Author's note: I didn't intend for this chapter to be sad or anything, but somehow it ended up like this. I hope it's any good… Next chapter will probably contain Emma, though I have yet to come up with some ideas. Also thanks for all the support (reviews, fav's and follows), I sincerely appreciate it! ^^

Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time, but since it's a bother to repeat this at the beginning of every new chapter, I will stop doing so. After all, anyone who made it this far already knows I (sadly) don't own this amazing show nor its characters. Only the Jack Frost from this story is mine as well as any crazy ideas that I added to the original story episodes.


Chapter 4 – Motherly advice

Faced with an attentive look that was equally stern and concerned, Jack had two options left. Either he cooperated and obediently answered all the questions that without a doubt would follow, or he ignored the sincere concern miss Blanchard showed for him and settled on stubbornness. Jack being Jack, he choose the second option.

"What's up?"

Hands shoved in his pockets, straightening his back, he tried to adapt a nonchalant attitude. Miss Blanchard however didn't seem to appreciate it.

"I should be the one asking that, Jack," the dark-haired teacher returned the question. "I heard you're sleeping at Granny's place more often lately. Is everything all right? Did Mr. Gold do something to you?" she asked with a soft, but urgent voice.

Being asked the same question twice that morning, the winter spirit suddenly found himself edgy.

"Mr. Gold's got nothing to do with it," he objected resolute. "Why does everyone always assume Mr. Gold is bad? The man is just doing his job."

Miss Blanchard held her breath almost unnoticeable before she regained her words. "He doesn't have to be bad at heart, but his actions do speak for him. He is notorious for his… debatable motives." Very heroic to conceal her dislike for the man in wrapped up, masked words.

"That's only because you don't know him like I do," Jack countered, getting more frustrated by the second. In the back of his mind he felt a strange kind of perception. Here he was standing in front of what was probably one of the most hero-like persons of the Enchanted Forrest and he was defending one of the biggest villains without second thought. So much for remaining unbiased... He really needed to be more careful.

Jack sighed and closed his eyes for a second to take control of his emotions once again. "I'm just saying that it is easy to judge a book by its cover. I'm not stupid, I know you guys distrust Mr. Gold, it's hard not to with all those stares…" He made a wrinkle with his nose. "But honestly, me sleeping at Granny's got nothing to do with the old man."

Miss Blanchard tilted her head slightly to the right, prying at him with her innocent light brown eyes, while unlocking her fingers and brushing a lock of black hair behind her ear.

"Then why, Jack?" she nearly whispered and when Jack was still searching for the right words to react, she continued. "We worry about you, Jack. You can't keep sleeping on benches or chairs, that is terribly for your health. Not to speak about the late night trips through town or skipping school and work. What if-…"

"I'm not skipping school, I quit," the teen interrupted rudely, more so than he intended to do. Though technical he had never gone to school in the first place. Which made it pretty easy not to skip. The rest of town however believed at some point he did go to school and dropped out because of bad grades and an uncaring attitude. Jack preferred to let them think that. In a way he was uncaring about the whole school-thing and though he certainly wasn't stupid, he never had a proper education, so yeah, he probably sucked at math and the like.

"Then what about your work?" Miss Blanchard pressed, no longer looking only warm-hearted. Jack could read the motherly scolding in her eyes. "Surely you didn't quit that too, now did you?"

"Well, no," he admitted unwilling, while avoiding the teachers eyes by inspecting the tips of his black and white sneakers. Ugh, this conversation was long due. Snow White or not, this woman seriously was too goody-goody. "But I don't have to justify my actions to you." Besides, from all the things he busied himself with, at least his work he took serious (to some extend).

"Oh, Jack," she muttered and stepped closer, to which the teen conveniently replied by taking a step back.

"And who told you about me walking around at night? That was just an evening stroll," Jack defended himself once more. His feet itched to walk away from this interrogation as soon as he traced an opportunity.

Miss Blanchard raised an eyebrow and watched him with an unbelieving expression. "Sheriff Graham told me," she elaborated. "And it was 2 a.m. That can hardly be called an evening stroll… Look," her face switched back to mother-mode. "If you have any trouble, just tell me – or someone else if you rather have, it's not important who. We care about you. And if something is bothering you, it's better to tell than to keep it bottled up inside you. We can help. You only have to tell why you're doing all of this…"

Because I want to have some time on my one. Because I don't like to tie myself to a home (or whatever resembles it). Correction, because I never learned how to feel at home. Because the evenings are especially cold, which is kind of my thing. Because…. Because I'm bored of living the same life for 28 years.

"I don't need any help," Jack rejected the teacher's words harshly and pulled his jacket tighter when he walked passed her with an irritated look on his face that only partly revealed how he felt.

Miss Blanchard tried to hold his arm when he passed her, but he shook his arm free roughly.

"I said I don't need any help," the winter spirit repeated with an icy gleam in his light blue eyes.

"Please, listen-…" she started, but to no avail.

Jack shook his head furious to block out any words that would follow. "No," he stated firm. "Everything is fine. I don't need help. And you don't get to tell me what I can or can't do. You're not my mother."

That last part made an visual imprint on the woman face. A combination of pity and sadness.

"No, I'm not," she agreed in a steady and collected voice and Jack hadn't expected her to use. "But if I don't act like one, who will?"

Cold and icy, that's how he always felt, but this time it was not the same.

Without another word, Jack left the playground.


A.