Dark Arrow
A/N: This happened. Yep. Angst. Featuring an OOC Jack and way too much angst. I rewatched RotG today and just had to write something. Not so sure I like the ending, but I wanted to leave it open.
"We gotta help Sandy!" Jack cried, clinging madly to the sleigh like a half-drowned cat having found the only boat out on the water. He could, if he squinted, see the Guardian of Dreams up there, golden whips of Dreamsand flashing in and out of view in the nearly black sky. Pitch's laughter echoed in Jack's ears, nightmares ripping at the golden sand, threatening to tear the Guardian apart.
Jack didn't know what made him do it, but some instinct kicked in, one previously unexplored and untouched and he followed it blindly. Later, he would come to recognize it as a protective instinct, the urge to look after a friend, the need to save a life. But at the time, he chalked it up to adrenaline, speeding for the golden cloud with all of his strength, eyes fixed intently on the battle between gold and black.
He saw Pitch forming a bow and arrow out of nightmare sand, pulling the black string tight, his eyes fixed firmly on his target.
Jack planned to step in and freeze the weapon, get Sandy out of there and get back to the Pole with the others, maybe taking out a couple Nightmares on the way, but it didn't work out that way. Jack arrived precious seconds too late, when Pitch had already shot the arrow. He didn't have time to ready his staff, didn't have time to concentrate on the ice. He just felt the arrowhead, sharp and deadly and filled with the kind of cold that not even a winter spirit could produce, hitting him straight in the chest, piercing his bloodless and frozen heart.
Panic clouded his brain suddenly, even though seconds before the only type of fear he'd felt was dread. Everything seemed to feed the choking terror consuming him as he watched his hoodie fade into crumbling black sand. He tried to pull it back, to hide the scars on his skin left from times of extreme emotion when it seemed almost nothing helped. Should he have felt self-conscious of the nudity, or was it alright because he wasn't truly naked? It wasn't just his clothes that were crumbling away.
He let out a cry of shock and horror when he saw the glistening black sand covering every inch of his white skin, clothing him again in something more terrible. "No!" He heard himself crying out, digging his fingers into the repulsive substance to try and rip it away.
Despite the fact that he was not Pitch's intended target, the Boogeyman was enjoying Jack's fear. Yes, he decided, closing amused golden eyes and breathing deeply through nose and mouth. Jack's fear was delicious. Better than the other Guardians, for they were much older than the winter spirit, who was still a child. And, like any child, he clung to imagination and innocence and light, but his fears were darker, deeper than that of the average child. Pitch couldn't wait to strip that innocence away, and leave him with nothing but fear and darkness. He let himself imagine, for a moment, how the boy would look with haunted blue eyes, dark purple bags beneath, and his face even thinner and paler than it already was. He would be constantly looking over his shoulder, afraid of everything, right up to his own shadow. Pitch hungered for it.
But Jack was not having any beautiful imaginings; in fact, he was screaming, his nails all broken and bleeding as he tried fruitlessly to rip away at the sand which seemed to have the texture of wood when he touched it. The nightmares nickered slightly, amused by his attempts, just as their master was. The world began to blur around him, and he felt himself sinking into a terrifying, unimaginable darkness that he just knew held unspeakable things.
No. Jack clung to consciousness with every muscle in his body, his mind begging for release.
Maybe you'll sleep if you let go, and you won't be afraid then.
But he knew if he fell into that blackness, he would have nothing but nightmares.
I can tell you're tired. Just let go.
The panic wasn't stopping, but exhaustion was welling up, leaving almost no room for fear. Jack knew if he let go, he would regret it. He couldn't let go.
There was a gentle brush of a hand on his arm and, for a moment, his world stopped spinning, coming back into focus. Sandy!
With a rush of affection for the other Guardian, Jack realized that the little man was glaring at Pitch, trying to create enough Dreamsand to distract the Boogeyman and rescue the winter spirit. But he didn't have strength enough, and the others were still in the sleigh, trapped and frozen. Tooth came to herself long enough to remember that she could fly, but she couldn't help Bunny and North in that category. The two left behind were so busy watching the fight that North allowed his grip on the reins to slip, and they began to plummet towards the ground.
