Dig

He woke up to mist and fog and coolness, and it was a balm upon his skin. He sighed and went lax against his bonds. All he could remember was being unbelievably hot, and wanting to leave somewhere to go elsewhere. And now…now?

Nothing.

"Better?"

He looked up and saw a man standing on the other side of the pond. A pond? The pond? Why was it "the"? Did he know this pond? Or this grass or these trees? And why was he bound?

"Who're you?" he asked, sitting up. His joints creaked in protest, as though he had been lying stiff for a while, but he didn't mind. He needed to move. And besides, he was pretty sure he could take any feeling his body dished out, as long as he would cool. God, he just couldn't stand the heat. He never could because—

Because what? Why didn't he like the heat?

The man with the brown hair and warm rust-red eyes crossed the icy pond slowly, and then suddenly he was at his side. "Well, Jack?"

Jack. Jack. Right, that was his name. He blinked in shock. He couldn't believe he had forgotten. Why had he forgotten? What was he doing here? He looked up at the stranger and said, "Sorry. What were you asking?"

"Is it better? The heat, I mean."

"Y-yeah," Jack replied hesitantly. "I don't know why, but I think it was really warm in here. I feel better now."

"Good," the man crooned gently, reaching out and stroking his cheek. Jack leaned into the touch. It was faintly warm, not at all like the wretched heat his body remembered. Yet for some reason, he was unsatisfied with the hand because it wasn't warmer, which did not make sense because he did not like the heat, right? He did not like the heat for some reason, but he did not mind a certain kind of heat. Like the kind that came from…

"The kind that came from?" he mumbled.

"Hm?"

Jack lifted his eyes and pushed his thoughts out, trying to remember. The stranger's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"The…the kind that came from…from."

Pitch.

Jack Frost twisted his head and clamped his teeth down on Irdu's hand.

Irdu howled something wretched and struck him, but Jack's hold was vicelike. Irdu hit him again, and again, then again with a fist, and one more time finally causing the illusions to waver.

Jack blinked and found himself in the cave, a suffocating heat bearing down on his body, his teeth sinking further into Irdu's flesh. The incubus screeched as his skin broke, and with a mighty yank, managed to rip his hand out of those pearly jaws before any real harm could come to him. Jack spat the vile blood out, but felt it lingering around his entire mouth. He could only imagine what kind of nightmarish image he appeared as.

"Sleeping dogs can still bite," he laughed grimly as Irdu shook his hand and wiped the blood away on his pants. He scowled as the flesh began to knit itself back together. He had been hoping to do a little more permanent damage.

When the hand was healed, Irdu stared at it, then at Jack, and hit him again. Jack could feel the bruise there, and the pain didn't fade. His healing ability was nearly nonexistent, probably because of this heat.

"Do that again and I'll gut you."

Jack smirked. "Don't touch me then." Irdu spat at him and went to sit down in an ice-free zone. Another moan from down one of the tunnels earned Jack's attention. "Who are you keeping down there anyway?"

Was it his imagination, or did the incubus shift uncomfortably? "None of your business."

A groan, followed by a softer whimper.

"Hey!" Jack called.

"Shut up!" Irdu hissed.

"Hey, who are you? Who's down there?"

Irdu started for him, then stopped as he saw more ice creeping along the ground towards him. The shackles were restraining most of Jack's core magic, but they were not powerful enough to hold back all of him. "If I tell you who's over there, will you stop shouting?"

"Yes!" Jack shouted, just for good measure.

Irdu looked like he wanted to rip his throat out. "I wouldn't tease me too much, Jackie boy. One of your own little buddies is over there, and right now, I'm not feeling like I'm in a caring mood."

Jack tensed against his bonds. One of his friends? Who did that voice sound like? He craned his neck and went very still, cursing silently when the chains rattled a little. In the silence that followed, he tried to listen. Another moan. Male, definitely. God, was it Bunny? Certainly not North…but could it be? At least it wasn't Sandy. The little guy never made any noise. Then again, Jack had never really seen him in pain, had he? He had not been there when Pitch shot him, so he did not know—

The incubus chuckled, earning a murderous glare. "None of your little Guardian friends are here, kid. As it happens, the person in there isn't a knock-off brand like you. He's the real deal."

