Chapter Text
Aster had been questioned about his Pookan heritage before. North, Tooth and Katherine had all been very interested to learn about him when he’d first joined the Guardians. As such, Jack having questions on the subject wasn’t completely unfamiliar territory. In fact, Aster was quite certain he was even reacting to it better now than he had back then (he’d been a hermit and liked it that way; of course he’d be a jerk about any questions). This theory seemed especially truthful when you considered the fact that none of the other Guardians had unlimited access to the Warren and barely limited options to ask questions about it.
Jack seemed to love asking questions. Aster had wondered whether or not it was the result of the spirit having lived in isolation for so long, but he also acknowledged that Jack was very curious by nature.
There was one time when the lead-up was rather strange however. It was on a day that Aster had been planning out egg designs and Jack had swooped around the Warren, seeming to be attempting to get a look at as many things at once as possible. The winter spirit had landed right next to Aster, bent down in a way that human bodies shouldn’t bend, and commented: “The Warren’s really big.”
“It took me centuries to dig it,” Aster replied, still nonplussed. “Good thing it turned out that it wasn’t a wasted effort, since my plants need the space.”
Jack frowned in thought, straightening to get a look around the broad expanse. “Did you build the houses I saw too?”
Aster smirked at the winter spirit. “Who else could have?”
Jack turned back to Aster sitting n a crouch on the ground, staying pointedly upright himself as he said: “I just wondered, since they look lived in.”
Aster shrugged. “They’re my old houses.” Honestly, it was no big deal. North had about a dozen private workshops back at the Pole, as well as other rooms that had grown so cluttered that he’d had to expand the thing.
Jack’s face scrunched up in a way that brought his lips almost to his nose, an expression that Aster sometimes saw in the mirror. Did humans make that sort of face often? It was so Pooka-ish.
“And now you lost me.” Jack rubbed his head, still making that face. “Was there something wrong with them?”
“Not wrong so much as I grew bored with them.” Aster shrugged again. “Most spirits live a long time and prefer large homes with enough space to keep us entertained for centuries.” Which explained North’s ever-expanding Workshop, Tooth’s colourfully painted palace and Sandy’s own sand construct abodes that never stayed the same two days a row. Much like Sandy, Bunny enjoyed simpler things he could build, and said ruefully: “But I also enjoy huts.”
“So you build a new one whenever you get bored?” Jack asked incredulously, gripping at his hair (Aster had long ago grabbed his own ears like that whenever he’d felt frustrated or anxious). “I can’t say I approve.”
Aster huffed. “I rarely need anyone’s approval when I do anything.” Maybe he was being defensive. Maybe it was because for some reason Jack kept reminding him of things today.
“It just seems so wasteful,” Jack blurted out.
Aster looked him over, and felt his brief flash of anger vane. “If it’s any consolation, it’s a habit I’ve mostly grown out of.”
Jack crossed his arms, shepherd’s hook tucked under his elbow, and smirked like he was at least partially waiting for Aster to drop a punch line. “Really now?”
“Fair dinkum.” Aster smirked. “I actually stopped doing it after I joined the Guardians.” “The missions and friends invading my space guaranteed that I got enough changes in scenery since then.”
Jack laughed at the admission, and Aster was sure that Jack was as aware as Aster himself was at that moment that regardless what he said on the subject, Aster had given Jack permission to be here.
Jack uncrossed his arms and twirled his staff. “Is that so?” He pointed the tip of the staff towards the general direction of the colour river. “What about the flower arrangements, then?”
Aster wasn’t bothered by the insinuation and spread his hands. “The occasional change in décor is good for me.”
“Most people change their curtains when they want to change in décor,” Jack said with an extremely unimpressed expression.”
“It’s the same principle,” Aster insisted. “The houses are just houses to me. Something to fill the space with, to keep things in and occasionally to sleep in.” He wasn’t about to pretend that Jack wasn’t aware of his sporadic sleeping patterns. “The Warren as a whole is my ‘home’.”
Jack hummed thoughtfully, before querying: “You like the wide, open spaces?”
“I don’t much care for being trapped inside the same set of walls for an eternity.” Aster wasn’t sure if Jack would get that allusion, but it was out now. It was the closest Aster would ever get to professing being something of a free spirit.
There was a wistful expression on Jack’s face. “I know the feeling,” the winter spirit confessed before he dropped down, landing down to sit cross-legged in front of Aster. “Back home, ‘home’ wasn’t just the house, but the fields around it as well.”
It was rare for Jack to tell Aster about his family, about the memories he’d been so intent to recover. Usually Jack was all about asking questions, not answering them. Unable to pass up the chance to learn more, Aster prompted: “Were your parents farmers?”
“Pretty much.” Jack nodded. “These days they’d call my mom a florist and my dad a pharmacist.” “They specialized their plantations in order to make them as diverse as possible.” The winter spirit placed his shepherd’s hook across his lap and leaned over closer to Aster. “You said you followed in your mom’s footsteps. Was fighting the family trade?”
Of course Jack would turn the question right around. Hoping his reluctance to discuss the subject wasn’t apparent, he said: “The family trade was influence. We were warriors or scholars or socialites of the highest calibre.” Thinking he sounded a bit too bitter (even for him), Aster attempted for levity as he carried on: “Except Hollyhock, who was a career layabout.” The Pooka smirked. “The hollyhocks here on Earth are like him, pretty but ultimately useless.”
Jack laughed again, for the second time due to a joke Aster had told. The winter spirit gave the Pooka a shrewd look before speaking: “The more I think about it, the more convinced I get that you named all those plants on purpose, and not on accident like you claim.”
“The humans named the plants,” Aster answered, completely deadpan.
“So you deny any influence?” Jack shot back, completely unconvinced.
“No comment.” Aster lifted his hands in surrender, not about to debate the mechanics of his connection to the plant life on Earth. “But, back to your own preference for wide spaces. Is that why you’re a vagabond?”
Jack stared at Aster for a startled moment before snorting a laugh. The winter spirit shook his head before murmuring. “I doubt anyone actually calls it that anymore.” He grinned. “Partially, I guess. For me, home’s more the people I’m with than the location.”
Aster recalled that Jack hadn’t had people to be with for a while, that he’d been homeless twice over. “You’ve got a lot of friends these days,” he said out loud. “That’s quite the few homes.”
“Some feel more like home than others,” Jack said and, while the comment was flippant and even a touch equivocal, the fond look he shot Aster was anything but.