Kink meme fill for 'Part Fearling Jack.'

…

Anyway, I have MOVED this story COMPLETELY to another site. You can find this STORY and all its subsequent UPDATES here: h*t*t*p : / / archiveofourown. o*r*g /works/1810066/chapters/3884362

I have the same penname there as I do here: ParadiseAvenger

X X X

"I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear."
—Nelson Mandela

~January 29, 1712~

It was a clear night with a great round full moon. A slight layer of snow draped across the trees and hills like sugarcoating, sparkling beautifully and banishing shadows. There was a small pond here in the dense woods with a rend at its center that gaped like a wound. The dark water there rippled, shimmered, danced in the moonlight. Then, all at once, it froze completely as if grass had grown over an open grave. For several deep heartbeats, the world was still. It held its breath, it waited, it watched. The moon glowed.

Then, from beneath, the ice cracked and pushed. A young boy, barely fourteen, (1) emerged from the icy depths. Water streamed from his clothes and hair, but froze and fell like frozen diamonds to land on the thick ice. The youth was lifted towards the moon by some invisible string, held there like a beloved child for just a moment, and then lowered gently back to the surface of the small pond. Though the ice was damaged and broken, it mended beneath his bare feet. Spirals of frost swirled out from him, decorating the gloomy winter night.

The youth looked at his pale hands, his narrow feet, his long arms. There were some silvery scars on his knuckles and feet. He felt his face, measuring the set of features and lips, and pushed his hands through his cool white hair. He slipped across the ice, found a shepherd's crook that meant more than he could remember, and discovered that he was as light and swift as a leaf on the wind. The youth moved through the forest with delight until he came across a small community that mourned a loss he didn't know.

He walked among the villagers, calling greetings that went unheard and unanswered. When he knelt to speak to a child, there was a moment that was only blinding cold and shock and fear. The child rushed through the youth as if his body was nothing more than frost and vapor. Gasping, the new spirit reeled through the small parish, but no one could see or hear him. Stricken, he pressed a hand to his chest and left by the light of the watchful moon. For the first time since being pulled from the water, he felt winter's chill on his skin.

Afterwards, Jack Frost roamed—unseen, unheard, lonely and alone.

For fifty-six years, time passed in this fashion.

It was a warm April night and Jack knew he should have been somewhere else. It was spring on this continent and his season was no longer welcome, but the small pond was more home to him than anywhere else was. When he was away from it, his heart felt in more pieces than usual. Jack stood on a paper-thin layer of ice at its center, gazing up at the skeletal crescent moon and trying hard to keep a firm grasp on his powers as his emotions climbed raggedly.

"I don't understand," Jack murmured to the pale guardian hanging in the sky. "Why did you put me here?"

The moon remained silent, still and deep, as unruffled as ever.

Jack tightened his grip on the stick he couldn't bring himself to part with. "Is this… some kind of punishment? To be here when no one can see me?"

The moon had spoken Jack's name only once so long ago and had never seen fit to answer Jack's questions since then, but Jack kept talking to it. He could at least pretend the moon was listening, even if the glowing rock never answered.

"Was I a bad person?" Jack continued. "Did you put me here just to be alone, just to suffer? Do I deserve it? I can't remember… I can't remember anything!" Jack's eyes burned and he abruptly wiped his face with the frost-dusted sleeve of his shirt. "Why am I here? Why can't anyone see me?"

The moon remained silent, smiling down in a benevolent crescent.

Drawing in a shaking breath, Jack turned away from the crescent moon and made his way carefully off the surface of the small pond. At the edge, he paused and turned to look back at the moon one final time before he followed his season to the other side of the globe. Nothing had changed except the breeze. It blew gently now through the new spring growth, comforting Jack in its silent way. Letting out his breath, Jack turned away and prepared to let the wind spirit him away.

"The Man in the Moon never answers anyone," came a soft voice with a faint accent that Jack couldn't identify.

