hi guys so a while ago when i was on Google images on my iPod i came across this comic called in another time, and the story line really caught my eye. so i save the entire comic on there, however this was a time before i had tumblr and read fancition or even wrote. so i finally started writing this story even though i should really be writing my other fanfiction, but i've got too many ideas in my head to wait to write this. so if you know the comic or the creator of this then it would be nice to tell me. it a great comic and if you find it read it. this is only my second fanfic so sorry if its not up to standers. ratings may change.
hope you enjoy reading. please review, and you can criticize but in a helpful way.
thanks Arahs 13 =)
disclaimer i don't own rotg if i did i would make a sequel.
In another time
Pitch fell back against his throne, his hands shaking, grasping at the sides for support. It seemed that even after everything, everything that pitch had ever suffered, everything he had ever endured, fate was still not done pushing him around. Why? Why only now was he seeing this, seeing that brat, that traitor, that heart aching image of the boy. The one called frost.
No
He wasn't just frost; he was never just 'frost'
He was Jack Frost
Jackson overland frost
Jack
His jack
No... No
Not his jack, not anymore, never.
He had to rid his mind of these memorises, of the images plaguing him. Pitch would have taken anything, anything to distract himself from this clenching in his chest, the dull ever present ache. He would trade anything to be rid of these images, of jack.
No matter how hard he tried though the images would never shake, the distant thud, and ache never left.
The ache was becoming more and more persistent, increasing in intensity until it was a throbbing pain within his chest, spreading with the dull beat of his heart. Slowly removing his hand from his iron grip on the arm of the throne, pitch slid down until he touches the floor. It was like he had been reduced to some petty child that would coward in fear, hide anyway in hopes that whatever it was that was scaring them would just disappear. Pitch knew that to attempt to run from the fears was useless, and yet even though he knew it was futile he still did exactly that.
The sounds though they would not leave, nothing seemed to block them out, not even when he shield his ears from it, his hands curling in to his head in an almost painful fashion and still the sound wouldn't leave only increasing in volume as it went on.
Laughter, happiness, squeals and the pure bliss.
The rumbles and the roars, whisperings and the mocking, the screams silent and loud, the wails and the hissing
His tears, hers.
And the silences.
The cold, dark silence.
It just wanted it to go away, he just wanted his memorise to stay hidden to stay locked away and buried deep away from his reach in the confines of his mind.
This was so much worse that anything he had every endured. The whisperings of the fearlings, the slow retreat of his sanity, its thread snapping. Nothing, nothing was compared to this, the metal torture he was going through, and it was all his own doing.
Pitch knew the nightmares were watching, surrounding him. Gods, even their torture was better than this, so much better that this self loathing, the now agonising squeeze in his chest as he was flooded with memorises. His heart was hammering in his head, beating and hammering just like war drums. Oh how he now enjoyed the months of soul wrenching torture at the hands of his nightmare, and even his self induces coma to this.
He had spend thousands of years building up a wall. Anything to stop the steadily stream of memorises. But it seemed that all he had done was pent them all up until it overflowed and cause a catastrophic flood, a never ending one.
That face, that beautiful angelic face was imprinted in his mind. On the back of his eyelids. He could remember so clearly running his hand through those soft moonlight locks, the sweet caress of his skin upon his. The way he would embrace him, or how his arms would wrap around the smaller frame as if the boy had been sculpted to fit right there; In his arms.
It had been the first time in so many years that pitch had been able to embrace another like that, to open his heart for them and to love them wholly with his entire being. It was the time he was able to share his most precious possession with another, to be able to trust the completely with it.
It had been him the little cheek that had gotten him to open his war hardened heart yet again like it had been nothing, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was so easy to allow another one in. But pitch knew it wasn't that easy, not since the passing of his beloved wife, and yet the boy was still able to make him.
Pitch could still remember vividly the day that he had let the boy in; let him see the true him. And he remembered being greeted with that beautiful smirk that he always wore.
Why?
Why did it hurt so much?
Why did the boy have to exist?
Why was it the only time he could see his beloved frost again was when he no longer cared?
Pitch had looked solely into his eyes, into those icy blue eyes, and searched, searched for anything to indicate that he remembered him. So that he wasn't forgotten to at least one thing in this world.
But as those icy blue wells looked back, pitch knew that all hope he had held was shattered. There was nothing, nothing at all. No recognition, no fondness, not even anger. Just nothing. And pitch wasn't sure what had made that terrible sound, but it was sure it was the remainders of his black rotten heart slipping and tearing, shattering in to thousands of tiny pieces as if it was ice. And how ironic had that been.
