So hello again

! How are you? Good, good... I AM ON HALF TERM! FINALLY! NO SCHOOL FOR A WEEK!

just a butt-load of revision... ooh, goody.

So, yeah, here is part two in what will not be a three shot, though I may take a break and put up some other chapters before finishing this (my muse is still being bratty). I rewrote this so many times, and I am finally almost-sorta happy with it. Quick warning though, there is some language in here. Also, I made a mistake with the timeline last chapter: I meant to say Bunny finds the ice people a few months AFTER Jack becomes a guardian.

MartialArtsDancer: I'm glad you picked up on that :) No worries, all will be explained... one day

E: They're creatures of the forest (that I might have made up...), and they are nasty little things

darkangel795: Thank you, thank you, wish granted, and I certainly hope so too.

"What happened?" whispered North, almost afraid to ask. Pierre barked out a short, humourless laugh.

"It all went horribly, horribly wrong. September 1958: they called it the culmination."

Jack had very mixed feelings about the cruelty he suffered at the other spirits. On the one hand, it was acknowledgement. Those insults tailored perfectly to him, and the pain that would flare through his body, the fists and feet connecting with his skin, and the parting line- always the threatening promise of 'we'll see you again soon'- were all proof that he existed. They were proof that he was alive and, since it involved them taking time out of their lives to hunt him down, it was proof that he meant at least something to others, even if that something was never good.

On the other hand- pain. Unbelievable amounts of pain. A lot of the time it was enough to make him pass out. By his count, in his immortal life, he'd set five broken legs and eight broken arms. There were dozens of other greenstick fractures that didn't need to be set, and even when his ribs were broken he had nothing to bind them with. The worst was when he broke his collarbone (or, rather, a water nymph broke his collarbone).

Because of this, once they were done- and how long it took for them to be done depended on who had cornered him, how many there were, and what their mood was (sometimes the beatings lasted for hours, carrying on long after he was unconscious)- he'd be left to care for his bruised and bloody body, and he would do so with a smile on his face. A small smile. A smile mixed with tears. A smile that hurt to smile because his face was so damaged and his lips were already split. But a smile nonetheless.

Sometimes, when he was going through a particularly bad stretch of isolation or depression, he wished they'd come for him. Cruel words were better than no words at all, and it was for precisely this reason that he didn't fight back. If he proved himself strong enough to fight back, to do some them some injury, then they might leave him alone. Then he would have nothing, except for one short conversation with Pierre every other decade, a few snide sentences passed between him and the groundhog whenever Gaia planned something (which wasn't often), and a verbal beating from Bunnymund if he were desperate enough to snow on Easter.

The beatings were both a blessing and a curse, and Jack had had far too long to ponder that fact in the sanctuary of his isolation.

"They timed it well," Pierre continued, his expression closed. "I had just flown to the Southern hemisphere, and Jack had just returned up North. Since it was between seasons, we were both at our weakest, while Herbst and Breeze were strong."

"Jaaaaaack," a voice crooned, rousing Jack from his slumber. "Frosty. Time to wake up." The gaggle of spirits watched the stirring child with malevolent grins. They had found him right where Breeze had said they would find him, fast asleep on the shores of his lake. He blinked blearily and they sniggered, excitement running through them. This was going to be fun. "He's awake."

The world swam into focus, and Jack felt his stomach drop as the striking visage of Lily Breeze appeared just a few inches away. He recoiled sharply and the sniggers intensified. Her being here could only mean one thing, and he stretched out his hand, groping for his staff.

"Don't even think about it," giggled the spring spirit. Pain burned up his arm, and he was unable to suppress a shout. She giggled again, and he realised she had stomped on his fingers. From the feel of it at least one was broken, probably more. Cradling the hand to his chest, he looked around, heart sinking at what he saw.

"Most who were there refuse to admit it. I myself am only sure of a few. These included water nymphs, glen watchers, fire sprites, and, of course, Breeze and Herbst." Pierre's soft voice was filled with a cold anger that sparked a newfound respect for him in the guardians. It comforted them to know that, even when they were too ignorant and self absorbed, someone at least had cared about the winter spirit.

"Hey, guys," he said slowly, taking in the figures around him. Some of them were regulars, like the summer sprites and the water nymphs. Others, he didn't think he'd ever seen before. "Are we having a party?" Lily nodded and Jack paused, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," she beamed, eyes glinting maliciously. "It's Arnold's five hundredth birthday, and we wanted you to help us with a party game." Dread began to ball in Jack's stomach: something was going on, something more than just regular beatings, and he had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn't like it.

"Happy birthday," he muttered, nodding towards the Autumn spirit as he kept his eyes on Lily. With her large green eyes and wide smile, she was the picture of innocence, and Jack found that it was her who frightened him most: Others spirits could be threatening, intimidating or downright creepy, but there was just something incredibly sinister about the happy laugh and the chipper attitude she showed even as she knocked him down and cracked his ribs. "What game is this?"