For a moment, Jack just froze. He couldn't believe that after all these years someone in the middle of nowhere was actually speaking to him. It must be a mistake, Jack tried to convince himself. He must have stumbled across a pair of lovers on a romantic Easter picnic. Yet his heart pounded and his feet turned in the direction of the voice. He hoped, he prayed, that someone would be there—someone who could see him and talk to him.

The clearing was empty of everything except thick cloaking shadows. There was no one, nothing, and Jack remained painfully alone.

Jack's heart dropped into his stomach, but his mouth was more hopeful. His voice spoke without his permission and called, "Is someone there?"

A long silence stretched across the night, seeking out the little cracks in Jack's heart and digging in. Fear followed, slipping into the empty spaces of his chest. What if no one ever saw him or spoke to him? What if he stayed alone like this forever? What if he really was a bad person and this was well-deserved punishment?

"What a nice question," the strange voice said again just as Jack was about to give up. As if with the searching breeze, the shadows moved and danced.

Jack picked one out and turned to watch it as it flashed against the backdrop of the burgeoning forest and the thick grass. It almost looked like a person, but he couldn't be sure. "Will you come out, please?" he asked with a little more hope in his heart.

"Why should I?" the shadow asked. "It isn't as if anyone like you is ever happy to see me."

Jack wet his lips. "Please," he said softly. "You can come out. I promise I won't—"

"Are you alone?" the shadow interrupted.

Jack's throat closed and his heart lurched like the remains of something crushed bloodless beneath the wheels of a horse-drawn wagon. "Yes," he forced himself to admit. His eyes burned and his throat was frozen around the jagged words. "I'm alone."

The shadow hummed pensively. "Why is that?" it asked.

"I don't know," Jack said softly. He swiped at his eyes and tried to swallow the knot that had built up in his throat to no avail. His voice cracked when he continued, "I've been alone for fifty-six years. The moon told me that I—"

The shadow chuckled. "Ah, the Man in the Moon… He certainly lacks any sort of compassion."

"What?" Jack whispered and his eyes darted to the moon as if it would decide to answer him now.

"He'll never answer you," the shadow said. "No matter how many times you ask or how much you beg. Even if you cry your eyes out, he won't answer you."

Jack's breath rattled in his chest, but he fought back the burn of tears that filled his throat. Fear built up in his chest like blood welling from a wound. If the moon had no compassion, did that mean he had done this to Jack as punishment? He turned back to the shadow, fighting away the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Someone like you should already know my name," the shadow said.

"Well," Jack said with false bravado. "I don't, so tell me who you are."

The shadows swirled, melted, and then opened. A tall imposing figure wreathed in darkness stepped forth, visible only for his bright metallic eyes. He folded away from the moonlight uncannily, keeping himself mostly hidden from Jack save for the small instances where the frost-spirit felt this man wanted Jack to see him.

"Who are you?" Jack breathed out, gripping his staff tightly.

"You may call me Pitch Black," the man said silkily and tilted his head to look at Jack with bright silvery eyes. "And who are you?"

Jack wet his lips and said softly, "Jack. Jack Frost."

"Jack," the shadowy figure repeated and tasted the name on his lips with obvious delight. "So, the Man in the Moon left you alone all these years. What a cruel thing to do."

"I-I guess," Jack lied. It had been horrible to be alone, unseen, untouched—punished?

Pitch moved from within the shelter of his shadows and stepped out completely to reveal himself. Jack sucked in a sharp breath and took a step back, craning his head to look up into the face of this strange man. Pitch smiled down at Jack, revealing several rows of uneven teeth.

"Have you been lonely all these years, Jack?" Pitch asked with tenderness.

Jack's hands convulsed on his staff, knuckles whitening and frost fanning down the length of the crook. "Yeah," he whispered because it suddenly felt impossible to lie or look away from the bright gaze of this man. His heart was pounding like a drum, hammering against the cage of his ribs.

