[Closed] Walk Away

[wintershepherd]

Characters: Jack Frost, Oliver Queen / PART TWO: + Kyle Rayner / PART THREE: + Connor Hawke / PART FIVE: + Zatanna Zatara
Date: Following this showdown and Jack's horrible excuse. Exact length of time to be determined.
Location: One of Tu Vishan's abandoned villages (as outlined here) near the shell's edge, a few hours outside Keeliai and by the mountains.
Situation: Taking issue with Oliver's plan of action, Jack has brought him outside the city to see if he can't get his head on straight. Part Two & Three: After their return, there are still some things to answer for.
Warnings/Rating: Ollie's probably not happy, so associated warnings there.


Jack had been out to these areas several times since his arrival, so he flew straight and unerring across the barren landscape, stirring up heavy storm clouds in his wake, pregnant with snow that was only partially intentional, reacting to his emotions. When they finally touched down at the outskirts of a burned husk of a village, Jack dragged Oliver's unconscious form into the most complete building. It wasn't great, but it had four walls and most of a roof and that was good because Oliver was heavy and it didn't help that Jack couldn't stop replaying their conversation in his mind, over and over.

"What if someone starts coming after you the way you're going after these kedan?!"

"Then I kill them."

"Wrong answer."

So when the man awakes, he will find himself under a blanket but sans boots (and said footwear being nowhere to be seen) and Jack sitting in the windowsill, looking out at a thick curtain of falling snow and humming something of a song under his breath.

Comments

[wintershepherd]

"Hm?" Jack blinks at him, guileless, and then offers a smile. "Don't worry, whatever you're going to ask, it probably won't be weird to me."

[wilsooon]

Lineface. "Does the south wind like her better than you."

He says it flatly, because saying it like he can't believe he's actually saying it makes actually saying it easier.

[wintershepherd]

"I don't know who it likes more," Jack answered. "Seems kind of unfair to make it choose a favourite. But it always has stories for me from places where it's too hot for me to spend much time and it must like her a little bit, because the Wind doesn't have to help the spirits. They do and I appreciate it and the north wind is my closest friend, but I'd never take it for granted. So the May Queen must be doing something right."

A pause and then, "The water is boiling."

[wilsooon]

Oliver focuses on that for a few minutes, making a second batch of tea. He pours most of it into the large, handle-less mug he found in the backpack, almost leaving it at that.

He glances at Jack - he doesn't know if the spirit can even drink tea. But still, briefly unselfish, he digs out a second cup and pours what's left into it, setting it between them.

[wintershepherd]

Blue eyes shine and he reaches forward to take the cup, pale fingers skittering over the mug's surface, quick to release it once he's pulled it close because it's hot and watching the steam curl in the air. It's not quite as fancy as his fernfrost, but it's close.

"Thank you, Oliver."

[wilsooon]

Eventually, accidentally, Oliver sleeps again. The quiet and the cold aren't exactly conducive to awareness, and with nothing but his thoughts to occupy him after conversation ends, he loses track of where he is and sinks into dreams of hunting and running through an island made of steel and concrete, chasing echoes of familiar voices that say things he can't quite hear.

He twitches awake in what amounts to daylight - the shell's glow is out, at least, but the snow is still coming down. No way to tell how long he's been out for. He's sitting up still, too, enveloped in the blanket like a cloak and hood with his back against the wall. When he pokes his mug he finds the remains of his tea frozen at the bottom.

[wintershepherd]

Jack comes in a few moments later, shaking snow from his hair and shoulders where it's settled. He has another load of wood in the sling of one arm and a pair of boots dangle from the other. He crosses the small floor and wordlessly sets the footwear down next to Oliver, then kneels to sort the tinder.

He's been unable to find as many pieces, quickly exhausting the supply in the wood-scarce village, and it shows as the pieces are smaller and more brittle, some half-charred from an old burn (perhaps even the one that gutted this place) that never quite finished becoming ash.

[wilsooon]

He almost refuses the boots. It's the demand of the little voice saying resist resist resist - and it's equal parts practicality and numb resignation that make him drag them underneath the blanket to put them on. He has to peel off the extra layer of shredded jeans first.

Oliver watches Jack sort his find out without speaking. He still has one distinct advantage in all of this. The spirit really doesn't want to hurt him. If that includes accidentally freezing him, that means they'll have to move soon. That thought revives Oliver enough to eat another chunk of what's in the bag, portioning it out so he has enough to get by for a day or two of steady travel before he's in trouble. Somehow, he needs to find a way to carry some of the snow - he'll need water more than food out there.

He tugs the edge of the blanket forward to cover more of his face. He hates being patient. Sometimes, though, the odds are better when you wait.

[wintershepherd]

Jack finishes sorting the wood and, having watched Oliver also do this, stacks the dampest pieces nearest the flames to dry out. Then he settles into a comfortable crouch with his back to the door and balances his staff lightly across his knees, watching the man.

"So... you wanna tell me who it was back in the city that had you, sorry for the pun, but wound tight as a bowstring?"

[wilsooon]

Interrogation. They've come to it now, and he settles a little deeper into the blanket in an effort to seem relaxed.

Maybe he won't be waiting as long as he thought.

Intentional or not, the pun makes him think of Connor, and Connor makes him think of Kyle.

You share that operating principle with my enemies. Who've hurt, tortured, and killed people I know. People I love.

I will be standing in your way.

Oliver palms one of his small knives under the blanket.

"It doesn't matter." It's the truth, as far as Oliver's concerned. He's a terrible liar and no amount of experience has changed that.

[wintershepherd]

"It matters to me," Jack said reasonably. "Come on... you can't tell me nothing got under your skin. What good is it for anyone, especially you, if you just get back to Keeliai and go right back to feeling the way you did that night?"

