look out of the corner of his eye, Jack recognized it as the same bucket, or at least very similar, to the one Bunny used for drinking while working.
"Gimme." Jack grumbled, slowly rolling over toward the blessed source of water. It took a moment to get his legs beneath himself and push to his hands and knees, but Bunny didn't move to help and Jack was grateful. He continued to hover like a concerned helicopter, but Jack could forgive him that all things considered. He had just spent the night swooned unconscious in the dude's bed, the Pooka was probably hoping fervently for anything but a repeat performance. Shuffling on all fours in a way that was effective but far from dignified, Jack made his way up the side of the shallow cubby to where the live-giving liquid was waiting. Jack had barely scaled the edge before he was face first over the bucket, scooping the cool drink into the mouth with his hands. The first touch of waiter to his parched lips and tongue cause Jack to moan, deep and low with the sensation of it, a balm to the horrific thirst he'd been fighting back so long he'd stopped recognizing it for what it was. When scooping handfuls into his mouth proved to be less effective than Jack desired, he forwent the use of his cupped hand and stuck his whole face in, gulping water in great, heaving draughts. When his immediate thirst had slaked, Jack kept to his earlier word, shoving his whole head in the bucket to feel the coolness envelope him. The wetness against his overheated scalp was deliciously soothing, yet not enough. Pulling his head back, Jack ignored Bunny's confused spluttering, instead heaving the half-empty bucket up to overturn into above his head, the cold water sluicing down through already soaked hair, winding in little trails down over his neck and drenching his shirt and the waistband of his pants. The heavy blue cotton clung to him almost obscenely, sucking to his too-warm skin, the moistened fabric working to aid Jack in regulating his temperature. It would take a couple hours and another bucket likely, but he'd be recovered enough for his usual antics in no time.
"Well done mate, now half the nest is soaked. If I'd a known you were looking for a bath, I would've just chucked you into the pond." Bunny's cutting tone came through the haze of Jack's relief, immediately dampening his slowly blooming satisfaction. The scowl that came to Jack's face would've killed a man, surely.
"I'd have just frozen it on contact, jerkface. Also, you're the spring spirit, why don't you dry it out? You were melting my ice just fine earlier today." Bunny crowed his arms, glaring down at the sopping wet frost spirit with righteous indignation.
"That was yesterday, ya drongo, and honestly, I don't care a bit, you're the only one gonna be sleeping in it today."
Jack had about a dozen snarky responses planned, but they all dried up at those words. "What do you mean, I'm sleeping here? News flash buster, apparently I've already have my solid eight hour overnight nap, so I'm going to take this bucket, wander down to said pond, drink my bodyweight and then get lost until I forget how ugly your face is. Might take a while, don't panic if you don't see me." It wasn't hard to make his words drip with sarcasm. Jack was an eternal teenager; sarcasm was pretty much his official second language. Well, sarcasm and penguin; those adorable little things had a surprisingly dry, candid sense of humour Jack couldn't help but appreciate. Bunny however, didn't seem nearly as appreciate of Jack's sense of humour, if the angry twist of his lips was to be believed.
"Well boyo, it's like this. See, when a young, dumb bratty little bastard overdoes it on his mate's turf cause he's too stupid to take proper care of himself, his mate's obligated to make sure he's back in top shape. So you see, Little Jack..." and here, Bunny had started to lean forward, effectively looking of Jack who was still on his knees, wet hair slicked to his neck and eyelashes damp. "When a boy is dumb enough to do that, and his mate has to lose a whole day's worth of productivity taking care o' his sorry arse, it tends to put a rabbit into a mood. The right foul sort, as you can imagine. So here's how it's going to go. Yer gonna crawl right back in, to the nest I gave up so you could be comfortable. Yer gonna lay there like the good boy North thinks you can be until you're over this little hiccup. Then yer gonna get that bony little arse of yours into a proper training regime until you figure out where your boundaries are, cause so help me MiM I ain't putting up with your inability to manage yourself again, savvy?" Stepping back a bit, Bunny surveyed Jack like he was a particularly interesting bit of dirt caught in his footpad. "So back into bed with yeh, today's for sleeping off your own stupidity." Bunny snatches up the bucket, turning towards the door that Jack has just noticed beyond the edge of the nest. He doesn't look back until he reaches it, pausing with one hand against the side of it, looking over his shoulder like an afterthought. "And, Jack? Don't even think about leaving. You couldn't outrace this Rabbit on a good day, and I've got your staff tucked away till you're well enough to use it."
With those words, Bunny finally ducks out of the room, his footfalls disappearing quickly, swallowed up by distance and the soft earthen floors of his home. Left behind, Jack remains where he is; muted by shock and kneeling in a drying puddle on the floor beside Bunny's bed. Jack stares at the empty doorway, ignoring the stinging heat of his eyes. It's obviously just the soreness of one who hasn't blinked enough, to Jack blinks plenty, rapidly, telling himself the wetness he's holding back is just good lubrication for gritty-feeling corneas. Boys don't cry, especially not over unmitigated bastards like the Easter Bunny.
Feeling both defiant and defeated in unison, Jack shuffles his way back into bed. While the drink and the dousing have helped, he's still a long way from repaired, perhaps longer then the cares to admit to. He pushes away the niggling sensation that Bunny is right, is probably even justified, because Jack has been taking care of himself for three damn centuries before Bunny even gave a thought to his sorry ass. Jack yanks the quilt up over himself, straight over his head and burrowing into it in a little tiny ball of pique. Bunny wants to take care of him? Jack knows what this is, and fuck the rabbit and his misplaced sense of guilt anyways. The Pooka had nothing to be guilty for, cause Jack can take care of himself, and he's gonna prove it.
Right after another nap, because his eyelids are heavy and the quilt is keeping the worst of the heat out, and Jack's own innate coolness combined with the wetness of his clothing is making his little cocoon far too comfortable to resist.
So Bunny though he could handle Jack Frost up in his face full time and win? Well, let him, he didn't know what he was getting into. By tomorrow he'd be begging for Jack to leave, probably for good.
One way or another, Jack would make sure of it.