Bunny was offically sick and tired of Neverland.
After that surprise attack from the redskins, they'd captured the two oversized rodents and were dragging them to their camp with tightly slashed wrists that connected, restricting their chances of racing off, no doubt. To make matters worse, Bunny's new wound stung and he knew it was bleeding fiercely; a redskin poked him near it and Bunny snarled at him. The redskin jumped back, mumbling to the others, their brows furrowed, trying to figure what they were and why the one with the large ears had such a blistering attitude.
The Groundhog was a wreck, his face stricken with fear. He was whispering under his breath about seeing a shadow and Bunny rolled his eye. "You scared of a little shadow, mate?" Bunny whispered so that only The Groundhog could hear, "I'd be more worried of the situation at hand - or paw, as it seems."
The two were shoved through curtains of vines and creepers, past rock formations and trees; in the distance was the chirping of birds and the occasional splash of the Lagoon. Bunny caught his breath when they could see the tops of branches jutting from tanned hide tents and the wisp of cooking fires curling against the pastel blue sky; the weathered faces of the people stared at Bunny and The Groundhog in pleasant surprise, thinking both of the animal gods and how content their meal would be, as the rabbit was even taller than their late Chief had been and the odd hunched thing had decorative claws that looked similar to their hide-cutting knives and pendants that hung from their flashy beaded necklaces.
A hollow drumming had resounded at the sight of their Chiefess, Tiger Lily. Her glistening black hair flowed down her back like an ebony river, her caramel skin shining beneath white and red clay that painted her face and arms with decorative titles of authority. She wore a collection of leather, that was both feminine yet the armor over her dress suggested otherwise as did the knives jutting from the slash of leather across her waist and the scars that marred her arms; even so, she was probably only fourteen, perhaps less and Bunny couldn't wrap his head around how a girl so small could cause his fur to puff out in sudden tension.
The girl raised a hand and the drumming silenced; the hill was quiet despite the crackling of the fire and the light breeze that evoked a twitch of Bunny's ears. Her eyes, Bunny noticed, were dark brown and old, much unlike the face they were set in which was light and youthful. Her head was held high and the breeze picked up strands of her hair, twirling them in the sky, reflecting silver, grey. Under close inspection, the rest of the redskins had the glimmer of silver hairs which confused Bunny; didn't everyone suffer from the curse of never aging in Neverland?
The girl, Tiger Lily, spoke; her voice was a tad croaky, more unconfident than her demeanor suggested but Bunny reminded himself that it was a child playing an adult's role. The girl's lip and chin trembled, her eyes glistening with the start of a tear she refused to let out as she asked, "Where is Peter?"
Bunny raised a black brow, inclining his ear to hear her better. "You mean you ... don't know?"
Her nostrils flared, her hand suddenly on the handle of a stone blade, a tear leaking from her eye and rolling down her cheek. "Where. Is. Peter," She repeated through tightly clenched teeth.
Bunny shared a confused glance with The Groundhog. "Um, I don't know, mate," Bunny began, "We're trying to figure that out, too - "
In a flash, a blur of golden skin and speckled stone, sleek black hair and old brown eyes, Bunny had the pointed end of a stone knife underneath his Adam's Apple, which bounced with a gulp, his eyes suddenly wide and fearful. Quietly, Tiger Lily whispered; Bunny's sensitive ears picked up the sound of a despair and forced authority as she struggled to keep a threatening tone; "This island is stuck; it keeps us stuck, only when there is Peter. Peter is not here, yes? Then we age and we die. Chief is dead; we all will be dead. Where is Peter?"
...
Jack stared at the crinkled pages of the teal book, already bored out of his mind; there was honestly nothing exciting happening in this book and he blamed the fact that it was informative.
It's only boring because you're learning, his mind snapped and Jack instantly told it to pipe down, trying to think about reading this to Jamie.
His heart clenched a bit as his mind began to paint the scene of Jamie's bedroom, with airplanes and flying dinosaurs strung on invisible cord from the ceiling and books lining the walls and floor and shelves; a replica of the planets dangling from another section of the ceiling, the moon across the planets on another wall; Jack with his arm around Jamie's shoulders, Jack's cold feet brushing Jamie's warm toes as Jamie pestered Jack with questions about the rough teal book in Jack's hand. "What's it about?" Jamie wide brown eyes peered into Jack's face expectantly.
Jack glanced at the cover. "I think it's about ...," He ran his thumb over the spine, "perhaps," he cracked the book open a little bit, jutting his thumb onto a page and sneaking a look at the chapter title, "... Will-O-the-Wisps!"