"Have you longed for a friend to talk to?" Pitch's gaze glittered like the eyes of a greedy raven. He stepped closer to Jack and the frost child smelled deep earth and a certain staleness. "Have you wished that someone would see you?"

"Yes," Jack admitted. His neck ached from looking up into Pitch's eyes and the larger man had caged him in with his shadowy body. Jack felt that he should run—some primal instinct was wailing that it wasn't safe to be this close—but he couldn't move. He remained, staring up, captivated. "Yes," he whispered again. "So much…"

Pitch's hand moved like a dark bird fluttering from a branch. "Have you long for someone to… touch you?"

Even as Jack's mind screamed for him to flee, his heart shattered with the phantom memory of contact. He wanted to be touched, to feel someone else's skin, to be recognized as someone alive and real— even if it meant some part of him would break. He leaned into Pitch's long fingers and they slid along his jaw smoothly. Jack gasped raggedly at the warm touch and Pitch's mouth split into a jack-o-lantern smile.

"Oh, Jack," Pitch murmured.

Jack's lashes fluttered and he closed his blue eyes. He melted into the caress as Pitch's hand slid around to cradle the back of his head and glide through his snowy tresses. Then, the hand circled back and held Jack's face with gentleness that should have been reserved for a delicate flower. The pad of his thumb scraped along Jack's cheekbone, gathering the layer of frost that had spread there.

"Would you like to come with me, Jack?" Pitch asked softly.

A half-heard protest screamed through Jack's mind, barreling like a wagon that had reeled off the road and crashed through trees, but it was silent as it crumbled and rotted away. Jack nodded and stepped closer so that he could feel Pitch's warm body a hair's breadth from the front of his own. He sighed in bliss, curling into the touch and the voice.

"I'll make you into me," Pitch whispered distantly. "I'll make you one with me."

A thread of icy fear ran down Jack's spine and wove through his chest, squeezing his heart until he could no longer breathe. He became aware that Pitch's grasp on his face was hard and tight, his blunt nails raking through the layer of frost that covered his sensitive skin. Jack tried to pull away but couldn't. He was too new and young to combat this older stronger spirit.

"I'll make you my dark prince," Pitch murmured. "You can rule at my side—be mine. I'll make you one."

Jack's eyes snapped open and met with those metallic orbs in a clash that was like dishes breaking and houses burning. Jack tried to pull away again, but Pitch merely tightened his grip on Jack's face. His nails raked sharply against Jack's skin, tearing through ice and flesh alike. Hot blood ran down Jack's cheek and neck.

"Let me go!" Jack protested as he struggled to free himself. Pitch's touch was scalding like a brand, burning, searing into Jack's cold skin. He shoved against Pitch's firm chest, his hands landing in weak blows and spreading white frost across the dark material of his overcoat. "Let go!"

Pitch's lips opened in a sneer that was all jagged teeth. "I'll make you into me, Jack," he hissed. "I'll make you mine."

A tendril of darkness moved in the corner of Jack's vision, flickering there like a spider or a snake. Terror rose in Jack's chest, pulsing with the rataplan of his heartbeat. Suddenly, he knew something horrible was going to happen. He had to get away—had to escape—had to run!

"Let go!" Jack screamed, thrashing in Pitch's grasp. He lashed out with his staff, but Pitch grabbed it and turned it away effortlessly with one hand. "Please!" Jack's eyes widened in shock as he tried to wrench the staff free, but Pitch's grip remained tight on his weapon and his face. "Let me go!"

Pitch chuckled and his eyes were big and bright, somehow soaking up all the light and strength Jack had. The strand of darkness wove between them in some cryptic pattern. Exhausted, Jack stilled, hypnotized by the movement of the single dark strand. It was fluid, glittering and moving like black water. It called to him, beckoned with an invisible hand, promising everything and nothing all at once. Fear welled cold in Jack's chest, but it was a distant ache.

