Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians

Manny knew he'd pushed him too far, too much. Too far.

He knew he'd wished for too much.

It had been a split second decision. The two of them were carefree, innocent, loving. Three things he'd never experienced, never really come in contact with. And so, when he saw the danger she was in, both of them were in, he made a decision. He'd save her.

If she fell through, the cold, unforgiving black would wrap around her. It would shock her, making her open her mouth; she would choke, coughing into the black and choking more. The boy would not hear this—no, he'd panic and do what? Race off the lake? Call for his parents? Sit there, screaming her name?

No, he would dive in after her. And Manny realized this, and had to think once more. What would they become? Would they become anything at all?

Or would the boy have enough strength to strike through the black, the navy, and rise victorious? Would the Prince save his Princess?

Manny thought this all over within a quick five seconds. He had it planned out. They'd take over a force. A life style. A lonely life.

So he was quite surprised that, when all was said and done, the scene changed with three simple words:

"One… two… three!"

And so it was that the Moon saw, through the morning light, that his plans changed. Shifted. His plans were opposed, because no matter how much she loved him, she would not go in after her. She wasn't the daring type like he was. She wouldn't switch the fairytale—the Princess wouldn't save the Prince. She would panic, sit there and shout his name, screaming and crying, clawing at the ice. Or maybe she'll run home, tears streaming down her face and yell for her mother.

"Mother, Mother! He's in the lake! Jack's in the lake!"

And if that did happen, her Mother would run to her in worry, not panic, because she would refuse to believe her daughter's words.

"Pippa, Pip, what's happened? Where's Jack?" she would say this, already knowing the answer.

"I've told you! I told you! He—he's in the lake! He fell through, the ice—"

And then the mother would take off running, shoes hardly keeping up with her. And Pippa would be trailing behind her, right behind her, sobbing and gasping for breath, because Jack fell Jack fell Jack fell—

But none of this happened. Pippa was too cold, to scared, too heartbroken and shocked that she just sat there, on the lake, clawing at the ice, screaming his name.

Screaming his name, knowing he wouldn't rise again.

"Jack! Jack! Jack! Come back! Please, please come back!"

"Jack!" another voice would shout, not the shattered brunette girl. Another man, tall and grey. Strong and ready. Immediately fractured when he saw the hole, the girl that lay next to the hole. He felt the wind choking on its own air. He felt the vibrations from her cries.

He heard his own cries. He heard the silence coming from the hole.

"Pippa!" he rushed over, balancing his weight perfectly on the ice. He knew who'd created that hole. He latched on to her, picking her up and laying her on the ground, wiping the hair from her red face. "Pippa? Pip, what's wrong?"

"Jack."

The man had strained to hear her, to feel her. To empathize, to believe her. "What?"

"Jack," she had repeated, looking up into the man's blue eyes. They reminded her of Elia's. "He's… he fell through. I was about to fall, b-but he pulled me away. He fell, Father!"

And so his eyes scrunched shut tightly, pulling her close. They cried together, wholly and unconditionally. Right before they entered through the door, she whispered,

"When will I see him again?"

He had left her unanswered, for his wife opened the door. Her brown woeful eyes searched his faded ones, searched for hope—for anything. And when she found nothing, she backed away, gasping and screaming, sobbing and wheezing, collapsing to the floor in a heap of despair. Because he couldn't be dead. Her only son could not be gone—it was something that didn't happen.

But here they were, crying. Sobbing.

Dying.

Manny had his own tears now. He'd had them for quite a while. For the past three hundred years they ran down his face, poured from his eyes, carved his happiness into regret and guilt.

He listened to his words, words he'd never heard before. Yes, Jack had screamed at him, cried to him, told him to tell him why, but the Moon had lost his words long ago. His voice was a forgotten memory.

"If there's something I'm doing wrong, can you just tell me what it is?"

Manny collapsed, fell to his knees, the room around him seeming smaller, more constricting.

