Disclaimer: I own nothing involved in this story unless I invented it myself. This is written for fun, not for profit. All forms of feedback eagerly accepted. Concrit is loved the most, but everything is welcome.
Fandom: Rise of the Guardians
Title: In Due Time: Chapter 4: Change in Course
Characters: Pitch, Jack, Guardians
Word Count: chapter: 3,661||story: 13,205
Genre: Drama||Rated: PG-13
Notes: This is mainly movie-verse, but with some elements from the book-verse.
Summary: [WIP, Pitch, Jack, Guardians] Pitch knows he would've won if he'd had Jack on his side. If there had been no Guardians to fight him. So he's going to make certain that those things are what happens. The laws of time do not allow change. But Pitch is the Nightmare King, and he makes his own laws.
All right, focus, Jack. Jack had never liked focusing. He preferred letting himself drift from event to event like a snowflake in the breeze. Becoming a Guardian did mean he paid more attention to certain events, and stopping Pitch Black from destroying or negating all of the other Guardians, and Jack himself, was definitely one of those events.
The only problem with focusing was that he found it abundantly clear that he had not one single clue on how he could undo everything that Pitch had already done. He couldn't even get out of the bands of black sand that kept him tied down and out of Pitch's way while the Nightmare King worked on the clock for the next trip.
He killed Bunny. A vivid shudder passed through Jack at the thought. The memory blazed clear in his mind, a bright shock of blood, torn muscles and fur. Jack wasn't a doctor by any means, but he couldn't see how someone, even Bunny, could survive those injuries.
North... His head ducked a fraction lower at the thought of how he'd played right into Pitch's hands with that. Sure, North would grow up a decent human being, but he wouldn't be the warrior who became Nicholas St. North, the Guardian of Wonder.
Tooth. That was something even he couldn't get his head completely wrapped around. Instead of killing or giving her a different life, Pitch made sure she would never be born at all. How did that even work?
Three down and two more to go, and Jack knew very well what Pitch had in mind for him, in broad strokes at least. The idea of never ever being able to deny Pitch would be fodder enough for a dozen nightmares even if he could somehow undo all of this.
But apparently Pitch was saving him for last, as he worked out where he wanted to go in order to make certain the Sandman never rose to fight him.
Exactly how Pitch planned to do that Jack had no idea. The Nightmare King wasn't giving away many details on that, and likel enough wouldn't, until they were in a position where Jack couldn't do anything about it.
He looked around the area one more time. Pitch had probably hidden his staff somewhere, and if he had that, then he could stop all of this. He could save Sandy, and Sandy would - he hoped - have some ideas on how to save the rest of them.
"Are you ready to go?" Pitch got a sick sort of pleasure, Jack thought, from sneaking up behind Jack without making a single sound.
Jack refused to jump. He could sneak up on people too, and he wasn't going to reveal how startled he was. Instad, he lazily turned his head in Pitch's direction. "Not really. I'm still working out how I'm going to bring this all down around your ears."
Pitch chuckled at that. "You won't. There's nothing that you can do to stop me, Jack."
"If you start going on about how soon I won't want to and I will be your willing ally, I am not going to be responsible for any biological functions I do all over your feet."
One pale gray lip twitched upward, though Jack suspected Pitch wasn't actually smiling. He knew smiles, and that wasn't one.
"Nevertheless, if you wish to stop me, then you'll need to come along anyway. It's time to put an end to the Sandman."
"Joy." Jack pulled himself to his feet, more because he knew if he didn't, Pitch would drag him along anyway. He'd had ringside seats for the last three, and there was no getting out of this one, either.
Wonder if I'll get to see the past me. That would be kind of interesting. I wonder if...
A sudden idea sparked in the vaults of Jack's mind and he started to move along a bit more eagerly with Pitch.
"So eager to see him taken care of?" Pitch chuckled at that. Jack barely bothered to throw a look over his shoulder.
"I told you, I'm in this to stop you. And like you just said, I can't stop you if I'm not there. So let's get this done."
He hated having to do this, but there was perhaps one slim chance to set everything right, and he could not let it get away from him.
Once again everything spun around the both of them. Jack didn't feel quite as sick this time and wondered if he could be getting used to this. He wasn't sure if that could be a good thing or not.
