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Only Once

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In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! We are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory. Farewell!

-Appendix to The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien

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"Sometimes I feel like I'm still waiting for you to say 'I told you so,'" Jack says quietly, breaking the companionable silence that has fallen between him and Bunny. The Pooka stirs below, and the frost spirit wonders if his friend has been dozing off.

"I'm not going to, mate," Bunny replies, yawning. The dry leaves crunch beneath him as he shifts his weight, trying to find a comfortable position against the warped tree trunk.

Jack exhales, absently balancing on the thin branches as he wanders back and forth in the tree, arms spread like a tightrope walker. "You sure warned me enough."

Bunny grunts. "I wouldn't rub it in, though. We all learn the hard way."

"Right," Jack says slowly. The autumn breeze brushes against him just enough that he wobbles and must catch himself against a thick branch. From his position, he can easily look down at the deepening twilight spreading across the Burgess Cemetery, its regimented rows of gravestones cutting shadows into the leaf-strewn lawn.

Jamie's grave is there. There are thousands of markers, but Jack can always pick his out. It's a curved, granite affair in the eastern section, nondescript in relation to the others except that the frost spirit knows every inch of it by heart. In the years that have passed since his best friend's death, whorls of ivy have crept along the side of it to obscure part of the base. Jack wonders if he will return here one day in the coming centuries to find that the earth has reclaimed the entire stone.

"Did you ever have a First Believer?" Jack asks suddenly. Bunny starts, and the frost spirit realizes that his friend really is falling asleep. The peace of the gravesite inspires that kind of lethargy.

"Suppose we all did at one point," he answers, yawning. "But I never knew him. Or her. We didn't really know so much about it until you and Jamie. Manny talked to North about you two. After, I mean."

"'Course he has," Jack says bitterly. The moon's silence is still something of a sore spot with him.

"But we've all had ankle-biters we got too attached to at some point," Bunny continues, as if Jack hasn't interrupted. "Kids we stayed with too long and couldn't do without. Kids that stole a little piece of us. We all learn the hard way," he repeats. "But only once."

Jack frowns, looking across the grounds as the stars begin to blink to life overhead. He can see what Bunny means. There is something of him missing now, something that was torn away when Jamie left with Anubis. Jack used to think that in time he would go back to normal, back to the way he was before. It has taken him nearly a decade to stop feeling hollow and sick whenever his friend's name is mentioned, and most of his good humor has slowly returned. But Burgess still feels empty when he visits, and it has taken him some time to bring himself to check on the other Bennetts, who only remind him of what he has lost. At any rate, Etta and Ro are getting older as well. Maybe he ought to stop visiting them entirely.

He'd do it all over again for Jamie, but he's not so sure he'd let himself get so attached to anyone else.

"It's best to love them when they're kids," Bunny says, standing and stretching his paws over his head. "But then you have to let them go. It's better that way." He pats off the fiery orange leaves that cling to his fur. "I'm going back to the Warren. It's getting too nippy out here in the evenings. You gonna be alright, mate?"

"I'm fine," Jack replies, eyes fixed to Jamie's grave. "Thanks for the company."

"Anytime, Frostbite," Bunny replies. "Don't stay here all night, yeah? I'll check in with you later." He hesitates for a moment, studying Jack, then thumps a great foot against the earth and falls into the darkness below. A blue cornflower sprouts among the autumn leaves.

It's been nearly ten years since Jack's best friend died. In that time, he's never been able to keep the Guardians from looking at him with that soft gaze whenever Jamie's name is brought up, nor can he convince them that he doesn't always need a babysitter to curb the length of his vigils near Jamie's grave. A hundred years ago, this kind of smothering would have made him turn tail and hide in a crevasse in Antarctica. Now, he's oddly grateful for it most of the time. It's a good distraction, and to be honest, it's nice to know that someone cares enough to worry.

Not that they're too worried. According to North and Bunny, all of them have been through the same thing at some point in their time as Guardians. Jack is just the latest in a long line of examples why it's a bad idea to get too attached to the kids they protect.

But truth be told, Jack has never considered it a bad idea. Not once. Jamie meant as much to him as any of the Guardians do, and the thought of losing him still stings. It's lucky he doesn't have to worry as much about losing any of the Guardians in the same way, not for a very long time yet.

It's odd how his life seems to stretch out in sections now: life before Jamie, life with Jamie, and life without him. The last part is the longest in his mind, stretching on for ages and ages until he can't see its end. It's a long time to be left alone like this, to be so tethered to a grave that in reality holds nothing of his friend. He smiles: Jamie would probably kick him if he knew the moping Jack has done.

