A/N: Hello everybody! I'm sorry about not updating this story for awhile. I've been working on the plot (and several other stories' plots because I apparently can't stop coming up with ideas) and characterizations while trying to do schoolwork at the same time, and it really doesn't pan out. From what I have, however, I was able to write out the second chapter. Normally, I would wait until I've written a few chapters ahead of time, but people seem to really like the premise of this story and I couldn't make you guys wait forever. That is why I'm updating technically a day earlier than scheduled. :)

Oh, and could you tell me what you guys think about this chapter being in Bond's view? I was thinking about having them alternate every other chapter, but if you guys would prefer one over the other, let me know!

Anyway, please read, review, and enjoy! :D

Chapter 2 - Bonds of the Mind

"That's a nasty scratch yoo 'ave there," the foreign nurse pointed out the obvious, lifting the girl's leg above the cold, metal table to look closer. Her pudgy fingers were cold and clammy, and it itched at Bond's dull senses. The Thorazine was beginning to wear off─ about damn time─ after six hours had passed, and it wasn't until she was calm that the nurse would even see her. Not that Bond wanted to be looked at by her, or any of the other nurses. What did these idiots know? All they could do for her was sedate her. Some treatment that was.

There's nothing to look at, dumbass. It's a scratch from a tree branch. Oh no! I'm poisoned! How will it ever heal? Am I going to die?! Dumbass. I tripped because I was being chased by your damn bodyguards. Who the hell puts bodyguards in a hospital? You think I'm dangerous? I mean, come on, I was having a pleasant conversation until they showed up. Okay, maybe the conversation was imaginary, I get that. But dangerous? Me? Oh, I'll give you something to need a bodyguard for.

Bond flicked her ankle upward, catching the nurse's chubby chin and bringing her face upward, catching the girl's twisted grin. Then, while the older woman was still puzzled, Bond kicked at her chest, sending her backwards. The overweight nurse let out a deep grunt and pedaled backwards until she caught the back of a sterilized trashcan and fumbled around more. She tried to grab something, but her silly, oily fingers couldn't grip a rope if it was dangled out in front of her. The nurse fell with a glorious thud, which earned joyous laughter from the brown-haired girl on the examination table. The garbage had spilled ugly contents─ old diapers and used syringes, mostly─ all over the floor. They'd have to sanitize that again tonight. Bond smirked, knowing that if she had to stay here longer, she'd have to make everyone else miserable, too. Instead of becoming violent, however, the nurse stood back up and walked back over.

"Now, dearie," a thick Scottish accent warned her, "we doon' kick the people tryin' to 'elp us."

Bond scoffed. The Thorazine still held her tongue, and she refused to speak. A twitch of her lips would have to suffice. The nurse went on to dress the shallow wound and wrapped some gauze around it. Wholly unnecessary, really. The rubbing alcohol burned the exposed flesh and Bond hissed reflexively. She knew she was acting like a child, but what choice did she have? She'd never been allowed to be a child.

Bond had been admitted to this hospital, ironically named Granting Hope Psychiatric Center, when she was thirteen, in the year 2016. Before that, the girl had been in a juvenile home since the age of nine. Or ten. It was sometime during 2012 when she first got into this mess. She didn't really remember anymore. All of the doctors, appointments, and lectures blurred together in her mind. None of them ever found the "cure" that her parents had been searching for. Bond kept trying to tell them that there was no such thing, that she wasn't sick, and that nothing was wrong with her. But did they listen? No. They never had. They were never supportive of her, and the resentment still swelled in Bond's heart. Neither of them had even bothered to send her mail or call her here. Once she was dropped off, she never heard from them again. They probably had another child, gave her the same name, taught her to play the piano, and completely ignored all evidence of Bond ever existing. A sneer rested on her face without her recognition.

"If yoo keep yer face like tha', lassie," the nurse said as she finished and helped the girl stand, "yoo'll look twice yer age in noo time."

