WELL LOOK WHO'S NOT DEAD.
Yes, this chapter has been looooong overdue, and I apologize. But! Finals are over, my papers are written, my group projects from hell have been taken care of, I have internet again, and I don't have to worry about the power being turned off randomly for a week. (It has been an eventful, stressful month.)
I do plan to get a job for the summer, but I'll still have plenty more time for writing and happiness than I did this past month. :D Expect the next chapter up by Friday, by the way. I've already made decent headway into it as I'm going on a writing spree these next few days. (Finishing this chapter was actually a reward to myself. :D) No more month-long breaks, I swear on my Evil Author-ness.


Between the idea and the reality

Between the motion

And the act

Falls the Shadow.

—T.S. Elliot, The Hollow Men, 1925


Past:

"You know," Jack said, "I can cut my own hair."

Pitch never paused, scissors snipping a piece of hair behind Jack's ear. "Not well," Pitch refuted.

Jack pursed his lips, staring ahead into the vanity mirror. He watched Pitch's reflection, gripping the plush cushion of the wide stool he sat upon. Pitch's expression was serene, thin lips twitched upward a tiny fraction. When Pitch raised his eyes to meet Jack's in the mirror, Jack turned his gaze down to the top of the vanity.

"Who cares if it's not well done? It's my hair." Jack bit the inside of his lip, annoyed. His brows furrowed fiercely, creating heavy fissures on his forehead.

"You're dipping your head," Pitch reprimanded, and reached around to tilt Jack's chin up. "If you move too much the cut will be uneven."

"You're ignoring me," Jack accused, his annoyance spilling into his tone. He directed his eyes once more to the mirror, glaring at Pitch's reflection.

"I'm not," Pitch denied. Their gazes locked in the mirror again, and Pitch sighed. His little grin fell to a small frown, eyelids dropping half-mast over golden eyes. "Indulge me, please," Pitch entreated. "Won't you let me do this for you, Jack?"

They stared each other down for a few heavy seconds, but it was Jack that looked away first. "Fine," he said lowly.

Pitch's self-satisfied look was unnoticed by Jack. Pitch went back to cutting his hair, and for a few moments there was only the sound of the scissors, and small tugs to the hair on the back of his head whenever he began to dip his chin. Jack felt his eyes droop in the peace of the moment, the near-constant exhaustion that seemed to shadow his footsteps recently edging in to remind him of its presence.

"You seem tired, Jack." Pitch's fingers skimmed through the hair above Jack's ear, nails scratching softly against his skin.

Jack exhaled in a gentle whoosh, a sigh tumbling after. "I'm fine," he hummed.

"What's wrong?" Pitch set the scissors on the vanity, and cupped the left side of Jack's face.

Jack leaned into the touch, eyes blinking drowsily. "Nightmares," he whispered.

"Ah," Pitch voiced. His words took on an air of scolding. "You know I have to do it, Jack. I need the power to protect you."

"I know," Jack said. "It just makes me so tired."

Pitch picked up a comb from the vanity top, and began running the teeth through Jack's hair. Jack made a noise of contentment, and slowly nodded off into sleep. Pitch smiled down at him, and picked the shorter male up after setting the comb aside, cradling Jack against his chest. Pitch carried Jack to the bed behind them, and set Jack on it. For now this room was Pitch's alone, but in time…

Pitch's lips pulled into a sharp grin. In time.

For now, however, he would settle for this. Jack smiled in his sleep, and Pitch brushed Jack's pale bangs from his forehead. "You must be having an adorable dream," he murmured. "There's just one thing missing." Black sand came fluidly to his fingertips, and seemed to almost drip onto Jack's forehead and into his hair. "A touch of fear."

Jack's eyes creased at the corners, and he twisted his head to the side. A distressed sound rumbled in the back of his throat as he slept. His smile disappeared.

Pitch breathed in the scent of Jack's fear, the taste heady on his tongue. "There," he muttered, "much better."

