Last Winter [JackFrostxReader] Pt.18

It was warm.

That was the first thought that came to your mind when it awoke from it slumber before your body. The sounds around you were familiar, the warmth of a hand caressing your cheek, and the odd sensation that you’ve passed through this before. And it was like a dream when you opened your eyes to see those of your worried mother looking right back at you.

Her hair pulled up, face bright with make-up, and wearing her usual business attire of a black suit with a white collared shirt. Time had gone backwards, and you were looking at the mother you had once seen when you were younger, when you had first gotten sick because of . . . Jack.

“Jack . . . ?”

You had tried to sit up on the bed only to have your mother push you back by your shoulder, but you were incapable of staying still. Twisting out of her grasp, you sat up and looked around you, taking everything in and analyzing it to the fullest you could with your fuzzy mind. Everything, absolutely everything, was a blur, the pain shooting through your chest and up your throat, your head pounding and making it hard for you to concentrate.

What happened?

What was going on and why wasn’t your mind working correctly?!

“Sweetheart, you look like a wild animal that’s been trapped for days.” Your mother’s voice managed to catch your attention, focusing your mind and making you able to distinguish her face clearly. You had never seen her worried, and it was quite unsettling to see it now. “How do you feel? Better?”

“Better?” You asked, leaning your head against the headrest behind you. “I feel warm . . . and Jack. . .”

“You have a fever.” She responded, footsteps coming into the room, yet you didn’t bother to look to see who it was. The only other person in the house was Ruben, and you weren’t in the mood to see what he was thinking by reading his face.

“You were as cold as death when we found you.” Ruben spoke from behind your mother. “Even though you were bundled up in covers, your body wasn’t retaining any warmth and I had to go find you an electric blanket.”
It was warm.

“It’s polite to say thank you,” your mother pointed out sharply, but brushed away your rudeness as you were running a fever. “Hopefully the warmer weather will keep your fever short. The snow’s already turning into water, and with this sun I doubt any more snow is going to fall.”

“The weather looks bright and sunny all week and next as well.” Ruben added, as if hearing the warmer weather was coming would make your sickness go away any faster. In truth, that news seemed to be making it worse; your chest was tightening and it was getting difficult for you to breathe as he spoke. “If I had to guess, we’re going to enter the New Year with really warm weather.”

The sun was shining bright through the bedroom window, your mother was talking away with Ruben about some company party, and there was a soft noise of complaining children coming through the window. They were complaining about the snow already melting away when the sun had only been out for a couple of hours, and by noon,  you thought to yourself, the sun’s rays would be stronger.

The room was closing in on you, the warmth you had been feeling going up dramatically, your mother’s voice was becoming a buzzing sound in your ears; Ruben’s voice was becoming like the red flag that was waved in front of a furious bull, irritating, angering, and an indirect indication of a challenge.

Your hands reached up to tangle into your hair, eyes tightly shut as you bit the inside of your mouth. Everything around you was a bother, absolutely everything was strange and unwanted and infuriating to a degree you had not known possible. But it was Ruben’s voice that irritated you the most as it kept speaking of warm weather, of the summer heats that could be cooled off at the beach, how the winter weather would soon be past you and would not return for another century; if lucky, it wouldn’t return at all.
And . . . it was warm.

“Shut up!”

Your mother’s attention quickly snapped to your direction, her eyes narrowed in the all known mother’s look when you’ve done something that would get you punished as soon as the guest left. In this case, she most likely didn’t want to be seen as a harsh mother in front of Ruben. But, beyond all reason and your mind not caring for whatever punishment she would come up with, you spoke again and sharper than before.

“Just go away and leave me alone! I don’t know how to deal with you being here and acting like some kind of mother—I deal better without you around me, with you going on business trips and pulling all-nighters . . . I just want to be left alone.”

When your mother’s word broke the silence that had fallen on the three of you for three minutes, and you could do was keep you head down and look at your hands as she spoke; “Then tell me, why’re you asking for this boy, Jack, if you want to be left alone? Sweetheart, I know he climbed out the window so I wouldn’t see him, but you left the evidence downstairs.”

“Please don’t touch that,” you told her, glad your fevered face hid the small blush on your cheeks, “I’ll go clean it up. Just . . . please tell me you didn’t clean up.”