"Open your mouth, Jack, and let me inside you," Pitch crooned. He stroked Jack's injured face with hot fingertips and smeared the bright blood along Jack's pale cold skin. "And then, I'll be with you. You'll never be alone again."

"Never?" Jack breathed out, gaze moving from the single thread of stunning darkness to Pitch's bright eyes. "You'll stay with me?"

Pitch nodded and ran his thumb over the swell of Jack's lower lip. Unbidden, Jack's mouth slipped open and the wisp of darkness wove into him. He felt it inside, twisting and curling with otherworldly purpose. It was a little searing place of warmth in his throat, sliding deeper and deeper into his body. His pounding heartbeat began to slow. Painful calm filled his cracked chest and smoothed over the loneliness of fifty-six long years like a balm.

It would be nice to always have someone to talk to…

He would never have to be alone again…

Abruptly, a tree branch slammed into Jack from behind. It broke hard against Jack's thin body and tore a cry from his lips. Pitch's bright eyes widened as his grasp on Jack's jaw was broken and the slender young spirit was swept away like a stray leaf. It took Jack a moment to recognize the familiar arms of the wind, cradling him and carrying him away from the shadowy figure that had nearly devoured him. His throat and chest seared with agony. A panicked wave of ice and frost washed out from Jack's body, stinging with the force of the wind.

Jack gasped and coughed raggedly, blinded within his own personal snowstorm. Deep inside his chest, the filament of darkness burned like a scorching coal. The pain was excruciating and his fingers curled in the fabric over his chest. A whimper pried from between his clenched teeth and he lost his grasp on the wind. He dropped several feet and landed hard on the now-frozen ground. Drifts of snow spread beneath his feet and ice raced across the surface of the small pond nearby.

The wind howled in concern and whipped snowflakes into the air as it tried to lift Jack away again.

"Jack!" Pitch shouted amidst the swirling darkness. "You won't escape from me, Jack!"

Startled by Pitch's voice, Jack leaped into the sky with his heart in his throat and the wind caught him immediately. Together, they sped through the inky night. The moon only aided all the darkness, being a thin sliver of crescent that provided hardly any light.

Fear gripped Jack in a vice and crushed all the air from his burning lungs. He gripped his staff and clung to the wind desperately. He could feel frost and snow spreading in his wake, but couldn't reel in his powers through his panic. His emotions roiled, fear and pain raging in his blood and soul. He clutched his chest, breathing rasping between his teeth.

Suddenly, the shadows melted, shimmered, and opened like the petals of a flower. Pitch Black loomed out of the tear in the fabric of the world, his teeth and eyes shining hideously. "You'll never escape me, Jack," he sneered.

"Get away!" Jack lashed out with his staff. Crystals of spearing ice sailed past Pitch's head and Jack heard branches breaking as the icy daggers struck them.

Realizing that Jack might be just a little dangerous in this state, Pitch grabbed his crooked staff and tried to wrest it from Jack's white-knuckled grip. Jack fought back violently with all the panicked strength of a cornered animal. He lost his control on the wind and plummeted through the dark night like a stone, dragging Pitch down with him. The wind howled urgently as it raced to catch Jack, spinning shards of ice into deadly spires. For a moment, Pitch nearly succeeded in taking the staff, but desperation and fear lent strength to the young spirit.

"No!" Jack shouted. "No!"

A wave of blinding frost fanned from the staff and from Jack. Pitch was there one moment and then he was gone like a nightmare banished by the light of dawn. Whiteness spread wildly, sweeping over the trees and bowing them with the force of the power. The wind gusted in, buoyed Jack up, and carried him away too quickly for the shadows to follow. Jack clung to the breeze, to his staff, to his chest. His breath came raggedly, hot and painful. Something inside him was being torn apart, dissolving, breaking into pieces.