Jack dreamed of a lake, and darkness, and cold. He dreamed of reaching into the dark, but never grabbing. And, just as he always did in his nightmares, he dreamed of a voice that screamed and screamed and screamed his name.

"Jack!"


Present:

The Pole had far more rooms than Jack had ever anticipated. Rarely indulged curiosity bubbled under his skin, and with each room they passed Jack took a second to glance inside as they walked by. He saw kitchens with huge ovens, laundry rooms with tubs of soapy water and washboards, and even one room where Yeti seemed to congregate and socialize around a fireplace.

He remembered this feeling. He used to feel it exploring the home he and Pitch shared, the multitude of tunnels and rooms that branched on and on in torch filled hallways. Rooms that appeared abandoned or forgotten, rooms with portraits of people and places he'd never seen. There'd been a room with mirrors too, that stretched up the walls and high to the ceiling and had made Jack feel like he was standing in the eye of a giant insect.

Jack hadn't explored in a very long time, however. Pitch had started changing the tunnels around after the Incident of '68, keeping only the library and main rooms stationary in their positions from the center room of hanging cages. He'd missed this.

Jack and the Guardians took a large open elevator up from the workshop floor, from where Jack was then led to a room containing a huge globe, which spun slowly on its axis. He scanned it with his eyes, wondering at its size and the many lights that shone gently from giant green landmasses and the words scrawled along the many-shaded blue panels of various sizes that formed the oceans. It reminded him of Pitch's globe, but the differences were obvious. Pitch's globe was wrought metal and cold to the touch, whereas this globe looked like it might be warm if he touched it.

Of course, Jack considered, this globe contained only white lights. Pitch's globe had those as well, but there were also black lights—the lights of those who believed in the Bogeyman.

Toothiana, obviously mistaking Jack's staring for lack of understanding, explained, "Each of those lights is a child who believes in us; in the Guardians."

Jack's gaze slid to the side to glance at her from the corner of his eye, then went back to the globe. Belief…he'd never given it much thought, never considered it. Sometimes he wondered what it would feel like, to be believed in. Would it have made any difference in his life up to now, if he'd had the belief of someone?

For a moment he remembered swirling winds and raging snow, and thought maybe it would have.

Ignorant of the eyes of the Guardians that watched him closely, he approached the globe until he stood before the control panel. Reaching up, he placed his palm over Australia as it passed, exhaling gently when it proved him right—the globe was warm to the touch.

He didn't realize he was smiling until one of the small tooth fairies was hovering in front of his face, mismatched eyes half-lidded as she cooed at his teeth. Jack looked at her tiny fluttering wings, and lurched back violently.

"What's the matter, afraid of tooth fairies?" Bunnymund asked, his tone vaguely mocking.

"It's not that," Jack rebutted, but he did not explain. He turned around to face the Guardians, and only then noticed that they had been speaking behind his back, most likely about him. It was North that addressed him first.

"Jack, about those questions," he began.

"Yes?" Jack set the butt of his staff firmly on the ground, the carvings along its length familiar but strange against his palm.

"Sandy informs us that this Blood Rite, it is serious magic, yes?"

"It is."

"And you used it against Pitch Black, but you are his Consort…" North's jolly face was set with seriousness. "Why? What was dangerous for you?"

A list that he'd long since burned to the back of his mind fought to access his throat, but he swallowed the words back like thick venom. They were not words to be shared with strangers. For all Jack knew he had simply traded for the lesser of two evils; at least Bunnymund seemed aware of how disgusting he was. There was no need for him to nourish their distaste for him by revealing his own brokenness.

"Pitch has made me feel…uneasy, of late. I was concerned, and decided we needed some time apart." The lie was obvious, and Jack knew that he had fooled no one with his words.

North stared him down, and Jack stared back, unrelenting. North sighed through his nose, and nodded. "I see. Well, you will have your time apart. The Blood Rite will last a year before it fades, and you can go back to Pitch. If that is what you want?"

