A/N: Just a short little fic written for Jackrabbit Week. The prompt was "Fight".

"Balakirev! Now, if we are all ready—but wait, where is Jack?" North paused, peering around his workshop where all of the other Guardians were already gathered. They'd agreed on this meeting time weeks ago, and Jack had so far been good about coming to meetings, but this time…

"Who knows," Aster cut in, idly examining his nails. "Maybe the little yobbo had something better to do with his time." From his biting tone, it was pretty clear that he had his doubts.

"Enough," North admonished, great bushy eyebrows coming together in concern. "Bunny, if you have such great ideas about what Jack does with his time, maybe you should go get him?" he asked.

Aster sputtered for a moment. How on earth was North always so good at missing intonation and context and—that's when he noticed the sparkle in his friend's eyes. That devil. "Right then. I'll just pop off for a few minutes, find our 'friend'," he said, stressing the last word enough that they all knew exactly where he stood on that matter. With one last sardonic look North's way, he thumped the ground and was gone.

Nowadays, Jack could usually be found flitting around Burgess. He'd taken to believers like a fish to water and he spent far too much of his free time playing with the children he had met the year before. It was always winter wonderland this, snow fortress that. The bloody show pony.

When Aster emerged from the woods near town, he scoffed to see more than a little unseasonable snow blanketing the clearing. That was just like the little wanker, to run off and have a snowball fight while the others were getting actual work— His silent griping cut off with an audible gasp when he noticed the dark, streaky red stains in otherwise pristine snow. Aster instantly stilled and sniffed the air. Blood. He'd know that smell anywhere. But where was Jack?

He heard a rustle to his left, the barest hint of crunching snow and he turned towards it, all but vibrating with tension. "Jack? That you?" he called.

All he got in response was a soft groan, and he was off like a shot, bounding towards the sound on all fours. Sure enough, their resident prankster was lying prone in a snowbank, the snow dusting over his features where he lay. Aster took in the dark stains bleeding through Jack's clothing, the angle of his ankle that was just slightly off, and the unnatural stillness that he had never seen on their young friend, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. "Jack?" he prodded softly, and his heart skipped a beat when Jack waved a hand at him half-heartedly. And at that moment, Aster realized that the stories lie; when your heart truly misses a beat, when for just one second you're missing something intrinsic to your life (or maybe just thought you had), it hurts like all get out. He swallowed hard and forced his breathing to steady. "You all right there, mate? What happened here?"

Jack sighed long and gustily, then shifted to try and prop himself up on his elbows. In an instant, Aster was by his side, carefully propping Jack's lithe form up against his heavier one. "Thanks, Bunny," Jack said with a wink. His cheerful countenance belied his true condition, as evidenced by a barely-suppressed wince. "It wasn't a big deal. I just swung by here to say hi to Jamie before the meeting, but some imps tailed me. You know how it is, Bunny. Whenever there's a shake up in power, all the elemental spirits start getting rowdy."

Aster's whiskers twitched and he reigned in the urge to look thunderous. He most certainly did not know how "it" was. That wasn't the way spring spirits worked at all. When spring spirits waged war, it was with silken words and well-placed spells. It wasn't like this. "This been happening to you much, Jacko?" he asked carefully, adjusting his grip so he could better support Jack's weight.

Jack scoffed and summoned up some frost to dab over a thin cut criss-crossing over his left cheekbone. "It's been worse since you guys chose me to be a Guardian, but they always start getting antsy around the end of the season," he said, sealing over the wound. He leaned forward with Aster's help to apply a rimed seal over each of his more pressing wounds with a grace that spoke to long years of practice.

Aster watched those quick hands at work and tried to tamp down the hot feelings rising up within him, but he couldn't claim success. "You're an old hand at this aren't you?" he asked, the words coming out far more accusingly than he'd meant for them to.

Jack paused in rolling his pants leg down and blinked up at Aster as if he'd told him the sun orbited the moon. "Well, yeah. What else would I do?"

"You could come to us, ya bloody drongo!" Aster snapped, finally losing control over his tightly grasped emotions. There was a wave of tangled emotions he was having a hard time putting words to slipping over him, tinging his vision red around the edges. Anger was there, yes, and frustration, but those were the usual. There was an undercurrent of something frantic threading through it that Aster was not accustomed to and did not want to inspect too closely. "None of us knew that you were out here getting attacked all the time!"

Jack shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the attention. "It's really not a big deal, Bunny. I've been dealing with this kind of thing along for over three hundred years now. I'm not gonna come running to you every time I get in a little scuffle with the locals." His bewildered expression abruptly darkened into a scowl. "You don't think that I can take care of myself, do you?"

Aster gaped at him, mouth opening and closing a few times before he could find words. This had been going on for over three hundred years? But Jack had been barely more than a child himself then! There was bickering between neighboring spirits and then there was exterminating witless newbies, and Aster had a sinking feeling that he knew which one was more winter's style. Finally he shut his mouth, swallowed, and said, "'Course you can, mate. But you know you don't have to, right? You can give us a shout, and we'll be with you right quick."

Confusion bunched up Jack's features. "But why?"

Aster cuffed him gently round the head and snorted. "Because we care about you, ya boofhead. You're one of us now."

Jack seemed to consider that, but sometimes it was hard to know what was going on in that bloody idiot's frostbitten brain. Before he could reach a breakthrough, though, Jack seemed to realize something else. "I missed the meeting, didn't I? That's why you came out here? North isn't mad, is he? Because I can go right there now—"

"You bet your nelly you're going there. North has a proper infirmary up at the pole. No way not to what with the elves and all the power tools. He'll get you fixed up in half a tick, Frostbite," Aster said. He tried to keep his voice even despite the fact that Jack's words had hit a little too close to home. Because even if North wasn't mad, Aster had immediately assumed the worst, hadn't he? Even after Jack had helped them out so thoroughly last year, had attended every meeting no matter how dull, had been the only reason Aster was even here to hold him in the first place, Aster had still regarded him first and foremost with suspicion. Old habits died hard, he knew, but he resolved himself to work on this one. Easter-ruiner though he was, Jack wasn't such a bad sort of fellow. Aster grip tightened almost imperceptibly. He certainly tried hard enough.

Jack, for his part, was looking at Aster with shy eyes, a satisfied quirk to the mouth, and a dubious sort of stillness that, pieced together, made a thoroughly confusing expression. "Yeah," he finally said, ducking his head. "Okay."

That acquiescence quickly transformed to an indignant yelp when Aster picked him up in strong arms without a second thought. "Hey! I can walk myself, you oversized kangaroo! I can fly!" he protested, squirming in Aster's grasp.

Aster rolled his eyes. Some things, though, would never change. "You can fly off a cliff for all I care, you little whinger, but North'll have my head if he sees you trotting into his workshop looking like that."

And even as they both disappeared down one of Aster's tunnels, the sound of bickering floated echoed out for all hidden ears to hear. But somehow, the bickering had taken a slightly companionable tone, gentle jibes instead of pointed ones. Like icicles melting with the approach of spring, it was soft about the edges.