Your mother was exchanging glances with Ruben, his expression questionable as he heard the strange request you asked for. No excuse came from your mouth, no explanation offered to the accusation, not even a small nervous look in your eyes when Jack’s name was mention. Of course he didn’t know that Jack was no mortal boy and by no mean could his existence and stay in your house be explained without you seeming like a raging lunatic.

“I don’t clean up after your messes,” your mother answered, quickly continuing when Ruben raised a brow at her. “I once got burned because I decided to help out a little in the study. I swear that to be it seemed like any other soft drink, but, well, my sweetheart almost got looked-up for pouring toxic waste in the sink—I said I was sorry and that I needed to wash that thing off as soon as possible.”

“You didn’t have to go through my cabinets and pour out all the liquids.” You pulled out the pillow and placed in behind you to where it helped you sit up. Your eyes studied Ruben, his watching you closely, and it wasn’t the first time you saw him give you ‘that’ look. “What’re you trying to figure out by looking at me? If you want to ask about him, you already know he left through the window.”

You held the side of your forehead with right hand, noticing that the wrapping had been change to a brace instead of the cast it was in the night before. Ruben’s smile gave away that it was his doing and though the smile made you want to shred his face, there was no solid reason to be angry at the man. Still, something about him was off and it made you want to pull your mother away and dig a scalpel in his cranium.

“You need to rest,” were the only words that came from Ruben, obviously ignoring the glare you were sending his way, “You won’t get any better if you push yourself.”

“I’m not pushing myself, and I don’t want you touching anything that’s mine—that means anything I used yesterday with Jack, don’t mess with them.” You tried to sound as serious as possibly, with eyes closed, head thrown back, and a bag of snow that your mother had handed you. “So my arm is better now?”

“As long as you don’t put excess force on it,” your mother answered as she stood up, “and I assume you won’t be washing those things in the living room, so you can go and do what you need to do and come back to bed. I need you it top shape for the New Year.”
“How very understanding, mother.” you muttered solemnly.

“Don’t be like that,” she snapped with a sweet smile, “I know enough to realize that boy you have coming here is for some sort of experiment—not the kind of experiment some girls your age bring them home—but as long as she keep you inside and out of the cold, I’ll allow it.”

“Keeping me inside is not the problem. It’s the fact that he’ll keep me cold whether I’m inside or not.”

Ruben laughed, “I think your mother’s hoping that wasn’t a dirty pun.”

You felt you cheeks flush red, throwing a death glare at Ruben before opening your mouth to speak, “I meant that Jack likes playing with snow, and he’s always causing the ceiling to rain snowflakes. He’s like a little winter sprite that loves to cause trouble—check my closet if you think he’s here still.”

Adding that last bit when Ruben began to look around the room, still a complete mess from the night before, and that’s when your mind cleared momentarily. He had been in the room the night before, had seen the window bust open and closed it, and there had been no one there. No person could possible climb out the window fast enough to not get caught with all that ice. The only other alternative was for the person to still be in the room, and he had been in the room, under your covers.

“Let her rest,” he told your mother, a hand around her shoulders, “She’s beginning to speak nonsense now. I thought you didn’t believe in fairy tales.”

“I don’t think Jack Frost can be considered a fairy tale.” It had to be the fever like Ruben said, but you couldn’t keep your mouth from spilling what you had read in book, what you were questioning, what was causing your blood to boil just thinking about what it had caused in your dreams. “He’s more of a myth . . . more than a myth, wouldn’t you say?”

Your mother’s eyes, as large as saucers, her expression absolutely priceless, but she couldn’t say anything at the moment. Why it was she was so furious about what you had just said, you weren’t sure, but you currently found it hilarious that it made her eyes pop. Even Ruben looked a bit concerned for what was mention though it had nothing to do with him.

“You think it’s funny to believe in made up creature?” your mother asked, “Was that boy raised in lies, deceived by his parents—what’s his name?”

“Jack,” you said, and just because you were sick and she had to deal with it without yelling, “He’s name’s Jack Frost.” She looked ready to flip you over the bed. “That’s why we joke that he’s the winter spirit. He moved here just a while ago, when it snowed, and we thought it was funny that the snow followed him.”

She believed it, and you were beginning to think you had gotten better at lying, or maybe it was the fuzzy brain that was doing something to your nerves. You did feel as if you were drunk, wanting to speak nonsense just because you could, and partially because you wanted to see your mother squirm before she left, because she was going to leave.

