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Baby Tooth is kind enough to take the tooth box back to Tooth Palace for Jack, to avoid any odd looks from the Tooth Fairy. Teeth held memories, precious ones from childhood that could renew someone’s belief in themselves -
Even if the memories didn’t belong to them.
Jack had always wondered why he couldn’t remember his life before becoming Jack Frost. Now, he knows - or at least he can make a pretty good guess. It’s… a lot to take in, almost too many pieces to fit into a place that’s only just big enough to hold them. After the celebrations, after everyone has gone their separate ways to put their homes and lives and routines back together, Jack goes back to Burgess, to the lake where he died.
His own memories got that part right, at least; he’s always been leery of water, especially cold water. It made him feel… trapped, too heavy for the Wind to lift, as though something was dragging at his every limb.
“I’m scared.”
Jack surveys the ice, sends an idle wave of power forward, reinforcing it.
“I know.” The words were rough, a magic translation making them feel strange in his mouth but Jack couldn’t let the girl stay here, couldn’t let her stay in danger because of him. “I know, but it’s going to be okay.”
“How?” Fear makes the girl’s eyes big, and the ice creaks beneath her, cracks spreading in widening rings with every minute shift of weight.
“We’re - “ Jack swallows, mind racing. “We’re going to have a little fun, instead,” he says, and crouches down on all fours, spreading his weight out more, the ice grumbling beneath him but not cracking, not yet.
“No, we’re not!” she sobs, nearly covering the sound of the ice groaning beneath her weight.
“We will,” Jack insists, easing carefully closer, one ear twitching as the ice creaks beneath him. He can see a rod of some kind, like a shepherd’s crook, and if he can just reach it… “We’re going to play a game.”
The girl sniffs, but that, at least, seems to catch her attention, make her pause and think and stop moving. “What kind of game?”
“You seem like a smart girl,” Jack says. “Can you hop, like me?” He moves slowly, every movement exaggerated so she can see how he moves across the ice, counting off one - two-three, slow, then fast, to where the ice is thicker, where the shepherd’s crook rests.
Another sniffle, but the girl nods as Jack takes the crook in hand, as he shuffles just a little bit closer. “Just like you,” she murmurs, taking in a deep, hitching breath. One foot moves, slowly, and Jack’s ears perk as the ice moans and cracks, and then she takes the next two fast -
He reaches out, hooks the crook around her waist and yanks her forward, towards the shore -
But the movement sends him off-balance, sends him sliding forward, over the ice she’d been trapped on -
And it breaks, and the last thing Jack sees is her horrified expression, mouth open in a scream -
And the last thing he hears is the Song, loud enough to drown out her scream, drown out the water rushing into his ears and lungs, the music arching in a startled crescendo -
And then silence.
Jack takes a deep breath, stepping out onto the lake. He can feel the magic beneath his skin, the familiar magic of winter, of ice and snow and now Joy. And beneath that, older - the magic of Change.
That’s the magic he reaches for now, and it feels like coming home, like it’s been waiting for him to return to it, so he can be himself.
Magic swirls around him like his ice - a new development, but unsurprising, given where he is now, who he is now - and Jack lets it cover him, lets it Change him.
And the Song, that melody he’d always heard deep in the back of his mind, grows louder.
From the moment he took his first breath, Jack could hear the Song. It named him, welcomed him to life, even before his own dam could. It told him he was not alone, that there was someone out there, waiting to welcome him with open arms, whose own melody would perfectly complement his own.
It was not the only Song he heard, of course; they all heard their people’s Song, the melody their species made across the galaxy, joyous and alive.
Then the Fearlings returned, and the joy faded, and the swell of the Song faded as well, but never Jack’s Heartsong; it remained strong, if worried and anxious and fearful sometimes. Jack hoped his own Song comforted them, whoever they were, even as he joined the fight against the Fearlings and Pitch Black, even as he trained and bruised and got better, earned a name for himself among those at the Academy.
He saw those whose Song had faded - or was cut short. They lived, they fought, but there was always something missing behind their eyes, no matter whether they were smiling, laughing, crying, or shouting.
Jack’s Song changed, turned weary and determined as the Fearlings pushed ever forward, as the plans coming down from command changed from ones of attack to ones of defense, buying time to evacuate.
Jack ended up being among the last of the evacuees, fighting to cover a civilian Tunnel. His Heartmate was still here, but the order had gone out - everyone was to evacuate now.
The world of the Pooka had fallen.