Pyotr. It's Pyotr.

The whisper was hoarse. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," Irdu immediately defended, wings flapping in agitation. "He got in the way! It wasn't my fault. Some girl tried to stop me from taking you, and he tried to help her. How was I supposed to know he was going to get in the way of one of the bombs? No one else did. There weren't supposed to be casualties. He shouldn't have tried to save both of you. You and that stupid girl."

Jack managed to push away his bubbling rage to note the tone of his voice. Why was he so apprehensive? From his few encounters with Irdu, it was clear that the man was a cocky bastard. But now he just looked like he was absolutely through with whatever had transpired. "Isobel must've given you a real scolding."

A sneer. "That bitch needs to make up her mind."

"And what about you?" Jack heard another noise from down the way. "Is your mind made up about how you want to continue?"

"I just want to go home," Irdu snapped. Something odd passed through his eyes. "Wherever home is. I was all for this at the beginning, but now it's just getting out of hand. And I haven't had any fun in ages."

"And what is this? Why do all of this?"

Irdu considered him for a second, then smiled slowly. There was no humor behind it though. "Alright, kid. I'll tell ya, if only to piss her off. Maybe that way, if you escape – which you won't – you'll all be able to finish this."

Jack settled his hands neatly in his lap, deciding he could hold off on trying to freeze the spirit where he sat. "Fine. Talk."

"The reason we're doing this? Shit. I'm not even sure anymore." Irdu laughed dryly at Jack's unsatisfied expression. "It's the truth. It started as an idea after you all put Pitch down. We all watched from the shadows, thinking he was actually going to succeed, but he clearly didn't. So Isobel approached me maybe a few months later and asked me if I wanted to try to do what he had done."

"What he did," Jack spat, "was try to destroy something that was good for the world!" It hurt to be accusing Pitch Black after all they had been threw, but it was the cruel truth. "He had no right."

"He had a right to his own freedom, didn't he? A right to a home in this world, even if it was in shadows? Well, we wanted…we want that too. And we knew that we would never get it without his strength. If he was able to get so far with what he did, why couldn't we? The only reason he didn't succeed in the end is because he likes to play games. It's in his nature."

Jack was glad for that. "So you, what, strip him of all his shadows just to use them on your own?"

"Spirits said they would help him again. He said no. They asked him to lend them his aid, but he refused. Wouldn't give up a single Fearling. Wouldn't even tell anyone why. It was like he didn't believe in our cause. And I think he doesn't. He's just selfish."

"And what the hell do you plan on doing now?"

Irdu shifted, grinning. "Oh, well, you see, we're already doing something. We have you as a bargaining chip. Hadn't realized you were so crucial to all of this. Because we have you, we have leverage and a distraction."

"What for?"

The incubus shrugged. "Can't tell you that. But just remember. All we want is a home."

Jack turned the words over in his mind, but they made no sense. Who was there for the dark spirits to fight? They had their own domains, and the spirits of light had theirs too. Wasn't that how it was?

He suddenly realized that it was too quiet.

"Pyotr?"

Irdu frowned and cocked his head, then came to the same realization and disappeared down the tunnel. Jack heard swearing, then a loud, long, raspy noise as though something was being dragged. Presently, Irdu reappeared, dragging a large, intricately decorated rug into the cavern. Jack craned his neck and nearly screamed.

Pyotr was dying. There was no other way to put it. His skin – or what good skin was left – could not be paler than what it was now. In fact, it almost looked grey. His left arm was a bloody, mangled mess, poorly bandaged and clearly not healing anytime soon. A good portion of his bare torso and face were severely burned, and it looked like Irdu had tried to rub some sort of salve over the injured areas, but they just sat there with an unusually violent red pulse to them.