"CRIKEY!" Bunny squealed far below them.
Jack screamed out for his friends, but the nightmares piled on thicker, one even putting her hoof on his mouth to prevent him from speaking. He felt the black sand coating his lips like sawdust, but his blue eyes remained wide open, looking for any sign of the other Guardians. There was Tooth, there were North and Bunny, Bunny still screaming and North trying frantically to get the sleigh back up in the air before they fell into the street, but where was Sandy?
A light tap on his shoulder answered the question. He turned to see the Guardian of Dreams, and, while the little man did not flash any symbols above his head, Jack knew defeat when he saw it.
He tried to speak, to assure the Guardian it was okay, as Sandy set to work once again, sending dreams full force at both Pitch and the nightmares.
The little man was going to exhaust himself, Jack realized with a start of horror, but it was much too late for him to even try to stop anything; his eyes were fluttering closed, fatigue taking its toll. He knew what was going to happen when he slept, and he felt quite sure that this was his last night sleeping, but he allowed the darkness to take him away regardless. He didn't have the strength to fight anymore and there was no energy left for him to conjure ice. He was simply floating, motionless, helpless. As fear for what was to come flooded him again, he thought he heard Pitch's triumphant laughter somewhere far above him. His eyes closed fully and the darkness took him away.
"JACK! JACK!"
Somebody was calling out to him. A very young voice, and definitely female. "Jack," she quivered, suddenly sounding much closer. "I'm scared." She was eight or nine, long brown hair going past her shoulders, a simple brown dress shaping her small body. Her terrified brown eyes stirred something in his memory, but he couldn't think what.
"Who are you?" he whispered, leaning very close, hardly daring to breathe.
"You know who I am." Her voice shook, her lips quivering.
Jack wanted to take away her fear, but he couldn't do that until he understood who she was. "Who are you? What are you scared of?"
"You should know what I'm scared of! You always know what I'm scared of!" She sounded betrayed now, and she looked angry and upset.
When Jack reached for her, she stepped away, her brown eyes burning. "Never mind." She shook her head, her brown hair swinging as she did so. "I give up."
The three words felt like a red-hot knife to Jack's heart, and he forced himself to crawl forward on weak, shaking hands and knees. "Wait!" he tried to yell, but his voice came out a croak. "Wait! Come back, I can make it better, I—
She was already out of sight, a distant speck way away. And she didn't so much as turn. She couldn't possibly hear him anyway.
Crushing defeat encircled him. Somebody had come to him for help, and he had failed them. He had failed her, somebody whom he knew he ought to protect. He wanted to chase after her and hold her in his arms, force her to understand that all she needed to do was explain herself, and he could make it better. But it was too late, she was gone and his eyes wouldn't stay open. He tried his hardest to fight the exhaustion, watched the strange girl until she was miles away, too far for him to see and certainly too far for him to reach, torturing himself with the thoughts that he had failed her. A nightmare horse came around and encircled him, nickering softly, pressing her nose close to him. The struggle to keep awake returned, stronger now.
He heard somebody crying out, "Don't fight the fear, Frost!"
Don't fight the current. It's easier.
His eyes flickered closed and hard as he tried to force them open, they stayed that way. This time, it was something slightly different. There were no mysterious girls rushing towards him and telling him they were afraid. In fact, there was nothing at all.
An icy cold forest, snow crunching beneath his feet, the trees trying to hold up under the weight of winter, ice clinging to the dead branches. He was walking alone through a wintry forest, ice littering the ground carelessly. Crystals of ice lay broken in the grass, and there was black sand mixed with blood glinting in the snow.
Over the years, Jack had learned to appreciate what a beautiful thing winter was, and just how much he loved it. Today, it just looked like an ugly thing, violent and bloody and unnecessary. The howling wind whipping in his ears was much too loud and mean. Some people were probably freezing to death because of this blizzard, but he was powerless to stop it. Not that he even tried. He was content to just soldier on through the storm, wondering if he would meet anybody out in this forest. The lack of life, even here, was puzzling, so he pressed on.
