In his early days, when he was new to the world and his powers still raw, Jack Frost killed. He killed without remorse, and without hesitation. He did not do it out of cruelty or spite, he did it simply because he is. He is Jack Frost, the embodiment of winter. And winter does not get to choose. He did not get to choose. It simply is, and simply was. And that was all.
Winter coursed through his veins, turned his skin blue, and moisturized chapped lips with bright red. He was always cold, but when it had time to build up it began to hurt. The cold would swirl around in a place that he thought once had been warm, but could no longer remember if that was true. It would hurt, it would cut, and the only way to make it stop was to release it. And he did.
He was blind during these releasing's. Snow seemed to pour from his eyes if he held them open for too long. Ice shot from his cries. It was unbearable, but after it raged within and out for a long time he was finally able to see and be once more. The world would be covered in white. And it looked like a fairy tale that the children of villages would whisper to their friends. It looked magical to them; they just never knew how true that was. But Jack Frost knew it wasn't a fairy tale. He knew what lurked beneath the snow.
After his blizzards he would hover for a while above his doings. He could see cottages buried with families trapped inside. Livestock that had preserved harsh winters in the past couldn't continue anymore. And he could sometimes see something pushing through the snow. From far away it looked like daisies pushing up, fighting back against the white death, but when one would get closer to inspect he would realize that nothing could survive these blizzards. The fingers grasping at the air in a last effort at life were only further proof. Winter didn't get to choose who lived and who died.
Jack Frost would like to say that he remembers the first person he killed, but he cannot tell you even if he wanted. He cannot remember how many have died in the harsh winters he has given, but he knows the numbers are higher than he likes to think about.
As he grew older and the humans of the world learned to adapt to their seasonal changings, the loss of life decreased and Jack Frost began to realize that death, while inescapable, should not be dismissed so casually. He knows in his heart that the season of winter is a time of death, but his center battles against his own nature.
He struggled for half a century with these thoughts and during the spring of 1968 he made a fatal mistake.
Spring was no time for the spirit of winter to be roaming Pennsylvania, but Jack had become restless during those years and become rebellious in nature. The place of his birth called to him in a way he could never explain and he found himself drawn there once more. Children were seen playing on the thinning ice, and Jack having a special place for children in his heart, wanted to keep them from harm and chose to thicken the ice. For while it was spring, the air was still brisk and ice was just beginning to melt. Children, having been told by their parents to not play on the lake, naturally decided to do just that. A young boy with shaggy brown hair and warm brown eyes, laughed as he felt his feet find firmer ground on the now hardened ice and began to run around. His friends, feeling the shift in the ice but also unwilling to dwell on the strange phenomenon, followed in their friends footsteps. Jack watched the children play for hours with a warm smile on his face, tossing the occasional snowball from the thickets of the forest to extend the playtime. He didn't notice the sun beginning to set and the moon slowly rise, until he felt someone watching him from afar. He turned away from the children to look into the woods but could see no one watching. Confused he searched nearby, thinking maybe one of the parents had come to find their child, but he saw no other presence in the woods besides his own. A blood-curdling scream drew his attention back towards the lake and the wind carried him as fast as it could. He arrived, wind howling with him, and saw the young boy lying on the ice that looked strangely like a watercolor painting. His friends surrounded him, screaming his name. Tears stung their cheeks, and voices caught in their throats as they screamed and screamed, with no one around to hear them but Jack Frost.
Jack approached the boy, looking into his brown eyes, which just minutes ago had been crinkled with laughter and wonder, but were now staring blankly up at Jack's own. Blood caked his brown hair and little streams ran into the ice, now cracked with red instead of its normal icy blue. Jack Frost sat there staring at this dead child, and for the life of him he could not look away until he heard a young girl crying out a name he was all too familiar with, "Jack… Jack… Jack."
With a final look at his beloved lake now stained red, Jack blacked out.
When he awoke he was surrounded. His whole world was white and with his heart sinking he knew what he had done. He reigned in the winter that was threatening to explode from his frail form and he gasped and gasped until he was sure he would suffocate from exhaustion. He sat for a while, unsure of where he was or what happened. He just sat and waited for the world to calm with him. When he regained some of his strength he took notice of his surroundings. He was no longer at his lake but in the middle of a town and his knees pressed to a road. He stood shakily and realized an Easter egg that had been crushed under his knee. He could see now with the snow no more than a light flurry of flakes descending from the heavens that the infamous Easter Bunny stood mere feet away from him, screaming at the top of his lungs. "You ruined Easter you blighter! Why do you have to ruin everything!"
Unable to think, unable to breathe, he said nothing and E. Aster Bunnymund taking the lack of silence as provocation started towards the young sprite. But the northern wind always looked out for Jack Frost. It wrapped around him in a warm embrace and lifted him off the ground. Jack taking the wind's cue flew off with him but not before being smacked with the Easter Bunny's boomerang on his lower back. He cried out in pain for a brief second before following the wind, all the while hearing Aster's cries of rage. It chanted in his ear over and over as he remembered the lifeless eyes of the little boy surrounded by his own blood on Jack's home. If Jack had scared the children away from his home rather than inviting them, maybe the boy would still be alive. Maybe he wouldn't have tripped and cracked his head open. Maybe Jack's home would've remained untainted.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Jack Frost doesn't remember the first life he had taken. But he remembers the last.
Winter doesn't get to choose, but somehow he felt like he did.
And he chose wrong.
Jack's eyes shot open. His body bolted upright, pain shot down his spine and lacerations on his torso burned. He shook as sweat beaded on his forehead, he could see nothing but darkness and for a second he believed he was dead. Then he noticed his long, pale fingers desperately clinging to sweat and blood soaked sheets. The bed creaked as he tried to adjust his position and his eyes began to adapt. The walls of the room didn't seem to be made by hand and instead the shadows seemed to be moving with them. He sat still, unsure if his body would actually be able to stand on its own. The pain was almost unbearable and he felt his vision start to grow dark again when he heard a chuckle echo off the cavern walls.
Just as he was about to turn his head a sharp finger brushed against his cheek and a smooth voice whispered in his ear, "Welcome back, Jack Frost."
The finger reached for his chin and turned his face slowly towards the voice. Two pale orbs stared into his own blue and he saw the glint of razor teeth gleam in the gloom. The other hand was brought up as it cupped his face and in his own amazement Jack Frost thought about how cold the hand of his enemy was upon his cheek.
Pitch's eyes shone and Jack could now see all of his teeth as they widened into a hideous smile. "It's been too long, Jack. I feel that we have some catching up to do."