"Because I've tried everything and no one ever sees me."

The Moon's thoughts were crumbling, saddening, guilt-inducing nightmares.

"You put me here. The least you can do is tell me… tell me why."

"That's why you chose me."

Manny laughed, laughed a hysterical, deep, resonating laugh that echoed around him. He was shaking with glee, with joy, his thoughts slowly connecting back together. But not quite.

Never completely.

Not after all he's done to Jackson Overland.

Manny hated himself for it.

Immortality was not a gift, but a curse. Not many mortals understand that. But the ones who do, Jamie, Claude, Caleb, Cupcake, Monty. Sophie. They all understand it's something no one should with upon themselves, for after the arrival of happiness it brings, comes the life of sorrow.

So when Jack has to go through all of them and their short lives, he wishes to hold the white-haired spirit. He wishes to hold him as Jamie collides with a car, as Pippa succumbs to cancer, as Caleb and Claude don't come back from war, as Cupcake and Monty pass peacefully in their sleep. As Sophie lives the longest, a great one-hundred and eleven years old, before finally releasing her last breath.

He hates himself for making his son go through life and death, light and dark, horror and reality.

He knows the Guardians are not enough for his Jackson Overland.

It would be irony that he fell in battle.

Not much can kill the immortal. Nothing has ever been heard to do so, save for the disappearance of Old Man Winter. But, alas, Manny decided it was time. He would not suffer any longer.

The feud had gone for months, nearly a year before it ended, before he ended. This time around, the boogeyman was on their side after years and years of contemplation and indecisiveness. Pitch had joined the Guardians, brave and true, vowing to protect and provide. Because fear created caution and safety, despite what others may think.

So it was the Big Six against the Darkness. No, not the nightmares, not the light. They fought all that was evil in the world. And they were able to do so because of the Bennet generation.

It was six hundred years later, six hundred years' worth of Bennet boys and girls. The world believed in them now. They were loved and drawn and fantasized.

And so they would go to war against another darkness that threatened not only the children, but the workers, the gods, the loved, the hurt. They fought fear and won, but not without a cost.

It was months of intense mental preparation and protection. Training the minds of all those around them, strengthening their resolve and skill.

Fear came in many forms, all different and diverse. To one, the monster may be a spider, while to the other it could be a bee. And while everyone saw this, while they all knew what was coming, there was still one mind not quite guarded, blocked off. There was one memory to end all.

Pitch was the overlord in the battle. He had no fears, no lingering regrets. He was the ultimate commander. And he saw all, felt all, heard all fear.

So it was no surprise when he heard a silent cry.

It was of a mind giving out. Of a mind, a conscious being released from built up sorrow and agony. It was an old, aged, disguised being ripped from all the world had offered him. And Pitch had heard this cry, this scream once before, except it had been real then, loud and clear.

He clutched his head as the boogeyman watched from the shadows. He cried out has the taunting got to him.

And so Pitch ran left, ignoring the fact that every fear had lost energy and willingness. He skidded across the ground, ripping his robe and gripping the boy.

"Jack? Jack! Jack, sh, sh, it's okay. You're—you're gonna be just fine."

"Ironic, isn't it," he coughed, looking up with faded blue eyes that struck Pitch as familiar, fearfully familiar, "that the enemy from my first battle holds me in my last."

Pitch let out a choked laugh, tears running down his face. "Irony indeed, Jackson. I wish you a very goodnight."

No words were said as he smiled, tensing up and closing his eyes. His chest flattened, never to rise again, and the boogeyman held him close to his own beating heart. He sobbed Jack's life bombarded him. Life, death, happiness, hardship, adventure, confinement. And he was free.

And Manny stood there with Bunny, holding the rabbit as he cried on his short, stout shoulder. His own face was wet, but he was relieved, for Jackson Overland was finally free.

Life is not a gift but a curse in the eyes of the immortal.

And Jack Frost was too young to have survived it.