"You can't escape the fear, Jack!" Pitch shouted at his back. His voice echoed through the howling night, chasing Jack with unearthly intent. "You'll never escape!"

But, just then, he did—somehow. He fled into the night, shadows grasping at his heels, but after a little while, even Pitch's voice faded.

The wind carried Jack to the North Pole and settled him down in a deep powdery snow bank that cradled Jack like a mother would have. Overhead, the Aurora Borealis danced beautifully, but Jack couldn't find the willpower to open his eyes. He curled in the snowdrift, trembling, shaking, shattering. His body was damaged somewhere he couldn't lay his hands on. He was helpless to fight the darkness as it came over him like a flood of black water. Pitch Black's shadow was inside him, eating him from the inside out like a cancer.

"No, please," he moaned weakly. "No… stop…"

He could feel the little tendril of darkness as it worked its way to his heart, burrowing, ripping, shredding. He wrapped both arms around his middle and squeezed tightly as if he could keep himself together through physical strength alone. Fear sank in, slid deep, until it was rooted there around Jack's heart like a crown of thorns. Jack gasped, breath wheezing between his clenched teeth. The pain was overwhelming, swallowing him into the deep darkness. There would be no return from that, Jack realized as he stared into the abyss.

"I don't want it," he choked out desperately. "Stop!"

Beneath his hands, frost fanned across his chest and he felt it weave deep into his body and soul. The tendril of nightmarish darkness stopped, grinding to a halt like a stick dragging against stone. The searing heat began to diminish and Jack could finally draw in a deep breath. As he breathed in the icy air, the agony inside continued to lessen until it was nothing more than a sharp little shard. It cut only if he moved. Then, after a moment, the pain subsided almost completely. He could still feel it, lurking inside him like a scar.

He remained collapsed in the snow, panting, and stared up at the crescent moon. The wind whispered all around him, curiously prodding against Jack's sides and ruffling his hair. He wanted to assure it that he was all right, but the thought of moving was too much at the moment. He remained still, focusing on breathing in the cold night air until his heart stopped pounding.

A time later, when the Aurora had faded and dawn began to lighten the horizon, Jack sat up slowly. His chest throbbed and his heart beat painfully against his bones, but it was nothing compared to the searing agony that Pitch's darkness had inflicted inside him earlier. Jack crawled slowly to his feet and leaned on his staff for support. His feet sank through the snow and the wind lifted him gently into the lightening sky. They needed to move on before Phil the Yeti or Nicholas St. North found them prowling outside his workshop.

It was slow going as the wind and Jack Frost made their way to a distant place where winter was in full season. Jack landed gently on a large lake that had been scraped and polished for ice-skating. He walked across it slowly, making certain that the ice was solid for any skaters that ventured out into the frigid weather. Jack's newness intertwined with Pitch's violent attack and Jack's wild emotions had covered much of the globe in an out-of-season blizzard.

Distantly, Jack realized that it was Easter morning. (2)

Breathless, Jack paused on the ice and absently rubbed his foot through some snow. There was dirt on his skin, clinging there like a shadow. Jack scrubbed for several moments before his skin began to ache from the friction and he realized that the smudge was not fading. It remained, just as dark and ugly against his white skin as it had been when he first noticed it. Jack lifted his bare foot closer and looked at it, rubbing his thumb over the dark skin. Was it a bruise? But it didn't hurt and he couldn't remember getting hit on the foot.

Startled, Jack realized there was a similar mark on his wrist that spread up beneath the sleeve of his shirt and disappeared beyond where he could pull it up. Hastily, Jack put down his staff and pulled his shirt off completely. He examined his bared skin in shock and horror. All over his chest were tendrils of blackness that spread from a single point near his heart. The threads shifted and moved, alive, with his body. Stricken, Jack pressed his hands over his skin and tried to focus on breathing.

