Frost

Phase IV - Crackle

There was solid ground beneath his feet – granted it was covered in a few feet of snow – gravity holding him to Earth, and still he felt like even the weakest of snow flurries could shatter him to pieces.

His lips were chapped and cracked, his cheeks had taken on a permanent rosy glow, and his hair hung limp against his shoulders, tossed by the frigid breeze. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was in relation to Dre – the apartment. It was the apartment now, not Drew’s. Not theirs, either.

Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to continue living there but his other option was to be homeless.

Wandering out into the snowy wilds of upstate New York was a possibility, too. Hypothermia was a slow and, up to a point, painful. The blood would eventually thicken from the cold and the heart would no longer pump it through the veins. He would cease breathing, his heart would stop, and he would, unless he fell asleep first, slip from one world to the next with a blank stare.

Glossy and hollow, like Drew’s eyes had been when Jack had had to identify the mangled body.

His knees went from under him and he dropped gracelessly onto his rear, the wet seeping through his jeans. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he put his hands together and shuddered.

“Please,” he whispered, voice cracking in the winter stillness. “Please. I – I’ve tried very hard not to call you for anything, but I – I need you. I need you now. Please, Father.”

He rolled to his knees, hands balled into fists against his thighs. The words choked and died in his throat until he gagged to get them out. He tipped his head back o the endless gray sky.

“Please!” he yelled. “Please! Just – give him back, damn it!” Shoulders hunched forward and his tears froze well before they could trickle down his cheeks. “Anything! I’d pay any price to know he’s – to know he’s not - ” He wrapped his arms around his midsection and felt like something was clawing its way through his ribcage, desperate to get out. The pain of having his nose broken in a bar fight was nothing compared to the agony he was in.

“Jokul.”

Jack hiccupped and raised his head enough to see the hem of Father Winter’s resplendent silver robes.

“Jokul Frosti.” He sighed deeply. “What am I going to do with you?”

Embarrassed color flooded his cheeks, and he focused on the sharp edges of the snow where they ringed his legs instead of Father. Gentle fingers eased his chin up, and the sympathy in Father Winter’s bottomless blue eyes was his undoing. He bit his bottom lip to stay silent, swallowing repeatedly around his sobs.

“This is what he meant, wasn’t it?” Jack asked once he’d calmed enough to speak. “This is what love is, isn’t it?”

“A single part of it, yes,” Father Winter agreed easily. “What would you give, Jokul, to ensure Andrew would never be Lucifer’s plaything?”

“I would ask a favor,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “It would be the last favor I would ever ask for, but I would ask that you make Drew one of the fae creatures. He has a Piper’s bloodline.” He met Father Winter’s eyes willingly. “This is all I would ever ask of you for the rest of eternity.”

“Eternity is a very long time, Jokul,” he said softly.

“Eternity,” Jack repeated firmly.

With the hand not under Jack’s chin, Father Winter began to shape the snow drift to his left. A touch of a flurry, a twist of his wrist, and Jack watched Drew’s shape come forth. It solidified, and he hung there, suspended by Father Winter’s deft touch. The tips of his boots touched the snow; warmth and greenery spread from the contact, twisting up Drew’s legs and exploding in vivid color to rival any of Mother Summer’s brightest flowers.