When he emerged into a beautiful clearing, he could see the snow slackened off here. Things had been set for a winter picnic, violet flowers lying on the middle of the checked, makeshift table. Jack bent down, gently fingering the petals, leaving a trail of frost. Here was the food, here were the flowers, here was the blanket…so where were the people?
Dread settled in his stomach, making him jump up and begin to run through the forest, crashing through frozen branches and his normal grace deserting him as he pelted to the edge of the trees. How did he know when the forest came to an end? He didn't, but his dream self must have. He emerged out into weak sunlight, and here was a tiny village, plates set out on tables for dinnertime, smoke issuing from every chimney, but not a single breathing soul inside any of the houses.
Jack crashed through a few of the wooden buildings, ripping apart whole rooms, an unstoppable panic seizing him. Everything was completely deserted, left just as it had been. Including, he realized, himself.
The thought made his eyes widen. He sank to the ground, his heart beating abnormally fast. That should have been the first tip-off that the whole thing wasn't real, but it felt real. The world had abandoned him in a winter fortress, a howling blizzard scraping stubbornly at the windows outside. Even though it was his own element, he felt suddenly afraid of it, because he knew he hadn't created that snow. It wasn't right. It wasn't his. And that scared him more than he liked to admit.
I'm alone, he realized, hugging his knees up to his chest. The world has left me alone. There's nobody left.
His heart squeezed painfully, screams building in his throat. He let his eyes fall closed again, not even bothering to fight this time. Anything that would take him away from this horrible nightmare was good enough for him.
"Get out of here, mate!"
"We don't want your kind here!"
"Guys…what happened?" Jack's voice came out unexpectedly weak. Though he was used to people who didn't want him around, he wasn't going to pretend that it didn't hurt. "You…you said I was a Guardian! You kept asking—
"Hah! Guardian?!" Bunny scoffed. "Don't make me laugh! Why would you ever be a Guardian?" He took a few steps towards Jack, pushing him in the chest with such force that the boy tumbled to the ground.
He tried for the cocky, arrogant smile that was so easy to wear in these situations, and he tried to force himself to say, "It's okay, I never wanted to be part of you guys anyway!" But the words wouldn't come. His mask no longer fit over his face. He had nowhere to hide anymore, nowhere to run. The thought sent waves of panic rushing through him and he wanted to scream as he dug his fingernails into his palms to keep from doing so.
"You're not fit to be around anyone," North declared solemnly, slamming the Guardian book closed. "Especially not children. A mentally unstable person such as yourself—
"Mentally unstable?" Jack's voice came out smaller than he'd hoped. He hated how hurt he sounded, when all he wanted was to pretend that he didn't care.
He realized he was still on the ground, and tried to force himself to his feet, but the moment he did, Bunny was right there, ready to shove him back down.
"Yeah, mentally unstable!" Bunny cried, clearly angry. "What do you think, all those blizzards just made themselves?!"
"I…I can't…control it…" Jack's voice dropped lower and lower until finally, it was below even a whisper. He felt sure that the Guardians wouldn't possibly be able to hear him, but somehow, they did.
"Can't control it?" Bunny snorted. "How much of a selfish brat are you, Frost? If you can't control it, you shouldn't be getting into snowball fights with children and trying to make them see you! You should be hidden away, where you can't hurt anyone but yourself!"
Bunny was right, and Jack couldn't even use a sarcastic reply as a defense, because there was nothing there to be found. He swallowed, realizing how dry his throat was, how much he craved water. His legs were shaking, and he knew if he tried to stand again, he would simply collapse. Without his pretense of carelessness, he was nothing. That mask was his strength. He was helpless without it, too weak to stand against whatever Bunny said.
Tooth didn't seem quite so angry, but there was something hard in her violet eyes that Jack just couldn't name. "It's true, Jack." She put a hand on his arm. "It's for the best. If you stay here, you risk hurting everyone, all the children…"
He nodded numbly along with her, scarcely able to believe this was happening. The only thing that had kept him hanging on all these years was the fact that he got to play with the children, even if they couldn't see him. He loved the huge smiles on their faces as they wandered away from the snowball fight, scarves all awry around their necks, hats askew atop their heads. How could he live without these brief highlights?
