This is a spin-off of Meercatwhisperer112's story 'The lives of immortals'. I would highly suggest reading chapters 10, 11, and 13-15. Otherwise this isn't going to make much sense. Also I recommend reading Meercatwhisperer112 in general, because their stuff is amazing.
I do not own the movie or Lives of immortals. Enjoy and drop me a review.
He'd been over half a world away when Jack was discovered. The utter terror that screamed from the boy's mind all but knocked him off his feet. The fear was everything he'd imagined it would be; sweet and cold, heady enough to make his head spin. It also sent the Boogeyman flying toward the source in a state of fear and concern that he didn't fully understand. Pitch stood in the shadows, watching in conflicted pity as the spirit of Karma loomed over the trembling frost child, unwilling to step forward to help and unable to leave and forget the boy. He finally turned to leave when Karma's first blow to Jack's face knocked the child to his knees. He would inform the demented spirits involved in the game of Jack's location, and let them clean up the consequences of their 'fun'.
-Line Break – Line Break – Line Break-
The nagging feel of concern and pity that drew Pitch to Jack's terror had him following the gaggle of spirits who made their way to the boy's hiding cave. Lily's shriek had him charging into the shadows inside the cave. He suddenly felt quite sick. The child lay in a heap of mangled limbs, a growing pool of blood circling his body. Karma stood over him, bloodied knife in hand and a sick grin spreading over her face as she declared herself the winner. Lily Breeze dismissed the other spirits as she made her way over to Jack's shaking form.
"I'm so sorry, this…..wasn't supposed to happen," the delicate looking girl whispered, looking very close to tears as she pushed Jack's staff into his hand. As she stood to leave, Jack bloodied hand clamped over her wrist.
"Lily," he started, cut off by a horse cough, his voice raw from screaming, "please….I need help." The child's voice trembled from sobs barely contained. "I need help, please."
The spring spirit stared down at him for a moment before pulling her arm free. "Feel better," she muttered in a pathetic apology before leaving the broken boy sobbing on the floor. Pitch watched her fly away in utter disgust; the little harpy was the entire reason the child was in the condition, and she didn't have the decency to help him?! She even had the audacity to cry over him before leaving her fellow seasonal bleeding and begging on the floor.
Pitch turned his golden gaze to the weeping winter spirit. Jack lay curled in as tight of a ball as his broken limbs would allow, the worst of his wound frosting over to staunch the bleeding. He whimpered and sobbed, looking small and vulnerable and so very young. The shadowed spirit lingered in the in the dark, thinking hard on a course of action; Jack was hurt badly and needed medical attention. He could go to one of the moron Guardians. Jack was a child; they wouldn't ignore him in this condition. All he had to do was create some form of threatening display and get them to chase him back to the boy. Better yet he could remove anything on their part and drop the boy on one of their doorsteps. The rabbit or the bandit would be fully capable of providing the care Jack needed… why did he care?!
Why did he care if the child spirit bled to death, if his arms and legs were destroyed? Why did he care what happened to him? Was the boy a pitiful sight? Yes, the pity he felt toward the child wasn't overly surprising. But the rage, the need to do something to help the boy, that he couldn't understand. It wasn't his problem; if no one else cared about the boy, then why should he?
"Daddy." The whispered sob drew him out of his musings and back to the winter boy. His eyes were clouded over in shock and the beginnings of a fever. Jack didn't seem to realize where he was or what he was saying. "Daddy," he sobbed again, sending a jolt through Pitch's body. The need to help – hold, comfort – rose from the deepest parts of his mind. "It hurts, daddy help me. It hurts, daddy."
Pitch rushed from the shadows to the boy's side. Jack was too far gone to register his presence as the Boogeyman lifted the boy into his arms. He curled into his Pitch's arms, sobbing for a parent long dead. Relying on the Guardians to help was out of the question; Jack needed help now and those buffoons had proven themselves useless in protecting the boy. He would laugh at the irony later. Right now he needed to get Jack back to his lair to treat the child's fever.
He hefted Jack higher into his arms and slipped back into the shadows. Jack's cries filled the lair, the calls for his father bouncing off the walls in an eerie way. The made the older spirit's chest ache and he tried to soothe the boy placed him on the bed.
'What am I doing?' He wondered as he ran his long fingers through silky hair, offering comfort while he felt the child's temperature. It was still cold to the touch but considerably warmer than a winter spirit's ideal temperature. He went to gather the appropriate medical supplies while sending his newly experimented Nightmares to gather snow. What was he doing? Whimpering brought him back over to the bed in a heartbeat, offering hushed words of comfort and soothing contact. Instincts he thought long dead controlled his every action and thought.
He had no idea why he was helping the child. Logically, it wasn't his problem. But no one else was going to help the child, and leaving him bleeding on the floor of the cave was not an option. So the responsibility of taking care of Jack Frost fell on Pitch Black.