A.N: I own nothing.
A.N#2: Written to the Game of Thrones soundtracks.
A.N#3: Edited 03.24.19. It was time to give this fic some lovin'.
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the crunch
"people are not good to each other.
perhaps if there were
our deaths would not be so sad."
—Charles Bukowski, Love is a Dog from Hell
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Cage of Bones
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It was five against one.
Jack Frost had little stomach for what they were about to do, even though it made sense to keep their enemy close. The Guardians wouldn't make that mistake twice, not after what it'd almost cost. But still, it hit closer to home than Jack liked. After three hundred years of isolation, he knew about imprisonment. Some part of himself hated the moment when dawning realization lit Pitch's features, the gray skin paling. He shouldn't feel empathy for a fallen enemy, an enemy that had tried so hard to destroy all the children's faith in the Guardians.
He had come to me, once. Jack shook the memory of Antarctica away, irritated, and threw himself into helping the others capture the Nightmare King. As they took him, Pitch wavered between threats and pleas, tripping on his black cloak in his struggle to flee. It was Bunnymund who caught and wrestled Pitch to the ground, holding the weakened dark spirit as Sandy wove golden bounds out of thin air. North hefted Pitch under his arm as if he weighed no more than a bag of silk, roaring laughter. When Pitch began to snarl promises of retribution, Bunnymund stuffed a chocolate egg in his mouth. He went quietly after that, face a mask of fury and humiliation. Jack lagged behind the crowing procession. Only Baby Tooth stayed behind with him.
"It's nothing," he said to the tiny fairy, shooting her a quick grin. The little face scrunched with skepticism, her chirps sounding like scolding. He laughed. She had gone through too much with him to deserve lies, but the unnameable emotions in his chest were too new and raw. His humor bled away and for a single instant wished he was somewhere else, back in his lonely mountain forests, back when no one could see him. Baby Tooth chirruped again, her wings humming. Jack waved her away and made his slow trek after the others, frustrated he wasn't happier than he should be.
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The Guardians wasted no time in constructing a cage. They would keep Pitch in North's headquarters, deep in the bowels of the ice.
"No more mischief," North boomed. He patted Pitch's head and laughed when he ducked the touch with a muffled snarl. "We learn from last time, yes. No more leaving eyes from you!"
Sandy was in charge of most of the construction, weaving his golden sands into a room-sized prison cut into the ice. Whether by magic or design, the woven bars winked out of existence, leaving behind a room so white it reminded Jack of fresh-fallen snow. Or moonlight. It was a good twelve feet across and twelve feet wide, cut deep. There was nothing in it: no bed, no desk, no windows. It was a prison made of light. Without a single shadow to hide in, Pitch would stand out in sharp contrast. Visible. Tamed.
When Sandy deemed it ready with a flourished bow, Jack frowned. "Uh, guys? What about the bars?" he asked.
North shushed him. "You see. Watch. Our Sandy makes great home for our troublemaker."
They shoved Pitch in. Once he stumbled across the threshold his golden bindings melted away, leaving him free. Without wasting a second he tore the egg from his mouth and threw it across the room. He whirled around to face his captors, fury and the first tints of fear scrawled across his face.
"You think to keep me here?" Pitch said, voice high in indignation and something else, something like betrayal, or disbelief. He bared uneven teeth. "You mean to contain me, the Boogeyman?"
Pitch's animalistic snarl reminded Jack of a long-ago cornered wolf. The wolf had been worrying a farmer's flock of sheep, killing the springtime lambs. After weeks of hunting, it was finally caught in a steel trap. It had half-chewed its leg off by the time the hunters found it, and by then it was mad with desperation.
Something tightened in Jack's chest as he recognized the same look on Pitch's normally composed face. He shifted his weight, somewhat disturbed at Pitch's nearness. Without the bars, it was as if the dark spirit was standing there of his own volition.
"That's the main idea, yeah," Bunnymund said, gleam in his eye. He and the others twitched when Pitch threw himself at them, corrupted dreamsand spilling from his hands. The phantom blades shot straight for their hearts, faster than the eye could follow. Jack braced, prepared to save the others.
