Prelude
A/N: This is my first RotG fanfictions. It takes place before Jack meets the Guardians.
Warnings: Angst, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, Yaoi (boyxboy)
Jack sat on the edge of the branch he was currently perched upon. His head was hanging down low, his spirits even lower, and his staff was held limply in his grasp. Wispy white locks fell to tickle his face when he moved, as if trying to cheer the boy up.
There was an aching pain in his chest and an overwhelming surge of emotion growing by the second in his stomach. His ice blue eyes stung and watered, but Jack refused to let the tears fall. Instead they welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision, and clung to his thick lashes for dear life.
The winter spirit sniffled quietly as he wiped at his eyes with his sweatshirt sleeve.
A dry laugh bubbled from his lips as he thought of what he looked like right now; pathetic.
Blue eyes looked up to the sky and locked onto the glowing ball that was the moon.
The unknown emotion in his stomach swelled at the sight and anger surged through his veins.
"Why did you do this to me? I would have been completely content with being dead...this...this is worse!" Jack yelled angrily at the moon.
"This is worse than being dead! No one can see me, they walk right through me! I'm a ghost just wondering around! And all I feel is pain...it hurts." Jack finished in a whisper.
The tears swelled up into fat globs and rolled down his ivory cheeks. Sobs caught themselves in the back of his throat, choking him.
Clothed arms wound themselves around his thin frame, trying to give himself comfort and hold himself together.
Jack felt as if he were cracking and falling apart.
"I wish I had died." He confessed to the moon, his voice broken and thick with tears.
The moon brought his rays over to the sobbing boy and shone down brightly on him, trying to offer his comfort. But it did nothing but make Jack cry even harder.
He was all alone, like he had been for the last 300 years.
He had heard a mother tell her child that time healed all wounds, you just had to be patient. But shouldn't 300 years be enough? Wasn't he patient enough?
Jack looked up once more at the moon, his grip tightening on his staff.
The winter spirit made an icicle on the the branch he was sitting on. Gingerly he gripped it and broke it off the tree, bringing up to his face for inspection. It was a decent size, but it was the tip Jack was interested in. It was sharp and dangerous, like a knife.
"I want to die." Jack whispered to himself, to the moon, to nothing.
Tears continued pouring down his face as he pulled up his sleeve, revealing scars and cuts in different stages of healing. Some were bright red, other's a light lilac color; some where flat against his skin and other's were raised and angry.
Ice blue eyes close as he feels the tip of the icicle cutting into his wrist. Jack pushes down with as much force as he can while dragging the sharpened ice down the length of his arm. He hissed as the blood bubbled and spilled over the rough edges of the cut. His arm stung and burned from deep within, and he could feel the blood pour out with every pump of his heart. It was excruciating and Jack couldn't help but to cry out in pain. His staff had fallen to the ground at this point, but Jack hadn't noticed.
He was having a hard time moving his arm in order to pull up his other sleeve and dragging the sharpened icicle up his arm.
Another cry of pain escapes from his throat and he drops the ice he held.
His hands were shaking and spasming. His arms were burning and pulsing.
Blood was pouring out in such quantities that it appeared black.
And for the first time in 300 years Jack felt cold; freezing actually. His whole body was trembling and his teeth were chattering.
Black spots began to swim in front of his ice blue eyes and a sense of lightness entered his mind. Everything was spinning in front of him and he felt as if he were flying.
But nothing dulled the pain in his arms, the pain that was causing gasps and cries to be emitted.
A fresh batch of tears was streaming down Jack's face as if they were racing each other.
His eye lids felt leaden and he couldn't fight them as they started to close. Even drifting off to sleep, Jack was shaking and every so often he would hiss through chattering teeth.
The moon shone down brightly, seeming to try and wake the slumbering boy up with his light, but failed miserably.
He did the only thing he could.
Call in the Guardians.