Jack tilted his head to the side, his hair brushing into his eyes, and gave a plastic smile. "Of course. I'm his Consort."

Pitch would never let him get away. After his year of respite, of freedom, Pitch would surely come for him. And then Jack would be punished. Thoughts of the Room chilled his blood, but in comparison to what Pitch could do to him for this rebellion, the Room could almost be pleasant. For all Jack knew, Pitch might even kill him.

Jack didn't spare a second to wonder why that thought seemed to be the more appealing option.

There would be no escape for Jack Frost after this. No sneaking out, no plans, no help. Jack knew what people saw him as, the rumors that might as well have been truth. After this year was over he'd be trapped once more—because who would pity, let alone believe, the Consort of the Nightmare King enough to give him aid he wasn't even sure he deserved?

"Of course," North repeated his words a little disbelievingly. "In that case, we should decide who you are staying with, eh?"

"We could switch off?" Toothiana suggested. "Each take him for a month? So that we can switch off and he won't be stuck in one place for too long, and we'd each get him three times in the year."

"That sounds good." North stroked his beard thoughtfully. "What do you think, Jack?"

Jack blinked, surprised that his opinion was being sought, and slowly nodded. "I don't mind."

North nodded. "This month has just started, and Easter is in a few weeks, so Bunny shouldn't go first, he will be too busy. Perhaps you, Tooth?"

Toothiana flicked her gaze from Jack to her fairies, of which a few hovered around her shoulders. The one Jack had pulled away from so violently hovered apart from the group, still near the globe, and watched the frost spirit with obvious concern and some hurt. Tooth bit her lip. "Maybe not me just yet. Jack doesn't seem that comfortable with my fairies right now."

"True." North tapped his chest. "Then it is me, or Sandy."

The Sandman raised his hand, waving it enthusiastically.

"You wish to go first, Sandy?" North confirmed.

Sandy nodded, and then smiled at Jack. Jack thinly grinned back.

North clapped his hands. "Alright! I shall take him after Sandy. That leaves Tooth and Bunny."

Tooth raised her hand a bit. "He can come to me after you," Tooth offered.

"Wonderful! So it shall be Sandy, me, Tooth, and then Bunny. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good to me," Tooth said.

Sandy nodded, a thumbs-up forming in sand above his head.

"Good." North looked to Bunny. "And you?"

Bunny, who had been leaning against the railing that overlooked the workshop floor with his arms crossed, watching the proceedings grimly throughout the conversation, eased himself up until he was standing straight. He approached the group with measured steps.

"That's fine with me," he said, voice low and tinged with bitterness, "on one condition."

"What is that?" North asked warily, put on alert by his comrade's tone and posture.

"I don't want him," Bunny pointed at Jack, "near any children."

"What?" Jack couldn't stop the outburst in the wake of his sudden disappointment. A tiny bit of him had been looking forward to the possibility of seeing the kids, of maybe even playing with them a bit for the first time if he could work up the nerve. Having that potential dashed so quickly loosened his tongue for questioning. "Why?"

Bunny looked at him, and his eyes were so cold and blank Jack nearly flinched. He stalked forward until he stood just feet away from Jack, his ears pulled back aggressively. "Because you don't deserve to be around them. Not after the Blizzard of '68."

Something in Jack chilled, icy numbness spreading through his chest and making his tongue feel thick and clumsy in his mouth. "You…," he mumbled heavily, "you know about that."

"I do," Bunny whispered, each word like a cut of barbed wire digging into Jack's chest. He tapped the ground with his foot twice, and a hole opened on the floor to his right. "And I don't trust murderers."

Bunny jumped into the hole, and it closed swiftly behind him, leaving a single aster to bloom from the floorboards.

In the tense atmosphere Bunny had left behind, Jack stared at the flower, and remained silent.


Thanks for reading! Also, if anyone cares to look, I'm linking a glorious fanart made for my story Tiny Little Treasures on my profile, so go check it out! DBJonah is amazing, and I am so grateful for the picture.