Except the attack never came. Jack watched, open-mouthed, as the sand fizzled like flies on an electric grid. As the last grain fell, the prison's strands dissolved back into invisibility. Pitch stood as if slapped, shock scrawled on his face. The shock morphed into rage. He tried again and again to break the barrier, but again it fzzt'd against the glowing bars and died away. Already weakened, the attacks soon stopped.
Pitch drew to his imposing height and snarled. "What sorcery is this?"
Sandy bowed. Pitch cast a sharp glance at the diminutive dream-caster, eyes narrowing into slits. If the Sandman was cowed, he made no show of it, meeting the Boogeyman's gaze with a cool one of his own. Tooth chuckled, but there was no humor in it. Like the other Guardians she had suffered at Pitch's hands, but having her fairies kidnapped, teeth-memories stolen, and nearly losing her kingdom had brought out a darker side Jack hadn't known. He'd been surprised when she'd punched Pitch with enough violence to break a tooth. Her wings hummed in the air besides him, fanning his white hair.
"We had help, of course," North said.
Pitch's mouth twitched as he gazed down his long nose. "Oh?" he said, voice soft. Jack sensed the threat and tensed, frost crinkling up the length of his staff.
"Man in Moon."
Pitch's face went slack. "What?"
The naked hurt was hard to look at. It was the same expression the fallen king had worn when he realized the children could no longer see him. Pitch took a step back, arm raising as if to ward off an attack. Jack wondered if he was aware he was doing it. North plowed on as if he didn't notice, though his voice had gentled. "He gave us secret of the magic bars, to keep you contained."
Bunnymund wasn't as tactful. His smugness oozed he said, "You ain't leaving this place any time soon, mate. Trust us."
The bright white light had sapped away most of Pitch's complexion, making him appear corpselike. His eyes shone like greasy coins, reflective and mad. Jack couldn't help but wonder if they had made a colossal mistake in capturing Pitch and bringing him here. Some creatures were broken under pain and torment. Others were forged by it. As Jack stared at the cornered visage of their prisoner, he had the sinking feeling Pitch was the latter.
"Leave me, all of you leave me alone. You've had your fun," the Nightmare King said, spitting the last word with a vehemence so malicious none of the Guardians had the heart to refuse. One by one the Guardians filed out of the room, the room Jack knew would haunt him for nights to come. He gave into the impulse to look over his shoulder. Pitch had moved into a corner, back to them, a black stain in the brightness.
"Best not bother him," North said when they were out of hearing range. Jack was glad to leave that room. The urge for wide open spaces was making his fingers twitch. The mountains, he thought.
Bunnymund snorted. "Why not? He has it good. He's surrounded by people who can see him."
The great bear of a man stopped in mid-stride, causing Tooth to collide into his back with an oomph! North turned around, his normally jolly countenance drawn with uncharacteristic solemnity.
"We are Guardians, not tormentors," he said. "As tempting as it is, I want you all promise not to antagonize him."
There was a silence save for Tooth's wingbeats. Jack couldn't help but think, You are already. In a rare moment of prudence, he decided to hold his tongue, just as he had done with Baby Tooth. One of Bunnymund's ears rotated. Keeping his face still, the giant rabbit said in perfect seriousness, "I didn't realize you knew such a big word."
North's expression darkened, dismissing the attempt at levity. "Promise."
Sandy was the first to pledge. With a gravity only a short orange mute could project, he made an X over his heart. The others were quick to fall in line.
"Fine," Tooth said, flipping a hand in the air, sniffing. "But that doesn't mean I don't like it. If I had my way, every single one of his disgusting teeth would've been ripped out! By the root."
Jack whistled. "Remind me not to get on your bad side." As an inside joke, only Sandy would've gotten it, but he was too busy exchanging gazes with North to pay Jack any attention.
Bunnymund shrugged. "No fur off my back. As long as he doesn't poke his nose in my Easter, I don't care if he rots in there."
"I won't," Jack said, promising the words with every good intention.
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The strange disquiet didn't leave Jack despite the flight to the mountains. He considered visiting Jamie, but in the end decided against it. After such an intense bout of emotions and people, Jack hurried towards solitude. It still felt strange for others to see him, like it was all one big dream, too sweet to be real. The cold wind whistled in his ears as he flew at breakneck speed in the sky, pulling loop-de-loops and skimming clouds as if he weighed no more than a breath.