As soon as everything cleared before him, he was ready to find Sandy and see what Pitch had in mind. He wasn't ready to look down and realize that the entirety of space spread out in every direction, with Earth looking far larger than he'd ever imagined it being more or less underneath him.
"What in the..." Jack breathed the words out, realizing somewhere in the back of his mind that he probably shouldn't be able to breathe here, and it would likely be better if he didn't think about it a lot. "What are we doing here?"
"I told you. You really need to pay better attention." Pitch stood not that far from him, his back turned to Jack, attention focused somewhere else. Jack pulled his attention away from Earth, though it wasn't an easy task. He thought he could've stared at that beautiful globe forever. "Yes, she does good work, doesn't she? Or will."
Jack blinked a few times, glancing toward Pitch. "What are you talking about?" There were moments he wished he understood Pitch better. Thankfully those were overshadowed by the moments he was glad he didn't have to.
As he almost expected, he didn't get an answer. What he got instead was a sudden sense that something was moving toward them. Pitch had landed them in what looked like an out of the way area, but where they would have a perfect view for what he wanted to do. Jack tensed, looking for anything that could involve Sandy at all, and saw nothing.
The sense of something moving came again, and this time Jack saw what it was: the same ship he'd seen back on the Pooka world, the Nightmare Galleon.
"There." Pitch's voice all but caressed the word. Jack shuddered; Pitch got creepier every second. Seeing his old ship probably brought back all kinds of memories. Jack wondered what had ever happened to it. What changed Pitch from the Nightmare King that he saw here in the past to the one that corrupted dreamsand and ached to be believed in?
Before he could open his mouth and ask, he saw something else coursing alongside the great ship. It took him two looks to actually understand what it was he was seeing, and he did a very convincing imitation of a fish out of water.
"That's... a shooting star?" He'd never seen one up close before, and especially not one that was clearly trying to avoid the Nightmare Galleon as this one was.
"That is Sanderson Mansnoozie." Pitch's lip curled. "Riding the most special star that ever was."
Sometimes Jack got the idea that Pitch not only knew more about what was going on than anyone else did, but he made a habit of making certain no one he talked to knew what he did, just so he could sound creepy and mysterious. He wished harder for his staff, but not to freeze Pitch in ice. No, right now, he just wanted to smack him upside the head and demand clear answers for once.
Then exactly what else Pitch said sank into his head. "That's Sandy?" He'd always imagined the Sandman as what he'd seen him as all this time; pudgy, made of glittering golden sand, and completely unstoppable on the battlefield. To see a shooting star, and not even be able to properly see Sandy, that was something else altogether.
Pitch gave no answer, but created a swirl of nightmare sand, shaping it into a long, slender spear. Jack winced, feeling the bonds that kept him from attacking Pitch tighten at the appearance of this new sand. This spear reminded him too much of what Pitch had used once before to strike Sandy down. Seeing it all again, in a place and time where Sandy didn't have believers who could bring him back...
"Pitch..." Jack shook his head. "Don't do this."
Pitch paid him no mind at all, but held himself tense, waiting. Then, suddenly, the star seemed almost to separate, two parts that headed straight down for Earth.
And in that moment, Pitch struck, his spear soaring through the shadows to strike at one of those pieces. His aim could not be faulted, and the struck piece spun away, course altered, so instead of crashing anywhere on Earth, Jack could now see it spiralling outward, heading back out into space.
"What did you do?" Jack would've given everything he had to chase after that falling start and put it back where it needed to be. He scrambled after more words, wanting Pitch to tell him something honestly for once. "Why that piece?"
"Because that piece would've been the Sandman. And that one," Pitch gestured to the one arcing down toward Earth now, "is Mother Nature."
Jack shook his head; he'd met Mother Nature before, and she hadn't ever mentioned knowing Sandy or being a star or...well, anything except telling him what he needed to know about being the Spirit of Winter. "Why would you care?"
Pitch smiled his favorite shark-tooth filled smile. "Perhaps I'll introduce you to her one day, Jack. Family should stay close, after all."
If there were two words that Jack Frost knew without a doubt shouldn't be used in the same sentence together, those words were 'Pitch' and 'family'.
Pitch knew the area around Burgess quite well. He'd roamed the area for centuries, though he hadn't been as attached to it as Jack was. Still, there was the faintest breath of 'homecoming' as he and Jack stepped out of the timestream on a night some three hundred years earlier.
