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ayascythe
Fandom: Once Upon A Time, Inkheart/Tintenherz
Pairings, Characters: Jefferson (Mad Hatter)/Dustfinger
Rating: PG-13
Language: English
Categories/Warnings: crossover, pre-slash
Beta: not beta-ed
Disclaimer: I don't own the Once Upon A Time-universe. I'm just borrowing some of its characters to play a little bit with them. In no way do I intend to claim them as mine or make any money with this. The world of Inkheart belongs to Cornelia Funke and the same things go for her characters.
Summary: „Who are you?“ the stranger asked, wary but not really surprised. - „Someone who's interested in your fire.“ [OUAT/Inkheart crossover]
A/N: Don't ask me how this idea came to happen, because I don't even know myself. I was thinking about Jefferson and then I realised how many parallels there were between him and Dustfinger and that's where I sort of lost it and ran with the idea. There are various Tumblr posts with graphics I made and the fic was originally posted here first.
Sparks
The fire was dancing, blooming, bursting into new forms and shapes every second, all at the hands of one man. There was something positively magical about it and not only figuratively. Still, the inhabitants of Storybrooke remained ignorant, simply oooh-ed and aaah-ed at all the right moments and clapped delightedly when the show was over. The fools. Jefferson hated all of them, everyone who didn't see the magic and was lucky enough not to even realise.
That man, however …
„You're not from here,“ Jefferson said as he approached him.
„Apparently not, no.“ The fire-eater was packing away his equipment, counting the money he'd collected after his performance and not really paying attention to much else. As he stowed the last of his belongings into a ragged backpack, a small animal ran across his arm and climbed its way up onto his shoulders. Jefferson blinked when he realised that it was a marten. A horned marten.
„You're not from here,“ he said again.
„Yes, you said that already,“ the juggler answered slightly annoyed and this time, he looked up.
Jefferson saw it immediately: the look in his eyes, the longing, the sadness. That man was someone who had been touched by the magic of another world, had seen it, lived with it and then, ultimately, had lost it. He didn't belong here. He was like him.
Jefferson just stared, wondering from which corner of the realm the stranger might be from. He didn't remember any fire-eaters, but then, there were so many more worlds he hadn't been to, hadn't had the chance to explore before he got trapped in Wonderland. A moment passed, then two, and maybe nothing at all would have happened, if the fire-eater hadn't sighed and asked: „what do you want?“
„Your magic.“ A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips, because yes, he could feel it. It was there, right beneath the juggler's skin still glistening with sweat, in those fingertips that had brought sparks to life just a few minutes ago.
„Who are you?“ the stranger asked, wary but not really surprised.
„Someone who's interested in your fire.“
„Are you from a book? Then you'd know that magic isn't much good around here. Neither is fire. It doesn't listen, it bites, it's angry.“ Something seemed to occur to him, his brows knitting together. „You're not a Reader, are you?“
Jefferson could practically hear the capitalisation. Whatever a Reader was, it must be something special. He made a mental note to look further into it as soon as he had the chance.
„No, I'm not.“
Something like disappointment seemed to flicker in the stranger's eyes, but maybe that was just a trick of the light. „Who are you, then?“
„Jefferson's the name, but there was a time when people called me the Mad Hatter.“
Ah. Blue eyes widened in surprise and that right there, that was recognition. He knows me. He knows my story. Maybe he can actually help.
Jefferson's smile grew wider as he held out his hand to the stranger. „Now that we've cleared that up – what should I call you?“
The stranger looked at his hand, then into his eyes, searching for anything he might not like to see: a trick, lies, betrayal. He didn't need to worry. Jefferson has been a many things in his life, from foolish to naive, but in the end it had always been him that ended up tricked and betrayed.
„Dustfinger,“ the stranger finally said, before he took Jefferson's outstretched hand into a firm grasp. „My name is Dustfinger.“
ayascythe Fandom: Once Upon A Time, Inkheart/Tintenherz
Pairings, Characters: Jefferson (Mad Hatter)/Dustfinger
Rating: PG-13
Language: English
Categories/Warnings: crossover, pre-slash
Beta: not beta-ed
Disclaimer: I don't own the Once Upon A Time-universe. I'm just borrowing some of its characters to play a little bit with them. In no way do I intend to claim them as mine or make any money with this. The world of Inkheart belongs to Cornelia Funke and the same things go for her characters.
Summary: „Who are you?“ the stranger asked, wary but not really surprised. - „Someone who's interested in your fire.“ [OUAT/Inkheart crossover]
A/N: Don't ask me how this idea came to happen, because I don't even know myself. I was thinking about Jefferson and then I realised how many parallels there were between him and Dustfinger and that's where I sort of lost it and ran with the idea. There are various Tumblr posts with graphics I made and the fic was originally posted here first.
Sparks
The fire was dancing, blooming, bursting into new forms and shapes every second, all at the hands of one man. There was something positively magical about it and not only figuratively. Still, the inhabitants of Storybrooke remained ignorant, simply oooh-ed and aaah-ed at all the right moments and clapped delightedly when the show was over. The fools. Jefferson hated all of them, everyone who didn't see the magic and was lucky enough not to even realise.
That man, however …
„You're not from here,“ Jefferson said as he approached him.
„Apparently not, no.“ The fire-eater was packing away his equipment, counting the money he'd collected after his performance and not really paying attention to much else. As he stowed the last of his belongings into a ragged backpack, a small animal ran across his arm and climbed its way up onto his shoulders. Jefferson blinked when he realised that it was a marten. A horned marten.
„You're not from here,“ he said again.
„Yes, you said that already,“ the juggler answered slightly annoyed and this time, he looked up.
Jefferson saw it immediately: the look in his eyes, the longing, the sadness. That man was someone who had been touched by the magic of another world, had seen it, lived with it and then, ultimately, had lost it. He didn't belong here. He was like him.
Jefferson just stared, wondering from which corner of the realm the stranger might be from. He didn't remember any fire-eaters, but then, there were so many more worlds he hadn't been to, hadn't had the chance to explore before he got trapped in Wonderland. A moment passed, then two, and maybe nothing at all would have happened, if the fire-eater hadn't sighed and asked: „what do you want?“
„Your magic.“ A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips, because yes, he could feel it. It was there, right beneath the juggler's skin still glistening with sweat, in those fingertips that had brought sparks to life just a few minutes ago.
„Who are you?“ the stranger asked, wary but not really surprised.
„Someone who's interested in your fire.“
„Are you from a book? Then you'd know that magic isn't much good around here. Neither is fire. It doesn't listen, it bites, it's angry.“ Something seemed to occur to him, his brows knitting together. „You're not a Reader, are you?“
Jefferson could practically hear the capitalisation. Whatever a Reader was, it must be something special. He made a mental note to look further into it as soon as he had the chance.
„No, I'm not.“
Something like disappointment seemed to flicker in the stranger's eyes, but maybe that was just a trick of the light. „Who are you, then?“
„Jefferson's the name, but there was a time when people called me the Mad Hatter.“
Ah. Blue eyes widened in surprise and that right there, that was recognition. He knows me. He knows my story. Maybe he can actually help.
Jefferson's smile grew wider as he held out his hand to the stranger. „Now that we've cleared that up – what should I call you?“
The stranger looked at his hand, then into his eyes, searching for anything he might not like to see: a trick, lies, betrayal. He didn't need to worry. Jefferson has been a many things in his life, from foolish to naive, but in the end it had always been him that ended up tricked and betrayed.
„Dustfinger,“ the stranger finally said, before he took Jefferson's outstretched hand into a firm grasp. „My name is Dustfinger.“