“I’ll be fine, mom. I’ll just put up what I used yesterday night and come right back to bed.” You began to get out of your bed, feet looking the color and your eyes noticing you had been changed into pajamas. “You know how it is in the holidays, nothing but Christmas related stories everywhere and nothing else. I’m not a little kid, you know, I can take care of myself when sick.”

“I didn’t say I was leaving.” You gave her a look, “I know you’ll be fine, I just need to make sure nothing serious had happened . . . oh, and you’ve got to gifts that came goodness knows when. I found them under the tree this morning.” She grinned from ear to ear, “I recognize the name J-A-M-I-E—”

“A friend and you know that.” you said, reading what she was trying to say as you followed them to the living room, your vision a bit blurry. Your voice was already beginning to fail you; sign of a sore throat, and hopefully it wasn’t accompanied by a cough.

“Is he the one that lives in Burgess?” Ruben asked as he helped your mother into her coat. “Does he know of this boy Jack?”

Intrusive bastard.

“Actually,” you held a hand to your throat, it was beginning to sting. “Jack comes from Burgess . . . he’s also friends with Jamie.”

“Well,” your mother seemed slightly shocked, but it could be read in her face that she was thinking the two boys were more than your friends, “Don’t be causing heart breaks, sweetheart.”

“They’re just friends.” Well, at least one of them was, and both adults seem to know that. With eyes narrowed and wanting to just jab at them, you made yourself sound like a child. Your mother was going to talk Ruben’s ear off during their drive, “Santa Claus came last nights. He’s Russian and has tattoos on both forearms—”

“We get,” your mother threw on a scarf and walked out the door, “We’ll leave you to your feverish nonsense and your fairy boys—the other one hunts for big foot and believes there’s life in space.”

You could hear them laughing as they walked towards the car, the last bit you mother was saying was directed at Ruben as a joke and not meant for you to hear. But you always heard and you didn’t appreciate your own mother making fun of Jamie who was as close as any person could get and not be related by blood. Heck, he was closer to you than your own mother.

The room was as it had been the night before except for what seemed to be a bottle of wine and two glasses. She would clean after your mess, but she did expect for you to clean up hers. You let out a deep sigh, your throat momentarily causing you to let out a small cough as you came to where the cups Jack and you used.

Quickly walking towards your study, towards the sink and taking hold of two disposable plastic gloves, you returned to the cups. The gifts your mother mentioned where under the tree, untouched and momentarily uninteresting to you. Jack was nowhere to be found, but for what you were going to do, it was a good thing he wasn’t.

The dream you had of North was momentarily forgotten as you took Jack’s cup to the study. What you were about to do was simple; you were going to see if Jack Frost was able to leave any fingerprints. Using a fiber brush, black fingerprint power, fingerprint lift tape, and a card to place the tape on, if he had a fingerprint, you would be sure to get them in a few minutes.

“Nothing.” You said allowed, your eyes blurring as you brought the cup up to your face. It had been fifteen minutes and nothing appeared on the cup. It was blank, absolutely blank of prints as if someone had cleaned in thoroughly, but it has still a little bit of liquid inside.

This was all you could manage, your head was beginning to spin and the coughs were getting worse, your body was already complaining about it being over used and wanted to fall to the ground. But there were still things to do, not so much as dusting everything Jack used for prints, but seeing who had send you a gift. Besides Jamie, of course.

Your nose was stuffy, bones aching, throat was now vocally nonfunctional, and your body would be able to fry an egg, but none of that mattered as you knelt near the tree. Jamie would be proud, you thought, in pajamas, sick, and looking like a kid there on the floor opening gifts. Your mother hadn’t rapped her gift (you were already wearing this year’s gift), she never wrapped any gift.

Jamie usually sent you something, but never something as large as he had now. How he managed to get it here during the night, you didn’t think of asking any questions, you never did because you would never believe him even if he told you. You couldn’t help but grin when you opened the package to find a naked Barbie missing part of her body and replaced with organs. It was a human anatomy replica, with a Barbie doll.

Jamie, you freak.

The other gift was a strange one; just as large a package as Jamie’s, but the wrapping was really colorful. It looked to have been wrapped in all Christmas colors, forcing all that saw it to know it was a Christmas present and that it would be the best. It had no address on it, there was no name of the person who sent it, and your name was written beautifully on the top right corner. The thought of it being dangerous powder or bomb crossed your mind, but that only happened to important people or big companies.

