Breathing in the Snowflakes
A loud thudding noise was ringing in Jack Frost's tired ears. It was muffled, but the pounding in the back of his skull was clear enough. It hurt… Who was at his door at this hour…? Wait… Jack had no idea what time it was.
Sitting up, he glanced with shivering arms at his digital clock. It was two thirty seven… In the afternoon… How long had he been out…?
Grumbling and shoving a few bags under his blankets just to be safe, Jack got to his shaky feet and stumbled to the door of his apartment that he could barely afford.
Shivering in spite of the warm air, he pulled the door back and was greeted by a blinding bright light and a silhouette that looked black at first glance. Shielding his red, puffy eyes, Jack smiled weakly at a familiar face.
"Tia!" he greeted with a smile. His taller, female friend smiled right back before giving him a quick hug.
The green haired girl then pouted at Jack and asked, "Jackson, Frost, do you have any idea how many times I tried to call you?" With her fists on her hips, she imposed a scary image to many, but Jack only smiled.
Chuckling breathlessly, Jack said, "Oh, yeah… I think I slept through the phone…"
"And obviously your alarm too!" she chastised. Jack only smiled again. Frowning, she snapped, "You're lucky I bother to wake you for work. Hurry up and meet me back out here in three minutes."
Jack nodded numbly and went back to his room. He took one of his previously hidden bags and shoved it into his portfolio case. He quickly switched his clothes to a white t-shirt, a big, baggy blue sweater, and brown jeans. Even with the sweater, Jack felt like he was freezing. He grabbed a pair of gloves just in case- ignoring the obvious tears in the fabric. Tia wouldn't notice his crappy gloves… She never did.
Nobody ever noticed. All they ever saw was a sleepy boy just trying to pay his rent and make a living as a painter. Nobody ever saw anything besides that. And that was how he liked it. No prying eyes into matters they should stay out of.
He returned to his friend with his portfolio and his new clothes, and the two walked out to work. They had been assigned to painting a mural on a little girl's room for two weeks now. It was going fairly well- the only setback had been their third partner in the job. Sandy, they called him, had gotten sick and couldn't help with his specific part of the painting.
The little girl wanted a Peter Pan themed wall. So Jack had been working diligently on making the best pirate ship he possibly could- Tia had been doing the mermaids- Sandy had been making the children and the pixie dust; a major component.
The girl's name was Sophie, and she was going through treatments for leukemia. This was her special present from her mother and her brother, Jamie: one of Jack's oldest, personal friends. Jamie had been the one to tell him of Sophie's illness.
Squatting down near the big blue wall, Jack added the finishing touches to his beautiful pirate ship. It even had Captain Hook standing at the wheel. He was rather proud of himself.
Once they had all finished, they took a few pictures for their website and their company. (Their boss required it before any sort of payments.) They walked back to their studio, Jack tagging behind his friends, rubbing his chilly arms.
He slipped his gloves on and continued rubbing his arms. Sandy looked back at him at one point and asked, "Jack, you cold? It's like eighty degrees out, dude."
Smiling, Jack replied, "Yeah, I've just been getting over a little cold, that's all…" He replied, meekly pulling his hands to his pocket in the hopes that he could stay warm that way.
The three entered their boss' office, and he smiled at them. On his desk read the golden name, "Rimsky North". And by the side of his desk was his ever faithful accountant, Aster Bunnymund. An inseparable pair if Jack ever saw one.
North grinned. "Ah, good, you're back!" he greeted with his heavy Russian accent, "I have new job for you!" Tia offered him the photos, but he waved her away. "Yes, yes, I vill look at those later. But first, you have new client!"
Tia sighed in irritation ad set the photos on his desk. They all waited for him to tell them what they would have to do.
"Kozmotis Pitchiner Black, the curator of the morgue and funeral homes and museum of history," he added in all of his accomplishments so that they would feel honored. So far, Jack felt nothing but could and lonely. He wanted a hug desperately. He didn't know why. He just needed a hug. North continued, however, "Has asked for frescos on walls of funeral home! Wants it to be angels flying after death, or as close to as you can manage…" North waved his hand in a circle to illustrate that they had a little bit of leeway.
They all nodded at their new assignment and once North gave them an address, they headed out. Jack looked back hopefully at the two men in the room, but his sad look was ignored. Maybe he wanted someone to notice… Maybe he was tired of being the way he was… Maybe Jack wanted more than a hug…
Blowing into his hands, Jack followed his friends out in the sunlight and continued to shiver desperately. It was getting worse. His hands weren't steady. How could he paint like this?
They got to the funeral house, a large black cathedral styled building, and Tia quickly greeted a man standing near a podium. He smiled warmly at her, shook her hand, and introduced himself as Pitch Black, their client. Hadn't North said his name was Kozmotis…?
Rubbing his head, Jack grumbled about how he may have misheard. Pitch proceeded to show Tia the wall he wanted her to work on. He returned and introduced himself to Sandy with a smile, and then went to Jack to say hello as well.