"You're a good person, you really are," Tooth whispered, rubbing his arm soothingly. "But you need to stay away from everyone."
She was calling him a monster. Maybe he was. Everyone knew that winter killed. Ice began to spiral out of his hands, attaching itself to the staff he held, for it had nowhere else to go. But he longed to give it somewhere else to go, turning his icy powers on the people in front of him instead of on himself. He wanted to hurt them, make them feel how he felt whenever they called him a monster. And then he caught himself. They had called him cruel, told him he hurt people, and he was proving them right. He couldn't do that. He could never do that. How could he hurt people? The thought was unbearable.
He'd hurt people before, of course. They died in blizzards, were injured in car accidents and tripped on his ice. And when other spirits attacked him, of course he was going to defend himself, but that was all he ever did: defend himself. He never attacked outright, and never played the offensive. All he cared about was protecting himself, because that wasn't the same thing as intentionally harming somebody, right?
He squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself away from this dream. He thought he'd rather be alone, like he was in the last dream, than be told he was a monster.
The colors blurred around him, the black sand mercifully dragging him away.
What came next was so much worse, although it didn't start out that way. He was throwing snowballs at the kids, who were laughing breathlessly and trying to protect themselves from his onslaught.
And they saw him. Jack's heart squeezed in painful longing. This was all he had ever wanted, right here in front of him. To be seen. To be noticed. To be cared for. It felt even better than he had dared to imagine.
As he tossed another snowball from hand-to-hand, blue eyes searching for his next target, he realized that the children had stopped laughing. Their eyes strayed to something in the distance, and Jack's stomach clenched when he saw Pitch's nightmares coming for them at full speed.
"Run!" he screamed at the children, readying his staff. The kids tried to obey his commands and scatter, but too late: the nightmares were already upon them.
As Jack prepared to shoot a blast of ice, he felt cool fingers wrapping around his shoulder, the other hand going instantly to his numb fingers, easily prying the wooden weapon away. He spun suddenly to face the hateful golden eyes of the Boogeyman, looming over him like a vulture, jaw clenched. "This isn't your fight, Jack."
He held tightly to the boy's shoulders, even when Jack tried to run, tried to fight him off. He just couldn't get free. The older spirit refused to let go, and Jack was forced to watch, powerless, as the children drowned in a sea of their own fears.
It was torture, and several times Jack tried to fight, but struggling was useless; he was strong, but not strong enough to break free from Pitch's grip.
But worst of all was hearing the children cry out for him, begging him, pleading with him to do something when the truth was, he was just as scared as they were. "Jack! Save us, Jack!"
So certain that he was going to come flying to the rescue at the last second, maybe a surprise snow day coming with him, judging by how much power he used, and Jack felt the same sensation he'd felt with the strange girl. He needed to protect these kids, and yet he couldn't do it. He was failing them. How could he be so useless?
Deep in the back of his mind, he registered that it had to be a dream. Pitch had never been so strong, and Jack would never have just stood there like that if this had been real; he would have fought back every way he knew how, even if it meant fighting dirty.
But in the dreamscape of his mind, he simply stood there, allowing Pitch to torment the children and doing nothing to stop him, and then he felt disgusted with himself, because why wasn't he trying to protect them? He may not have been Guardian material, but what kind of sick freak stood aside and let an even bigger sick freak harm children, surely no more than ten years old?
But he did stand aside, and he did let Pitch harm them, and he hated himself, but he still didn't move. For even when he tried, his feet seemed frozen, refusing to leave the spot. When he glanced down to check what the problem was, he realized, with a start of horror, that black sand was slowly encasing his legs, a thin sheet of shining nightmares preventing him from moving.
He let out a bloodcurdling scream, and his blue eyes snapped open. All he saw was darkness, the same kind he had seen that day when he'd been sleeping beneath ice. He screamed again and rubbed at his eyes, but there was nothing noticeably wrong with them; he just couldn't see anything. He explored with his hands what his eyes wouldn't, finding that the surface upon which he sat was cool, smooth stone. The very air around him quivered with something intense and evil, causing him to shiver, which winter spirits did not often do. He couldn't help it; the coldness lurking here seemed to be a darker kind, not one that his ice or snow had ever created.