Besides, longevity may be horrible, but Jack's often mused about the ephemeral nature of spirits, since there's really no guarantee he'll last as long as he fears. Spirits come and go with their growing age and weakening powers, the strength of their believers, the force of communal emotion, and even the loss or devastation of their home territory. It's not too far-fetched to say that Jack might not last more than a few centuries, except that Jamie did such a bang-up job of making him seen all over the world. His books have traveled to countries whose children catch Jack by surprise with the firmness of their belief. Sometimes, Jack's annoyed with his friend for ensuring that the frost spirit isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Most days, though, he feels too small and humbled to be anything but thankful for Jamie's efforts.

Something outside of the realm of noises made by the wind and skittering leaves catches his attention. Still leaning against the branch, he picks his head up to look for its source. At the wrought-iron fence bordering the graveyard stand two small boys who laugh and press their faces into the gaps between the bars. In the dying light of day, it's hard to make out much of their features, but they must be young, only eight or nine, one wrapped in a heavy winter coat already and the other with dark hair and eyes and a beaming grin.

Jack's sighs. It's been ages since he played with any of the Burgess children, though he still visits for long enough to retain their belief. He watches as they enterprisingly search the fence line for a gap wide enough to crawl through and, once on the other side, clutch each other with dramatic fervor. The one in the coat points to the nearest grave, obviously egging the other into stepping near enough to touch it.

As they giggle and fearfully push each other toward the graves, something in Jack's chest loosens. They remind him a little of another pair of friends he once knew.

They haven't yet seen Jack, and it's out of his season. No child in Burgess would expect him in mid-autumn, and Jack smiles wryly: he could probably whip up a real scare for them. The fun kind, of course.

They're a little young for that, Jack, a voice in his head coaxes. Besides, Halloween's coming up, and the last thing they need is to be more afraid than they no doubt already are.

Jack snorts, shaking his head. Funny how his conscience still sounds like Jamie after all these years.

At any rate, Jamie's right. This probably isn't the time or place for a scare, even a joking one.

You could still go play with them though. Make sure they get home safely. It is getting late.

Jack turns. The shadows cast by the tree line are creeping over the graves. For some reason, the thought of joining in their play fills the Guardian with a sense of uncertainty. He pulls his staff from its perch against the tree trunk and runs a thumb over the familiar wood. Still, the boys play on, their laughter carrying in the air as they push each other into the leaves and shove leaves down each others' coat.

Maybe it's time. Tentatively, he steps from the branch and into the air, and before he can change his mind, he whirls to their side in a flurry of snow. "Hey, there," he says, smirking at their flabbergasted expressions. "Wanna have some fun?"

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When the snowball fights have ended (and Jack never thought about it, but if you can get over your reverence in a graveyard, tombstones make very good shields), the Burgess Cemetery is covered in snow which stops precisely at the line of iron fences bordering the land.

"People are gonna freak when they see that," says Ethan, the dark-haired boy, as they slip back through the opening in the bars. "I can't believe it just ends there! You made our own personal snowstorm!"

"Yeah, well, I couldn't go too outside the lines," Jack replies, pulling Wes, the other boy, through the hole. "My…friend Carpo would have killed me." Actually, maybe not, he thinks after a moment. Carpo, like the Guardians, has been fairly worried over his dampened playfulness these past few years. Jack's sure she'll still rail at him over Mother Nature's rules and the balance of the Seasons and everything, but it'll be short, and she'll have that relieved openness to her eyes when she does.

"I bet even some of the adults will start believing in you," Wes crows as their footsteps crunch the leaves in the narrow, tree-lined lane leading to town. "With the books and everything, it'll be impossible not to!"

"You'd be surprised," Jack responds, smiling fondly. "Adults almost never believe. Only a few can see me for a little while. And only one could see me forever."

He delivers them both safely home into the arms of their waiting families. Wes grins apologetically as his mother pulls him away, scolding him for staying out so late. Ethan throws himself at Jack before he knocks on the door to his house, and the hug catches the frost spirit by surprise. He squeezes Ethan so tightly that something fills the hollowness in his chest.

Later, Jack dusts the windows of Burgess with a very light fern frost. He waves to a few of his believers in their rooms, draws pictures for them in the ice on the windowpanes, beams back at them through the glass.

Okay, Jamie, Jack says to himself, smiling as he flits across the town. Do you always have to be so sensible?

The voice doesn't answer. It never does.

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Jack is old.

Not physically old. He occasionally catches sight of his own reflection staring back from his ice or from darkened windows before his frost creeps across the surface, and he looks the same as he ever did. Seventeen forever, with bright eyes and wild hair and bony limbs and a quirky smile. He still moves with ease and grace in the wind, still attacks his foes with the same speed as always, holds children with the same strength in his arms. But for all that, he's become aware in recent years of an odd tension he can't place, a feeling as though his own body has become foreign and cramped.

Jack has been a Guardian for over a thousand years. The world has changed around him, developing technology he doesn't recognize and vehicles that speed through him, but he is always the same. He does the same duties, spilling fern frost across the curving windows of the expanding high rise apartments and sending down snow in patches around the new climate-control systems.