Jamie narrowed his eyes at Jack. "You looked at it!"
Jack shook his head. "I did not!"
Jamie stuck his tongue out at Jack, crossing his arms. "What's a willowist?"
Jack chuckled, ruffling Jamie's hair. "It's 'Will-O-the-Wisps," Jack corrected, shrugging, "and I don't know. I guess that's why you're making me read this, eh?"
Jamie shrugged, snuggling into Jack's side, peering at the open page. Jack began to read from the page, his voice already taking on a rather bored drone. Jamie shot Jack a look and Jack tried to make himself sound intrested in the topic at hand. After a couple of minutes, Jack now knew that the Wisps were actually common folklore from all around; these flames of ghoulish light lured children to their Fates (or deaths, more like) but were also seen as mischievous ghouls of dead family or friends, helping those in need; it seems the Wisps' intentions were only known by those they acted with and Jack stared at the book, alone in a room full of sketches drawn by a Viking boy, and he thanked the invisible boy beside him that his mind had transported. The boy looked at him, puzzled, as Jack stood and left the room; the boy whispered, "But, Jack, I'm just your imagination," before vanishing in a flush of sudden air.
...
Jamie stirred a spoon in his hot chocolate, forcing air out of his nose in a huff. Sophie sat near him in her own oversized wooden chair, licking furiously at the back of her spoon before plunging it back into the mug. Jamie's mom scrubbed the corners of Sophie's mouth with a cloth, taking the seat across from Jamie as she did so.
Jamie absently stared at his mug; it had a sterotypical Santa Clause face stamped on it, with deep red cheeks and a fluffy beard and a chubby kindly face. Jamie finally spoke up, "He doesn't even look like that."
Jamie's mom raised an eyebrow, smiling at her son; she was surprised that he was finally talking. "What, sweetie?"
"Santa. He doesn't look like that," Jamie said, licking his spoon. He tapped the spoon against the ceramic, causing it to clink. "He's not fat; sure, he has a belly but that's because of all the cookies and milk and stuff. He also has tattoos that are really cool; Mom, when I get older, can I get a tattoo like Santa? Oh, yeah, his name's not even Santa. It's North; geddit, like North Pole? Oh! Did you know the elves don't even make the toys? Jack told me the Yetis do it, like Big Foot and The Abom - "
"Jamie," His mom cut in.
"Yeah?" Jamie asked, blinking.
"Jamie, I ...," His mom wrung the cloth in her hands, glancing at Jamie. Jamie met her gaze which caused her to look away from his eyes; the eyes of an innocent boy she was about to crush. She sighed, her shoulders slumping with what she had to do; with what every mother had to do. "Jamie. You're not a kid anymore."
Jamie looked up, confused by his mother's serious tone; she rarely ever used it, not since his father's death. There were tears in her eyes and Jamie felt his chest tug as he asked, "Mom? Mom, are you okay?"
"Your father ... He always loved Christmas. He always loved the presents, the excitement leading up to the day, reading The Night Before Christmas to you, seeing your face light up when you got past the stairs," She shook her head and sighed. "I think it's time we let go, Jamie."
Jamie stared at her; his mom rarely ever talked about his dad and when she did, she was never so serious. His dad never liked being serious; he liked having fun and living in the moment. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, all of this, Jamie! This - this talk - about Santa Clause and Jack Frost! I know you want a male figure in the house - I want you to have a male figure, I do - but enough of this!" She pursed her lips and stared at her son through her fogging glasses. She took a deep breath. "Enough of this, Jamie."
Sophie looked away from her spoon, glancing between her mother and brother, green eyes wide in interest. "Enough of what?" Jamie asked, his voice breaking. "Mom, I saw them! Sophie was there, too! Remember, Soph?"
"Bunny - hop, hop, hop!" Sophie said, smiling widely.
"Jamie - "
"No, Mom! You're wrong! They are real!" Jamie shouted, standing aburptly from his chair. He raced for the stairs, tears in his eyes. He ran into his room, slamming the door shut, a sob rushing up his throat; he threw himself onto his bed, crying into his pillow. He screamed into the pillowcase, turning on his side to look out the window at the bright shining moon. "Jack, where are you?"
ANGST MAN
Headcanon: Jamie's mom thinks Jamie invented Jack to be his 'fatherly figure' as their personalities are alike and tells him Jack's not real and then Jack doubts himself and yeah.
YOU'RE ALL SO LOVELY AND I'M SORRY FOR NOT ANSWERING MANY REVIEWS BUT I WILL EVENTUALLY
I'M ALSO WATCHING DEATHLY HOLLOWS HUR HUR HUR