"Do you go to England much?" The question threw him, and he shrugged.

"Not that much; England is more River's territory," he murmured, eyes flicking over to River Streams. The pessimistic water nymph who, oddly enough, was in charge of rain just smirked at him, looking far too happy.

"Well, in England there's a tradition of all the rich noblemen going on hunts," Lily continued perkily. "They get loads of beagles to hunt down their prey, and once the beagles have caught the prey the noblemen kill it."

"And this relates to me... how?" The dread was growing, and the sniggers returned, redoubled. Lily's bell-like laugh echoed ominously around him.

"Stupid Frost; Arnold's the nobleman, we're the beagles, and you," her grin widened impossibly, making her look almost manic, "are the prey."

"Thanks," he muttered, trying to climb to his feet only to have her foot pin him back down, "but I think I'll pass. I don't think it's my sort of... game."

"We really don't give a shit," she simpered. "To make this interesting, you can have a head start. Then we start looking for you." Her foot came away again, and someone threw his staff at him. "You have twelve hours, and then we come after you. Run, Frost."

"What?!" roared the Pooka, only to be hastily shushed by the other guardians as the Frost child in question stirred in his sleep. Sandy sent him an extra bit of dream sand.

"They were hunting him... like animal?" gaped North, and Tooth floated to the ground, too horrified to keep flying. Pierre nodded sadly.

"They gave him a twelve hour head start to try and hide himself. I've since come to believe that he may have tried to find me, but I was Brazil at the time, and there was no way for him to reach me."

Jack took off as soon as she let him, but only managed to make it about a state before crashing back to the ground, groaning softly. His mangled fingers were burning, and he realized that he wouldn't be going anywhere until he'd sorted them out.

Wincing, he began to prod at them gently, trying to work out what was wrong with each. His middle finger was dislocated, and his ring finger was fractured, but thankfully only his pinkie was actually broken. He gritted his teeth, and with one sharp movement set each finger, lips clamped shut to muffle his cries. Once it was done, he froze them into place and leaned back against a tree. Sweat beaded his brow, and he was panting heavily, trying to think about anything but the pain.

There was no denying it: things were bad. He was injured, he was at his weakest, and there was horde of angry spirits biting the bit for the chance to beat him up. Because there was no chance that they would just take him straight to Arnold; no, they would want to have their fun before they let Arnold have his. He had to find somewhere to hide.

But where?

He could ask Pierre for help: the summer spirit was the closest thing he had to a friend, and had tried to talk to him about the incidents before. Pierre could help find him somewhere to hind, or defend him from them when they came. Perhaps he could even defend him if he was found.

But...

It was autumn up north, and winter down south. They were both weak, while Lily and Arnold were strong. What if the summer spirit made enemies, defending his wintry opposite? What if they hurt him?

What if he didn't care?

It had been nearly fifteen years since Jack had seen his warmer counterpart, and a further twenty years between then and the time before. Perhaps he was deluding himself by thinking that Pierre was anything more than a friendly acquaintance. Anyway, he didn't know where Pierre might be. No, he couldn't get him involved: it wouldn't be fair to him.

So then where should he go? It had to be somewhere cold, he knew that much. Somewhere with enough open ground to stop him being ambushed, but closed off enough that he could hide. There was an evergreen forest up in Siberia; could that work.

No. The glen watchers would find him.

Perhaps Antarctica, then, or the North Pole. Entire continents of ice, where it would be next to impossible to find a winter spirit. He could freeze himself into a cave! Then they might never find him.

But ice is just solid water; he controlled ice, but could water nymphs also control ice? He cursed himself for not knowing more about the other spirits.

What if he threw a curveball, and hid somewhere hot?

No, the summer spirits were the worst- after Arnold and Lily, of course- and burning was so much worse than other physical pain. If they found him somewhere hot, they'd have even more of an advantage than normal. Besides, it would be no use managing to hide from a mob of angry spirits only to die from heatstroke.

A cave, then. He hadn't seen the groundhog there, and Bunnymund was a guardian: he would never hurt another spirit.

It could work! No matter the country, if you go deep enough the underground is nice and cool. If he chose a honeycomb network then he'd have both a hiding place and an escape route if he were to be discovered. He had twelve hours; he could grab some food from a bin somewhere and find a nice little cavern to hide in.

Decision made, Jack checked the sky, and his heart dropped; three hours had already passed. He had wasted too much time thinking, and he still needed to grab some food and fly to where he knew some caves to be. Swearing, he leapt to his feet: he needed to get moving.

"He hid in New Zealand, in a network of caves called the Honeycomb hill. It was a good hiding place, clearly well thought out, and it was days before he was found."

"Hello, Jack."

The winter spirit leapt to his feet, heart racing. How could he have been found already? He'd only been here for a few hours! But a pair of golden eyes blinked out at him from the shadows and he relaxed: he knew the nightmare king found physical assault... distasteful, much preferring the mental.