He got up on his hands and knees, feeling around blindly with his fingers, hoping to find his staff, but no thin stick of wood met his frantically searching hands. "No…" he moaned, crawling forward a bit farther, hoping it might glow suddenly with bright blue ice, as it sometimes did in the dark. When it didn't, a horrible feeling overcame him. Perhaps he hadn't had his staff when the arrow pierced him?
No, he definitely had. Jack remembered gripping it in his hands tightly, summoning a blast of ice to hopefully slow or stop Pitch. Had it fallen from his hands when he'd been falling into the darkness and struggling to hold on?
"But I had my staff in my dreams…" Jack moaned, putting a hand to his forehead, where a pounding headache was beginning. Had they even been dreams? he wondered nervously for a second or two, the panic threatening to overtake him once more. They just seemed so real…
The blackness grew thicker, the shadows pressing closer, whispering words of doubt in his ears.
No!
The shadows fed off fear. He couldn't feed them, he couldn't give them what they wanted. He had to stay strong, and find some way out of here. Just as he thought this, he leaned down, putting a hand upon the ground to steady himself and rise to his feet, but his hand found an unexpected surprise: his staff lay there upon the ground, in a place he had already searched. A bit of uncertainty crept up on him. His staff hadn't been there two seconds before…had it?
Well, never mind. He shook it off, swung his staff over his shoulder and put his hands on the smooth rock face serving as the walls. This place was built like a prison, he reflected as he let his hands find every little crack and crevice, and the thought made him feel panicky and nervous again. He hated being trapped anywhere, and wondered briefly why the nightmares hadn't shown him that as well. The idea that he was trapped in a tiny space miles underground made his breath quicken and his heart race. He put both hands on the wall, determined to climb up it, but the texture changed so suddenly from stone to shadow that it made him jerk back, question if he was still dreaming.
The shadows hissed at him, swirling around, their forms ever-changing. Jack flinched back, his feet paying no heed to his brain. All his body seemed to care about at the moment was backing as far away as he possibly could. The nightmares hissed again, although this time, quite a few of them also offered him pointy-toothed smiles.
"You're worthless."
"Hopeless."
"Just stay here, forever, with us."
Jack grimaced and tried to block the whispering voices out, turning to the wall and trying to think if there was any visible way to climb it. Of course not, he reminded himself, as a few of the nightmares' eyes began to glow bright red instead of their usual sparkling gold. The change kind of alarmed him, but he tried to tell himself it didn't. The only way to surviving this was to shut down his emotions. He couldn't let himself feel fear, otherwise he'd be trapped here forever.
"Stay here," one of the nightmares hissed again. "Just stay here, in this tiny room, buried beneath dirt and rock…"
Jack's stomach tightened when he dared to think of just how much dirt and rock he was under. The thought frightened him more than he liked to admit, but he forced it away. He couldn't afford to feel fear, and that was the end of the matter. Fear didn't control him; he controlled it.
He put a tentative hand on the wall of nightmares again, and hesitantly searched for handholds. Miraculously, the nightmares fell silent, as if sensing the importance of his task. He found a nice gap in the nightmares to put his hand, hiked himself up and gripped his staff still, his feet dangling an inch off the ground.
But height had never scared him anyway. Even when he'd first risen out of the lake, the wind's sudden support of him had never scared him. Why should it, when the ability to fly was his? The idea made him smile as he dragged his feet up onto the Nightmares, finding that they instantly stilled beneath him, forming a much straighter wall. Jack reached up, feeling for the next handhold.
"You're nothing."
They're just trying to scare me, Jack coached himself silently, hauling himself up another few inches. The ground wasn't too far below him, and if he fell, the impact wouldn't be too great.
"You're useless."
Jack found it kind of amusing, honestly, that Pitch was doing so little to torment him. Really, 'you're useless'? It was so stupid of the Boogeyman to assume that a little thing like that could upset Jack or destroy his self-confidence, when the truth was he'd had those words hurled at him all his life. It didn't matter what they thought, though. He wasn't useless. He wasn't.
"You make a mess wherever you go."
Jack's gut tightened as his feet found the tiny crevices in the wall. Block it out.
