Break of Dawn

A/N: I'm so sorry for the long wait! I'm so sorry! Writer's block and lack of motivation and all those horrible evils just plagued me until I surrendered D: for weeks at a time, yes. Anyway, this is like, a reallyyyyy angsty chapter. It's pretty long, too. I can't tell if that's something to be celebrated or not. Well, you guys decide! And also decide whether this chapter is any good or not!


Shadows were a funny thing.

Like reflections, but different. Shadows were dark and they were only visible when the sun was out. So very hard to catch, but so fun to play with. How many nights had he sat up, making shadows on the walls to make her laugh, manipulating the darkness to make her forget the painful, cruel, scary, dark world outside? How devotedly he had loved the shadows before they solidified. Before they became a person, a man with a velvety voice and high cheekbones and cruel eyes and hands with long fingers. He'd known then that this person was darkness, all the way through. Some people were not like that. He'd known some people who were dark on the surface, but light at their core. Those were the people who appeared bad to the whole world, but were really very nice and misunderstood. Mostly they were children.

Shadows used to be his only solace and now they were his eternal torture. How bitterly he loathed the darkness now, how cruelly he hated the shadows. Because shadows solidified and they made him hurt and they made him bleed and they made her afraid. Shadows had started the slow death, but he'd been the one to pull the trigger, in the end.

Jack Frost dreamed about shadows often.

Jack Frost had screamed about them more times than he could count.

Jack Frost was too afraid of them too much.

Jack Frost thought about them constantly.

Maybe there would be a day when he'd never have to face them again.

He could see shadows even now.

"It's okay. You're okay."

He was? He did not think he was. He rather thought he was crying. Why would anyone be trying to tell him anything at all was okay, when everything was falling apart around him? And always, he was left standing in the wreckage of the pathetic, stupid accident he called his life, left cursing his own existence, wondering why he had lived when so many others had died.

"Jack. Jack."

No. He didn't want to enter the living world again so soon, for he knew where he was: perched precariously on the brink between life and death, locked in a fate that was too cruel even for his lot.

"Jack, mate. C'mon. Come talk to me."

Mate? Who the hell says 'mate', anymore? Jack wondered to himself, before feeling strong hands in his hair, running persistent fingers through wayward whitish locks. The term bit at his memory, forcing him to become aware of more and more in the waking world. He was leaning against somebody and he could feel the deep, rumbling vibrations of their voice from where he lay, ear pressed against some sort of fabric. Cold. He was cold. He wanted warmth.

"Mate? You still with me?" He felt the voice more than heard it now, but he dared open his eyes, blinking rapidly to hopefully banish the threatening tears. They watered, anyway, when he opened them, only to be met with harsh, glaring spring sunlight streaming in through the window. Was it morning already?

"Jack, mate, wake up."

"Sthhhoopkalinmemahte."

"What?"

"Stop…stop calling me mate."

"Wake up, kiddo. C'mon, mate."

Wait a second, he recognized this voice…but he just wanted to shut everything out…

"Stop it."

"Jack. Wake up."

No, he did know that voice…he did…Ms. Bennett's friend from across the street…Ms. Bennett's…business trip…Ms. Bennett's—Aster?!

He raised hesitant blue eyes to look at the man, realizing that it was Aster's chest he'd been leaning against this whole time. Oh, if he had a rewind button on the remote of life right about now…

"Good," the man grunted. "You're awake."

Not good. Not good at all. He wanted to go back to sleep.

"Now, c'mon, I want to talk to you."

"Aster…" He sank deeper into the warmth before remembering it was Aster he was leaning against, gruff Aussie Aster who rarely ever spoke except in grunts and hardly ever smiled at all. What was he even doing in Jack's bed? Was he…oh, God, no, he couldn't be, nobody could ever be as horrible as the man with the velvety voice, nobody could ever be as cruel as him…no, no…he was suffocating, he was drowning under this crushing weight, these shadows trying to make him one of them, no, he couldn't stand it, he couldn't

"Whoa, mate, you okay?" Aster's large hand found his shoulder.

"Don't! Don't touch me! Stop it!" Because he wouldn't beg this time, the way he had those times. He would. Not. Beg. He could run if the man refused. He could run away, maybe. He had to try, at least.

"Frostbite. Calm down. Frostbite, it's me."

Did Aster think he was stupid?

"Frostbite. I'm not going to hurt you."

Why did people bother with empty words?

"Frostbite." There was something in the man's voice this time that made Jack listen and hesitate, for a moment. It was firm and hard and steady, yet not threatening or mean. And there was something about this moment, this whole crazy morning, with the Aster's arms around him, holding him awkwardly, his own, thin body sagging with the hunger and sadness and exhaustion of sixteen years.

"Listen up, Jack, I'm not gonna hurt you."

The boy vaguely registered the sudden return of his real name, and for some stupid and indefinable reason, this made him sad. He dropped his gaze to the bed. "Then what are you doing here?" Better get that out of the way first. If Aster didn't come up with a ready, believable excuse in the next ten seconds, he was out of here.

"Well, you woke me up screaming your head off." The answer was accusing, yet the tone was completely devoid of such a feeling. "I come bursting in here thinking something's wrong and you…" Even though Jack wasn't looking at him, he could feel Aster's emerald gaze, drinking him in, looking at him, seeing things, judging things and deciding what to say.

That was okay. That was okay, for the moment. Jack didn't want to know what he'd done, because the thing was, this excuse actually was perfectly believable. He must have dreamed about the shadows again and now Aster was going to make him talk about them.

The man cleared his throat, earning Jack's attention again. Nervous sapphire eyes flicked hesitantly up to meet uncertain, wavering emerald.

"…You fell back asleep."

Then why was Aster holding him like a child when he'd awoken? He swallowed, deciding on a different question. "What are you still doing here, then?"

"I…" The man looked away first. "I didn't want the sh…I mean, I thought maybe you might want somebody here when you woke up again."

To be honest, Jack would rather have been alone when he woke up again, but he merely gazed at the man and said nothing.

"I guess I was wrong," Aster continued heavily, and the way he was deliberately not looking at Jack only drew more attention to the fact that he wasn't. "I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable."

He had made Jack uncomfortable, the boy realized, but there was something else he'd made him feel, too, some sort of emotion he couldn't quite grasp yet…something he didn't believe he'd ever felt, but desperately wanted to experience again.

Jack's throat hurt from so many tears. "It's okay."

"Are you okay?" The question was abrupt.

"I…"

No.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine."

"What…" For a second, the man looked quite unsure how to continue before plunging on ahead anyway. "What were you dreaming about, anyway?"

I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone. I have to take this to the grave. I want the secret to live and die with me.

It was hard to swallow again. "Nothing important."

"Jack, you were screaming. You said things."

"It wasn't anything important."

Don't get angry. Just don't get angry. Remember not to get angry. Just keep smiling, keep smiling, keep staring, don't scowl, don't frown, don't flinch, don't feel…

"I'm notstupid."

There was that word again. He hated that word. He would obliterate it from existence, if he could. It was a terrible word that no one should ever be called. He hated that word, because it described him so perfectly. "Really, it wasn't anything important. You know those nightmares people have where they're like, being chased by bears or something like that? That's what I was having. See? Nothing important." He stood from the bed, determined to end the conversation. "I'm hungry, aren't you?"

"Jack, I want to know. I'm not playing."

Maybe it's none of your business. "Look, I'd really rather not say."

"Jack—

No, get him away, get him away and don't get angry, you can't get angry now, don't frown, don't flinch…

"I have to go to the bathroom." His razor had never sounded sweeter.