It was sunset, the world ablaze with the setting sun. Once Jack thought he saw a shade that match the colour of Pitch's irises. He physically shook his head to banish the thought. Gotta take my mind of this, he thought. Keep it together, Jack. But he couldn't. He was a creature of fun, a product of playful mischievousness and kindness of character. Doing harm to others wasn't in his nature, especially this type. Left to him, he would've allowed the weakened Pitch to escape, even if it meant a confrontation later on. But imprisonment, isolation . . . had the Man in the Moon truly helped the Guardians constrain the Nightmare King?
Jack shuddered under the implications. The psychological destruction of Pitch's goodness came from the very thing the Guardians and the Moon were inflicting on him. Three hundred years of isolation could've warped Jack the same way it had twisted the Nightmare King. The memory of Antarctica rose to the surface like a bad rash. Pitch's words I know how it feels not to be believed in. To long for a family came unbidden.
By the time Jack reached his favorite mountain, he was drained and restless. Night had fallen. There was no moon tonight, for which Jack was supremely grateful. He wasn't sure how well he could've coped standing in the Man of the Moon's light. The stars themselves case enough light for him to see. Turning a tree into an ice sculpture did nothing to alleviate the sense of confusion he had around Pitch's imprisonment. He toyed with the idea of bringing on a good old fashion blizzard, but he was a Guardian now. Guardians weren't supposed to unleash havoc such as that. They had responsibilities.
Jack leapt from tree to tree, lost in thought, until he caught sight of flash of movement. The winter spirit paused, hovering between jumps, regarding the lupine shape beneath him. It was a fox. Though it couldn't see him, it could sense the change in the air, could feel the bite of cold on its nose and ears. Jack looked around but saw no other paw marks. It was alone. Despite its solitude it was large and healthy, belly rounded as if it had recently eaten. It paused, breath fogging in the air and covering its snout with frost, before slipping away on silent paws. Jack watched it go, a familiar pang lancing his chest.
A squeaky chirp tore him out of his brooding faster than Pitch materializing in front of him. He patted himself down until he felt the shivering bundle in the pocket of his hoodie. He withdrew the tiny brightly-coloured fairy. She chirruped when she saw him, beaming between shivers.
"Baby Tooth? What are you doing here?" he asked. He watched as she flew out of his hand. His first instinct was Tooth sent her to spy on me, but then he realized he was being ridiculous. Baby Tooth was his friend. His expression softened. "Was everything too much for you too?"
The tiny fairy nodded. Jack sighed, some of the unease melting away under the warmth of another creature's empathy. He winced at her tremors. "Sorry about that," he said. "Gonna have to start packing a little blanket for you the next time we go on an adventure."
Baby Tooth chirruped again, content. Jack smiled, but it wasn't an entirely happy one. "Sometimes I know I'm supposed to be a Guardian," he said softly, as if to himself, "but other times, I feel like I'm the farthest thing from one. Get it?"
But the little fairy was quiet, hovering in the darkness and rising chill of the night, and Jack knew she didn't understand. The discontent returned with full force. There was only one other creature who knew him, who would comprehend, and he was locked away in a cage of bones.
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Jack had meant to keep his word, truly did, but the winter spirit had spent too many centuries on his own. The thrall of independence still pulsed in his veins like a heartbeat, too strong to ignore. He went to the white room again, when all was quiet. On silent feet he padded down the hallway until he peeked his head around the corner. With a strange sort of dismay he realized the cage was still dizzyingly bright, as if day or night didn't matter.
He found the Nightmare King pacing back and forth, and Jack was reminded of animals he'd seen in zoos padding the length of their cage. Jack couldn't help but watch, unnoticed. As always the dark spirit moved with a grace Jack had no hope of matching, every movement sinuous and precise. Jack dared not use the word beautiful, not even in the safety of his own mind, but there was something alluring to Pitch, an attraction none of the other Guardians possessed. Dangerous would've been a better word, but dangerous and beautiful were interwoven too tightly to untangle.