He couldn't believe that this barely nothing boy could be reducing him to nothing. The frost boy held no memory of him and yet he was unstitching him from the seams. a never ending cycle of ripping and prodding at what was left of him with only a gaze.
In that moment that jack had denied his offer, pitch knew that he was done for. His resolve slipped and his walls came crumbling down around him. Naturally he would of been more composed, more persistent in his antics. He wouldn't of excepted a no for an answer and would of continued probing until he gathered an answer he seeked. But something had snapped at those words, and when he stared in to those harden eyes he became blinded by his emotions long forgotten. Rage had been the most prominent.
He had let his rage out on the boy, even if it was only a fraction of the true rage he was feeling at that moment of time. He had let the rage from centuries pass spill out through the rapidly increasing cracks of his memory, and only succeeded in pushing jack further away.
His jack.
He had pushed his jack away, just like jack himself had also done to pitch in Antarctica, and left him in the cold and dark just like he had done all those lifetimes ago. He had left his jack all alone in the darkness that had became his home, left him in a darkness that they used to fight side by side.
But he wasn't his jack.
He was what was left of his jack: Manny's personal joke for him.
His jack was long gone, amongst a sea of the fallen dead of his past. Buried in a time no longer alive, just like him. This jack had no longer his jack only a faint echo of what he had been, but twisted and shaped anew in a new body amongst a new world. Alone.
Always alone. Jack had died alone, and lived alone for 300 hundred years. Loneliness was something akin to both of them, pitch even more so that jack.
It was ironic really that even thought jack had never believed in reincarnation and all the suppositions and beliefs, he had still came back and was hit square in the face by it. That would of taught him a lessons or two.
No, stop, just stop.
Pitch clutched a hand to his head in an iron grip. He had to stop thinking, thoughts where dangerous and they where currently torturing him to the point of near insanity.
This was Manny's whole plan. He was probably sitting there on his ship disappointed that he did not have a view of his break down, the bastard. he should be rolling around in his own personally grave, which pitch would have no problem or regret digging himself, not sitting with front row seats even without the view.
Pitch groaned allowing his hand to drop upon his outstretched leg. He looked down at his grey hand, feeling a phantom caress long forgotten to him. He knew he was over acting on the matter of jack. And even if he despised Manny, pitch knew his thought were irrational and untrue. Tsar was not that type of person, for whatever reason he had prolonged jack existence it hadn't been to get back at pitch for all the horrible acts he had committed throughout his life. And pitch knew that, but it still hadn't stopped the irrational thoughts. In truth it was what made both him and Manny completely different. Manny would never use another life as a pawn. Besides Manny had no control over the reincarnation process, the only part he had a play in was allowing jack a new life, and re-giving one that was taken so long ago way before its time.
Perhaps it had been an apology, and most likely on behalf of Manny's long dead people for not being able to protect a life so innocent and pure in a world that had needed its joy. Though Manny had not been alive at the time of jacks life, his parents most likely told him of stories about the golden warriors who had fought of the hoards of fearlings, and had told Manny of stories about specific people who had been most honorable and brave amongst their time. Jack had after all been one of those soldiers like pitch himself.
Manny had not made jack immortal to then leave him alone to wander. No he had returned the life that jack had left, giving him what he was meant to of had and more. He had left jack alone for those years to allow him to be free and explore the world that was his home, Manny must have hoped that jack would remember something that no one, not even Toothiana herself, could remember for him. Tsar had left jack alone to allow his un-tameable spirit roam and find its own course of life.
Pitch gave a little smirk at that.
Perhaps Manny had hoped jack would return and find what had been lost too quickly, hoped that jack would return to pitch'es side. A way of sating him and his desires to take over light itself.
Pitch breathed out a chuckle at that, he had really been foolish. Even if he had conquered the guardians light would not have been exterminated. There was a balance to the scale and there was always an order. Light and dark could co-exist but one could not over rule another. It was almost like a ying and yang symbol.
Just like himself and jack.
It had always been that way; a long time ago it had been their personalities, now it had been that and their factions as well.
Pitch had not been wrong when he had told jack that cold and dark went together, though at the time his mission had been to get jack to join him he hadn't lied, and he never would. Jack complimented pitch just like the cold did the dark. He just wished they had met on different terms this time around.
After all he did remember how they first met, on that glorious ship of his within the Cosmo of the galaxies amongst the stars they both once called home.