The next day, Jack was quiet. Unusually quiet, and while Peter was normally content to leave him to his own devices, this kind of quiet was annoying him. It was that worried buzzing that Wendy got before she told him she wanted to go home, the one the lost boys had when she tried to persuade them to grow up. Peter wrinkled his nose at the thought.
This was the worrying quiet. The quiet that constantly hung around adults, even if it couldn't be heard or noticed. But it was there, and it was around Jack. It annoyed Peter, and for the third time that morning he waved an impatient hand wildly before unseeing blue eyes.
Peter lost his patience when it began to snow. "HEY! Jack!"
The winter spirit blinked, glazed eyes finally focusing as they actually looked at Peter for the first time, the first true time, Jack looked at him. And, mere seconds later, looked away again, and whatever spell had hung over them, had enveloped them and clouded their eyes, broke. Peter could feel it, could feel that growing distance, that invisible wall that had suddenly appeared between Peter Pan and Jack Frost.
And Peter hated it.
He scowled, maneuvering his body midair so that his face reappeared in the center of Jack's vision. "Hey, look at me." Jack looked away. "Look at me." He didn't. "Look at me!" Peter's voice was rising, now crouched before Jack, who remained stony and silent. "Look at me, Jack! LOOK AT ME!" He was shouting now, shouting, red-faced, and Jack's face contorted into something painful. He still didn't look.
Peter took a shuddering breath. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't. There was no need for him to cry, he wasn't weak. "Why won't you look at me?" His voice, a hoarse whisper, and minutes pass, long minutes with Peter staring at Jack and Jack staring at a distant memory.
"I have to go back." Jack's voice was filled with the worrying quiet and fear and sadness and adult. He sounded like Wendy, and Peter hated that he sounded like her, because she said those same words in that same adult voice.
"Why?"
"I… I'm not like you Peter. It's not just snowballs and fun times anymore. I have a job." Peter didn't like the way he said "anymore", didn't like the flat, cold tone in Jack's voice.
Peter scowled, standing to his full height. Jack remained where he was, sitting on the little wooden chair. Nibs' little wooden chair.
No, Peter would forget about them. He had to forget about them.
"Fine," he spat, a mixture of anger and upset and selfishness, "Then leave. Leave and don't come back!"
Jack started, finally looking at him again, but it was far too late. Peter was too far gone over the edge of childish spite. "Peter—"
"NO! If you want to leave so badly, then GO! Go on and get out of here, you stupid grownup!" Peter screamed, and left.
Jack watched, somewhat dumbfounded as the blond boy flew up one of the many entrances to Hangman's Tree and out of sight.
A stupid grownup.
It sounded childish, but Jack had a feeling, had an inkling that those words were more than some child's insult. There was weight behind his words, and that weight settled itself into Jack's chest, making it hard for him to breathe or see. It hurt far more than he wanted to admit.
He had to return to earth, to the guardians, to Jamie Bennett and the rest of his believers. He had to protect them from Pitch, had to bring them winter, bring them fun. And then, Jack realized, he had forgotten fun. Somewhere along the way in his stay at Neverland, in his knowing of Peter, he had forgotten to have fun. Hook's words stuck in his mind, forcing out the worries and doubts and all the things he didn't want to believe about Peter.
All the things he didn't want to understand.
Jack groaned into his hands. He was so stupid sometimes! Even if Hook was right, even if Peter was a monster, that didn't mean he was evil. He wasn't Pitch. But like Pitch, he was lonely. Jack could tell; he could tell because he knew what that was like. All immortal beings did, at some point, he imagined. But eventually, they found each other, they got together. The Guardians were proof of that.
But Peter didn't know. He was on this island, stealing children away to be his playmates. But eventually, even they left him, and he was alone again. Jack wouldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let him fall into that abyss that he nearly fell into himself; into that never-ending dark hole.
The Guardians helped Jack, and this time, Jack would help Peter.
With that thought in mind, Jack flew out Hangman's Tree, intent on finding the boy—and the feelings—that he had forgotten.
I'm terribly sorry this took so long. I really don't know why this took so long—especially since I have like literally the entire plot planned out, chapter by chapter. I guess I lost inspiration for a while. :P So, thus, I can't say when this will be finished, but I do think those who are still reading. :)
Also, sorry this chapter is so short, but this is more of a transition into all the good stuff, so there wasn't really much here other than the fight.