Pitch stilled when he perceived the winter spirit. Since his initial capture the fallen king appeared to have regained his composure. He drew himself up to his impressive height, expression of cool indifference spearing Jack in place. Jack again found himself wishing for the cold certainty of the golden bars. He knew they were there, hidden, but it wasn't enough, not when Pitch appeared he could step out at any moment. Jack had left his staff behind to appear non-threatening, but now he regretted it. The lean creature before him oozed a sinister danger he could not attempt even if he tried for a thousand years. As if sensing Jack's trepidation, Pitch strolled closer, jagged teeth glittering as he smiled.
"Ah, Jack Frost the Guardian, coming here to grace me with his presence."
Jack hid a flinch. The title guardian still fit oddly around his shoulders, as if it were a shirt three sizes too big. In Pitch's mouth it sounded like an insult, needled and aimed to hurt. Jack didn't rise to the bait. Since the flight to the mountain, much of his anger had turned to weariness. Weariness over the same fight, the odd mourning of what Pitch could've been had circumstances been different. As the silence wore on Pitch resumed his pacing, keeping his head turned towards smaller spirit. His footfalls made no sound against the white floor, as he was gliding on air. Jack found himself unable to look away, mesmerized. If he jumped he could've touched Pitch's slender arm. He hadn't been this close to the Boogeyman since Antarctica. He has no scent, Jack realized.
The Guardian's silence seemed to irritate Pitch. When he spoke again his voice was accusing. "Come to watch from high, have you? It isn't enough no one can see me, that my exile has to be lowered to this. I have to be locked in a cage before you can come gloat."
Jack frowned. "That's not why I came."
Pitch stopped pacing and spread his hands out, as if to encompass the whole of the room. It looked like he was taking a perverted bow. "I have all the time in the world. Do go on."
The winter spirit shifted his weight. He hadn't thought that far ahead. Everything was awhirl in his brain, all of which seemed to scatter under the heaviness of Pitch's singular, predatory focus. He longed for the comfort of his staff. As the silence continued Pitch drew back, a dark look crossing the planes of his features.
"And you used to be so chatty, Frost. Don't toy with me. You do have a purpose for coming to see me, right? Or have you come to torture me further? Yes, why else but to torture?"
"No!" Jack hadn't realized he'd stepped right up to the edge of the prison until Pitch was looming over him. In move almost too fast to follow Pitch leaned down so he and Jack were nose-to-nose. The Guardian was about to stumble back, mouth dropping in surprise, when Pitch began sniffing the air as a dog would do.
The hell? Jack thought. He was close, closer than he'd ever been, close enough to see Pitch's skin had no pores, close enough to see the fractal spirals in the metallic irises. The thinnest breath of air separated them. They were close enough to kiss. Jack leapt back. Pitch's dark chuckles followed him. The Boogeyman straightened and smiled down at the winter spirit. The smile seemed too wide for Pitch's face, as if the skin was drawn too tight. Suddenly Jack became aware everything about Pitch seemed too tight, too compressed, as if he was a spring coiled beyond the limits of his capabilities.
"Gone away, have we? Back to your precious mountains?" Pitch said. There was viciousness in his grin, but there was something else, something too buried for Jack to see. It was gone before he could make it out. "Why am I not surprised."
Jack shrugged, trying to regain his cool. "Do you blame me? Catching you was tiring work."
Pitch's mouth thinned. "Don't insult my intelligence." Some dark sand spilled out of his fingertips, but both knew it was harmless. "We both know you're not like the others. You're about as much of a Guardian than I am."
"I'm not like you," Jack said, but as he did he could taste the lie on his tongue. Some of his discomfort must've shown on his face because Pitch honed in like a shark scenting blood.
In a voice that seemed genuinely curious, Pitch asked: "Tell me, what did you feel when you learned the Man in the Moon helped the Guardians keep me prisoner?"
Jack regarded the lean creature before, this dark spirit he saw so much of himself in. He frowned again, recalling the lonely mountainside and the terrible idea that the Moon had a hand in Pitch's molding. I could've turned out like him, Jack thought. After centuries of isolation, who wouldn't? His love of fun and mischief had kept him from turning bitter and warped, but what had Pitch had? The tension in his frame bled away and he stood in front of the Nightmare King.
"It was wrong what they did to you," Jack said. Pitch stilled. "The imprisonment, I mean." He waved a hand, as if to include the room. "You've had too much of this, I think."