"Hey, Pitch; what are you doing here?"

"Oh, just basking in your pure, unadulterated fear."

"Good to know." For a while they sat in silence, until eventually Jack grew bored.

"So... what do you think of my hiding place?"

"I think you're very lucky none of the burrowers were part of that motley band of psychopaths, otherwise you would have been found out within minutes."

"I knew that the burrowers weren't involved, otherwise I wouldn't have picked here."

"You think that those spirits you saw at the lake were the only ones involved?" Silence. "Are you really that naive, Jack?"

"No." Pause. "Who else is there?"

"As well as Herbst and Breeze we have the water nymphs, the glen watchers, the summer sprites, Baby New Year-"

"What! But... he's... how does he...huh?!"

"Baby New Year isn't actually a baby, Jack."

"Oh... why do they call him 'baby' then?"

"Because mortals are freaks." Pause. "Should I continue?"

"Okay."

"There's Guy Fawkes, Jack Lantern, Loihi, Kilauea, Mauna Loa, Hualalai, Haleakala-"

"Whoa... who are they?"

"The sprites that guard the volcanoes of Hawaii."

"So... lava sprites?"

"No... I suppose you would call them volcano sprites- though no one does. They work with lava sprites though. Every active volcano has one, and for some reason these five don't like you."

"For MiM's sake, that was one time!"

"I shan't even ask."

"Can they burn things?"

"Yes."

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

"Really, Jack, children aren't supposed to use language like that."

"I'm not a child."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm 250 years old!"

"Yet you are trapped in the body of a teenager."

"So? I'm not a child." Pause. "Pitch?" But the nightmare king had disappeared, leaving Jack alone and even more afraid than before. Perhaps that had been the plan all along.

"Wotcher, Pitch!"

"I'm sorry?"

"It's slang."

"Oh." Pitch had returned several times over the past few days, never staying for long. Jack enjoyed the company, even though Pitch tended to leave him feeling more afraid than before. Still, he supposed that was to be expected with the man commonly known as the Nightmare King.

"Are they still looking?"

"Fervently. And I feel I must warn you, they're getting frustrated too. You are not going to be a happy spirit when they're through with you."

"Whoop-de-doo. Do you reckon they'll ever give up?"

"Most likely they'll stop actively searching in a week or two. Of course, even if months pass they'll still attack you on sight. And it appears you're running low on food." Jack's supply had been meagre to begin with, and now Pitch could see that there was barely any left.

"Any chance you want to go get me more?"

"Imbecile."

"Hey, a spirit can dream."

"Not you, Jack."

"We are not talking about this right now."

"Really? Does it not bother you that the only dreams you have are nightmares?"

"Fuck off."

"That Sanderson, despite being the friendliest of the guardians, never thinks to lull you to sleep?"

"I swear to god, Pitch, if you don't shut up I'll-"

"You'll what? Remember, I can go and tell them all exactly where you are right now." Pause. "Now, does it bother you that you don't dream?"

"Not all dreams come when you're asleep, Pitch. I may not be important enough for Sandy, but that doesn't mean I don't dream."

"And what do you dream of?"

"I'm not telling you!"

"Oh, Arnold..." called Pitch in a sing-song voice.

"Fine!" Sigh. "That they can see me; that I can talk to them; to have the ability to be walking down the street and you have to apologise to someone for stepping on their foot... it sounds wonderful."

"Too bad they'll never be more than dreams."

"You don't know that." Silence. "Pitch?" Once again, the man was gone.

"Do you know who it was that found him?" Bunny's hands were clenched around his boomerangs, looking ready to go and murder the immortal responsible for the scars littering Jack's body. Pierre nodded grimly.

"Everyone knows; it's impossible not to, considering they marked him." North's eyes widened.

"You mean the 'K?'" Tooth fluttered back into the air, pursing her lips as she thought.

"But whose name starts with a- oh..." she froze, horror dawning on her delicate features.

Jack had been humming to himself softly when he felt the presence close to him. Glancing around nervously, his heartbeat sped, but he forced himself to stay calm.

"Pitch?" Pitch pitch pitch his voice echoed back to him. "Pitch, this isn't funny. Just show yourself, you bastard."

"Hello Jack," purred a voice. Jack whipped around, stomach dropping. They had found him. They had found him and now his time had come.

Out of the shadows stepped a woman, with short copper hair, cinnamon skin and cold grey eyes. He had never seen her before in his life, and he raised his staff nervously, confusion clouding his features.

"Who are you?"

"Who was it, Toothy?" growled Bunny, but Tooth's answer froze on her lips as a short, humourless laugh caught stopped them short. Looking over, they realized too late that Jack was awake, his cerulean eyes a whirlpool of shame, annoyance and fear.

"The mortals got one thing right," he said, his voice raspy; "Karma is a bitch."