Thirty years previous
January

Jack Frost opened his eyes to the red wood of a cool, dim room and a single tree filled with glittering, magical lights. The North Pole. He lay still a moment, trying to recall why he would have slept there rather than the Warren. The snuffling of tiny things in the same room brought it all into sharp focus.

The babies.

He sat up. A jolt of pain from his midsection had him flat again in seconds, clutching his stomach, which felt awfully flat after all these months. Beneath the thin cloth of a sterile shirt, he felt the ridges and bumps of a new scar stitched shut along the width of his hips. Of course. Thanks to the magical-fueled conception, a caesarean section had been their only choice for the birth. They'd come to the Pole because it was easiest to sterilize, contained the most magical reference in case of emergency, and had the best defenses should a certain wicked someone try to interfere.

Jack lay on his back, tucked between sheets enchanted to keep cool, and blinked the last grains of Dreamsand from his eyes. He'd dreamt, during the deep sleep, of things to come. Of the home they'd built into the Warren, its many rooms filled with laughter. Of children, grown old enough to run and laugh and play. Of a family. His family. Together.

A sigh slipped through his lips, coming out somewhere between a laugh and a sob. There was no way that Sandy could have known – he'd kept the secret so close these last few months – but he was grateful for even the briefest glimpse of the life he wouldn't share. Already, Jack could feel his temperature spiking. Frost faded from his fingers, which warmed with a color they hadn't born for centuries. When he flexed his hands and feet, the joints ached with deep-seated exhaustion, and the warning of his visit with Death echoed in his ear.

"THE MAGIC WOULD BE STRAINED TO CREATE EVEN A SINGLE NEW LIFE, LET ALONE THREE."

The snuffling came again. Jack turned his head. A blue-gray bassinet rested against the wall not five feet from his bed, alongside his staff, which stood guard like a watchful nightlight. His hearted jumped with excitement. They were finally here.

Ignoring the protests of his limbs, Jack dragged himself to the end of the mattress and swung his legs from the bed. The wood felt cold against his feet. It'd been so long since he'd registered 'cold' as anything but comfort that Jack shuddered in surprise. Already, his powers were slipping. Soon, what little magic remained in him would be gone.

But it wasn't gone until just yet. A tiny sliver of his mind, the part that made him a "Jack," whispered that he had extracted a promise from Death itself. They would not take him until he laid eyes on his children. If he were to turn back now, slip out the window and into the night, he could escape this fate and…

And what? Never return to his mate and home? Leave his family and fellow Guardians with no answers, no explanation, and no way to give them help in the future? Cling to a weak half-life of drained magic and never see his own children?

No. He'd read enough fairytales to know that it would only come back to bite him in the end, and it would go against everything he'd been born to do. Better to let things happen now, when the time was right.

He slipped from the bed, knees buckling under his own weight. He stumbled the five feet, caught himself on the wall, and sank to the floor, grasping the edge of the bassinet. His head spun. He closed his eyes and gulped down a few breaths, willing himself to say awake. Just a bit longer now. Just a little more.

He peered into the bassinet. This time, his breath caught on wonder.

Three little balls of fur, larger than a Tooth Fairy but smaller than an elf, lay curled on their stomachs in a nest of knitted sheets. The snuggled together for warmth and comfort, the two with coats of varied gray nuzzling close while their white-furred sibling slept a few inches separate, but within reaching distant.

Jack let out the breath he hadn't thought to hold. It ghosted over the tiny ears, which twitched against the little heads of the baby rabbits. No, not rabbits. Pookas. The first Pooka children born in millennia. His and Aster's precious kits.

He reached into the cradle, but just as his fingers brushed the white-furred head the door to the room opened. Jack jerked for his staff on instinct to defend the cradle. It was only Bunnymund, who looked surprise to see his mate out of bed.

"Jack? What're you doing?" Keeping his voice soft and his footsteps softer. Aster moved to Jack's side. His paws grasped his mate's shoulder to offer support. "You shouldn't be out of bed. You're liable to pull out the stitches."

"I'm fine," said Jack, though his voice was so breathless that he knew Bunny would never believe him.

Aster frowned and pressed the pads of one paw against Jack's forehead. "You ain't fine. You're burning up. Must be another complication."