Bond instantly adhered, tucking the sneer behind a veil of apathy. Her head twitched again, as well as several fingers. She was about to nod and thank the obnoxious lady when something moved out of the corner of her eye. Whipping her head to the right and ignoring the nurse's attempts at nudging her out of the room, Bond's eyes settled on a figure standing in the corner. It looked at her and raised an eyebrow. Remaining silent, it took a step toward her and Bond stumbled backward, bumping into the nurse. Paying no mind to the woman, Bond kept her gaze on the sight in front of her.

"You know they can't fix you," the figure whispered, "you know it, and yet you let yourself stay in this place. Why? You could just run. Oh, wait..." the thing smirked knowingly.

"Clara will come back for me!" Bond yelled suddenly.

The nurse jumped at the outburst and smacked the girl's arm. Bond flinched and took notice of her once again. "No moor screamin', lass. They'll take yoo back to yer room soon."

"They don't know a thing about you, do they?" the man said. He was now on the other side of the table and drawing nearer to the girl. His posture was hunched, but he was still tall and somewhat lanky. His breath was... not gross and awful, but... dark, if that could even happen. Bond watched him carefully, occasionally glancing back at the nurse who paid them no mind. She was on the phone; no doubt calling the guards again. Bond wanted to scream again, but she knew that all that could answer her was a syringe and a bleary existence others called sleep. "They'll hurt you. They'll inject that poison in your bloodstream again. It'll kill you again. And it will hurt." The man lunged toward her and the nurse.

Despite hating this nurse, Bond knew she had good intentions and jumped on her defensively. "Stop it!" Bond yelled at the man. "Stop it! Get away! Stop it!"

"Wha's gott'n into yoo? Devil's doin'!" the frightened middle-aged lady shoved Bond to the floor.

Her head hit the tile and the surroundings began to spin. Damned old hag! Bond slowly got on her elbows and saw the man was mirroring her position, his face inches from hers. She shrieked and sent her fist out, then her legs, and eventually she was wrestling him. He artfully dodged every blow and only laughed harder at her feeble attempts to fight. She grunted and lashed out more frequently, her eyes blind with fury. After a few moments, calloused hands caught her arms and legs and the floor was suddenly far away. Screaming, Bond believed she was being taken away by the man and his minions. She'd seen them before, smacking the other patients in the ward. The young girl had yelled at them to stop, but they ignored her. Finally, they had found their way to her. But Bond wouldn't have any of it this time. Bringing her arm up to her mouth, she bit down hard on the figure's hand. A satisfying crunch was heard and a yelp and a release of her limbs followed. The girl crashed to the floor and immediately tried to crawl away. They wouldn't abuse her, not this time. She was going to get away and tell her doctor. She was going to ask for a transfer. She was going to get out of this place and get better. Oh, the irony of this place was not lost on her.

But something tagged her skin, pinching it and making it unbearably warm. With dreaded realization, Bond tried to twist her body around to see who had given her more of the Thorazine. Before her vision tired, she saw Brutus, the stocky bald guy, and Jerry, the tall redheaded dweeb, standing over her. The man she had seen earlier was gone. Lazily rolling her body over so that she was on her back again, Bond saw the figure in the opposite corner of the hallway. He was grinning maniacally.

"He's..." Bond's throat was beginning to close and she coughed, "right there... Don't... let him─" another coughing fit and her vision blurred to the point of simple shapes "don't... he'll─ he'll..." Bond's mind ceased to work and the blackness covered her in a thick blanket.

Don't let him find me.

Bond opened her eyes drearily. Her body was still. She was on her back. It was dark. Her head ached and her limbs were sore and her throat was dry and she needed a drink. Taking a few slow breaths, she turned her face toward the right, gaining a sense of her environment. In the dim light from the window high above her, she could see little more than shadows. The room wouldn't have revealed much more in broad daylight, anyway. She knew where she was: the hole, it was usually referred to in prisons. Here? Bond couldn't remember the name, because she didn't think she would ever be back here again. Too many memories overwhelmed her groggy mind and she closed her eyes again.

