Jack's life was getting better and better. Kids were starting to believe in him. The Guardians were all getting along pretty well. Pitch was finally leaving him alone, it seemed. But for some reason, there was tension in the air. He felt like he was being watched. Maybe it's just that more kids are believing in me, he thought. They must be the ones making me feel watched. I'm just not used to the attention.
He tried to make himself believe that, but he just couldn't. There was a difference between having the attention of joyful children, eager to play in the snow, and this. It almost felt as if someone was stalking him, watching as he would do his daily work of frosting the windows and laying down blankets of snow onto hillsides and lawns.
He didn't want to mention it to the other guardians, though. He was sure they would laugh in his face.
So he just kept to himself and pretended he didn't notice it.
It wasn't until the clouds had turned black and he was practically slapped out of the sky until he realized he'd made a horrible mistake. He attempted to stand up, but for some reason he was weak. So weak he could barely sit up. He was in the middle of a snow-blanketed forest that would've been beautiful if it weren't for the darkness that soaked into everything, like black ink.
It was coming in tendrils of smoke, forming a barrier around him and keeping him frozen in fear. My staff, he thought frantically. Where is it?
He looked around. Damn it. It was about forty feet away, caught in a tall cedar tree about twenty feet up. There was no way he would have time to get it, even if he was able to get up. He knew only one person was responsible for this.
"P-Pitch?" he asked weakly.
Practically on cue, a dark figure emerged from behind a tree, yellow eyes glowing.
"Hello, Jack," he said, every word laced with hate.
Jack attempted to get up, only to be smacked down with his own staff.
"What the hell do you want from me?" he asked.
"You'll see," he said evilly.
Then Pitch rammed the butt of Jack's staff into his head, and he blacked out.
When he awoke, he was in what looked like one of the cells in Pitch's palace. Why was he doing this? What did he want from him?
A few hours later a door opened down the narrow hallway. Pitch approached him.
"Well, it looks like the sleeping beauty is awake," he mocked.
"What the hell do you want?" asked Frost. "I haven't bothered you in a while, and now this?"
"Oh, Jack, it isn't as simple as that," said Pitch. "I've been planning this for months."
"Planning what, exactly?" he was almost afraid to know the answer.
"You'll see. Every time I've come anywhere near you, you embarrass me. Shun me for what I'm only forced to do. I want you to feel the same way I feel. Crushed. Broken," he explained. "I'm going to break your body and spirit, until nothing is left. And then the Guardians won't think so little of me."
"You can crush by body until every bone is broken, but you'll never break my spirit," said Jack, as if it was a challenge.
"We'll see about that, Frost," he said tauntingly.
After that he had left for a long while, leaving Jack more confused, frustrated, and terrified than he had ever been in the 300 years of his life.
"You know, I can smell your fear," he said abruptly, almost making him jump out of his skin. He let out an evil laugh that sent chills down Jack's spine as he unlocked the cell.
"Say, Frost," he began. "Have you ever heard of the concept of torture?"
Jack was doing everything he could to seem fearless, but the terror built up until he was trembling uncontrollably. Oh, God, he thought, what does he have planned for me?
Ptch got closer to him until he was only a few feet away, then pushed him forcefully. Jack flew across the cell and slammed against the far corner. Hard. He thought Pitch may have broken a rib or two.
Jack's heart was beating a mile a minute as the Boogeyman approached him, a dagger in his hand. He stepped on Jack's stomach to hold him still, and then he knew at least one of his ribs was broken. He let out a sharp cry, tears of pain welling up in his crystalline blue eyes.
"Can't take it, princess?" he mocked, applying more pressure and causing a dark bruise to form on his snow white skin.
Pitch took a dagger from his robe and pointed it at the damaged winter spirit. He pressed against his skin, causing it to bleed, but Jack was determined to stay strong. He wasn't going to give Pitch the satisfaction of knowing he hurt him.
But he knew he could sense his fear.
Pitch pulled the dagger out of his skin. It must have been tipped with some sort of poison, because the wound tingled and burned. He then cut Jack's hoodie off, so he could further damage his torso. Frost let out a yelp as Pitch rammed the butt of the dagger into his back repeatedly.
This time, Jack couldn't help but cry out. He was hitting the same spot where he had broken Jack's ribs, and the pain was unbearable.
"Feeling broken yet, Guardian of Fun?" asked Pitch sarcastically.
Jack was too weak to say anything. Was he really going to just sit here and let him do this?
It doesn't look like I have much of a choice, he thought.
The Nightmare King hit him until he couldn't see a single patch of snow-white skin.
"And I recall you saying I could 'never break your spirit', yes?" he asked. "Well, we'll see about that, Frost."
Pitch stepped closer and closer, an evil grin on his face.
When he got to him, he slowly started to take off his pants, then his underwear.
"Wh-What are you doing-" he got out before a hand went over his mouth.
He started to struggle, trying to get out of his clutches, but he wasn't strong enough. Then, the Nightmare King replied in a whisper, "Breaking you."
"N-No! Please, Pitch, anything but this! I'll do anyth-" Pitch's hand clamped back on his mouth.
Jack was struggling like crazy now. Would he really go as far as raping the poor winter spirit?
"You know, Jack," he began, "I would prefer women, but in this case, I'll make an exception."
He felt a hand run down his torso, stopping when it hit his dick. He bit Pitch's hand that was clamped onto his mouth until he tasted blood. This made him jump back.
"Naughty boy," he teased, pressing harder. Jack whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut.
"You know, Jack," he moaned, "You really are a handsome boy." He then slid his length inside of the boy, causing him to release tears of pain.
"N-No! Please don't…" he was so weak all he could do was lay there as Pitch violated him, causing pain that was twice as bad as being beaten when he slid it in and out, over and over. Of all the things he thought Pitch would do to him, this was definitely not on the list. He never thought in a million years he would do something this horrible.
When Pitch finally let go, Jack collapsed on the floor, unable to move or even think.
When he finally did sleep, all of his dreams turned into horrible nightmares, most of them about drowning, which made them twice as bad since that was how he died.
When he finally awoke, he was in the infirmary at North's. Apparently the Guardians must have saved him. Either that, or Pitch decided he had effectively done his job.
As the days passed, it didn't get better like the Guardians said it would. By day, he experienced horrible pain that he never seemed to find relief from, and b night he relived the ordeal over and over again. He just wished he wasn't immortal, so he could end this horrible life e had.
But the one thing that struck him the hardest was that Pitch was right. He could, and did, break the boy's spirit.