Sorry for the delay, real life has been somewhat overwhelming of late, and this chapter just didn't want to come on the rare occasions I did have the time to write. When it finally did though, it came in longer than any chapter yet, so hurrah for that at least! Enjoy, and thanks for your patience!
"THIS IS THE SONG THAT DOESN'T EEEND! YES IT GOES ON AND ON MY FRIEEEEENDS! SOME PEOPLE STARTED SINGING IT NOT KNOWING WHAT IS WAAAS, AND THEY'LL CONTINUE SINGING IT FOREVER JUST BECAUSE THIS IS THE SONG THAT DOESN'T EEEND! YES IT GOES..."
The obnoxiously loud and off-key singing, if you could even call it that, cut off abruptly as Aster slammed the front door behind him. Stomping out to the field, Aster threw himself headfirst into his planting. Four days of looking after Jack's incapable arse, and what did he have to show for it? A headache! A full-blown, pounding, throbbing, MiM-be-damned HEADACHE; caused no doubt by Jack's unending, infernal racket. Also the heavy metal tray Aster had taken to the head probably made its fair share of contribution; having been thrown by Jack in a fit of pique when Aster had dared to have the audacity to bring lunch to the boy's sickbed...
Oh. Wait. That would be Aster's bed the little wretch had taken up in, which did absolutely nothing butt lend to his bad mood, considering the crap amount of sleep he'd been subsisting on. Aster's burrow was a humble abode, and seldom used beyond his simple kitchen and his nestroom, where most of his homey touches had been focussed. Meaning, that Aster had been relegated to his own couch; an awful, overstuffed scarlet monstrosity gifted to him by North so many decades ago that only the ambient magic of the Warren had kept it from becoming a moth-eaten relic in a long-forgotten drawing room. So, every night, when Aster bunked down, he did so on the Crimson Beast, his over-long body spilling over the armrests at either end. More days then not Aster had awoken with his feet kicking into the dusty pianoforte that took up the opposite corner of the cramped little room. The instrument had also been a gift, and hadn't been tuned or even touched in so long that Aster was sure even looking at it funny would result in immediate collapse into a pile of kindling and wire.
Aster sighed, feeling the soothing repetition of planting winding his nerves down from bowstring-taught to merely tense. It was a bad situation all around. Jack was far more worn down then he'd let on. Perhaps even more then the egghead had realized himself. About eighty-percent of his days were still spent napping away in Aster's bed, snuggled so far down under the comforter that he nearly disappeared under its folds. To be honest, Aster hadn't quite realized how tiny Jack was until he'd seen him dwarfed inside his nest. Not that the nest wasn't quite large to begin with, Aster himself could've taken half a dozen lovers simultaneously to its depths without fearing a lack of space, but Jack, beneath the blankets was a frail, delicate thing. The kiss of his eyelashes like butterfly wings to his cheekbones, obscuring the faintest hint of freckles found there. Jack's fine-boned wrists and ankles gave way to diminutive hands and feet, almost doll-like in their porcelain perfection. The kid should have been clumsy and awkward, caught forever on the precipice of puberty; his voice deep but his face childlike. His knees and elbows were knobby like a young boy's, but his limbs were the elongated coltishness found after a growth spurt. Jack was an artist's dream; he should have been homely, but instead he was a study in contradictions, all soft edges and hard angles hodge-podged together with cheeky grins and an almost malicious touch to his sense of humour. At times, Aster wasn't sure if he wanted to kill the kid and bury him deep, or peel him up like a label off a soup can so he could touch the very bones of him.