"It's the heat!" Jack cried as Irdu brushed sand off of his pants. "Please! You have to take him out of here!"

"No can do. I can leave, but if either of you are with me, they'll find me. Pitch has been sending his minions to all corners of the globe in search of you. He's pretty damn desperate. I'm not going to give him the chance to take my head off."

"But he's dying!" Jack choked on bile and tears as the stench of Pyotr's unhealed flesh struck his nose. "Please, do something! Irdu! He's not even breathing!"

The dark spirit looked away as he pleaded, but then he stooped and dragged Pyotr over so that he lay on the ground that had been made slick with ice near Jack's feet. "I'm not letting you go, but if it's really the heat that's killing this guy, then put whatever you can on the ground. Snow, ice, whatever. He's not my responsibility."

Jack nodded and tugged at his core for what little ice he could muster in this wretched heat. He saw a new layer of frost slowly creep out from where he was and slide over the rug Pyotr lay on. The older spirit sighed in his fitful sleep as the cold slinked over his body until he was covered in a thin, glistening sheet.

Irdu nodded, seemingly satisfied with what was happening. "Alright. You do what you want with him. I'm outta here."

"Where are you going?"

"You're kidding. I can't just tell you everything, fun as it is to torment you. What good is knowing when you won't last long enough to use the info?"

As Irdu disappeared down another tunnel, Jack looked down at his hoodie, peering at the space between his hoodie and his collarbone. The black mark was exactly as it was in his dream, though his flesh was not rotted, to his relief. He turned his focus to his magic and set to work.

It was a very long time before Pyotr opened his eyes again.

Most of the time, he simply cried out in his sleep or twitched restlessly with pain. Jack made some progress with his blanketing layers, slowly building up a cocoon for his friend. Irdu would check in every couple of hours or so just to make sure he wasn't making any trouble.

A day must have passed, Jack figured. Maybe two. And then Pyotr awoke.

It was a very frightening awakening, because he gave such an awful shout that Jack wondered if something in him had gone wrong, that perhaps he was breaking. However, it was only because he was confused and did not know where he was at all. Irdu came in then to check on him, and when he saw that Pyotr was awake – just barely – he fetched another set of chains.

"He doesn't need those," Jack insisted as the shackles were clamped down over Pyotr's damaged wrists. "Please. He's too weak."

"It'll be my head, not yours," Irdu replied unapologetically, screwing the base of the long chains into the wall behind them. The ends of Jack's own chains were stuck in it too, and when Irdu was satisfied that both sets were secure, he disappeared again.

So Jack was left with Pyotr to wait.

Some hours later, Pyotr gained a little more consciousness and managed to spy Jack out of the corner of his eye.

"Ja…Jack?"

"Pyotr," he hissed. "Are you…no. No, you're not alright at all, are you?"

A weak chuckle. "I think I'm—!" He cringed as he tried to shift. There was obviously pain lancing up his mauled arm. "I…I think I might have to get rid of this later."

Jack balked at the thought. "We're immortals! Can't you just heal when we get out?"

"Not everything is immortal, Jack," Pyotr managed to say patiently and with a great deal of clarity. "Even we spirits suffer wounds, if they are delivered to us by other spirits. Sometimes even by humans. Don't worry. I'm sure Rochka will still find me handsome, even if I'm missing a limb."

Jack choked on his laugh.

More hours passed. Irdu checked in. Pyotr tried to sleep beneath Jack's ice, but now that he was more aware of himself and his surroundings, he was also more aware of his pain, making it too difficult to find any peace in dreamland. Jack tried to focus his frost on the injuries, and that seemed to ease them a bit. He was getting tired from straining his magic, but he told himself it was worth it. And it was, because his friend was getting better, if only a little.

"Help him," he pleaded when Irdu returned yet again to look him over. He tugged at his chains, but they remained firm. "You've got that ability, like Pitch and Sandy, right? You can give dreams. Please, give him something to help with the pain. Can't you?"

"What's in it for me?"

"I don't know!" Jack shouted, not caring if Pyotr awoke to his rage. "I have nothing! What do you want?"