The first time she had been here was the entire first year of her admittance to this forsaken hospital. That's right: one whole year. Bond's psychosis─ as described by her doctors─ made her unpredictable and a hazard around the other, better-behaved patients. She had finally broken down, they said. Her mind was damaged. More importantly, it was physically damaged and there was little more they could do short of personality-altering surgery. Her parents didn't care. Do it, they said. But the doctors could never get anywhere close to Bond. She insisted he spoke to her, insisted that she had to get out of there, and that she was fine. It got so bad that every time she was visited, they had to inject her with a more diluted syringe of Thorazine just so that she wouldn't try to escape, or claw their faces off, or any other crazy stories the nurses had gossiped about. Of course, she had never done any of that. She didn't even believe herself to be dangerous. The girl only wanted to be understood. Yet, everyone resolved to let her finish her psychotic episode in solitude. Every few weeks, they reevaluated her. And every time, she insisted they spoke to her. That they were real and that they needed her to leave now. Who were "they"? The doctors asked this constantly, but never received an answer. At the end of the year, something changed in Bond. She calmed down and began to speak openly with the doctors. It was determined that the long-winded episode was finally over, and she was allowed out on the Ward Grounds.

And now she was back in the dreaded room. Opening her eyes again, she shifted her weight to try and sit up. Something pushed on her abdomen and sent her back onto the mattress. What the hell? She pulled her arm up, only to find that her wrist was bound in the same way. As was her other wrist. And her legs. The girl groaned and thrust her head back onto the thin cloth they called a pillow. Just great. I haven't had anything happen for a year, and three years before that, and now I'm back in here. I'll never get out. Clara! Wait for me, please! I know last time didn't work out so well, that I got sent back so early, but I promise I'll get well soon! Have faith in me.

Bond didn't know why she was silently praying in the empty room. No one could hear her. There was no one to hear her, she told herself. There never was. Clearing her parched throat, she turned her head again, training her eyes to see more in the bleak lighting. The nightstand next to her had a glass of water. That's really fucking useful, Bond sneered. Wriggling uncomfortably, an impatient growl escaped her lips. Because that was going to help her thirst. Absolutely.

"There you are!" a voice called out from above and shattered the silence.

Without looking, Bond was scared that the man had come back. "Get away. I know you're not real!"

There was a pause. Did that really work? Was Bond finally getting better? Her hopes were rising.

"I don't know what happened earlier, either," the voice spoke softly. Bond twitched nervously. This wasn't the same man. It seemed familiar. Who was it...? "But you can see me. I just wanted to talk to you. I'm sorry I couldn't save you from those guys."

That jogged the girl's memory. It was the white-haired boy out in the hills. The boy who called himself Jack Frost. Was she supposed to take that seriously? She's seen patients who claim themselves to be witches or ghosts, or even the president of the United States, but she had never seen anyone deluded enough to call themselves a mythical figure. Mall Santa Clauses were different. They knew they weren't really Santa Claus. But this boy really did believe he was Jack Frost. As she recalled, he was going to prove it to her. What did that even mean? The girl puffed excess air through her nose. It didn't matter. He wasn't real, either. She'd gone right through him. The guards had gone right through him. Hell, they didn't even see him. There was no way that he could be real. Bond remained silent.

"Aw, come on," the voice tried again, "are you mad at me? I said I was sorry."

Indeed, he did sound sorry. Still, Bond refused to open her mouth. If he was so sorry, he'd leave.

"Bond, was it? Can you at least let me in?" He insisted. She was finding it harder to answer, but she stood her ground. Well, lay on her ground. Lay on her bed, actually. She gave up trying to make the metaphor work properly.

He's not real, he's not real, he's not real. Bond kept repeating to herself. He's not real! Her limbs were quivering from the effort to block him out. A shadow appeared in the window through the door, not the outside window. She knew it. He had shape-shifted and appeared on the other side of the door. He could let himself in and torture her al he wanted. She couldn't break down again. He's not real, he's not real! Frowning, she narrowed her eyes. The figure on the other side of the door tilted its head. Shivers crawled up her spine and she took in a sharp breath. It smiled, she knew it. He is NOT real, damn it!

"Why don't you let me in?" The voice called, darker. "It'll be fun," the figure on the other side of the door laughed. She stared and stared until the scene came into focus. The drugs weren't completely gone from her system and it was making it harder for her to concentrate.

"Shut up!" Bond yelled. Her words were cracked and hoarse.

