A/N: Greetings, readers! Welcome to a new chapter of "I'm Fine"! But, before you move on to the story itself, allow me to make an announcement...the new one-shot series, the one centered around the Winter Court that I mentioned last chapter? IT'S OUT!

Yep, it's out! It's called "Cold Shock," and I'm really excited about it, so please do check it out if you're interested. Oh, I have many plans for that series, many plans indeed.

Oh, I'm also still taking prompts. So there's that as well.

Disclaimer: I don't own RotG.

"I know you hate me
I can see through your eyes
I feel the same way
You had the guts to take me by surprise
Maybe I should call it quits
I know you like to see me like this
I rot inside to fight the fight
You know I can't win

You're a god damn liar
You're a god damn liar
I don't want to care
Like I want to care
You're a god damn liar
You're a god damn liar
I don't want to care
Like I want to care"-"God Damn Liar" by Get Scared

His feet were bleeding, flayed nearly to the bone from running through the dark, almost oppressive forest, the pale extremities now stained with an erratic, coagulated mess of dry, fresh, and frozen blood that was mixed with dirt and grime. His abused muscles were screaming in agony, his lungs burning and heart racing, adrenaline rushing like wildfire through his veins as he desperately tried to remain ahead of his pursuers.

Normally, he loved forests, treasuring the tranquility they brought, the peacefulness in his otherwise turbulent life. Now, however, he hated them, hated that he kept stumbling on tree root and stones, hated that his now-tattered cloak kept getting caught on and entangled in rocks and bushes, hated that the towering treetops obscured what little moonlight there was that might have offered him guidance through the shadows. As petty as it might seem, he couldn't help but feel as if the forest itself was against him, trying to make him fall into the hands of his enemies, and that alone was enough to make him hate it, if only for a little while.

His bitterness towards the forest, however, paled in comparison to his loathing towards his would-be captors, the very ones that he would have once considered calling friends, the only spirits outside of the Winter Court that had accepted him. He had trusted them, if not with his life or pain, than at least with his...feelings? Or something? Come to think of it, he hadn't really trusted any of them with anything quite yet...

Still, he hadn't expected them to chase him down like a pack of dogs going after a fox, hadn't expected them to strike him when he was down and steal his staff before trying to murder him, and he couldn't help but feel betrayed. Betrayed that they'd butted their way into his personal life, without his permission, and had proceeded to hunt him down without giving him a chance to explain himself, basing their judgment off of rumors and hearsay instead of on his own telling of accounts. Yes, he realized that as the Suzerain of Winter he didn't have the...best track record, being known more for his remarkable kill count than for his kindness, but damn it, it was a dog-eat-dog world out there, and he had done what he needed to survive, nothing more. It was kill or be killed, hurt or be hurt, and when it was a decision between being merciful and dying on the spot, or being ruthless and surviving a few more days...well, Jack personally felt that he'd hadn't had much of a choice in the matter, to be honest.

But that doesn't matter to them, does it, he thought to himself savagely, gritting his teeth as he ducked between the trees, no, all that matters is how many people you killed, not why or what for. None of them knows what it's like to constantly have everyone out to get you, to expect death at every turn, to survive assassination after assassination attempt and still keep your sanity, to not be able to trust anyone, even your closest 'allies'. To be despised by all before they'd even seen you, to be judged based on something you can't control, to be slated for death before you'd even drawn your first breath. None of them know what it's like, the pathetic, naive, sheltered fools-

He was snapped out of thoughts by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing worrisomely close from the left, and with his heart jumping in his throat, he dodged to the right and darted through a thick, thorny thicket of bushes, wincing as the barbs ripped at his skin and drew blood. His clothes were definitely ruined by now, what were once rich, royal war garments now reduced to miserable, bloody tatters. He'd have to ask one of the seamstresses in the Winter Court to make another set for him...assuming that he survived, of course.

A voice spoke from not too far behind him, breaking him from his train of thought. "Frosty! Slow down a little, mate!"

Why? So you can hurt me, torture me, maybe even kill me? He shook his head and continued running, patches of blood-stained frost marking the places where his feet came into contact with the ground as he slithered between the trees. A snarl of frustration made itself heard from the recesses of his throat when his cloak finally caught one too many times against a branch, and with a savage gesture he clawed at the clasp, snapping it in two and leaving the torn article of clothing behind as he continued running. His freedom and safety were worth more than a mere scrap of fabric.

A malicious humming sound came from his right, perilously close, and in response he veered to the left, feeling relieved as the buzzing of gossamer wings faded away. Out of the four, Tooth and Bunny were perhaps the most agile, one in the air and the other on the ground, and it was these two that he was having the most trouble avoiding, especially since he currently couldn't fly.

"Sweet Tooth! Hold up!" The feminine voice sounded exhausted and strained, the fairy likely out of breath from the long chase, and normally Jack would be concerned. Now, however, he pushed on, on and away from the those who had betrayed him, who wanted to destroy him.

