There was just the faintest sliver of moon in the sky that night, but the stars were bedazzling. Jack breathed in the air of January. Or, nearly January, there were still a few minutes until midnight.
It'd been almost a year since his Guardian initiation, and though Jack was friendly with them, he hadn't totally trusted them yet. Oh, he new they were good people (spirits? Animals?); they had good intentions. It was himself who he doubted mostly. Was he an easy target for Pitch? Apparently so, he was lured into his lair on Easter. Could the others rely on him? According to Jack, no, he'd let Sandy get hit by that arrow. Could he make MiM proud? Not for over three hundred years. Besides, the guardians only needed him once. Pitch was gone, now what use was he?
"Alright, shut up mind", Jack said to himself. "Just enjoy the night. It's New Years…"
"New Years alone. Tell me Jack, where are the other Guardians?" Pitch's ominous smile emerged from the shadows, both scaring Jack and reminding him of the Cheshire Cat. Jack stumbled to his feet and glared at the Nightmare king.
"They're busy", Jack spat. Pitch gave Jack a sympathetic look and clicked his tongue.
"Too busy to spend New Years with you? Too bad, you could use some help right about now." Pitch materialized his own staff out of the shadows and used it to tip the Winter Spirit's chin up.
Jack pulled himself away from the dark staff. He shot a blast of ice at the Nightmare king, but Pitch was gone as soon as the shards went whizzing past. Something grabbed him from behind. A hot breath blew into his ear.
"Like my little trick, Jackie?" Jack struggled in vain as Pitch tightened his arms around him.
"I'm not frightened of you, Pitch!"
Pitch chuckled lowly. He pulled out a syringe filled with black liquid. Still holding the boy still, he pushed it into Jack's thigh. "You will be." He drank in the pained groan as he let the limp body fall to the ground.
Morning dew froze on the pale body, making the blue hoody sparkle. The wind rushed over Jack's cheek. It did the trick and Jack stirred and pulled himself up. First of all, he noticed everything hurt. Second, he noticed he was on his own. Pitch was gone.
"Coward", the boy muttered, but his grumblings were interrupted by a sharp pain in his lungs.
Jack began to cough and hack. Blood flowed in rivulets onto the snow. It soaked in, making a pinkish red slushy. He coughed again, this time covering his mouth, and wiped the wetness onto his pants. Flopping onto his back, he groaned. He could call for help… Put his life into the hands of those he didn't trust, giving the universe another perfect chance to hurt and disappoint him. On the other hand, he could suffer slowly and die all alone. Neither of the choices sounded appealing in the slightest, though the first one… It held a small glimmer of hope; a deathly slim chance that things would turn out okay for once. Jack started to shake. He lifted his hand to cradle his aching head, but immediately recoiled when he found how hot it was. The boy started to panic. That wasn't just a fever for him; it was a fever for anyone. He thrust himself up, panting and in a cold sweat. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He was ill and it hurt and if it didn't stop- No. Now was not the time to get anxious. Right now he had didn't know what had been injected inside of him and all he could do was try to get someone to help.
Jack went over in his head his choices of transport. He could ride the wind, but it would be extremely painful and take a long time. The boy decided to go the easiest way out, and stumbled to a large oak tree just a few feet away from his pond. A large hole gaped in the side, otherwise known as Jack's 'hidey hole'. Inside were a few trinkets such as a very lost locket with a picture of a raven haired girl, a chipped piece of crystal-looking something, and a worn dagger. There was also a small bag of dream sand (courtesy of Sandy), a kitchen knife stained with some blood, and one of North's emergency snow globes. Jack took this and turned it in his hands a few times. He decided to see Aster, since North was known to drink on most holidays and Tooth and Sandy could be anywhere.
"Bunny's Warren", the winter spirit murmured. A swirling vortex opened up, and Jack stepped through. Warm spring air and egg dye rivers were the last thing he remembered before he blacked out.