Jack dipped low, looking over the houses below but didn't go closer to peek in the windows.

In the mood he was in, that wouldn't lead to anything good.

He landed on a tree out in the woods, looking up at the full moon shining overhead.

Two hundred years, and not a word. Not a single word out of the moon since he'd pulled Jack out of the lake and told him his name.

And there were fewer and fewer spirits as time went on, as belief went down, as people stopped telling stories and focused on everything but.

Was he just some sort of failed experiment? Was he...what was he doing wrong?

Why didn't anyone want him?

The moon raised him from the lake, gave him a name, and then just...

abandoned him. Like everyone else.

Jack clutched at his staff, gritting his teeth against the scream building in his chest. Letting go didn't end well, not with powers like his.

At least people needed him, right? To bring the snow and the cold and the ice? Sure, there was a lot about his seasons, about the fall and winter, that could hurt, but he brought the fun. He was the reason people could have fun in the season, he made is softer, encouraged play.

They needed him, at least, even if no one else wanted him.

Jack tried to console himself with that, taking off again.

He landed lightly on a sign. "Hey, what'cha doing?" he asked the man passing by, knowing he wouldn't be heard. "Building something, huh?"

He flipped over to read the sign.

It took a few read-throughs before it sunk in, would have even if he weren't upside down.

Burgess Indoor Ice Rink: Coming Soon to This Location

All the Fun of Winter, Indoors and Year-Round!

Jack stared at the sign, eyes wide and hands shaking as it began frosting over.

They...were replacing him. They didn't need him anymore.

They were abandoning him, just like the moon did, just like everyone did.

With a screech of pain, Jack fell to the ground, curling up into a ball.

The wind picked up, screaming in sympathy along with Jack.

Jack was drowning in pain, too deep to control his powers as they spiraled out of control, as the storm began brewing, as the snow began to fall.

He beat his hands against the ground as the ice began spreading, and by the time he began to regain any sort of control, began to ride out the pain, it was far too late.

The Blizzard of '68 had begun and contained all of Jack's pain, his rejection, and no one, not even Jack, could control it or do anything but wait until it had screamed itself out.

And with all the pain Jack held, that was going to take some time.