A/N: so this is an idea i've had floating around in my head for a while. not sure if i should make this a multi-chapter fic or series of oneshots? open to feedback!
He wakes slowly, his senses coming to him like a gentle tide coming in on a sandy, tapered shore. The warmth of his surroundings is a shock to the bitter chill he'd felt of the snow that cradled his fallen body and of his lifeblood steadily seeping from his wounds. He knows he is dead. There was no possibility of surviving the many slashes and stabs he'd sustained from his sworn brothers.
Not for the first time, he misses his true brothers– no matter his half-sibling status to them. He'd known they counted him as one of the pack.
He wonders if he'll finally see Robb once more, in this strange afterlife. The feeling of safety that permeated down to his bones was something he hadn't felt since his childhood within the walls of Winterfell.
The scream that shatters the calm of night has his thoughts of the afterlife melt away like ice over a roaring fire.
Jon bolts upright in bed, for it cannot be anything else with the way the sheets drape around his waist. His chest heaves as if he has just run a league in the Wolfswood, but he knows it is from the shock to his system. The sight that greets him does not do him any favors in that regard, as he sees the trembling form standing in his doorway. Her red hair tumbles freely, reminding him of another northern girl with wild ginger locks, but Ygritte is long gone to him. Truly, he thought the same of the slip of a girl that now stared at him with wide blue eyes, but his voice allowed him to believe this sight.
"Sansa?" He croaks.
At the sound of his rough voice, Sansa sobs and points a shaky hand towards him. "Jon– I… your chest." Her words end on a keen. "It must be true, I died before I could reach the wall, for I never have my scars in my dreams of us as children and you never had those."
Jon's fingers have a mind of their own as they brush over his skin without tearing his gaze away from his sweet sister to see what he knows to be there. The scars match the wounds from his attack by his traitorous sworn brothers. Were the Gods cruel to make him wear such a mark of shame in this afterlife?
"Sansa…" His mind catches up to her words. "You never had scars, save from your needlework."
The young girl before him frowned. "I received them in King's Landing. Surely, you must know, if we are both dead and united here…"
"Sansa—"
Anything Jon wishes to say vanishes from his mind as a smaller figure appears suddenly behind Sansa, as if they had melted from the shadows borne from the flickering torchlight in the halls.
"You're both here," their youngest sister says calmly, as if she expected no other outcome. "I suppose this must be real then, as our sweet Sansa never graced your chambers in the times before."
"Arya? Jon cries just as Sansa shrieks and throws herself at her sister, clinging to her as if to keep Arya from being swept away by the wind. She rocks back and forth like a mighty Weirwood in a storm, tears trailing down her cheeks like the familiar sap faces in white bark while she brokenly murmurs Arya's name over and over. The spectacle finally rouses Jon from his state of shock and he tumbles from the bed, kicking his feet free of the tangle of sheets to rush to his sisters and embrace them. He knows this is no memory when he sees the way Arya clutches back at Sansa in equal strength. Never had the pair been so close in his memory.
Jon staggers like a newborn foal finding its footing for the first time before he recovers enough to rush towards his sisters and embrace them in his own arms. They are much smaller than the last time he remembers seeing them, and thus he is able to lift them both easily up off of their feet. Sansa squeals in surprise and a bark of laughter escapes Arya.
"I never thought I'd see either of you again," he murmurs into the top of their heads.
"I missed you," Arya says, and the way her fingernails drag against their skin has Jon know the words are meant for him and Sansa both.
"I'm so sorry I took you two for granted," Sansa murmurs, and with her tears fall onto his scars, Jon can do nothing but forgive her.
He's ashamed to admit with how absorbed in the moment he is, both of his sisters register the sound of approaching footsteps before he does. Arya brandishes a knife towards the entrance while Sansa lunges forward and slams the heavy wooden door shut. Jon belatedly helps her move the heavy wooden beam into place to lock it.
"What is the last thing you remember, Jon?" Arya asks softly, as to not be heard farther than where the three of them huddle together.
Jon tries to close his eyes to force out the onslaught of images that dance across his vision. "I'm… I'm not sure. It must've been a horrible dream…"
His dark-haired sister shakes her head. "There is Death magic around your scars, and something…" She wrinkles her nose as if a foul smell had passed before her. "Something hot. Something corrupted." Her eyes flicker towards Sansa and the way her nightshift hangs off the back of her shoulders to reveal the tops of long, vertical stripes of pale, raised skin. "Sansa's scars only feel hot."
Jon sighs as he swallows the painful truth that rings with Arya's words. "I died. My men… they stabbed me, at the Wall. It was so cold…"
Sansa's blue eyes are wide with horror as she turns to face him. "What?"
Arya doesn't seem as surprised. "Strong magic was used, but we are not dead. Which means..." She turns apprehensively to face the door just as a heavy series of knocks rings out.
"Jon? Jon, have you seen your younger siblings? Jon! Open the door this instant!"
The three siblings freeze in shock as one.
"Father," Sansa whimpers.
"What do we say to the God of Death?" Arya breathes quietly. Jon tilts his head at her, wondering if she actually expects an answer from his lips. The impish smile she sends him makes the rest of their present realities fade into the background.
"Not today," she replies for him and steps forward to unbar the door, allowing it to swing open.
Jon, Sansa and Arya stare up in awe as they met the piercing gray eyes of their lord father.
Eddard Stark stares down at the three of them with obvious confusion. "Sansa?" he asks. "What are you doing—oof!" He doesn't get any further because the trio rush at him and engulf him, clinging to his body wherever they can manage. He has seen many strange things in his life, but this is one moment he will overlook, if only so he can enjoy the embraces of his three most complicated children.
"I am glad to see you were helping to comfort each other tonight," he tells them with pride tinging his voice, "but I wanted to be the first to come inform you all. Your mother has successfully given birth; you all have a new brother, named Rickon."
He misses the confused glances between his children.
"Rickon," Sansa repeats. "May we see him, f- Father?"
Their father smiles down softly at her and he brushes a lock of her flaming red hair out of her face. "We'll break our fast in my solar in the morning, and you can see Rickon then, sweetling. Is that agreeable?" He moves his gaze to Jon and Arya. "All I ask is that the three of you remain here together if you would rather not return to your own rooms."
"We will!" Arya grins.
Jon is far more solemn. It was just their luck that he'd always been quieter and so their lord father didn't notice anything out of the ordinary with them now. "I'll watch over them, Father. I promise."
This time, they all notice the shock and grief that slashes across Lord Stark's face when he exits the room.