For once Pitch was silent, staring at the boy with a blankness more threatening than any passion. Like a bad joke the memory of Antarctica resurfaced. The urge to ask became too great. Jack tried to control the earnestness in his voice, attempting the gruffness Bunnymund projected so well.
"Was anything you said true? Back there. The part about wanting a family. Knowing what it's like."
Pitch's expression smoothed and softened. He clucked. "Still disbelieving, Jack? After everything we've shared together, you still doubt? You understand what it means to be alone, friendless, forever on the outside looking it. So do I. That's what makes us two sides of the same coin. That's why you can never truly be a Guardian."
The Nightmare King suddenly shuffled and crouched at the very edge of his prison, and Jack found himself in the uncomfortable position of looking down at the wan, upturned face. The eyes were shining coins, wide and fervent. "One day they'll do to you what they've done to me, and when that happens you'll have no one to turn to, no one to trust. It doesn't have to be this way. I can help you. Save me, and I'll make sure nothing bad happens to us. We could be great, you know. What do you say?"
Jack was quiet, motionless. Some deep instinct told him if he freed the Nightmare King, Pitch would do everything he said. No double-crossing, no snatching the staff, no breaking it in two. The Boogeyman's illusions were strongest when there was truth to them, and Jack sensed only genuine, if twisted, earnestness. He meant every word, he thought. He thought of the jagged ice sculpture, remembering thinking how beautiful and treacherous it was. But the winter spirit knew the costs. If he went with Pitch he would be giving his staff over for nothing to show for it but a world of black ice. Children would come to fear him, a fate almost worse than isolation.
He came to the conclusion slowly, regarding the sad creature before him, a creature that had once been good before bitterness and silent moonlight transformed him into what he was now. Jack understood. What Pitch stood for once ran in Jack's heart, back when the anger and despair of his existence felt too great to bear. He shook his head slowly, never looking away, as if to ease the bite of his imminent rejection.
"I'm sorry, Pitch. I can't. Not like this."
The hope, so clear and heartbreaking on Pitch's face, collapsed. Jack tried to school his expression, but it was too late. The Nightmare King recognized the pity in Jack's eyes and disintegrated into fury. With a roar Pitch slammed a fist straight at Jack's face, remembering too late the bars. A loud golden flash and an electric stench of ozone later found Jack on the ground, nose and lips tingling. Pitch was hopping up and down, howling, his hand cradled to his chest as if it'd been cut off. Jack must have made a sound because Pitch whirled on him, deranged snarl filling the air.
"Out, out!" Amidst the pain the rage was terrible in the Boogeyman's voice, but it sounded as if he was wailing, too. "Get out!"
Jack leapt to his feet and fled.
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A month passed since the fateful visit. With the threat of Pitch and his Nightmares contained, there was no more reason for the Guardians to remain at the Pole. Each dispersed in their own manner, Bunnymund laughing when North offered to 'drive' him home. At first Jack had been skittish and suspicious, eying the other Guardians to see if they knew he'd gone to Pitch. But as days went by and not a word was said, the winter spirit relaxed. He visited Jamie and his friends whenever he could, a warmth exploding in his chest whenever he heard the cries "Jack Frost! It's Jack Frost!" He relished every moment, drinking in every smile and laugh his antics caused.
It had been easy at first to submerse himself in the joy, as time went on, the more he thought about Pitch. He wanted to forget the Nightmare King, but for some reason he clung to Jack like an annoying tick. The thought That could've been me in that cage plagued him. But he wasn't in that cage. He was a Guardian. Children like Jamie could finally see him. He now had a family. Joy was now in his heart.
It was a full moon that night, the night world blanketed in a coat of silver. The whole town of Burgess was asleep, some of the Sandman's golden sand wisping through the air. Jack stood atop Jamie's roof, appearing very much like the protector he was supposed to be. Back and forth he paced, once and a while casting a pensive glance at the Man in the Moon. The moon seemed bigger for some reason, bloated, and Jack couldn't take it anymore.
He rounded on it and shouted, "You happy now?"