"Oh, I thought you were asleep," the voice called from the window outside again, "did you hear me? Am I allowed to come in?"

"Why don't you let me in?" His voice deepened, sinister in every facet of the term.

"I said shut up!" Bond started to cry. He's a real pain in the ass. "I won't let you in!" Bond was avidly shaking against her restraints. So much so that it tipped to one side just a little too far. Letting out a shriek, a crash of metal as loud as a car collision echoed off the cement walls. Bond's weight pulled the bed further, landing it on top of her. The girl's face was ground into the dirty floor. Tiny specks of dirt found their way into her mouth, her nose, and dug painfully into her cheeks. She cried out in pain until she realized that it hurt her throat even more.

There was a crackling sound above her. Something metal creaked and groaned, giving in to some sort of weight. Bond's fear gripped her and she struggled to move. But she was stuck, and left to fend for herself against the unreal. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she murmured a prayer. She wasn't one for religion, but if there was ever something out there, perhaps it would hear her now. Help me! Vanquish them! Vanquish the unseen! Then there was a snap and Bond yelped in surprise as metal bars clanged against the floor next to her. Against her better judgment, she started to whimper like a little kid and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.

"Whoa!" A cold wind blew through the room and Bond shivered. The voice was closer now. "Bond! Are you okay?"

Hands gripped the underside of the bed, close to her wrist, and Bond shrieked from the sudden movement. The pale fingers were long and thin and it seemed like death was finally here for her. The bed shook above her, but the figure didn't alleviate its weight. A grunt was heard, and then the fingers were gone. Bond's heart raced in the silent moments and she held her breath. Whatever it was, it was gone. She exhaled in a cold sweat and relaxed. Then there was a crack as some sort of stick was shoved underneath the bed and closed in on Bond's face. She screamed again and begged and begged and begged for whoever it was to go away. The edge of the stick was lifted and the hand appeared again. Bond cut off her screams and whined to herself. She didn't want to be stuck in this hospital forever. Don't let them hear you. There's nothing really there. I'm just having a bad dream. I've had ones like these before. You always wake up before you see their face. It's the body's natural response. I'm fine. I'm just dreaming. I'll wake─

The white-haired boy's face was drawn in a grimace as held his staff above his head. "This thing's heavier than it looks. Can you get out? I don't know if I can hold this much longer. This staff isn't exactly invincible."

Bond simply stared. Her face was a white and made of stone. This hallucination was helping her. Had they done that before? I mean, he tried to help me before, but... She was about to crawl out when she remembered the restraints were still locked in place. She sighed and shook her head. "It's no use. They tied me to the chair."

"They tied you?" The boy looked incredulous. Had he never seen a mental hospital? "I get that they don't want you to run away, but they tied you?"

"Trust me, it's not excessive," Bond lied with dry humor. "You should've seen what they did to Maurice the day he took one of the knives out of the kitchen. No one would even go near the guy after they managed to tie him up. And that was only for walking around mumbling nothings. Oh," Bond was getting to the good part, "and wait until you see what they did to Fiona after they found her─" Bond fell to the floor, the dirt grinding into her cheekbone, "─OW! What the he─"

The leather bonds were frozen stiff on the floor beside her. Her wrists were free. Laughing because it felt good to be free from her bed, and because it was so unbelievable that a hallucination could interact with her surroundings, she rubbed her hands together and then felt up her arms and down her abdomen to her legs and ankles. Everything was free. Cold, but free. She was laughing from the excitement.

"Freezing leather is fun and all," the boy's voice grunted, "but I'm getting a little tired holding this bed up. Could you crawl out so that I don't crush you," he added as an afterthought, "please?"

Bond stopped rejoicing and wormed her way out from her temporary prison, twirling onto her feet unsteadily. Ankles didn't feel the greatest when they had been cramped by a bed twice her size. Wavering, she stuck out her arms and started to fall. The boy rushed over to pick her up when his hand went right through her stomach. Bond gasped and fell the rest of the way, back onto the floor. It had happened before, but now she was sure. He had gone through her. This hallucination was untouchable. Well, the others never made an attempt to touch her, and whenever she fought them, they were too good at avoiding her punches, so she couldn't be sure he wasn't like the rest.