And, truth be told, Jack has grown weary. His believers have begun to dwindle in recent centuries, a new frost spirit from Asia gaining traction through rumor and story, just as Jack was told he once replaced Old Man Winter. It's only a matter of time now.

Besides, Tooth and Sandy have gone ahead of him, one right after the other just a century ago. The two of them were both—Sandy in particular—ancient, and dwindling believers spelled their ends. Jack sometimes thinks he would be sadder about it if he weren't so sure that he will follow them soon.

The Man in the Moon has not yet called in new Guardians, as no serious threats have demanded them, but he'll have to replace them all soon. Jack and North and Bunny labor on, though Jack thinks the others must feel their time coming as well. But with all of the continued belief in the ever-popular Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, Jack thinks he knows which of the three of them will be going first.

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In the past few centuries, Jack has taken to sitting atop the roof of North's workshop, slipping through the lunar window in the globe room and into the night outside. North has taken it in stride, occasionally climbing up the catwalk to check on him from the warmth of the chamber. Tonight, though, the Guardian of Wonder bellows orders far below, his tone jovial in light of the coming Christmas. His voice reaches Jack in intermittent bursts around the whipping of Jack's wind, which is much more playful out here in the crisp night air than it is in the closed quarters of his room.

The stars stretch overhead like a delicate, woven lace, the inky black sky reaching out toward the horizon until it brushes the gleaming ice below. Jack rests on his back, hands behind his head as he drowses lazily. The faint smell of gingerbread wafts from the workshop below, along with the sounds of buzzing from the yetis' industrial lasers, created to keep up with the modern technology of children's toys. Jack feels most comfortable here, close enough for company if he wants it and far enough to fly off if he doesn't.

There's no particular sound to tell the frost spirit that Anubis has come. The spirit of death occasionally likes to catch people by surprise, but Jack is expecting him. An odd, darker sort of darkness creeps across the sky behind him, and Jack stretches his neck to look at the ridge of the roof upside down. "You always come at night," he says, turning back to the stars.

"Seems appropriate," Anubis replies casually. He steps through the snow without a sound (something Jack has always tried to convince him would be to their mutual benefit if they were ever to play a prank together on unsuspecting children) and drops to sit at Jack's side.

"Haven't seen you in a couple decades," Jack adds.

Anubis shrugs. "You know me. The western wars are keeping me busy. Never thought they'd go on for so long."

Jack hums idly as Anubis yawns, fiddling with his belt until he manages to pull out a cigarette. The lighter clicks and blazes against his face, which is all furrowed brows and dark eyes, and then he puffs out a winding trail of smoke. "Guess you know why I'm here this time?"

"I've been expecting you," Jack replies. "Besides, it's not like we run into each other that much. You're not really the type of guy to leave work just for a chat most of the time."

"I do sometimes," Anubis retorts, scratching his stubbly chin with the back of his hand. "But only with you. Used to with Sanderson, too, before I had to take him."

"True." Jack admits. "I guess what really gave you away was Mother Nature. 'Bout two months ago, she called me in to freeze over some glaciers in Central Asia, and she was really weird about it. Told me I'd done a really good job for her and kissed me on the forehead before I left. If that's not a 'farewell,' I don't know what is. Besides, she did the same to Carpo a few centuries back, right before you took her."

Anubis sighs. "Should have known."

The spirit of death doesn't seem to be in any hurry, and Jack makes no move to rush him. The sounds of the workshop gently recede in the wind, and Jack loses himself in thought.

After some time, he ventures, "Still don't know where we end up?"

Anubis shakes his head. "Like I've always told you, you'll find out before I do."

Jack shrugs and then grins mischievously. "Maybe I'll find a way back to let you know."

Anubis barks a laugh. "You know, I wouldn't put it past you, kid," he says slyly. Then, "Dunno who I'm gonna talk to now. You're a cheerful little bastard, but at least you make decent conversation when you're not shoving snow down people's coats. Now I've only got the groundhog, and only because his time's coming up next." He stares at Jack out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't get too attached, Anubis," Jack says kindly.

Anubis rolls his eyes and breathes out a puff of smoke. "Oh, yeah. I do forget how annoying you are, though."

They settle back into silence. Jack dozes, watching the stars wander across the sky in slow, even paths. Technically, he has unfinished business: he has fewer believers now, but there are still blizzards he has yet to form, snow days he has promised, and appointed play dates he means to keep. There are scattered children across the globe waiting for him to visit. But truth be told, there will always be children waiting for him, and none of it feels urgent now.

Tonight is just like any other night of his life, a short pause in his habitual duties and leisure. Here in the arctic, whose ice has floated unchanged for countless millennia, he has an odd sense of timelessness, weightlessness, as if nothing else really matters but this moment. This night is just like any other, and it's just as worthy of being his last night as any other night in the past thousand years.