There was no answer, but after centuries of silence, Jack wasn't expecting one. He made a sound of disgust and turned around. He was about to fly off the roof, prepared to get out of the moonlight, when a whisper stopped him. Later, when everything had passed, he would look back to that moment and know he had sensed a presence next to him. Jack whirled, staff raised, but froze at the glimmering blue projection in front of him. It was corporeal enough to appear solid. It floated on nothing. Jack's eyes went round with wonder as he recognized the drifting shape. It was his staff. The winter spirit took a hesitant step forward, hand stretched out.
"Whoa!" Jack recoiled with surprise as the shimmering weapon superimposed on his own, melting into the wood like silk. It glowed blue for a heartbeat before dulling. Jack stared at his staff as if it had grown three heads. After a moment he brought it to his face, inspecting it, but he could see nothing different. He cast a suspicious eye at the Moon. Perhaps it was his overreactive imagination, but it seemed pleased with itself.
Jack frowned, trying to understand what was going on, when an image came his head. He saw himself in front of Pitch's prison, extending the hook of his staff to the bars. As sudden as the vision came it disappeared, leaving Jack blinking and wondering what the hell just happened. He looked at his staff, at the Moon, then back at his staff. His forehead wrinkled at he glanced back at the shining globe.
"You serious?"
The Man in the Moon said nothing, shining.
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It would seem suspicious for him to randomly visit North, so Jack decided on stealth. He waited till nightfall before slipping through North's skylight, landing on silent feet and using the shadows to skirt around the Yetis. North was nowhere to be found, for which Jack was glad. He still thought this was a crazy idea, an idea that would put him in a heap of trouble with the other Guardians once they found out. But how could something like this feel so right? And why would the normally communication-constipated Moon suddenly show him how to free Pitch and not except Jack to do it? Jack's footfalls pattered on the plush carpets as he made his way to the lower levels. He ducked twice to avoid grunting Yetis and once for a gaggle of elves, but for the rest of the way he was unnoticed. The staff in his hand crinkled with frost the deeper he went.
Pitch was leaning against a wall, arms folded across his narrow chest. He stiffened and righted himself the moment he noticed Jack. His gaze flicked once to the staff before resting on the Guardian, glowering.
Jack couldn't resist. "How's the hand?"
The Boogeyman stared down his long nose in a stony silence. It didn't matter. Jack was too restless and jittery to care. He'd never attempted a jailbreak before, and the sense of forbidden was exhilarating. The thoughts of the other Guardians were far away. All what mattered was this.
"Don't say anything, just listen," Jack said. Something like irritated bemusement crossed Pitch's face, but continued his sullen silence. Jack pressed on. "I don't want anything from you, nor will I ever, so you can stop with the offers. I'm going to free you now, but not because of anything you did or said." More to himself, he muttered, "If this is even going to work."
Pitch was a stone for all he showed, eyes tracking Jack's movement as he walked to the edge of the prison. The winter spirit took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. Just as he had done in the vision, Jack extended the shepherd's hook towards the invisible bars, bracing for sparks, golden explosions, pain, anything. When the tip of the staff touched the threshold a ripple of blue expanded across the surface like fire, the golden strands snapping and popping. Then there was nothing. Pitch was staring hard at him now.
Jack pushed his staff at the bars again, but this time it whistled through empty air. The silence was deafening. The Guardian moved aside and waited. Moving with the suspicion of a wild animal, Pitch walked his way across the prison, slowing as he neared the edge. He winced, bracing himself for the moment he crossed the threshold, clearly remembering what happened the last time he touched it. Then he was over. Pitch snapped his head up, eyes wide. They stared at each for all of five seconds.
Then Pitch was bolting, tearing down the hallways as if hell was chomping at his heels. Jack pounded after him, leaping to keep up, forever one step behind the shadow. Pitch burst into North's globe room, causing Yetis to go into an uproar. Several tried to grab him but the Nightmare King was a lick of quicksilver, evading every swipe and snatch with a grace that took Jack's breath away. Leaping onto the giant globe glowing with children everywhere, Pitch scaled the wall and slithered out through the skylight.
Jack followed him. He stopped at the windowsill, still breathing hard from the chase. Pitch was there on the roof, half in shadow and half brazened in moonlight. He stilled when he noticed Jack. Something inscrutable flitted across Pitch's face as he melted into the darkness, leaving Jack to wonder if he'd seen anything in the first place.
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-fin-