Jack tried to steer his Tunnel to his Heartmate, tried to find them, but time was weird inside the Tunnel. Every time he emerged, he was somewhere different - and the Song of the Pooka was quieter, even as his own Heartsong remained. Jack tried again, and again, and every time the Song was quieter, sadder - until only his Heartsong was left, and Jack only had the energy, the magic, for one more Tunnel.
It took him to a planet he’d never heard of, a galaxy far, far from the one that had held the Pooka empire - but the Song was stronger than ever before, close enough that Jack could hear almost nothing else as he bounded from the Tunnel, ears perked.
And then the girl had shrieked, had stumbled back, and the ice had cracked.
Instincts had warred in him, then, but - the girl was clearly a kit, barely old enough to be out on her own, and Jack had startled her, was the reason she was now in danger.
The ice magic he’d been born with had stirred, barely, when he reached for it - even it was depleted after so many Tunnels, after so many leaps over greater and greater distances. It would be no help here, but Jack had grown up in mountain valleys, knew how to interpret every sound of the ice beneath his paws. He saved the girl, at the cost of his own life, and he didn’t want to think about what that did to his Heartmate.
When he’d woken, Jack was human - there was leather on his body, human clothes, and a shepherd’s crook in his hand, ice in his veins and magic thrumming all around him, but he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there, couldn’t remember anything except the soft voice of the Moon telling him he was Jack Frost, and he was needed.
And then he’d heard nothing else from the Moon for three hundred years.
Now, with the benefit of hindsight, Jack supposes that the Moon was trying to protect him, to give him cover amongst the humans. There was probably also some manipulation there; if Jack looked like the humans, he’d care for them, want to protect them even without his memories - or without a Name.
Jack thought that was bullshit, though, considering the first thing he’d done upon emerging on Earth was save a child. Surely he could’ve kept his own form, his own memories, and still been trusted to do that?
But for three hundred years, all Jack had was his powers, the Wind, and something deep inside, pulling him around the world. He thought it was an adventurer’s spirit; for the first several decades, he rarely visited the same place twice. The other spirits, even ones of Winter, gave him a wide berth; they knew he was an interloper, on some level, Jack suspects. It had made for a startlingly lonely hundred-odd years, until 1868, as the humans measured time.
Jack had been in a funk, hadn’t paid as much attention to the weather as he should have, and hadn’t realized that the amount of snow falling around him was out of character for this part of the world at this time.
Then, a giant rabbit had emerged from the ground, pinned him to a tree, and told him exactly how wrong the weather was for this time and place.
For the first time, Jack felt alive. Someone was touching him, talking to him - even if it was to yell at him - and that tug, deep in his chest, was gone.
Jack still didn’t know what it was, but he knew it had something to do with the rabbit - the Easter Bunny. It returned when Bunny left, but Jack knew what it was, now. He followed it, every time the pull got stronger, every time Bunny was on the surface. Sometimes Jack just watched from afar - usually when Bunny was clearly busy, was interacting with other spirits - but sometimes, when he was alone, Jack would catch his attention.
Usually this meant he pestered Bunny, but he thought maybe Bunny knew that it was friendly. Certainly he acted annoyed, but Jack could read the amusement in the subtle twitches of his face and ears and tail as they bantered and circled each other.
As, Jack could now realize, they flirted, the way Pooka did.
They’d continued that way for a century, until 1968, when another winter spirit, spurned by the one they had their eye on, pitched a fit that grew until a blizzard covered most of the eastern seaboard in the United States. Jack had tried to soothe the spirit, then to steer the storm to somewhere more seasonal, at the very least, but it was too large for the Wind to move.
And, of course, this had happened on Easter Sunday.
Bunny didn’t believe Jack when he tried to claim this blizzard wasn’t his doing, and they’d argued, genuinely fought, for the first time in their acquaintance. It made Jack sick to his stomach, but he couldn’t make Bunny listen.
From then on, Jack had ignored the pull in his chest.
Then, 2012 - and Pitch Black, and the Man in the Moon deciding that it was finally time to reveal to Jack why he’d saved him.
Earth had been empty, when Aster arrived. It had been empty, and quiet.
Then, Pitch had followed him, chasing the Light of Creation.
He’d been defeated, cut off from his Fearlings, galaxies away, and sealed inside the Earth. Aster had burrowed deep, deep enough that he could almost convince himself that the Song was faint because of the distance, instead of the lack of singers.
The lack of Pooka.
He slept, and he didn’t bother to keep track of time. Every time Aster woke, the song was fainter, until there was only one strand remaining.
It was only his imagination that it was getting closer, he thought, watching the humans in one town. It was winter, and while there was still some lingering fear, Aster could feel the Hope rising - the solstice had passed, the days were getting longer, and people were more and more confident they would be able to make it to Spring.