Finally, Anubis throws his cigarette into the snow and stands to crush it. "Are you ready to go, Jack?" he asks, peering down at him.

The frost spirit considers this. He's ready, but he considers Bunny. Considers North, whom he can hear laughing and bellowing orders below. Perhaps it would be good of him to warn the two of them, but he has the feeling they'll understand. They know what they mean to him, what all of the Guardians have meant to him throughout his life.

And besides, he hates goodbyes. One benefit of being a trickster spirit is that others expect him to blow off formalities and customs. In this last act, Jack won't disappoint.

It may be difficult for Bunny and North to soldier on alone, but Jack has the feeling it may not be for long. Their age is winding to a close, and in time, new Guardians will be appointed, just as the cycle demands. Jack looks up at Manny. He's come no closer to understanding the Man in the Moon and his choices, but the frost spirit has come to respect him, at least. He knows he's leaving the children of the world in capable hands.

After all, the moon once chose Jack all those ages ago.

He turns back to his friend. Anubis looks more unsure than Jack has ever seen him. "It's okay," he says, smiling. "Let's do this."

Anubis smiles back and leads him out into the starry night.

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Jack's thoughts drift slowly back to him like snowflakes wafting lazily to the ground after a heavy storm. It takes him a moment to remember what has happened, to take stock of his body, but he can't feel anything at all, not the tired burden of his old age or even the position of his limbs.

He opens his eyes blearily.

On first glance, he could almost be in a forest back home. Snow lies thick across the ground, gleaming a soft purple in the receding evening light. The weight of the silence is crushing; there is no sound of beast or bird, no ruffle of wind. Jack can't even feel his own wind, and something tells him that his frost has left him as well. A strange feeling jars him, and it takes him a moment to realize that he can't tell where he is. Jack, who recognizes every type of tree and snow and winter and every slope of the earth, can no more recognize this region of the forest than he could a region of the sea.

Slowly, Jack steps forward, the crunching snow loud in the silence. He has half a mind to call out to see if anyone is nearby, anyone who can explain this to him, except that something makes holds him back. He is too uncertain and unwilling to disturb the peace.

Somehow, he knows which direction to walk. After a minute's hike, a soft amber glow begins to spill through the trees—perhaps the lights of a town, or perhaps something else. Before Jack can reach it, his eyes fall across something else that makes him stop in his tracks.

It takes him a moment to recognize Jamie through the fog of centuries, but his eyes grow wide the second he does. His best friend, looking the same as he always has, lies fast asleep against a tree trunk in the snow.

He's not sure how he knows, but Jack is certain that Jamie is waiting for him, just as he waited patiently at windows for him every winter of his life. Grinning like an idiot, the frost spirit blinks something from his eyes. It's as though he's been thrown into a new game, one in which the layout and rules are completely unfamiliar. But in his mind, none of that matters, and there's only one thing to be done.

Jack reaches down into the snow, packing a snowball the human way. After a second, he tosses it at Jamie's head in greeting.

After all these years, the look of utter surprise and joy on his best friend's face makes him cry with laughter.

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To die will be an awfully big adventure.

- Peter Pan, by J. M. Barrie

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A/N: Jack has always reminded me a little of Peter Pan. Less arrogant, of course, but still just as playful and mischievous, with deep attachments to his friends. This chapter came to me as I really considered this and as I began to wonder whatever happens to immortals—or semi-immortals, in Jack's case—as they age. On an emotional level, that kind of longevity must be absolutely exhausting. And Jack and Jamie had an emotional connection that would be far too strong for Jack to move on quickly after Jamie's death.

I think that there are some stories and friendships that are too great for permanent separation. Jamie and Jack have an extraordinary relationship, when you think about it: Jack is doomed to watch his friend grow old and feeble while knowing that he'll never experience the same, and Jamie wants to share his friend's energy while his own body ages and weakens—and, worse, he's destined to leave Jack behind entirely in the end. But to me, that kind of friendship is connected by a bond that cannot be severed for long. And let's be honest: Jamie and Jack are stubborn little things, and they'll always find a way back together if they can. In my mind, this story has always demanded this particular ending, and I've known for a very long time what the last words would be.

If you are still here reading along with me, thank you so much for staying to see the end! I seriously appreciate all of the constructive criticism and kind words I've gotten from you so far—you have no idea how much it means to me! In particular, thanks for SO many heartwarming reviews for the last chapter: it's nice knowing that I'm not the only one crying over this. You wouldn't believe the tissues I've gone through :')

In the meantime, I'll be (somewhat slowly) working on the next adventure, an as-yet-untitled sci-fi story, so feel free to check my profile to see the summary, progress updates, and an eventual teaser. I hope to see you all there!

Happy reading 'till next time!

ket