Irdu immediately held up something. A necklace. Jack's necklace. "I'll take this."

Another tug. The chains held fast. "Why? What good is that to you?"

"It's a prize of the light," Irdu explained. He brushed the arrowhead with his fingers and winced as he was burned. "See? It defends against the darkness. I want it though. So you can't block me out."

Jack swallowed. "You already have me here. You said I can't get out anyway. You don't need it."

"Ah, but I want it."

Pyotr jerked with a coughing fit. Jack quickly agreed. "Fine. Take it. Just help him sleep. Help him dream about something good."

With a long-suffering sigh, the incubus knelt and placed a hand on Pyotr's feverish forehead. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, and Jack watched with relief as Pyotr's body slowly relaxed in peace. Irdu straightened when it was over, but he looked concerned…and resigned. He glanced almost guilty at Jack and went away.

Jack did not care. Pyotr would sleep, and he would be fine. Once, he heard the man whisper, "Rochka," and smiled. Irdu had picked a good topic for him to dream about. A very good topic, if the faint smile on Pyotr's lips was anything to go by. Jack pushed more ice onto him and tried to shift closer, but the chains would not let him.

Twisting, he inspected the base. His ice had already stretched across that whole wall, though it had been a slow encroach. He went to the base of the chains and plucked at the screws with his fingers, but he was too weak, and they were screwed very tightly. Pursing his lips, he extended ice down into the cracks, thinking that perhaps he could loosen them from beneath.

No, wait! He could—oh, he was so stupid! Okay, he certainly could not unscrew them with his ice. The restrictive magic was too strong here at its base. But the rock around it? If his ice slinked far enough into the cracks, it would weaken, and he could pick away at it. He was brilliant! But it would take a while.

"Pyotr," he said quietly in case Irdu was nearby. "Pyotr, we're going to get out of here, okay?" He crawled over to his friend, still a little too far to touch him, but close enough to be comfortable in his unconscious presence. "Can you hear me in there? You're dreaming of Rochka, but dream of escape too. We're gonna get out of here. Just give me some time, and…"

The silence was deafening

Jack looked at Pyotr's chest. Glared at it. Waited. But it did not rise.

"Pyotr, wake up."

It would never rise again.

"Stop dreaming. Too much dreaming is bad for you. Can you open your eyes? Please?"

Irdu had known. That son of a bitch had known.

"Pyotr, stop screwing with me. Open your fucking eyes—can you hear me? God damn it, open your eyes!"

And the silence said no.

"That's what you're gonna do? Just gonna leave me here? Well, fuck you! Fuck you!"

His hysterical shrieks brought no one, because Irdu was out. Irdu was gone. Irdu was going to die when he returned. Jack would see to it, wanted to see his blood on the floor, all over the floor—

No, no, I need to get out, need to go now—

Before Irdu could hear his thoughts. Or was he listening already? No, the incubus would have returned right away if he had heard what Jack was planning. Something big must have been going on to make him retract himself from Jack's mind.

He scrambled to the wall and started clawing at the icy stone surrounding the bases of the chains. He clawed until his fingers bled, and his magic dug down slowly, but deeply into the stone. He would dig this out. He would set himself free. And Pyotr.

His fingers bled. His heart raced. His vision blurred.

He stopped what he was doing and cried.

Irdu returned perhaps a day later. Irdu returned and found Pyotr lying on the icy ground, unmoving. Irdu returned and found Jack Frost sitting against the wall with bloody hands, tearstained cheeks, and dead eyes.

"…Shit."

Jack's mouth moved slowly, his voice like claws scratching against stone. "He won't wake up. The fucker."

Irdu hesitated, then knelt by the body to inspect it. The moment he reached out, Jack heaved his makeshift weapon with all his strength.

The ball of ice surrounding the disconnected bases arced through the air and smashed against Irdu's temple. He dropped like a rock, and Jack leapt onto him and searched his clothes until he found the key to the shackles. He removed his bonds, but when he tried to take Pyotr's off, they removed bits of damaged skin, and Jack had to turn his head away so as not to gag.