He realized the fingernails of his right hand were longer and sharper than he remembered and all attempts to bite them shorter failed. His teeth felt wrong inside his mouth. He traced his tongue along his teeth and tasted blood. Sharp, he realized with a jolt, his teeth were sharp. Sickened, Jack grabbed his shirt and his staff and flew into the town in search of something reflective. He found a prominent china shop with a wide glass window and stood before it, studying himself.

An unfamiliar face stared back at him.

Jack lifted trembling hands to touch his distorted features. Only one blue eye gazed back at him, the other was bright gold that gleamed with unnatural light. One side of his mouth was pulled up into a snarl he hadn't realized he was making, revealing the sharp teeth that had replaced his perfect blunt ones. His snow-white hair was threaded with inky-darkness above his yellow eyes, similar to the ruin that crawled all over his pale skin. The nails of his right hand were practically claws and he realized that his toes were just the same.

A terrible horrified whine escaped his lips as he traced his unfamiliar warped body frantically.

Just then, the sun peeked up over the edge of the horizon and a band of spring sunlight fell across Jack's naked back. He cried out in surprise and pain, reeling away from the light urgently. He ducked into a nearby alleyway and hunkered there with his arms wrapped around his legs tightly.

"This is a nightmare," he told himself, rocking softly on the balls of his feet. "Any minute now, I'll wake up and everything will be normal."

'You'll never escape the fear,' Pitch's voice taunted. 'You'll be mine forever.'

"No," Jack insisted quietly. "No, it's all a nightmare. Just wake up, wake up." He dug his fingers through his hair and pulled gently, he scraped his scalp with his newfound claws, and he held his breath. Each time he opened his eyes, the horrifying changes remained and the sunlight was a little bit closer.

Irrational fear gripped Jack's heart as he watched the sunlight spread down the mouth of the alleyway. His head was suddenly filled with legends of creatures that drank blood and burst into flames in the sunlight. He had never believed those tales before, but now he wasn't so sure. Jack pulled his shirt back on and tied his cloak over his head. He waited, hands and feet tucked beneath his clothing, to see what would happen when the sunlight touched him again. Would this be the end of him? Had he survived an attack by the Nightmare King only to be killed by sunlight?

Slowly, the light fell across his clothes and pain did not follow. Jack let out a tremulous breath and rose to his feet to stand cautiously in the remaining shadows. He leaned against the wall and tried to breathe deeply. Frost spread beneath his feet, curling in beautiful fronds, and Jack was relieved to see that his powers remained the same even if he had been changed beyond recognition. Again, he looked down at his clawed feet, but they hadn't magically reverted to normal.

"What is this?" Jack whispered as he gently ran his fingers over the planes of his unfamiliar new face. His lips were still pulled into a snarl and he gingerly tried to relax the terrible expression. "What happened to me?"

The wind whispered in an archaic language and spoke a single word that was older than the moon, 'Fearling…'

Though it couldn't be translated, Jack felt the meaning behind the single word in the very core of his agonized soul—someone who had been devoured and transformed by fear and darkness. The word called to the single tendril lurking in his chest and he pressed hand over it, stilling it with a wave of frost.

"Is that what I am now?" Jack breathed out and stared down at his glittering frost-dusted hands. Even his veins looked darker, no longer bluish with winter and cold blood, but inky with the darkness that spread out from his chest. He rubbed his aching golden eye carefully, confused by the flickering images that moved through his vision. "What should I do? What can I do?"

The wind whispered, breathing along his cheeks comfortingly.

'You'll never escape, Jack,' Pitch's voice continued. 'I've remade you. I've made you mine.'

Jack forced those thoughts away through sheer willpower and crept slowly through the sunlight to an open market that was closed because of the blizzard. There, he managed to steal a long cloak of dark material with a deep hood. He pulled it on to shelter his sensitive skin from the sunlight and tried to take flight. The wind was gentle with him, but the cloak fluttered open and painful sunlight slanted across Jack's bare feet, hands, and face. With a soft cry, he landed back on the ground and wrapped himself tightly in the cloak.