With every moment Jack grew just a breath more tense. Pitch was well aware the winter spirit had some kind of half-baked scheme rolling around in his mind, something he desperately hoped would grant him an impossible victory. Hope and fear were akin to one another, after all, and Jack dripped in fear that his plan would fail and he would indeed spend his entire lifetime in complete loyalty to Pitch.
As if he had any choice in the matter.
"Now, where would you be?" Pitch asked needlessly, making a show of looking all over the snow-covered landscape. "Any ideas, Jack?"
"Staying as far from you as I can," Jack retorted. "I've never been stupid."
Pitch only smiled and pulled them back into the shadows of a tree. He'd chosen this night to arrive for a very particular reason. He didn't want Jack to have more than the minimum of time without being brought firmly to heel. Which meant, of course, that he'd chosen the night Jack arose from the ice, chosen by the Man in the Moon.
He didn't plan to take the boy the very moment he rose up. His plans involved Jack knowing a few things first, such as the use of his staff and that humans couldn't see him. That would make taming him that much easier. But he wanted to watch the awakening of Jack Frost. He'd missed it the first time, being too wrapped up in creating nightmare sand. If he'd only known then...
That was what this plan was all about, though. Fixing the mistakes of the past so that matters turned out the way that he wanted them to.
He kept his attention on the Jack he'd brought with him as well. He couldn't read Jack's mind, but the low hiss when Jack spied his staff, or rather, his past-time self's staff, on the ice told him a great deal. He'd hidden Jack's own staff deep within his own lair, where no one but he could find it, and the boy clearly felt the lack of it.
Perhaps he'd even let Jack get hold of this one, for a little while. Not that it would do any good. After all he'd done, his strength would soon be so much greater that Jack would beg to be allowed to serve him. As would every other spirit in the entire world.
Crack!
They both saw it: the ice slowly cracking, and a slender form rising upward as if borne by moonlight and whispers of the wind. The Jack by his side shuddered, fingers clutching together. Pitch drank in the sight, wishing to some degree that his own past self were here. It would be so much sweeter to deliver the boy directly to him.
He would just have to enjoy returning home to see an unconscious winter spirit tied up in his living room, with instructions from himself on how to deal with the boy, and why. It would be a delicious beginning to a long and wonderful time together.
Jack watched himself stand up and look around, confusion written large in his eyes, and wished that he could get his hands on that staff. It would respond to him, he knew it, but he couldn't move just yet. Not with Pitch right there, staring at his past self with hungry eyes.
Yeah, getting nightmares out of this.
He'd deal with those later. He wanted to be out of here so he could have them in the first place.
He didn't watch nearly as closely as Pitch did, but he knew what would happen. The finding of the staff, the ability to create frost and ice, the meeting with Wind, and then... the village.
Somewhere along in there, Pitch would strike, and that would be when he had to strike. When he had to make his move and bring Pitch down so he could go back and fix everything.
Maybe he'd even find the time to tell his past self that everything would be all right, that he would find his place in the world...
"You really have improved in flying since then," Pitch's voice whispered in his ear. Jack tensed, refusing to dignify that with an answer. Of course he had; he had three hundred years of practice under his belt. Right then, he'd barely had three hundred seconds. "Perhaps we can fly together one of these days."
Yeah, like that would ever happen. He'd probably get to fly with Bunny willingly a lot sooner than that.
His heart spasmed just a bit at the thought of Bunny. Yeah. He would. Because he would learn how to use that clock and he would fix it all.
"Come along." Pitch kept a grip on where the dark sand bound Jack's wrists together and pulled him where he wanted him to go. Jack winced, following along more out of a desire to not see blood trickling down his arms than anything else. The way the sand cuffs bit into him wasn't pleasant at all. Pitch had a lot to learn about making restraints that didn't hurt.
He decided he didn't want to know why he'd thought that. Jack was firmly coming to believe that there were things that the Spirit of Winter wasn't meant to know at all.
Pitch flowed through the shadows easily, arriving in the firelit village at about the same time that Jack of the past did. Jack looked around, halfway trying to find himself, and halfway trying to see who else he could see. His memories of the village were a little dusty with time, but he thought he vaguely recognized the butcher's boy, the seamstress's apprentice, and...
His breath caught in his throat. He could see her. He'd seen her then, but hadn't recognized her, and later she and her parents moved out of town.
His sister.