Shaking his head with confusion, Aster decided to shrug off the thoughts of Jack for now and concentrate on his planting instead. Relishing the press of moist earth between his fingers and into the pads on his palm, Aster continued, feeling even more of his previous stress bleed away. The fields were coming along well; and despite what he'd told Jack about wasting time nursing him along, in truth Aster was still ahead of schedule. Even thought the boy had been struggling, first with learning a new skill and then with controlling his haywire magic, he'd accomplished far more in the past few weeks then Aster had thought possible. It was entirely certain at this point, that if the boy kept up with helping at this pace, Aster would not only catch up, but overshoot his targets for next Easter. He could come back with a bang, for sure. That is, assuming the daft brat would let himself get better. Resigning himself to the never-ending procession of Jack-related thoughts, Aster sighed, letting the rhythm of his work soothe him as he pondered his unhappy houseguest. True, Jack was sleeping well, but the times he was awake he was surly, withdrawn and downright difficult to deal with. He shouted, cursed fit to offend most sailors, hollered abuse, threw anything in his immediate vicinity that might potentially cause harm to Aster's person and just in general was the biggest arsehole of a patient Aster had ever seen. Which, Aster might have been able to cope with if Jack was getting better and there was an end in sight, but he wasn't. Probably because he refused to eat, or drink enough to properly rehydrate. Instead Jack would sip at the smallest amount of liquid possible to prevent himself from swooning like a virginal maiden and was abstaining from actual nutrition entirely. Already Aster could see the hollows of Jack's cheeks deepening, the jut of his hipbones under worn leather becoming more prominent.
The boy's body was already the scarcity of winter personified; much more and Aster feared they would lose him.
It was a stubborn persistent feared that had been niggling at him night and day since Aster had figured out exactly how sick the kid had been. When Aster had first tucked him into his nest after he'd fainted, he'd been shocked to see the motley collection of half-healed injuries, likely form the fiasco with Pitch. Injuries that, as an immortal should have long-healed, but hadn't, likely due to the fact that the boy was so run down that his overwhelmed system simply couldn't cope. The expenditure of energy on the practise grounds was the final straw in a steady downward decline. Aster had been trying to convince himself for the past few days that Jack wouldn't let it go that far, that the boy wasn't suicidal, simply stubborn and stupid with it. That the boy would cave to his hunger and restlessness soon enough and make steps to hasten is recovery, if only to escape from Aster's admittedly peevish company. Pooka's were known for their bullheaded tendencies; there was no way a, underfed little scamp of a child could possibly outdo the eons of practice Aster had put toward this particular trait. It seemed however that the boy was capable of holding out far longer then he'd anticipated, enough to make Aster wonder if fading away into nothing wasn't perhaps the boy's ultimate goal. Aster let his thoughts run backwards over their interactions the last few weeks, straight from the days leading up to Easter right through to the tray incident this morning, looking for anything telling, hoping that something would stick out enough to provide a clue to cracking Jack like a code breaker.
"If yeh wanna fade, that's your choice mate, sounds like you don't care to me."
Aster remembered the deliberately provocative statement. At the time he'd been poking the dragon with intent, trying to discern if the boy indeed didn't care, or if he perhaps just didn't understand the importance of managing his believers. Jack had been defensive, for sure, but it hadn't been the defensiveness of a person trying to cover the truth of a statement, more the defensiveness of the deeply offended. So no, Aster didn't think Jack was looking to just give up; not then, and not now. No, the boy definitely had something to prove, a point he was trying to make with his little tantrum here. Aster just had to figure out his game plan, and how to countermand it. Suddenly, it came back to him, the realization sending a jolt of shock own his spine, making his fur stand on end.
"You say it like you don't think you've earned them. The believers, I mean."
Aster remembered how silent Jack had been after that, how still.
Oh, MiM, that was it, wasn't it. Aster could suddenly see the whole picture, like he'd been staring at a half-solved jigsaw in the dark, and while the puzzle was still incomplete he'd at least found the light switch. He had forgotten, pushed the exchange aside because it reminded him of the moment he'd been walked through. He'd let it go to protect himself from his own pain, and had let slip from his mind what Jack has responded with, what he'd said, to spare himself the discomfort of it.
"I break stuff, you know. Things, rules, Easters... You tell me what I've earned."
Aster's answer was right there, and had been there all along.
Cursing himself for seven kinds of a fool, Aster took off at a run toward his burrow. He was halfway to the nestroom when he stopped himself, realizing that he would accomplish nothing but mucking this all up if he simply charged in there without a proper course of action. It took only a moment of thinking before his feverishly whirling brain made its decisions. Aster stepped back outside just long enough to fetch Jack's staff from where he'd stashed it on the roof of the burrow, where he'd been banking on Jack simply not considering it a viable hiding place to work in his favour. Back in the kitchen, he ladled some porridge, tepid but probably more to Jack's tastes then piping hot, into a bowl. He forwent the tray this time, hoping to minimize the amount of ammo he was providing the teenager with, instead simply sticking the spoon into the bowl and carrying it in hand along with the staff down the hall. Upon entering, Aster found Jack fast asleep, something which was becoming a regular site as the boy sought to conserve much-needed energy. Really though, the silence along was a dead giveaway that the boy had conked out again, as every waking moment was spent being as loud and obnoxious as possible.