Uncertain of what to do now, Jack walked slowly through the weather-beaten town with his eyes focused on the ground. Occasionally, he looked at his hands and the hideous claws remained so he stopped looking. Leaning on his staff and the wind for support, Jack walked for what felt like a small eternity, sinking in the snow.

Suddenly, a ripple of awareness moved through Jack's body like an electrical current. It was power, he felt that, but it was nothing like the wintry magic that flowed in his veins. This felt darker, deeper, and sharper. It felt like… fear… yet, it didn't belong to Jack. It poured into him from some outside source, manipulated by the current of his body somehow.

Sucking in a tremulous breath, Jack tried to put the feeling out of his mind, but it remained flickering at the back of his consciousness like a wound. He felt it, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, getting stronger and stronger until he couldn't ignore it any longer. Jack turned away from the small town and made his way through the dense woods nearby where the sensation felt stronger. The feeling tugged at him, called and beckoned like a phantom.

Wetting his lips nervously, Jack made his way through the woods with the feeling of fear growing stronger inside his chest. Nausea clawed at him. The feeling was too much, too strange, too potent. Jack had never felt so much fear, but it was coming to him through some sort of filter. His skin prickled, oversensitive and raw.

Finally, just when the feeling was too much to take, Jack came across a small group of children. They must have been looking for Easter eggs in the woods against their parents' wishes, but something had gone horribly wrong. A snow-laden branch had fallen and pinned one of the children beneath it. Though the thick snow prevented the child from being crushed, he was in danger of being frozen to death. The three other children were trying desperately to lift the branch from their friend, but their fear was rising wildly as each attempt failed.

"Just hang on," one of the girls whispered as tears welled in her eyes. "I'll go get my dad and he'll—"

"He'll never make it in time," one of the older boys said sharply. "We have to get the branch off him now or he'll freeze to death."

The pinned child whimpered, tears rolling down his pale cheeks. "Help me!" he pleaded. "I'm scared!"

Another wave of terror washed through Jack. This one was so powerful and sickening that it nearly drove Jack to his knees. He doubled over, one hand pressed to his chest as the tendril of darkness shifted with interest. He sucked in a deep cold breath and pressed his hand to his chest tightly.

"Stay awake," one of the children said fiercely to his friend. "Don't go to sleep."

The trapped child struggled with renewed terror, but he was crushed beneath the branch and the weight of the snow. "Get me out!" he shrieked. "Help me!"

Pulling together all that was left of his strength, Jack approached the children, wedged his staff beneath the fallen branch, and heaved with all his might. The branch quivered and then lifted a fraction of an inch, but it wasn't enough. Jack was too weak from his encounter with Pitch.

He took a deep breath and reached inside himself for just a little more. A wave of fluffy snow spread beneath his feet, lifting the branch at an angle that gave the child just enough room to escape. His friends quickly grabbed his hands and pulled him free without ever seeing the invisible snow spirit that had helped them. Relieved, the children collapsed together in a heap and Jack slid to his knees.

It was so bright and the sunlight reflected off the snow. Blinded and aching, Jack pulled his hood down over his face. The light seared his skin, sending spikes of pain through his body until he pulled the cloak shut over his exposed flesh. He sat in the snow with the children for a few moments, breathing hard, as the overwhelming feeling of fear abated.

Then, Jack became aware of something else flickering on the edge of his consciousness. It didn't feel like the children's fear, but it was somehow similar. It darted through Jack's mind, danced on the periphery, and slipped away only to return a moment later. Jack jerked his head up and saw a flash of familiar glittering blackness. Searing pain rose up inside his chest, coupled with overwhelming terror.

It was Pitch Black!

It was one of Pitch's Nightmares!

