In the dark, outside probably. He was running away from something. Or rather, he was trying to run away from something. His feet kept slipping under him. Twelve black figures loomed over Hans, their hands grabbing and pinching and pulling at his clothes and hair. A great hole opened up underneath him with teeth sharp as spears, swallowing him up whole like a monster. He screamed as he fell.

In his room, on his bed. A large, black blob came towards him with a belt in hand.

"Come on, Hans. You can't hide from us forever."

Hans ran down a hallway that stretched on forever. The blob came closer, closer, closer until

In the food pantry on the first floor. Hans peeped through a crack in the door, watching the blobs search for him. One is pulling off all the table cloths and Two is pushing cooking supplies off the high counters. His breathing gets faster and he realizes two things. First: he's naked. Second: Three, the one with the belt, found him. Hans thrashed and struggled in Three's arms, stabbing him with a knife had suddenly had. A white, familiar liquid seeped out instead of blood.

In the broom closet on the third floor. His hands were bloody, splinters and blisters covering them from pounding, pounding, pounding on the door. His throat was raw and aching from screaming over and over again to let him out. His face was wet with tears. Long, boney fingers combed through his hair and cupped his cheek.

In his mother's room on the fifth floor. She lay on the bed, sick like she always was. Her hands, frail and withered, cupped his cheek. With her thumb, she wiped away the tears and with a crook of her finger urged Hans to lean in closer. She put her mouth by his ear and screamed.

"If only there was someone out there who loved you!"

Hans jolted up, pushing the hair clinging to his forehead back. His face was covered in sweat and he panted. Once steady hands shook from a mere dream. Pathetic.

"Just a dream….Just a dream," he whispered to himself. The prisoner lay back down, calming his breathing. It was just a dream. Just a stupid, meaningless dream.

Leather-clad feet came down the steps in a hurry. Kristoff looked almost panicked. He clung to the bars like a child to their mother's skirt ("Don't do that, Hans, honey. You'll wrinkle the fabric and I'll have to send it back down to Catherine. Why don't you cause trouble somewhere else?").

"Elsa came down here yesterday; what did she ask you?" Anxiety rose in his voice. Anyone could tell that.

"She asked why you were coming down here."

"And?"

"And I told her."

"Why?"

Hans sat up, draping his arms over his knees. "Because I didn't want her freezing me, that's why."

"She wouldn't have—"

"She was thinking about it but her anxiety got in the way."

"You didn't tell her why for free."

"Of course not."

"Then what did—"

"More food. Half a meal a day isn't very healthy, even for prisoners."

Kristoff shook his head and left.

"What did your brothers do to you?"

Hans looked up from his lap where he was making a braid out of straw. It surprised him; he thought Kristoff would wait a long while before asking. This made his plan go a lot faster.

"A lot of things," the prisoner sighed. He closed his eyes, brow furrowing slightly at the memories of his brothers. "They locked me in closets until the maids found me, ignore me, stole my dinner, beat me until I couldn't stand, and…" Hans swallowed hard. "And a lot of other things."

Kristoff took pity on Hans for the third time. He knew what it was like to be in a big family, to be teased, but this was on a whole new level. No wonder Hans was so broken. He's been breaking ever since he became the thirteenth brother. An unlucky number.

"Why?"

Hans opened his eyes, caught off-guard by the simple question.
"Why?" He never thought of the 'why'. It just always was, there never was a reason, never was a 'why'. "Because I'm the youngest I suppose…" Hans looked down, mask slipping slightly before he pulled it back up. "Or because I'm the prettiest." The prince smirked smugly at his own complement.

The prettiest. That stuck out the most to Kristoff. Not the most handsome, or even most attractive, but the prettiest. He supposed pretty could be used to describe any gendered person, but when used to explain the attractiveness of Hans, a fairly masculine man, it was out of place. Pretty was what Kristoff called Anna after they had…

What were those other things?

"Didn't your father or mother do anything?"

The prisoner scoffed and shook his head at the idea. "Of course not. After I was born my mother got very sick and couldn't do much of anything but lay there in bed. Though she could always throw her books at my father when he wouldn't leave." He snickered at the thought. "And my father did it too. He'd get drunk off his ass and start to beat me. But after I turned 14 I found a hiding place he couldn't fit into.
"He had gotten rather fat, probably stealing some of mother's meals every day. His entire wardrobe was handed down to Harold and Henry. As if they already didn't look enough like him. Maybe they'll get fat too."

"Harold and Henry are your brothers?"

"Unfortunately. They were the worst out of all the others, them and Harrison."

"What made them the worst?" Kristoff leaned in closer, desperate for answers.

In his room, on his bed. A large, black blob came towards him with a belt in hand. "Come on, Hans. You can't hide from us forever." Three and Four pin him down, kissing his neck and chest and stomach and down to his—

"I'm not going to burden you with it." The lightness of is voice was gone.

And that made Kristoff realize the lightness in his previous statements. His mother was sick, probably with a terminal illness, his brothers locked him in closets and abused him, and his father was a drunk who had partaken in the abusing. But it was all said as if it was completely normal, it was said as casually as 'I have twelve older brothers'.

There was something worse that happened, worse than dark closets and beatings.

What were those other things?

In his cell, in the darkest part of Arendelle. A large shadow opens his door and pulls him up. Two more come down the stairs, even larger than the one holding his wrist. The smallest shadow pins him against the wall, ice shackles keeping him in place. One of the bigger two came up to him and ran thick fingers across his chest. It leaned in to his ear and whispered.

"Why are you so broken, Hans?"

A kiss to his ear.

"What made your heart freeze and shatter?"

A kiss to his neck.

"Who's fault is it that you're down here?"

A kiss to his collarbone.

The ice shackles grew, going down his arms and up his legs. The last shadow approached him. It leaned in and held his chin up in a tight grip. The ice covered all of his body and started to inch up his neck.

"Oh, Hans. If only there was someone out there who loved you."

Hans screamed and tried to thrash around, but was frozen, now completely covered in ice.

In the ballroom, in the largest room in Arendelle. Shadows all around him are dancing, waltzing to be specific. There is no music, or any sound at all. A shadow grabs him and they start to waltz together. It grabs his ass and pulls him in closer. Hans manages to get away. He looks up. All he can see is a shimmering blue gown and rope. Elsa is hanging on the chandelier by the neck.

All the shadows stop dancing and grab at him, pulling, tugging, pinching, biting, clawing. He tries to scream but nothing comes out of his throat. They start to chant in unison.

"If only there was someone out there who loved you."

The shadows swallow him up.

No one hears Hans screaming.

No one hears Hans crying.