There's one way to test that, Bond thought with a smirk. Spinning around on her heel, which still throbbed, the girl threw her left arm right for the boy's face. He flinched away, but not far enough. Bond witnessed as her physical fist phased right through his cheek. Her mouth flew open and she stepped backward, bumping against the wall. "You're..."

"Did you just," the boy paused, furrowing his brows, "did you just punch me?"

Bond gulped. If he had been a nice hallucination, he sure wasn't going to stay one. "Y-yeah... I did."

The boy stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending. Then he let out a short laugh and ruffled his hair in one hand, his staff in the other. "Wha─ what─ why did you punch me?"

"I wanted to know if you were real," Bond stated matter-of-factly.

"Do you punch everyone you meet?" The boy touched his cheek, as if it really hurt.

That's when Bond whipped her head toward the door and shot behind the upturned bed. The second voice. There must have been a second voice. Who was it? Where was it? "Show yourself!" Bond peered from above the sideways metal headboard.

The boy cracked an odd smile and turned toward the door. Much to Bond's alarm, he walked up to the door and glanced through the window. "Who're you─"

"Get away from the door!" Bond hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. She waved her hand toward her. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

The boy looked back at the door and her again. "What are you talking about? Can you even leave this room? What if you have to go to the bathroom?" He started wandering around the room in a slow, arching circle. Pausing at each wall, he put his hand onto the rough surface. In the moonlight, Bond saw ice fractals appear on the wall nearby where he stood. She rubbed her eyes. The broken window above her must be allowing the dew on the walls to freeze over. Maybe now the staff would think about redecorating, Bond laughed to herself. The boy continued to walk, trailing his hand along the wall. He tapped his staff a few times against the floor absentmindedly. After a few moments, he walked toward the bed. She was about to warn him about the broken glass when he hopped over the spot─ and the bed─ and landed beside her. Bond fell backwards again and shuffled away from him.

"Did you just jump like, ten feet?" Bond looked at the boy warily. She'd forgotten all about the second entity she'd seen moments ago.

"What?" The boy looked confused about his apparent jumping abilities. "Oh, that's nothing. You should see me fly sometime." Then he seemed to think of an idea. "Do you wanna go flying? I'm sure I could find a way to carry you or someth─"

Bond swatted at him again, forgetting that she couldn't touch him. Her hand phased through him again and he flinched like it hurt. "Stop it! You're joking, right? You can't fly. And stop acting like it hurts when I try to touch you. Honestly, it feels a little rude."

The boy put up his hands defensively. "Okay, okay. It's okay. I'm not going to drop you or anything, but I can fly. I'm Jack Frost, remember?" He was about to mention something else, but he held it back. "I'm Jack... Frost... you don't know who Jack Frost is, do you?"

Bond laughed off the comment. "I know who Jack Frost is, and he isn't you. Jack Frost is an imaginary snowman that eats children. Imaginary. Snowman. I'm pretty sure you're oh-for-two."

His features lit up. "But you said I'm not imaginary," he pointed out.

Bond couldn't resist rolling her eyes. If she told her hallucination that they were imaginary, they would just deny it. This one seemed to be pleased that she skipped that step. Could hallucinations get smarter than her? Or rather, smarter than they already were? But this one seemed friendly enough. Well, so had... No. She couldn't let herself think about it. She swore to herself to never think about it again. The memories threatened to surface and she had to find a way to stifle them down. "I also believe I said that you were a carnivorous ball of snow."

"Do I look like I'm made of snow to you?" Bond reached out to try and touch him again, but he backed away. "Please don't try and prove that. I get it now."

Bond frowned. She thought it would have been fun. Or would that have been a form of torture? She shrugged, considering neither would have had ill effects on her part. Still, the boy claiming to be Jack Frost seemed to have a different motive for coming to her. It wasn't to mock her or terrify her─ in fact, he had done the opposite. Bond couldn't help the overwhelming curiosity, and asked, "Are you sure you aren't from another Ward? Or a transfer? That happens a lot. Especially with those from Ward 3. They just keep getting moved up. Seems the nurses can't handle them. Big surprise, huh? The nurses here can't do shit. Look at my leg," Bond pulled up her smock enough to show the gauze, "all this for a measly scratch from tree bark. Ridiculous, right?"