Aster watched as the humans went about their lives, as they cared for their families, and as kits found their mates.
It was a more convenient system, Aster sometimes mused, having a Name upon one’s skin instead of a Song in your heart. His own Song had never gone quiet, and he’d finally accepted that it was simply some quirk of being the last of his kind, of being alone for so long.
And then, one day, the Song echoes within his heart, hope-joy-fear discordant in the strains, and Aster bolts for his tunnels without thinking. He follows the song, until it swells -
And then cuts off.
It leaves him breathless, feeling as though his own heart has stopped -
But then the Song starts again, but it’s faint, so very, very faint, and Aster can’t tell where it’s coming from any longer, can barely tell it’s there.
North calls the hundred years that follow his ‘hermit’ era, a return to when he had been crotchety and reclusive, barely talking to the spirits of Spring, nevermind the other Guardians.
In 1868, Aster makes his Easter rounds, and finds a blizzard too far south; it’s a mild blizzard, all things considered, but still out of season. It doesn’t take much effort to find the spirit responsible, to pin him to a tree and growl at him, but the spirit - the kid - only laughs at him, and spars with him, meets him jest-for-insult.
After, Aster realizes that the Song is louder; a whisper, instead of the hum it had been.
He chalks it up to finally feeling something, for the first time in a century.
For the next century, Aster can barely poke his nose above ground without running into Jack Frost. Frost never interrupts when Aster is meeting with other spirits, and he never comes to the Warren - never even, so far as Aster can tell, tries to find an entrance to it - but any time Aster is alone, it’s only a matter of time before Frost appears. The length of his visit usually depends on the season; he doesn’t stick around long during summer months, which Aster supposes makes sense, and isn’t disappointing, no matter what the feeling in his chest, the longing tempo of the Song in his heart, says.
They talk, and banter, and jest - they poke each other’s buttons, and it winds Aster up in a good way, until the Winter of 1967, when Aster finally realizes that he and Jack have been circling each other every time they meet for the last several years. He only realizes it because they get close enough for their noses to almost touch, lost in a verbal spar - and then Aster backs up, and something itches at the back of his mind, a realization he puts off until he’s alone.
It… worries him, Aster decides, ignoring the Song; he’s gotten good at that over the past several millennia.
Unfortunately, with Easter right around the corner, Aster doesn’t take any time to think about why it worries him - and so, when he emerges to another blizzard on the surface, his temper gets the better of him.
After that, Aster doesn’t see Jack again. The Song fades, the tempo slows, becomes lonely again, but Aster ignores it as best he can.
Then, 2012, and Pitch Black reawakening, the Man in the Moon’s decree that Jack Frost is to become a Guardian, and then Jack Frost proving himself.
They aren’t exactly friends again; it’s been too long, and Aster still hasn’t apologized for wrongfully blaming Jack for that blizzard. But the Song changes once more, becomes settled, if a little wistful. Aster tells himself it has nothing to do with why he approaches Jack, why he finally apologizes and they slowly find their way back to a friendship. Aster is careful not to circle, though; he doesn’t want to make himself any more confused, even if Jack’s wrist is bare.
He asks Jack about it, once; asks if, now he has his memories back, if he had a Name, before. Jack just smiles and shrugs, says that he doesn’t think he had a Name, but he thinks there’s someone out there for him, anyway. Aster doesn’t ask, and Jack doesn’t elaborate, but the look in Jack’s eye…
It’s just a coincidence, surely, that the Song had gone soft and fond.
It takes another year before it all comes to a head. Christmas has come and gone, North’s annual New Year’s party over with, and Jack and Aster had been some of the last to leave. There’d been a moment, lingering at the door, where Jack had simply looked at Aster, his expression soft and thoughtful. Before Aster could say anything, though, Jack had smiled and bid him good night.
Aster had debated with himself for several days afterwards, fussing over his gardens in the Warren until he felt like he’d never get the dirt from beneath his claws, out of his fur. But finally, what had swayed him was the Song.
It was still soft, beautiful, but it was louder, easier to hear than it had been since Aster came to Earth, since he had left his homeworld, left his people. Surely - surely - that wasn’t a coincidence. Surely it meant something.
El-ahrairah willing, it meant what Aster was starting to hope it meant.
Aster finds Jack in the remote wilds of Canada; there’s not a soul around as the tunnel opens up, a short distance from where Aster just knows Jack is. It’s not just the power in the air, it’s the pull of the Song, and Aster’s hope rises, grows. He moves through the trees quietly, snow crunching softly under his paws. Ahead, he can see a meadow, can see snow swirling through the air as something moves through it.