You brought it up to your ear and shook it, but there was no sound and no movement. Holes would most likely damage whatever was inside, the scissors cutting through it. It was slightly heavy, but the kind of heavy that were bundled clothes or a pair of shoes.

Having only your fingers able to move from your right hand, it was slightly difficult to undo as the gift had been expertly wrapped. Like any kid would do, you ripped at the package, tearing the beautiful wrapping and turning it into confetti and then tearing the box top off. It landed somewhere behind you, the sound sounding louder than it would any other box top.

Wide eyed and heart pounding, you reached into the box. You wanted to curse, to burn what you had gotten, to give the person a piece of your mind, but what you wanted to do the most was find the one you had been pushing to the back of your mind.
Jack.

The house was warm. The day was bright, sunny, and warm. Jack was nowhere to be found, and now you pull out a familiar coat with boots. The clothes used in your dream when you visit the North Pole, except it hadn’t been just a dream. Jack wouldn’t have just up and left you alone when you were sick; he was just that type of person. Easily readable, and the fact he had stay by your side when younger supported that theory.

You needed a pill. Any sort of medication would do, but you needed to get better now. How were you supposed to find Jack with a fever? How were you supposed to find Jack at all, and wouldn’t it be impossible to find him if that person had him?

A buzzing sound came from behind you, on the table where the cups had been. It was your cell vibrating as a call came in. The caller’s name flashed on the screen as a cough fit attacked you, but it only took you a second to answer.

“Jamie . . .” you rasped into the phone, “I’m on Santa’s hit list.”

Laugher came from the other line, a bit of nervous, but laughter nonetheless. A couple of mumbled words gave away that he was with Sophie and childhood friends, but ti didn’t sound like Jack had gone back home. If he had, Jamie would already be causing tourble for the both of you.

“He kidnapped Jack, too.”

Finally, excusing himself from his friends, he responded. “North doesn’t have a hit list, he has a naughty and nice list, but not that one. And why would he kidnap Jack if he’s a Guardian?”

You began coughing again, Jamie noticing.

“You’re sick,” he asked with genuine concern, “Did you catch a cold? What where you doing with Jack that you caught a cold?”

A grin could be heard in those last words, and you mustered all your strength in your voice you retort back; “None of your business, weirdo!”

Another coughing fit, Jamie stopping his laughter to ask if you were alright and getting a weak “shut up” from you. He didn’t allow you to speak after that, ordering you to go to bed and resting before trying to plan an attack on the North Pole. He spoke and you listen, Jamie, much to your surprise, knew exactly what you wanted to ask of him after you had told him about your dream of North.

“Jack’s probably not at the North Pole,” he spoke softly into the line, your head resting on your pillow as you snuggled into the covers. Jamie’s voice was soothing, like the voice of night time story tellers before one went to bed, “If North did call him over there, he wouldn’t leave you when you’re asleep and catching a cold—don’t care what you say, he must have done something to get you sick, and I think you initiated it.”

“I—”

“Don’t speak. I said you could stay up if you listened and didn’t strain yourself.” He scolded making you pout. “And you better not be pouting!”

“I’m not . . .  a child . . .”
He laughed.

“Jamie,” your voice came out as a whine, sounding like a child haven had their toys taken away.

“I know, you want me to find Jack because you don’t know how and you lack your inner child to see any other childhood guardian.” Your eyes were beginning to grow heavier as Jamie spoke. “The only way I see to call him would be with Sandy.”
“Sandy . . . ?”

“Yeah, the Sandman.” Jamie knew you were beginning to fall asleep and wouldn’t be able to tell if you had heard everything he said after a couple of minutes. “Maybe that’s how you were able to go to the North Pole without actually going. Jack’s good friends with Sandy, where ever he is he can be could by Sandy . . . are you asleep?”
He asked in a soft voice.

“I’m listening . . .” you voice just barely came out.

“Don’t worry,” his voice was beginning to drift way, your eyes closing as you listened to his last words. “Jack’s probably causing a white Christmas and will soon by at your side.”
You didn’t hear the words that came after that.

“And maybe North will cross you off his threat list once Jack explains what’s going on between the two of you.” but Jamie knew you had fallen asleep and that you had not heard that the Guardians considered you a threat.