He dug a little more into Irdu's pockets until he found his necklace, and then he paused to look at his enemy's exposed throat. He wanted to gut Irdu with every fiber of his being, but now was not the time. Now he just wanted to get out. If he could get out, then maybe...well, he needed to find out how to get out first.

Irdu suddenly stirred, and Jack started running. He could not fly. He was too weak. He did not even know where his staff was. That was okay. If what the incubus had said was true, then Pitch would find him as soon as he got out of here, and then they could locate the staff. He did not get very far when he heard Irdu finally wake up.

"Frost!"

He put on a new burst of speed, but it was difficult because of the heat. It was also getting hotter the further he went. His steps faltered, and he wondered if he should go down a different tunnel, but for some reason, this seemed like the right way. His skin tingled with the feeling of magic. Perhaps there was a barrier somewhere up ahead that was hiding him from Pitch's sight. If he could cross it…

Irdu was getting closer, but there was light ahead, and the heat was horrendous. He tugged his sweater over his head and cast it aside, paying no mind to the darkness that was consuming his skin. He just needed to go that way.

Irdu was talking to someone as he chased: "—got out, you hear me, Gowdie? I need—yes, he's about to break through the barrier—Jack! Don't you da—shit, shit, shit!"

When the heat reached its hottest, Jack pushed through what felt like a cloud. He came out on the other end, and it suddenly felt cooler. He did not stop running though. The light was getting stronger, and when he rounded a corner, he saw the exit, and beyond that, rolling dunes of sand. His sense of direction returned to him, and he knew that he was in the Sahara Desert.

Suddenly, the earth rumbled so violently that he fell to his knees. Behind him, he heard Irdu cursing. He did not have enough time to stand before the man caught up, but the incubus raced past him and out into the desert, face drawn with stress. Jack followed, and when he stepped out into the blinding sunlight, all hell broke loose.

At first, all he could see was Pitch in the distance, sprinting towards him. The Nightmare King noticed him at the same time and shouted something, but he was too far away to hear.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a wave of darkness burst from the sky. Tengu, witches, and all manner of dark creatures which inhabited the underbelly of the earth came and nearly consumed Pitch. Yet, from the other side of the sky came the Guardians, and scores of winter spirits who did not seem to falter due to the warm climate. They slammed into the dark forces, and the earth rumbled again. Irdu, from the side, took a few steps back, spread his wings, and took off in the opposite direction.

"Coward," Jack rasped with glee, breaking into a sprint. North put a tengu into the sand and saw him too, and he shouted with relief and got the attention of Pitch, who nodded in acknowledgement again.

A winter spirit dropped from the sky, and Jack saw Isobel Gowdie sidestep the body before flinging another bolt of violet magic at the next one who darted too near. Jack wanted her head more than Irdu's at the moment, but—

"Jack!" Tooth shouted as she weaved in and out of the throng. "Jack, are you alright?"

"Fine!" he shouted, though his voice sounded like it was in tatters. She swooped closer, but when she was only a few meters away in the air, she suddenly recoiled with shock.

"My god," she breathed, and flew back.

Jack did not understand, reaching out a hand for her return. But then he saw the black which had stretched over his arm, encroaching into the territory that was his palm. Oh, oh—

Pitch was fending off the enemy with his minions. Wave after wave of Nightmare Men and Fearlings dove into the creatures which would have been their brethren, had their master not thought otherwise. The Nightmares galloped through the sky, knocking down any aerial problems. One broke away from the heard and rushed Jack. He skipped back until he recognized Onyx's patterns, and then he opened his arms to welcome her.

She skidded to a stop in the sand and head-butted his chest in what he thought was affection. He tried to pet her until she felt her sharp teeth sink into his shoulder.

"What the—ow, stop it!"

