...Now very concerned, he started towards the thing, but when he finally saw what it was he froze, and Jack Frost's blood turned ice cold.
Pitch Black staggered a few more steps towards Jack. One dragging foot caught on an exposed root and he stumbled, just catching himself on the trunk of a tree. Jack raised his staff, ready for any trick the Nightmare King might play. Pitch attempted to pull himself up but failed and crumpled in the snow, eyes closed, his breath coming out in shivering gasps. Jack took this as a chance to get closer and noticed the sorry state of Pitch's clothes; one shoulder was ripped at the seam, the hem was torn and ragged, large tears split the front from the collar to his waist. Jack realized his skin seemed darker in places than it was normally and a dried, black substance caked nearly one half of his face, staining other places where his skin was less exposed. Jack grimaced at the sight and lowered his staff. There was no threat here. He kneeled next to Pitch and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He made no immediate reaction, and for a moment Jack wondered if he'd stopped breathing.
"What happened to you?" he thought aloud. At the sound of his voice Pitch's eyes suddenly shot open! He yelped and cowered against the tree. Fearful eyes stared at him like a wounded animal waiting to be ripped apart. Jack immediately backed off.
"It's alright! Pitch, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you," he said, wondering to himself why exactly that was. Slowly he reached out a hand to Pitch who had not seemed to understand a word he'd said as he attempted to wriggle away. Just before Jack could touch him though, he fainted, seemingly exhausted even beyond what his adrenaline could do for him. Jack rested his hand on Pitch's shoulder and gently shook him to see if he would wake, but he didn't. Jack frowned, wondering what to do with him. His hand slipped into his pocket and gripped the miniature snow globe he found there, a gift from North in case of an emergency.
"Oh, no," Jack said to himself, "North would have a fit if I brought you to the North Pole." But then, something in his gut told Jack that North, the one who had believed in him when he didn't think he had what it took to be a guardian, would never turn even his enemy away if he needed help. He was too—caring. Decided, Jack took the snow globe from his pocket and whispered 'the North Pole' into it. He threw it just a few feet away where it burst and turned into a portal straight to the Pole's control center. Then, sticking his staff down the back of his hoodie for safekeeping, he hooked both hands under Pitch's shoulders and dragged him to the portal, surprised at how very light he was. The next moment they were gone in a flash.
If asked, Jack will tell you that teleporting is something like being put through the 'spin' cycle of a washing machine until one finally is spit out to land at one's destination. Thus Jack appeared at the North Pole rather dizzy, accidentally dropping Pitch as he tried to keep his balance. Pitch, still unconscious, did not seem to mind. It seemed to Jack that it had quite suddenly become quiet and he realized as his head cleared that he was standing amidst the Christmas 'finishing party' the yetis held at the end of each Christmas Eve. Every pair of eyes watched him and Pitch in tense curiosity.
"What happened to party? Where is music? What is everyone staring at?" North demanded as he broke through the wall of yetis to where Jack stood. Seeing Jack, he opened his mouth to greet him, but upon noticing the black figure lying in a heap behind him his eyebrows rose, his jaw tensed and he turned demandingly to the frost spirit.
"Jack," he said quietly, "what is going on? What happened, and why is he here?" Jack coughed nervously.
"I, uh, well, I found him in the woods outside of Burgess. He's hurt pretty badly, North. I thought you might be able to do something for him." North frowned, scanning Jack's face for the truth and after a moment or two seemed satisfied.
"Everyone, clear out!" he ordered, "and someone prepare two rooms!" He knelt next to Pitch, carefully repositioning him flat on his back so he could assess the damage. Turning his face, he tried to see the source of the dried blood.
"Will need to be cleaned—possibly stitched," he noted to himself. Next he felt his left shoulder, then his right. "Dislocated." He felt the bones of each arm. "Right wrist was broken, but healed." He felt each rib, and frowned deeply. "Nearly all of his ribs are broken," he said.
"Is that very bad?" asked Jack. North turned to him.
"He should be screaming in pain when I touch them." Jack fell silent.
"Was he walking when you found him, Jack?" asked North.
"Yes—but kind of stumbling." He carefully felt each foot, and nodded to himself when he found no damage. His left leg he found to be broken in no less than two places, and most of his skin was darkened with bruises (Jack noticed they were hoof-shaped), or dried over with blood from gashes and small cuts. Lastly, North felt at his neck for his pulse and frowned again.
"Pulse is too light, you were right to bring him here, Jack. He surely would not have made it. But, he is breathing—if lightly—so there is a chance for him yet." he declared. He barked an order out in Russian and momentarily two yetis arrived bearing a stretcher and blankets. With the yetis' help, North gently shifted Pitch onto the stretcher and laid the blankets over his still form.