He'd never tried to get along without breathing before, even knowing he was somewhat 'living-impaired'. Right now, he couldn't imagine what drawing in a breath felt like anyway.
He wanted to go over to her, to tell her that he was all right and would watch over her, even without knowing who she was, until the family left. He couldn't move an inch because of Pitch's bonds on him.
"Now." Pitch either didn't know or didn't care that Jack was seeing his sister, alive, for the first time in three centuries. Jack would've put his money on 'didn't care', no matter what he'd said about family. Pitch simply pulled him along as Jack's past self wandered into the forest, snow falling in reaction to his newfound grief and shock.
Jack wanted to mourn seeing his sister all over again. He didn't have time. Not with Pitch stalking him like this.
He tried to remember what had happened that night. He'd found somewhere to rest, hoping that all of this was just a horrendous nightmare. A small cave, hadn't it been? One he still stayed in on occasion, where he could keep the few items that he liked having for himself. Even a windborne nomad like him enjoyed having a few special treasures.
Yes. There it was. He could see the cave now, and his past self curled up in the entranceway, staff set down in front of him, the hood of his capelet pulled over his head. The snow grew deeper by the moment and Jack started to pull forward, aching and eager to do something, even if it was just start a snowball fight with himself.
Pitch's hand closed on his wrist and pulled him back. "Stay here," he ordered, and Jack snarled, not caring what Pitch wanted or said. Shadows rose up all around him, however, keeping him where Pitch wanted him to be for the moment, as the Nightmare King stepped silently over to the newborn Spirit.
The other Jack never looked up. He might not have heard anything at all. A stream of black sand swirled toward him, and Jack winced to see himself fall over, far more deeply asleep than he would've been otherwise.
Pitch scooped up the previous Jack, reaching down as well to snatch up the staff. Jack's breath came fierce and cold, his fingers aching to claim the staff for his own, for what brief moments he could manage. He strained against sand and shadows, pushing until he could feel just the tiniest bit of give. It wasn't much, but it was more than he'd had before, and he took it with all that he could.
One step. Then another. And another. Pitch moved along the whole time, not even noticing Jack's growing resistance against his bonds. He aimed himself for a certain clearing in the woods, and Jack followed along, still not at a point where he could break free. Every moment made that more possible, so long as he didn't give up, and he wasn't going to. Just to make it happen that much faster, he focused all of his energy onto the bonds. He couldn't conjure as much ice without his staff as he could with it, but this was it. Crunch time. Now or never.
Between one step and the next it happened. The shadows unspun themselves and the sand fell down into an inert little heap.
Pitch began to turn toward him, and Jack struck, leaping forward as quickly as he could, yanking the staff out of Pitch's grip. The moment his fingers touched it, it sparkled with as much frosty energy as his always had. He smiled; this was almost as good as when he'd repaired it once before.
And once again, it was time to defeat Pitch. He pointed the crook end of at the Nightmare King, who still held this year's version of himself in his grip.
"Put him down, Pitch. Then we're going to go undo everything that you've spent all of today doing. I'm not letting you destroy the Guardians."
Pitch's smile slipped over his lips. He didn't make a move to release the other Jack. "Dear boy, what makes you think that I'm going to do what you want just because you point that twig at me?"
"Don't think I won't freeze you." Jack would do it. He wasn't going to let Pitch get away with destroying his family. Ice energy gathered at the tip of the staff and he made certain it would hit Pitch head on if he let fly.
Pitch turned only a little, just enough so that the past Jack hung in the way of the attack. One slender finger rested against the younger spirit's temple. "Put the staff down, Jack, or your younger self will end up with nightmares of the Guardians that will never end. You'll never want anything to do with them, no matter what. THey could beg you on bended knee by morning to be their ally, and you would run screaming from them."
Jack, for lack of a better term, froze where he stood. He didn't have to ask if Pitch would do it. The other would keep his past self in nightmares with a smile on his face, shredding any chance that he would ever have of trusting the Guardians.
Three hundred years without nightmares had done that well enough. He didn't want to think about what it would be like with them.
Slowly he released the staff, and mournfully watched as Pitch slid down into his own lair, emerging moments later without the sleeping form of Jack Frost. He stared at Jack, head tilted to the side, until the winter spirit winced and moved forward, letting the staff clatter down to rest alongside its proper master.
"Now," Pitch said, resting one hand on Jack's shoulder. "Let's go home."
To Be Continued