That's what North had called all his symptoms, all these months. 'Complications.' He said that they were only to be expected with such an unusual pregnancy. They'd monitored them all from the fevers to the power fluctuations to sudden moments of weakness, but none of the other Guardians guessed the truth.

Bunny stroked the boy's white hair, keeping him close. "C'mon Jackie. Let's get you back to bed."

"No." Jack dug his fingers into the side of the bassinet. He couldn't go now, it was too soon. He had to…had to…

He steadied his breathing and trailed his eyes to the three tiny balls for fur. All of his fear and concern evaporated, replaced with a warmth from his very center. "I just want to see them. A little longer. Please."

Bunnymund sighed, but relented his face softening with a pleased warmth of his own. He nuzzled Jack's head and wrapped an arm around him for extra support, smiling down at the cluster of newborn kits. "They are beautiful, ain't they?"

"They are." Jack reached into the cradle again and finished the move he'd aimed at before, stroking the head of their little white loner. "How many of each?"

"Two girls. One boy. That's the buck there in the white." Bunnymund beamed as the pale kit began to grunt in his sleep, pressing against the comfort of petting fingers. "Lookit that. He knows his dam."

Jack chuckled, soft enough not to wake the kits. "That still sounds like a curse."

"You'd rather be 'Mama'?"

"No."

The white buck grunted again and flopped over on his side, one paw coming to rest on the ear of a sister, who was slightly large and only a few shades darker than he. The doe huffed and batted at the offending paw, curling tighter around their third sibling, who was the smallest of the trio by far.

"You still like Kaffir?" asked Aster, referring to the list of names they'd picked out while North was busy with the Christmas rush.

"It's perfect." Jack ran his thumb along their son's chin one last time before moving onto the other two, petting their heads, their backs, and the length of their ears. "And the girls?"

"I still think Jasmine's a beaut," said Bunny, nudging the silver-furred kit in question to minimize the weight she pressed against her sister. "And for the little Sheila, Coralberry. She's a bit of a runt sure, but with the right diet she'll be up to size in now time."

Jack committed the names to memory along with the feel of their kitten-soft fur and the unique sound of each voice. All too soon, Bunny pulled his arms and gathered him off the floor. "Come along now, Dammy. Let's get you into bed. You need to rest. Kits'll be up again soon enough, you'll see."

Jack didn't fight it this time, allowing Aster to carry him back to bed. Feeling exhausted by safe in the familiar arms, he shifted to place his hands in the crook of Bunnymund's neck, rubbing his face against the fur. They'd never been able to kiss in the traditional human sense – Bunny's mouth wasn't built for it – so they'd come up with other ways to show their affection over the decades.

"I love you," he whispered, aware that this was probably the last time he'd ever get to say it.

"Love yeh too, you nut." Bunny tucked Jack into the blissfully cool sheets and returned the nuzzling before moving on to an eskimo kiss and pressing his muzzle to the pale forehead. Concern returned to his eyes. Jack's temperature had, apparently, not improved. "I can stay, if you want. Right here."

Jack almost said yes. But then he imagined Bunny waking in the middle of the night, finding him unresponsive, and racing futilely to save his already-ended life; or worse, rising the next morning to find his lover dead in his arms. He'd already been through so much heartache. Jack couldn't do that to him too.

"Nah," said the Guardian of Fun, giving his mate's furry paw a final squeeze. "We'll be fine, Daddy. You go get your eggs all in one basket and come back in the morning."

With a final nuzzle and a promise to return by morning, the Guardian of Hope bid his family good night and left the room, sealing the door behind him. Jack allowed himself to feel the ache of his exhaustion only after his lover was long gone, his breath now coming in shallow pants as his extremities started to go numb.

Drawing on the last flickering remnants of his magic, he drew his right hand into a fist and poured every ounce of fun and joy into its palm. It solidified into three perfect snowflakes, each sparkling blue with the light of his center. He blew them towards the bassinet, trusting the wind to guide one onto each of the tiny, twitching pink noses in turn. A small chorus of satisfied grunts and trills of joy were his reward.

"Be happy," he whispered, each word and each breath softer than the last. "Have fun. Take care of each other, and your daddy too. I love you."

He turned his head from the cradle, looked up to the carved red ceiling, and closed his eyes.

Okay, he thought. I'm ready.

Somewhere in the distant past, his little sister called his name. He followed, as he had before. This time, he found her.