[wilsooon]

Not yet.

Oliver fingers the blade and stares out one of the windows at the snow. "Do you have to think about that, or does it just happen?"

[wintershepherd]

"Huh?" Jack looks momentarily thrown by the abrupt change of topic and flat avoidance of his question but recovers after a moment, following Oliver's gaze.

"Oh, the snow? It's a little of both... I haven't been able to get it stopped completely but I've brought it down a lot, or we'd be in an igloo instead of a house right now."

[wilsooon]

He waits, until Jack starts to turn back toward the fire.

Now.

One hand wrapped in cloth from his shredded jeans, the other holding the knife. Oliver bursts out from under the blanket, scooping ash and embers in his protected hand and hurling them into Jack's face.

Then he's over the fire - scattered, hissing in patches of snow where it doesn't burn against the shelter's floor - and on top of the spirit, knife against where a human's carotid would be. Jack may not have bled much the last time Oliver cut him, but he still bled.

Do it.

He grits his teeth, heartbeat gagging him. One chance. Right here.

Do it.

[wintershepherd]

Jack fell backward with barely time for a startled cry, releasing his grip on his staff to bat both hands at his eyes in an effort to clear the burning detritus from his vision. The wood lost its frozen core as it fell to the side, Oliver's lunge bowling him over and he found himself pinned beneath the taller one. Trying to drag one sleeve across his face and using his other hand to push back at Oliver's chest even as he felt the edge of the knife against his throat, his voice came out slightly strangled.

"G-Get off!"

[wilsooon]

The blade hovers next to chilly skin, frost edging over the tip.

He can't do it.

You will die badly, he thinks, and almost laughs.

You really have a low opinion of me. Said to Digg, when Oliver spared the life of a stranger who'd done some unknown wrong, pissing off the Russian mob.

He can't kill Jack. There's something very calming in that. Instead he presses the knife down a little harder, just enough to make it look like he's going to act, and waits for the repercussions.

[wintershepherd]

The winter teen's hands come away from his face; the skin around his eyes is red and blistered, the embers having been doubly effective against him. But he reaches up and drapes his arms behind Oliver, feeling the blade stiffen then bite against his flesh before sliding away as he hugs the man, as much as is possible for still being pinned down.

"It's okay," he mumbled into the leather on Oliver's shoulder, his eyes closed as the vibrations of the words telegraph through the knife's metal. "Not everyone is afraid of you."

[wilsooon]

Not as planned.

Oliver wrenches backwards, hard and fast enough that the knife cuts a little deeper than he meant it to. He drops it, crunches snow and burnt wood underfoot, feels himself hit the wall.

Window.

He's in the snow. The awful quiet, with no idea where he's going. Not far. He ends up crouched between drifts of snow in the shadow of the same wall he hid beside before. Breathe. Just breathe.

[wintershepherd]

Suddenly the pressure on him is gone and Jack finds he's alone on the floor, and pretty much everything hurts. His face feels raw and his eyes are smarting and he clumsily brings a handful of snow to it. The cold feels soothing but it strays near his neck and comes away red, though the second and third handfuls have less as his bare toes curl miserably away from the still-alight pieces of what had been the fire.

He hurts inside too, and that can't be soothed with snow and cold.

Jack slowly gets to his feet feeling clumsy and disoriented and it takes him two tries to pick up his staff. The door is still closed and it takes more effort than it should to realize that Oliver had gone out the window and he follows, and the wind is ready to catch him when he almost falls out of it.

[wilsooon]

Oliver rocks back on his heels until he tips, resting against the wall and staring up at the sky while snow comes down against his face. The cut he got in that Metal Sector fight is starting to throb - it's probably infected. He can't bring himself to check.

"I'm sorry," he says. Maybe the wind will hear it. Pass it on.

I'm so, so sorry.

[wintershepherd]

The wind does indeed and it spirals the apology back to Jack, which in turn only prompts him to move after... though he's relieved that it seems to indicate Oliver was stationary and not running. He wasn't sure he felt like flying at the moment, or could do it without crashing.

He finds Oliver next to the broken wall and lowers himself into a sitting position next to him, toppling the last little way against the wall. His speech is slower than usual but he still tries to offer him a grin. (The effect is spoiled somewhat, by the scattered burns and the red-on-blue near his collar. But it's still a grin.)

"So I think... you should probably plan the next camping trip. I'm discovering I'm... not really that great at it."

[wilsooon]

Jack looks terrible. Oliver can't imagine he looks a great deal better, but those burns are ugly. They need taking care of, as does the cut.

He casts around for something to say and ends up with, "I'm sorry," again.

[wintershepherd]

"Yeah," Jack replied, and leaned his head against Oliver's shoulder. "Me too. I just wanted to help but... I've made things worse, huh?"

[wilsooon]

"Not your fault," he says. It isn't entirely.

If he ignores the cold he can pretend he's with Thea, an insomniac night spent on the couch watching bad TV.

"Kyle. I talked with - we talked. Argued. He said if I wanted to do what I do, then. We were done. He'd stop me." Is that the truth, what got him angry? It must be. He goes on mechanically. "I thought. Maybe. I guess I thought. If I went out. Like that. He'd do it. We could talk. Or maybe I didn't care. I don't know. I don't know."

[wintershepherd]

Kyle-- someone he also trusted and considered a friend and something in Jack's chest fluttered uncertainly.

But he forced the feeling down and nodded against Oliver's shoulder.

"It's not good for anyone to have that kind of conversation when they're angry, but I think you had the right idea about talking. Maybe with someone there who can understand that you both... have reasons, to do what you do."