The figure jumps and leaps and bounds, and Aster’s breath catches in his chest as he reaches the edge of the meadow. It’s Jack, undeniably, but -
He’s a Pooka.
It’s been longer than Aster cares to think about since he last saw another Pooka. Jack is a Mountain Pooka, thick, white fur fit for mountain chills, the ice in the air sparkling as it catches the sunlight. He’s the same height as Aster, if Aster had to guess, and the way he moves makes it unmistakable who he is, that easy, acrobatic grace translating across forms.
And the Song…
Prince above, Aster can almost hear the Song, not just in his heart, but in the air between them. He doesn’t know how this could be, but he’s not alone, and more than that - that is his Heartmate, frolicking in the snow.
Aster takes an involuntary step forward, a branch hidden beneath the snow breaking under his weight, and he freezes, just as Jack does. Jack whirls, shifting into a battle-ready stance, his crook soaring into his paw as Jack’s ears perk and swivel. He catches sight of Aster - how could he not; Aster’s fur is meant to blend into stone and shadows, not ice and snow - and goes utterly, perfectly still. Between them, the Song rises, the music an anxious acceleration, pounding in time with Aster’s heartbeat.
He doesn’t know how this is possible, but Aster knows, bone-deep, that what he does next is going to affect everything from here on out. There’s a small, bitter part of him that feels betrayed - how could Jack have kept this from him, he knew how lonely Aster was - but the bigger part of him is wondering, awed, and hopeful.
Jack doesn’t move, just keeps staring at Aster as the Song reaches its crescendo -
And Aster leaps, bounding into the clearing with Jack.
It’s not an attack, and Aster knows his movements are jerky, rusty; it’s been literal Ages since he last danced with a Pooka, but he remembers the movements, even if they don’t come to him as easily as his katas. Jack is clearly startled, watching Aster with large eyes, ears perked forward as he turns in place, but then his crook lowers, and the Wind catches it, returning it to the tree it had been rested against.
And then Jack joins him.
Jack’s own movements are far more graceful than Aster’s, but then, he’s clearly been practicing. The two of them leap and bound across the meadow, the dance one Aster remembers performing with his friends, once upon a time, between battles, when they needed to let off steam and remember why they were fighting. They fall into the rhythm of the Song, moving together -
And then Jack bounds over Aster, one paw brushing against Aster’s back as he does, and the dance shifts.
Aster had never performed a courting dance before, but he’d seen them, bits and pieces before the two Heartmates had moved somewhere more private. It’s utterly instinctual, the way that Aster and Jack duck in and out of each other’s space, touching each other and leaping away, chasing and being chased.
Jack’s the one to finally pounce, to tumble Aster to the ground, send them rolling until Jack is on top, looking down at Aster with wide, hopeful eyes. His chest is heaving, out of breath with the dance, and Aster’s in no better shape - but the Song is vibrant, alive, between them, and Aster gives in, leans up until he can touch his nose to Jack’s, letting it linger for a long moment, pushing up and rubbing his muzzle against Jack’s, their whiskers tangling for a moment, before he falls back against the snow. He stares up at Jack, his heart pounding, and he waits.
This isn’t what Jack expected to happen today. It’s certainly not how he expected Bunny to find out that he is a Pooka, but best-laid plans, and all that. He’d come here before, well away from any civilization or spirit hub, with plenty of space to practice moving, fighting and dancing and even flying, a little bit. He’d been planning to show Bunny soon, but he’d been caught up in the movement today, in the sheer joy of being able to stretch, to leap and bound the way he did as a human but more, and hadn’t noticed the Song getting stronger, not until Bunny had broken the stick, breaking Jack’s concentration.
Bunny’s expression - God, he’d looked wrecked. Wrecked, but - hopeful, and the hope won out, the longer they stared at each other, the longer the Song stretched on. And then Bunny had moved.
He’d danced with Jack.
Bunny was clearly out of practice - but Jack couldn’t blame him for that, knowing what he did now of Bunny’s own flight to Earth, how long he’d been alone. The dance had started out friendly, but with every moment, the Song grew stronger, more vibrant, and then Jack had dared to touch, to leap over Bunny and shift the dance to something decidedly less platonic, and Bunny had allowed it, had reciprocated.
Jack couldn’t contain his excitement, the energy thrumming beneath his skin, any longer; traditionally, the older Pooka should have been the one to pounce, to bring the dance to a close, but he couldn’t wait any longer. Bunny had let Jack roll him to the ground, let Jack pin him, had reached up and nuzzled Jack.