Jack blinked in surprise. "I-I'm sorry that happened. I couldn't stop them, you know."

"Hey, hey," Bond sat with her legs crossed in front of her, "no need to apologize. Brutus and Jerry are just a bunch of dunderheads who can't tie their own shoelaces. Jerry─ the redhead─ he was counting the patient blocks the other day, and he couldn't remember what came after twelve! He had to ask Brutus and by the time he got an answer he lost count again! Idiots, right?"

Jack was looking at her, his eyes darting up and down and his face molded in confusion. "What was in the thing they stabbed you with?"

Bond recovered from the change of subject. "Oh, the syringe? Do you know what those are?"

"I do now," Jack waited for her to continue.

"Well," Bond began. If he didn't disappear after this long-winded explanation, he might as well be real, "syringes are like these tiny needles that they fill with─ well, whatever they want. Anyway, that one was filled with Thorazine. Do you know what─ no, I'm sure you don't. Okay, um, Thorazine is a drug─ do you know what a drug─ never mind. It's a thing that changes you. Well, it doesn't change you. It changes things about you. Like, how you act and stuff. Do you know what weed is? Thorazine's a little like that. But more sedative, like Morphine. Am I losing you? No? Good. Thorazine basically makes you a dumb, sleepy vegetable and you drool everywhere and it's horrible. I got injected with 800mg worth of the stuff. Do you know how much that is?" The boy shook his head, a sign that he was still listening. "Well, normal dose for me is about 300mg. And lethal is... I want to say somewhere around five grams? So about... 5000mg? Might be more, might be less. I'm not a doctor. Of course, neither are they. There's only one doctor per Ward here. Isn't that crazy? No pun intended, probably."

"Aren't you tired at all?" Jack looked baffled, but he was still there in front of her, sitting down with an extreme amount of patience. Bond had to admit, this hallucination was persistent.

But she could see that he had a good reason to ask that question. Her throat was still very much dry, so she stood and walked over to the nightstand, which had been surprisingly undisturbed throughout the night's events. Picking up the glass, Bond held it in both hands and sipped greedily. Then she thought of something.

"Do you want any?" She held the glass out toward him without turning in his direction. If he could hold the glass, then maybe...

"I'm not really thirsty, thanks," Jack declined, "besides, you probably still want that."

Bond shrugged and took another drink. She couldn't finish it, however, and handed it back to the boy again. "I don't want the rest of it. You can have it. Really, it's fine."

"Are you sure?" Jack asked, still not reaching for the glass.

"Yes, yes," Bond turned toward him, "you said you wanted to show me you were Jack Frost earlier. Can you show me now?"

Looking in her eyes for a few more seconds, Jack reached for the glass. Just as he was about to touch the glass, Bond heard keys jingling just outside her door. Panicking, the water slipped from her hands and spilled onto the floor. In the heat of the moment, however, she believed that Jack dropped it after handing it to him. It all happened so quickly. The men came in. One of them held her hand behind her while she screamed and the other put the bed upright again, fixing the covers before she was thrown back onto the bed. Thrashing uncontrollably, Bond couldn't get away. Her eyes flew around the room for any sign of Jack. Lastly, her eyes landed on the corner underneath the window. He stood there, watching as she was being restrained once again. She called out to him, but he did nothing, his face shrouded in the shadows. His sweatshirt glistened in the pale light and his stark white hair stood out against the gray of the concrete. A sharp pain was delivered to her side and the world started to spin. Bond cried out nonsensically. Turning toward the corner once again, she saw two people watching her. One was Jack, but the other...

"Look out─!" was the last thing she said before the black depths of her unconscious consumed her.

A/N: Oh, if you have time, and want another suggestion of what fics to read next, I recently posted a short called The Things No One Knows. It's a zombie!AU starring Jack and the other Guardians. It won't stay a short, however. I plan on making it a full story (I just need to write out the plot and stuff like I was supposed to for this one... woops). I hope you'll check it out!

(Note: NOT based off The Walking Dead!)