"You think you're one of them? You think you're a Guardian?"
"Block it out," he whispered between gritted teeth.
"They'll never accept you."
"Just block it out." Great. He was talking to himself now. But if talking to himself was what it took to survive this dark hell, then he would do just that.
"It was a mistake to choose you."
"I know that already," he whispered, half to himself and half to the nightmares.
"The others will realize it in time."
"I know that, too," he muttered, his voice steadily growing louder as he struggled to find the next handhold. His fingers latched onto it, and he gratefully pulled himself up.
"They'll cast you out again."
"I expect that. I'm ready for it."
"Really? So you're willing to be alone…again?"
Jack's grip on the wall became sweaty, his stomach clenching, but he forced himself to stare straight ahead, as if the words didn't bother him in the slightest. But he had a horrible feeling that the nightmares knew they did. "I've lived alone for three hundred years. I can do it again."
"I feel sorry for you."
Sweat beaded on Jack's forehead, but he pretended he was only half-listening. "And why is that?"
"You're never gonna be seen by anyone."
Jack's grip on the newly discovered handhold became clammy, threatening to slip. He swung his foot into another crevice, gritting his teeth. "I'm used to it."
A cold chuckle. "Are you?"
"Of course I am." His breathing was heavy and rapid and he sucked in air like there wasn't enough in the room. The thought of where he was made the fear increase.
"Nobody will ever believe in you."
"Don't care."
"But you do care. You're so terrified of never knowing who you are that you'll do almost anything—
THUMP.
Jack lost his grip completely and landed back on the ground, suddenly finding that his arm was twisted beneath him. The pain rolled through his arm in waves, and he sat up, pushing up the sleeve to inspect it.
"What are those scars from?" the nightmares hissed joyously, although Jack had the feeling they already knew. "From where you realized that nobody wanted you?"
"Stop it!" Jack's sleeve instantly fell back into place as he reached for his staff with his uninjured left hand. He held it in a slightly shaking grip and he felt sure he looked half-mad.
"From where you realized you were nothing but a burden?"
"I'm not a burden!"
"To the Guardians, you certainly are." The spiteful voice continued.
Jack felt tears of anger and frustration building in his eyes, blurring his vision. Not that that mattered, anyway. The only things he could see were the glowing red eyes from every direction.
He could feel his legs trembling beneath him, knowing they wouldn't support him for long.
He gritted his teeth, put his hand up to the handholds, and tried again.
Several more times he tried to climb the walls, and every time, the nightmares taunted him endlessly, pushing him to the point of exhaustion. It was at one point, when he was lying upon the ground after a particularly bad fall, and he whispered hopelessly, "I was almost there. I was almost at the top."
Eerily, the nightmares had gone silent. They didn't try to engage him anymore, and Jack felt furious with himself for letting the fears and insecurities he had spent three hundred years pushing down resurface so suddenly. He sat bolt upright, staring into the nightmares' glowing red eyes, and he lost his temper.
"Well?! Where's your newest round of shots, huh? C'mon, I'm about to try again – don't end the game because you have no more insults to throw my way, no more fears to dig up!" He swiped at his eyes, hating himself for the tears that wanted to fall. He would not let himself cry. He would not.
Slowly, he felt his legs giving way beneath him and he hit the ground with a thump. He tucked his legs up beneath him, holding his staff close like a much-loved teddy bear. "Please." His voice was nothing but a mere whisper in the pressing darkness. "Please just talk to me again. Don't leave me alone here."
The nightmares remained silent.
In truth, the winter spirit felt like burying his head in his knees and crying, but he wouldn't let himself do that. He had to be strong.
He rose to his feet, angrily wiping the tears from his eyes, reached up, grasped the first handhold and started again.
"Trying again, Frost?"
Jack raised his chin a bit higher, reaching for the next hold without hesitation. He knew exactly where it was by now.
"I bet you won't make it two feet up this wall."
Jack reached for the next one, and he sensed some hissing far below him, but this time he just refused to let it in. The only thing that the nightmares were interested in doing was breaking him down, and he wasn't going to let them. He was getting out of here, whether they liked it or not.