Quite without permission, Jack finds himself purring, leaning in to nuzzle Bunny in turn, to share breath and scent without the full claim of chinning.
He doesn’t pull away entirely, shifts until he’s stretched over Bunny, propped on his elbows, and Bunny’s own hands have fallen to Jack’s ribs, claws sinking into the thick fur there.
“How long…?” Bunny murmurs, quiet enough that Jack wouldn’t have heard it if they were any further apart.
“Since Pitch,” he replies, just as quiet. “The memories Baby Tooth showed me - they weren’t mine. They belonged to the girl I saved when I came out of the Tunnel.”
Aster’s breath hitches. “You Tunneled - alone?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Jack sighs. “I was the last, and I just - I tried to follow the Song. But I could never catch up, and every Tunnel was harder, the Song was weaker…”
Bunny swallows. “When?” he asks. “When did you…”
“Three hundred years ago,” Jack answers, watching Bunny’s expression carefully. “I came out of the Tunnel near Burgess, next to my lake. I startled a girl who was skating by herself, and she ended up on thin ice. The Song was so close, I wanted to follow it - but I couldn’t just leave her.”
Bunny huffs, the sound slightly amused. “A Guardian at heart,” he muses, grinning when Jack rolls his eyes.
“Maybe - I saved her, but I fell in. I think the Moon changed me, blocked off my memories, to try to… I don’t know. Protect me? Manipulate me?” Jack shrugs, one shoulder rising and falling as he settles more heavily against Bunny. “I started remembering things after we took down Pitch.”
Bunny tenses beneath him. “That was two years ago.”
“And how was I supposed to bring it up?” Jack counters, raising a brow. “‘Hey, Bunny, remember how you’re the last of your kind? Surprise, not really, because I’m a Pooka, too!’” He shakes his head. “You’d have punched me, if I didn’t have some kind of proof. Or threw a boomerang at me. It took this long to get the hang of shifting again.”
Bunny swallows, and this close, Jack can see his throat work with the nervous tic. “And - the Song?”
Jack’s expression softens, and he doesn’t resist the urge to lean in, to brush his nose against Bunny’s again. “It led me to you,” he says, quiet and fond. “I knew it, once I had my memories back, once I could hear the Song again. But I…” Jack chuckles. “I wanted to be able to dance with you, first,” he confesses. “Which is why I’ve been out here practicing.”
“It paid off,” Bunny says, hands flexing against Jack’s sides. “You looked… really good.”
“So did you,” Jack hums. “So. E. Aster Bunnymund - “ He smirks when Bunny shivers beneath him, eyes wide; clearly he didn’t know that Jack knew his name, though Tooth hadn’t told him what the ‘E’ stood for “ - I hear the Song, and it led me to you. What about yours?”
Bunny takes a deep breath. “I heard the Song get weaker, the further I traveled,” he starts, and Jack settles in to listen. “By the time I landed on Earth, it was nearly gone. When I went to sleep, the first time, there was only one Song left. I ignored it, as much as I could. I didn’t want to think about being the last, about what hearing the Song could mean. And then, about three hundred years ago, the Song got stronger, stronger than it had been since I came to Earth.” One of Bunny’s hands shifts, reaches up so he can touch the fur of Jack’s ruff, Jack leaning into the touch. “It scared the hell out of me,” Bunny confesses. “Before I could get to the surface, it had gone quiet - and then come back, fainter than ever before.
“I couldn’t find it, couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. And then, a hundred years later, some cheeky blighter started a blizzard on my holiday.”
Jack grins. “How dare he,” he teases, laughing when Bunny gives him a half-hearted glare.
“After that, the bugger was everywhere, and the Song started getting louder, less lonely. Until 1968.” Bunny grimaces, and Jack ducks in, bumping Bunny’s nose gently, turning his expression from troubled to fond. “And then he helped me, even after that. The Song kept getting louder, and I.” Bunny shrugs as much as he can, lying down in the snow with Jack on top of him. “I started to think maybe it wasn’t all in my head.”
“It’s not,” Jack says, slow and careful, “but… I don’t know where we go from here.”
“I think maybe it could start with you calling me ‘Aster.’”
Jack blinks, eyes wide as he searches the other Pooka’s expression - but he finds only truth there. Truth, a little bit of shyness, and fondness, echoing in the Song between them.
It’s not love, not yet - but it’s a promise. They’re not alone, not anymore.
Jack grins. “Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Aster.” He ducks down, tucks his head under Aster’s chin - and smiles when Aster’s arms tighten around him, holding him close.
“Good to finally meet you, too, Frostbite.”