"Come, Jack," said North as they bore him along. "I may need your help a little." They took him to a small room in what Jack assumed was the residential wing of North's workshop. The long hallway, warmly lit and plushly carpeted, led to many more doors with small brass numbers on them—oddly, thought jack, for North could hardly be able to entertain much. They entered into door number six and Pitch was laid carefully down on the bed. A Yeti standing in the corner approached and set a leather bundle out on the sheets next to North. From the old medical kit North selected a long, bent pair of scissors and cut what was left of Pitch's robe away. Jack hissed looking over North's shoulder at the damage. It seemed not one square inch of Pitch's body was left unscathed.
"We should fix that leg first." said North, standing. He went to the foot of the bed and muttered an order to a yeti who left the room and reappeared with materials Jack assumed would be used to splint Pitch's leg and a small wooden box decorated with silver, the purpose of which Jack could only guess. From the box, which the yeti held respectfully out to North, he withdrew a magnifying glass, but one quite unlike any Jack had ever seen before. Dozens of attachments and different colored lenses sprouted from the long knobby handle, a few of which North aligned with the primary glass and proceeded to sweep back and forth over Pitch's leg. A black and white picture appeared through the multiple lenses.
"It's an x-ray glass!" exclaimed Jack. North chuckled.
"Something I made for my younger days. It has come in quite handy since then, though. Ah, good." He put down the glass and took the supplies from the waiting yeti. "The breaks are hairline, nothing serious enough to need surgery. He'll be walking again in no time."
"That's good." said Jack.
"I should think so," remarked North, "especially if he was trying to get someplace as you told me, Jack. Any further and the breaks might have worsened. He owes you a great deal." An odd look passed over Jack's features and he glanced up towards the Nightmare King's face. What North said didn't quite make him feel noble like he thought it should, but more awkward and slightly repulsed by the possibility of being so familiarly linked to the Boogeyman. They were not close, or similar in any way, and any more entanglement than was necessary, Jack wished to avoid at all costs.
"Now comes the part where I will need your help, Jack." said North, breaking him from his thoughts. A large steaming bowl of water and piles of bandages were laid out by the head of the bed. "I will clean his wounds, and then you must cool them so as to prevent infection, but first, I'm going to teach you how to tend to broken ribs. I found it to be a very necessary skill in my youth. You will perhaps agree with me someday." Jack raised an eyebrow, wondering how wild of a life North actually had, but he did as he was told. The water in the bowl quickly turned dark red and North soon had to call for another. They had gone through a bowl and a half of water and rags before Pitch's wounds were clean enough for Jack to freeze. As he did, Pitch shivered and tossed his head. It seemed like he was about to wake up.
"North, I think he's coming to." As he looked Pitch seemed to mutter something under his breath that Jack couldn't quite catch. North reached up and raised one of his eyelids. Jack jumped back in disgust when he saw nothing but white.
"Wow, that's creepy. Is he dead?"
"No, that just means he's in REM sleep. He's probably dreaming, or, more likely, having a nightmare. Come, let's finish so we can let him rest." Gently North held his body up while Jack wrapped bandages around Pitch's broken ribs. "Gently." said North when Jack pulled a little too hard. "The ribs will heal on their own, but you mustn't wrap them too tight." Finally they finished and Jack smirked at how Pitch looked. Covered in bandages, he very much resembled a t.p. mummy, like the ones he sometimes saw kids dressed up as for Halloween.
"Very good job, Jack." North placed a hand on his shoulder as he surveyed their work. "Now off to bed with you. There's a room next door where you can sleep for tonight." Jack smiled brilliantly up at North.
"Really?" he asked. North smiled back.
"Of course, you will always have a home here whenever you need it. Goodnight Jack." Then without warning the frost spirit gripped North around his middle and hugged him tight. Surprised at first, North happily returned the embrace. No more would Jack feel alone or forgotten, not if he had anything to say about it.
"Goodnight, North." he said quietly, just a little afraid to say it louder for fear of his voice cracking. Then he went, smiling and happy, off to bed. North watched him go and closed the door behind him. In the bed, Pitch tossed and turned. North lit a candle and set it close on the nightstand so that the light fell over Pitch's face. He went to the windows and examined their seams. There were no cracks in the glass and he felt no drafts as he stood in the room. He stoked the fireplace and made sure it stayed strong; then finally satisfied he made to leave, tapping the door handle thrice as he did so. Unconscious or no, the King of Nightmares was still at the Pole, and Nicholas St. North would leave no escape route open for him.