Of course, for Aster's purposes now, this just wouldn't do. So setting down both bowl and staff on the floor beyond the edge of the nest and therefore, due to the sloping sides, out of Jack's line of site, Aster made his way down until he was standing over the reclined form, ready to action. Then without further ado, Aster let out a triumphant battle-cry as he reached down and yanked the blanket clean off the dozing youth.
The result was Jack making a noise between a squeak and a howl, flailing about into an upright position, hands scrabbling at his sides for the missing blanket, or possibly a weapon. It took the boy's sleep-addled mind a few moments to realize that he was now nose-to-furry-knee with his attacker. Looking down at Jack as the boy looked up, blinking his wide blue eyes up almost dumbly in confusion, Aster couldn't help but think that the kid was positively adorable when he wasn't been a soul-destroying little bastard. Carefully stepping away from the volatile male, Aster worked his way back until he was a more appropriate two feet of personal space away from the still-drowsy boy. He debated tossing the blanket aside, but figured that, in the event of a violent outburst, it could be used as a defensive item.
"Rise and shine Jackie-o, we have a lot of get-bettering to do today, if'n you please!"
Looking to be in total shock and awe, Jack's mouth opened as if to speak, then closed, and then opened again to emit a groan, before the boy planted his face in his hands, scrubbing at his eyes. Aster couldn't help but notice how grubby they were. Clearly a bath would be required at some point; a proper one, not a quick splash-down in the washbowl. Also, Aster thought, looking at the muddy cuffs of Jack's once-blue hoodie, laundry would be required as well. Aster carefully suppressed the shudder at the thought of having another filthy, grimy body dirtying up his personal tub, and then later another person's clothes, including unmentionables being scrubbed in the same. At this point, he was committed; it was a necessary evil, and Aster could just douse the thing in bleach water after, if required.
"The fuck you want, Bunny?" Aster's attention snapped back onto Jack as they boy grumbled at him, face still cradled in his palms. He looked a fright, skin so pale he was nearly translucent, exhaustion seeping from every pore. The kid was in a poor way, and there was only one thing to do.
"I got a proposition for you mate you ready to listen?" Finally lifting his head, Jack favoured Aster with a pointed glare, blue eyes only enhanced by the dark smudges beneath.
"I'm listening of you talk fast, else I'm going back to bed."
"Right, well then, here you go." With a flourish, Aster stretched an arm to where the staff had been left, and dropped it into Jack's lap. The boy sat, stunned into silence for a moment, before carefully taking the worn wood into hand. Aster had to fight hard not to physically react when, instead of frost blooming across the entire surface as usual, the swirling patterns barely even manifested beneath Jack's hands before they melting in moderate heat of the air. Jack noticed immediately of course, and couldn't quite hold back his flinch. It didn't stop him from hugging the staff to his chest like a lost child, and Aster felt a curl of guilt in his stomach, wondering if he hadn't inadvertently made things worse by trying to endure the child stayed put.
"So, there you go boyo, got your staff back. Like you said this morning, you don't need me, or my help, so you can just get right on moving then, can't you." Jack stared at Aster for a moment, chapped lips slightly parted, like he couldn't quite comprehend what Aster was saying. Sensing it was the right thing to do, Aster pushed a bit harder searching for a response. "So, you'll be vacating soon then, yes?" It took the boy a moment to respond, like the words were getting lost somewhere between his brain and those thin, chapped lips.
"Yeah, yeah I'll get gone, no problem." The statement wasn't as confident as Jack was obviously trying to make it, but Aster ignored the hesitation, carrying forward instead.
"Well that's all roses there then, ain't it. Tell you what though, you leave now, you don't come back. If you don't need my help, then I certainly don't need yours." At least, Aster got the reaction he'd been seeking. Jack suddenly straightened, probably would have leapt to his feet if he'd had the strength to do so.