With a sharp cry, Jack leaped to his feet and swept his staff wildly. A wave of snow and ice echoed the motion and slammed into the Nightmare that was hiding behind a tree. The creature froze solid with a startled shriek. Jack heard the children scream and start to run, crashing through the dense woods, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the Nightmare. He could feel others, lurking and watching, waiting to take him.

Uncaring for the burn of the sunlight, Jack called the wind and swept himself into the sky. He put as much space as possible between himself and Pitch's Nightmares, but everywhere he went he could still feel the shadows and fears. His chest throbbed, his skin prickled, and everything crawled.

"I've been connected to him," Jack whispered as he looked at his clawed right hand and blackened skin.

The wind whispered comfortingly through his hair.

Jack swallowed nervously, pressed a hand to his face, and found that the hideous sneer that twisted his lips had relaxed. His expression was soft and almost normal. "I can feel everyone's fear and his shadows. We're connected now," he murmured. "He really did make me into him."

Without words, the wind swirled around Jack so that the cloak fell closed over his bare skin. Jack sighed in bliss as the pain from the sunlight faded.

"I have to make sure he never finds me. I can't give him a chance to turn me into one of his… Fearlings… not the rest of the way. Maybe I can learn to use this power, if I'm careful," Jack continued softly. "I don't want him to be able to do this to anyone else."

The wind carried him gently over the endless sea, listening.

"Do you think this means… I have to hide from children?" Jack whispered as he gingerly touched the dark claws of his right hand and traced his tongue along his sharp teeth. "But they don't see me anyway so… does it matter what I look like if I'm invisible?"

Jack glanced up at the sky, but the moon had disappeared for the bright day. Had the moon known what was going to happen to Jack? Was that why he had made the boy invisible to children? Had it been an act of mercy rather than punishment?

The wind murmured, speaking in its language that Jack could barely understand.

"I guess it doesn't matter," Jack said with a small smile as he drifted over the ocean with the wind. He flexed his blackened hands. "So long as I can still have fun, I guess it doesn't matter what I look like. Now, I can throw a wrench into that nasty Boogeyman's plans whenever I feel them."

Comforted by those thoughts, Jack Frost took a deep cold breath and drifted through the next two-hundred-and-forty-four years. The ball of darkness living in his chest was hard to adjust to, but he learned and he managed.

He found that his connection didn't allow him to sleep without being plagued by horrific nightmares, but he didn't need to sleep much. He was busy most of the night and day anyway and napped only occasionally. He used his unfortunate connection to the fullest. With his one golden eye, he could see traces of black nightmare-sand and used it to track the creatures through areas where children gathered. With his ability to sense fear, he was able to find frightened children and rescue or help them.

Though his sensitivity to light decreased with time, his skin remained stained with ribbons and blotches of darkness. Ashamed, Jack kept himself covered with thick layers of clothing in case he happened across another spirit. Only when he was certain he was alone did he allow himself to lower his hood or cast off his cloak. Even though he was a monster, he didn't let it break him. He still had free will and a strong sense of self. He still had fun, he still spent hours crafting each individual snowflake with care, and he still flew with the wind. He was still the same inside, even if his body had been damaged by Pitch's attack that Easter in 1768.

Jack was as happy as he could have been under the circumstances. His invisibility was a blessing that allowed him to continue to play with children. He easily avoided other spirits since they had no interest in him and rarely sought him out anyway. He did everything he could to keep fear at bay, protect the children of the world from Nightmares, and prevent Pitch Black from ever creating another Fearling. Jack Frost would never know how much good he did until April 2012 when everything changed.

X X X

(1) Anytime I talk about Jack's age, I like to include this awesome link. Check it out! post/37532061848/jacks-tombstone-sources-or-it-didnt-happen

(2) I know many fans are insisting that the Blizzard of '68 happened in 1968, but I have no idea where that information sprung from. I can't find anything substantial other than the fact that there actually was a real blizzard on Easter in 1968, but that isn't really related to the movie… So, I'm assigning this blizzard to 1768 for the sake of my plot.

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