His shriek drew Pitch's confused attention. Onyx pranced back and hit Jack with her head again, almost desperately, whinnying loudly. Her herd echoed the cry, and Pitch stiffened, looking more intently. When he saw Jack's blackened body, he stopped moving. And breathing.

Jack did not know what else to do. He grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

Isobel was shouting something, but no one seemed to hear her. And then hell turned from the earth and saw Jack.

Or rather, Pitch's minions saw Jack, and they liked what they saw.

A hot tug came from Jack's heart. It was worse than the heat in the caves. It was worse than anything he had ever felt. It burned, and it clawed, and it scratched, and it wanted to either get out, or gain company.

Company meant misery.

The Fearlings surged towards Jack.

"No!"

Was it Pitch who screamed, or Isobel?

He did not know. All he could see was a wave of black flying towards him, and suddenly he was back in the sky on the night Sandy died – too close, it was too close – and that black wave of sand wanted to consume him, only this time, it wasn't sand, but shadows, and the shadows were so much worse because they were more dangerous and unpredictable and intangible, yet of substance at the same time, and they would sink into him, and they would render him, and—

They were upon him.

Sharp blades pierced him, dug in, clawed, and he could feel the fire spreading through his veins tenfold, and he tasted the blood as it was forced from his mouth, and the first Fearling writhed in joy because he would soon have company, and they would enjoy dismantling Jack permanently for the rest of his life.

He heard a voice.

Pitch Black was asking the Man in the Moon for mercy. He was asking the Man in the Moon to save Jack's life.

He's all I have. All I need. Anything. Take it all. Just save him.

But nothing happened. And Jack grew angry. Angry that he could not help himself. All of him was heavy and hurting—save one small point just below his clavicle. There was still hope there, right? In that case, maybe he could save himself from becoming a puppet.

He clasped his hand around the golden arrowhead, the ward against darkness, and ripped it from him. The evil surrounding him hissed with amusement, for though it irritated them, it was nothing. What could one arrowhead do against a hoard?

Jack cackled madly and stabbed himself in the heart.

There was a breath of silence, like the calm in the storm, in which he could probably hear a pin drop. Then a great caterwauling started up, because they saw what he was doing, and they could not stop him, could not touch the weapon of gold. He pushed the arrowhead in, fingers slipping in the blood. He lost his grip once or twice, but that did not matter. He always found it again. With each push, he went deeper until he knew he found the first Fearling, because pain lanced through all corners of his body, his head throbbed, and the arrowhead thrummed joyously at having found its mark.

It was just like removing a splinter with a needle. He looked down to see what he was doing. The swarm tried to distract him, tried to blind him, but he decided he did not need his eyes to rid himself of the pest. He kept digging and felt something loosen around his heart, like ties of string. Joyfully, he kept pulling it until it reached the surface. A wave of dizziness struck him as he grasped the wriggling thing, and he chalked it up to either fear, exhilaration, or blood loss. Either way, he dug his bunt nails into the Fearling and yanked.

It was like…unclogging a drain. Or sucking the last vestiges of water out of a glass. Or, or something. It liberated him. It was as though someone were dragging his very veins out from his skin, leaving behind a cold, sharp sensation. He pulled and pulled, hand over hand, until at last, the very tail of whatever had invaded his body came out, and he was empty.

His heart felt free – damaged, but free. He threw the leech far from him into the dark mass (he could see nothing now, for the Fearlings had become his sky and earth, his everything), and just for good measure, he pressed the arrowhead back in, feeling his blood slick across his skin. This way, they could not touch his heart. As long as they did not touch his heart, he would be okay.

Silence.

Then a new darkness took him. It was not vile or evil, nor was it constricting or terrifying. It was peaceful. He could hear his heartbeat, his true heartbeat in his ears. This new darkness was comforting. It told him he could stop now. He was safe. He would never have to wake up again, never have to fear the darkness. Never have to see Pitch.

Jack did not want that.

Wake me up, Pitch, he demanded. Wake me up when you're ready. I'll wait.

With that final thought, Jack Frost's heart stopped.

Author's Note: Oops. (Not) sorry.