"You can't! You can't make me! I need to be here!"
"Because you feel guilty about this past Easter?" Jack stopped abruptly, any possible comeback dying in his throat. Aster stared at him, into this wide eyes, ignoring the suddenly wetness of them. The boy's lips trembled a bit, and for a moment Aster thought he might cry, but Jack pulled himself together, responding in a voice that was steadier then Aster had expected.
"Yeah, well you only helped me because you felt bad about the three centuries I spent alone, asshole." Steadier, and far more vicious. Who'd have thought that the Guardian of Fun would be such an expert at pointed verbal attacks?
Aster, that's who, having been subjected to them enough in the past while to know what was coming, and had, in fact, been counting on it, despite the surge of guilt that welled up at the truth of it.
"You're absolutely spot on their, mate. So he's the deal; you buck up, start taking care of yourself. Yeh get yer arse out of the sickbed and back onto that training field. You learn how to handle yourself, how to take care of yourself, properly, none of this half-arsed horseshit you've been doing, and if you do well enough, then I let you help in the fields." Here Aster crouched down, lowering himself to Jack's level so he could meet his eyes head-on, faces only a foot apart. "You see, Jackie, I figured it out. I know yeh feel bad, and that's fine. You should; we needed you, and you weren't there. We trusted you, and whether you meant to or not you broke that trust. But I know that yer not the only one who feels bad, who needs to pay penance to feel better. So, let's even it up then, yeah? No more of these histrionics, you're only hurting yourself."
Jack looked away, unable to hold Aster's gaze. Aster remained crouched, letting the quiet stretch one for a good five minutes. When jack didn't appear ready to speak, Aster sighed, standing to leave the boy to think. He'd barely turned his back when Jack's quiet voice stopped him.
"Wait." Aster turned around again, gazing down at the huddled form of the teen in his bed. "Wait, Bunny. I'll do it." Bunny arched an eyebrow.
"And you'll stick to your word." Instantly the fire returned, Jack's head whipping up and all traces of his easy submission disappearing.
"I said I would, didn't I? What, you want a contract in blood?" Aster couldn't help the tight smile that appeared at Jack's passion.
"Naw, yer word'll do." Jack nodded then, mouth pressed into a tight line, obviously more a grudging agreement than anything, but Aster figured it was better an understanding then they'd had yet so far, and was unwilling to push any further. Jack's compliance secured, Aster figured it was time to test this limits of the newfound truce. "Fantastic. Now then, step one. Food." Aster reached over the edge of the nest again, finding the bowl of porridge. He then plonked himself down unceremoniously beside the boy's hip, hefting a hearty spoonful in the hand not holding the bowl. "Well, c'mon now Jackie! Open wide for the choo choo train!" Eyes glowing with unholy glee, Aster couldn't help but goad the boy, just a little bit, if only in payback for the last few days' worth of annoyance. Jack's responding glower may have been absolutely poisonous, but the following vicious grin was even more terrifying, because Aster knew what was coming.
"I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYBODY'S NERVES; ON EVERYBODY'S NERVES, YES ON EVERYBODY'S NERVES..."
"DAMMIT JACK FROST!" Aster hollered, dropping the bowl and spoon into Jack's lap as the rushed to make a tactical retreat from the killzone, tripping twice on the blanket as he went. He bolted for the door, turning back at the last moment. "And eat the damned porridge!" Jack saluted him sarcastically as Aster made to leave.
"Oh captain, my captain!" Jack's reply as Aster slipped out the door still had the biting cruelty to it that had been characterizing their interactions for the last few days, but Aster had confidence that, if relations between them didn't get any better, they at least had some common ground now that could help them from getting worse.
Now, the next move was in Jack's hands. Aster could do nothing but wait, and possibly hope that, if Jack decided to continue lashing out verbally, he'd stop singing at a volume usually reserved for thrash metal concerts, and go back to reciting dirty limericks. Those at least Aster had found somewhat amusing.
For those curious, youtube the following:
The Song That Doesn't End (You will probably find the end credits for a show called Lamb Chop's Play Along, which was a staple of my childhood.)
The Song That Gets On Everybody's Nerves (great for road trips with your parents!)