Jack quickly slipped off his glove and shook the man's hand. Pitch blinked at him in surprise. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
Jack flinched- this went unnoticed by Sandy, who was walking toward his own wall. Swallowing, Jack asked with a nervous stutter, "W-what do y-you mean…?"
"Well, your eyes are red, were you crying?" he asked, reaching his hand forward a little, but not touching Jack. Jack was grateful for that.
Smiling as convincingly as he could, Jack said, "Oh, no, I'm just getting over a cold, that's all…" Pitch whispered a soft 'oh' and Jack asked sheepishly, "So... which wall do you want me to do…?"
The man with slick black hair led him to a tall, black wall in the far back of the funeral house. He motioned to it with a small smile and walked away, back to his podium. Jack watched him for a while, as if reassuring himself that he was really leaving, before setting his bag down and beginning to empty out his paints. He hadn't even started yet.
Picking up a brush, Jack's eyes widened in fear as it fell from his trembling hands with a clatter. Grabbing his forearms and rubbing fiercely, suddenly sweating in spite of the chill. Staggering to his feet, Jack pulled the bag from his room out and shoved it into his pocket.
He stumbled carefully over to Pitch Black and asked with a slur, "Wheresa bafroom?" Pitch blinked, noticing Jack's sudden change in behavior, but he pointed carefully to his left.
As Jack waddled away, Pitch asked, "Are you sure you'll be alright?"
Jack felt angry that he would ask. But then again… he was touched to hear someone ask… How long had it been since someone asked if he would be alright…?
He said he'd be fine, though, and pushed into the bathroom. He didn't even bother to get into a stall. He collapsed to the floor, fumbled with his pockets, and ripped out the bag. Emptying out an amount he had grown to know by heart of its powdery white contents into his palm, Jack smiled with relief. He lifted his palm to his face and inhaled the 'snowflakes' deeply- reveling in the immediate sensation it brought him.
Resting his head back, Jack allowed his eyes to flutter shut for a moment as his high returned to him and his sense of reality and pain died down. A soft gasp near him startled him out of his bliss.
Looking up, Jack swallowed with fear upon seeing his client, Pitch, standing there staring down at him. He looked horrified. Quickly shoving the bag back into his pocket, he stuttered to find an explanation. He felt like he was going to cry.
"Please, it's not what you think!" he whimpered, "P-please, don't tell the others…! Please don't call the c-cops..! I can't go back to rehab…! Not again..!"
Pitch blinked his big yellow eyes at Jack for a moment before kneeling and pulling the snowy blonde into a deep, warm hug. In spite of all his fears, Jack clung to him; the warmth… It was so foreign to him now. He loved being warm. He didn't want the cold to come back. He wanted to be warm.
But his drug-induced mind was more receptive than his withdrawn one. Jack quickly asked, "Y-you won't tell…?"
"No," Pitch replied, holding him tighter, causing Jack to wince in slight discomfort that would surely be a painful bruise once he was off this one… Pitch let go and held Jack's shoulders. He looked into the boy's blue eyes and said, "I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to…"
Jack smiled weakly, and falsely… He was… happy, wasn't he? Why didn't he feel happy…?
"Do you want to stay like this?" Pitch asked him gently. Jack blinked at him in shock. What? He whispered his thoughts aloud, and Pitch spoke again.
Gently running his fingers across Jack's forehead, Pitch asked, "Do you want to get better… or do you want to stay like this…?"
Suddenly tears blurred his vision. Swallowing, Jack whimpered, "Yes!" he threw his trembling, freezing arms around the older man's neck, "Yes, I want to get better…! I don't wanna have to do this anymore…!" Now he was sobbing into the black haired man's shoulder. "I don't wanna depend on it anymore…"
Pitch held the shaking boy close. Stroking the top of his head, he whispered, "Shh, I know, I know… It'll be alright… I'm here…" Jack looked up at him with watery eyes. He looked wary, curious, scared…
Smiling sweetly, Pitch whispered, "I'm here as long as you need me…"
Swallowing and choking on his sobs, Jack asked, "Y-yo-ou wou-old be wi-illing t-to d-d-deal w-with m-me-e…?"
"Of course," Pitch replied, cuddling him close, "It's what I needed when I went through it…" Holding him tight, Pitch whispered, "It's what will make the pain easier to bear… A shoulder whose had to bear it just the same as you…"
Jack swallowed again and sobbed freely into the warm shoulder, now wet with his tears. Shivering, and slowly slipping down so that his shaky fingers were barely clinging to the collar of his shirt, Jack felt a plea rise in his throat.
Stuttering and shivering, Jack whimpered, "Help me…"
"I will…" Pitch whispered back, rubbing the blue clad back, "I will…"
Well…. That was my newest idea for Jack… And Pitch a little bit…
Inspired by the song "The A Team"…
This may or may not be a one-shot. I could continue it and have Jack get through the addiction… Let me know what you'd prefer, I guess…