Author's Note:

Warning: This story contains self-harm. Read at your own risk.

Sorry I took such a long time. I had final exams to study for.

Inspired by ijackfrost's (of Tumblr) reply to an anonymous asker.

Pre-movie.

Headcanon:
Jack Frost cut himself.

It had been a month since he had risen from the lake - but it felt as if years had passed. Jack was new to the world and was still having trouble grasping the idea that no one could see him. He was filled with nothing but confusion, sadness, anger, and loneliness. Nothing made sense to him anymore. The idea that he could not be heard or seen was still a shock to him, and he was horrified by it. He could kick, scream - nothing would work. Everyone just walked by him, not sparing even a passing glance. It made him feel very down. He couldn't wake up in the morning (if he even went to sleep) without wishing he didn't exist.

Jack had been sitting in a tree, dozing when he was startled awake by the sound of laughter and footsteps. He watched as three boys - two appeared to be brothers while the third was probably just a friend - trekked to the lake, carrying fishing gear. He recognized them as kids that lived in the village he would visit off and on when he wasn't freezing things or trying to teach himself how to fly.

Jack was gently deposited onto the ground by the wind. He casually walked over to the boys and greeted them. They did not answer. His shock faded quickly once he remembered that he was, in fact, dead. Or invisible. Jack didn't like using the word "dead."

So instead of trying to talk, he decided to listen.

The boys arrived at the edge of the lake and set down their fishing gear. They were gossiping about girls and recent events - things Jack did not care to listen to. He was instead walking circles around them, examining their fishing gear.

"So you guys like to fish? Well good luck. I didn't see any when I was in there," he said jokingly. But his words made him feel uncomfortable and awkward. He had to constantly remind himself that they could not hear him.

"Hey, guys. Did you know that, like, a month ago, some guy fell into the lake and died?"

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. "What?" He whispered.

"What? No way," answered the second teenager, the younger of the brothers.

"Swear on it!"

Jack stepped closer to the teens as they continued talking. They had to have been talking about him. It made sense, after all. He woke in freezing cold water, and he was lifted out of the ice. His name had the word "Frost" in it, too! They were talking about him, Jack knew it.

"Guys, I'm right here!" He said, aggravated. How could they just ignore him like this?

The boys paid no attention to him. Instead, the third one said, "Maybe if we cast our lines deep enough, we'll fish his body out!" which was followed by laughter.

Except Jack wasn't laughing. Nothing about the situation was even remotely amusing. They were talking about someone who had died and they were making a joke out of it.

Jack stomped his foot on the thin ice. They still didn't look over.

The older brother added, "Yeah then we'd be heroes!"

All of them erupted into laughter.

"Hello?! I'm not dead! I'm alive! Look, I'm right here!" Jack was waving his arms, screaming, even jumping around.

"Why don't we actually try it?" the younger brother inquired.

Jack was frantic now. They weren't listening! "Can you listen to me for, for, for ten seconds!? I'm not dead!"

"No! His ghost will come haunt us!"

Jack was still truggling to get their attention. The more he struggled, the angrier and desperate he became.

"Oh please. As if you really believe that."

"But what if it's true?"

"It isn't! The kid is dead. He's gone. There are no such things as ghosts."

Jack pulled at his hair and screamed, "YOU'RE NOT LISTENING! I AM ALIVE!" He conjured a snowball and threw it as hard as he could in the teens' direction. It skimmed the older brother's face. Jack fell to his knees and struggled to keep from sobbing.

"Oh my God! What was that!?"

Suddenly the boys were panicking. They began screaming and running from the lakeside and back into the woods. Jack simply stayed on his knees, his face buried in his hands. After a moment of a failed attempt at composing himself, he looked up at the now vacant area the boys were once in.

In their rush home, they had forgotten their fishing gear.

Jack sniffled and stood on shaking legs. He stumbled to the fishing rods, hooks, and bait. Then he saw it. He just stared at it. It seemed to be calling his name. And he didn't know whether to listen or ignore it.

He slowly picked up the fishing hook. It was so sharp. So pointed. So necessary. This was his moment. Right here, right now - he could finally find out if he was actually dead or not. Only the dead can't be heard or seen, right? And if you're dead, you can't feel anything, right? You don't need food, don't need sleep... you don't bleed.

Tears were still silently streaming down his cheeks as he jerked the sleeve up on his left arm. Jack stared at his skin: it was shiny and so pale. Normal people weren't this pale. All the more reason to test his theory.

And so he did it. With one swift motion, Jack Frost jammed the point of the fish hook into his skin.

And pulled. Hard.

A scream escaped his lips. That had hurt. But it didn't matter. There was still no blood.

He did it again, screaming louder the second time. This pain was proof enough that he was alive, right? But he couldn't stop, not now. Not until he was certain that he wasn't dead. Not until there was blood shed.

As he began to press the hook into his skin a third time, he stopped. His fingers were stained an ugly, pale red. He glanced at his arm: blood was beginning to seep out from his wounds, oozing into fine streams. They trailed down his arm and he had to pull his hoodie sleeve up higher so they wouldn't get stained.

His arm began to throb. He cried out in pain again as oxygen began flowing into the wounds. He dropped the bloody fish hook to the ground and cupped the wounds with his right hand. He started to back away from the lake, struggling to keep himself from crying more. He felt so disgusted with himself, so ashamed. How could he have done this? Why did he do this?

Jack Frost pivoted on his heels and ran.

It was a moment of weakness. And he would never be able to take it back.

A/N:

Credit for headcanon: Tumblr user ijackfrost's reply to an anonymous asker.

Sorry everyone. This was really dark, and I took way too long to get this out.

Don't worry, things will not always stay like this. Jack gets better (obviously - he has to). But I had been thinking for a long time "What if Jack had self-harmed when he first found out he was invisible?" Then I read the reply and I had to conjure a story for it. If you're reading this, ijackfrost, I hope I did your reply a little justice.

Anyways, thanks for reading. Winter Break has started. Updates should be WAY MORE OFTEN now.

I read over this several times and saw no errors, but in case I skipped some, I apologize for those.