He realized somewhat belatedly that he was heading straight towards a particularly dense group of trees, the trunks so close together that it would be too difficult and time-consuming to try to slip between them. With a small huff of exasperation, he swerved to instead go around them, momentarily deviating from his path, which had so far led north. No sooner did he try this maneuver, however, when the humming started again from the side, forcing him back onto his course and right through the copse.

As he struggled on through the mess of leaves and boughs, he found himself wondering. It seemed to him that, for some reason, the Guardians were trying to prevent him from going anywhere except north. It was almost as if they were herding him…

Herding him. The word stirred some long-buried memory, and with no small amount of dread he fond himself remembering something that his ex-mentor, Jokul, had said long ago. Jokul had always been a bit touched in the head, but he had plenty of street-smarts, and one important thing he'd told Jack was to make sure that in a chase, he wasn't being forced into going a certain direction and possibly straight towards a trap. That must be what the Guardians were doing, Jack had been sprinting due north for the past half-hour and he hadn't even realized it.

Suddenly panicked, Jack abruptly turned and sprinted to the left, hoping to take his pursuers by surprise. No such luck, however, for the thudding of rabbit feet instantly followed his attempt, and he was compelled to return to his preordained trajectory. Further endeavors were halted in the same way, and with terror in his heart and tears in his eyes Jack found himself rushing on, on, on, towards whatever fate his former companions undoubtedly had in store for him.

He could only hope that he would be able to fight them when the time came.

Jack was difficult to catch, Bunny would give him that. As annoying as it was for the lagomorph, he couldn't help but grudgingly admit that Jack was clever, with tricks up his sleeve and a stamina that Bunny didn't even know he had. Most spirits would have keeled over and died after being hunted down for so long, but Jack was still going strong.

Although...not as strong, anymore. Bunny glanced worriedly at the patches of melting, blood-encrusted frost lying about, and winced. With him being barefooted, Jack's feet must be cut to the very bone by now. It was honestly a miracle that the Winter Suzerain was even able to walk, let alone run.

Winter Suzerain...the words left a bitter taste on Bunny's tongue. There wasn't a single spirit who didn't know of the Suzerain's exploits, of bloody wars, of underhand fighting, of rivers of innocent blood spilled. The Suzerain's hands were not so much stained with as downright bathed in blood, and to know that Jack, and Jack alone, was responsible for the deaths of thousands...well, it shocked and horrified Bunnymund, it really did. He wanted to disbelieve it, to maintain that Jack couldn't be the killer known as the Wolf of Winter, to insist that there must be some mistake, but that wasn't possible now. He'd seen enough to know that it was nothing more or less than the cold, cruel, harsh reality.

As he bounded through the forest, the light from Sandy's dreamsand being the only thing that helped illuminate the darkness, his mind wandered to the events of three hours ago, when this whole adventure first started. He cringed as unpleasant images came to mind, of a group of Winter spirits fighting with some dryads, of warm and cold blood mingling on the forest floor, of Jack in full royal garb battling at the front, slaying dryad after dryad with a vicious-looking sword like he was some kind of murderer-

No! Don't think about it! Bunny shook his head, he needed to remain calm. There had to be some explanation, some kind of justification for Jack's actions. He wasn't about to repeat the same mistake that he made during the disastrous Easter of 2012. Instead, he would talk to Jack composedly and sort this all out, same as a civilized person would do.

Now, if only Jack would stop racing away like some kind of frightened hare.

This must be where they plan to trap me, he thought, as he glanced at the towering cliff-face in front of him. At the base of the cliff was a clearing, and currently the Guardians were shepherding him directly towards it. As if to make matters worse, the cliff-face was not straight, instead curving so that he would be trapped in some kind of hollow with only one, easily-blockable exit. He would have no choice but to fight them once he reached the cliff, and he sincerely doubted that he would survive, injured and heavily outnumbered as he was.

Nevertheless, his hand crept towards the scabbard at his side, blood-stained fingers wrapping around the ancient, ivory handle of his sword as he neared the cliff. As little hope as he had that he would live through this, he certainly wasn't going down without a fight, and the Guardians would have a hard time killing him, he would make sure of it.

With that resolve in mind as he finally entered the clearing, the Lord of Winter unsheathed his sword before turning around, feeling not unlike a stag held at bay by hounds as he pressed his back to the earthen wall, holding the katana in front of himself in a defensive stance. Mere moments after he had done this, the four Guardians burst into the clearing, coming to an abrupt halt before slowly moving to surround him. Jack's jaw hardened slightly as he tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon in response.

Showtime.

The air was charged with electricity as they sized each other up, the Guardians taking in the sight of Jack's blood-smeared, harried appearance. He looked downright terrified, eyes wild with fear and adrenaline as he held the sword like it was some sort of barrier between himself and them. His body shook from a combination of fright and fatigue, and it was clear from the look in his eyes and the set of his jaw that he didn't expect to come out of this confrontation alive.

The thought made their insides clench. That Jack would so easily believe that they were turning against him, that they wanted to kill him, was both saddening and painful. It was obvious that for all his silken words and vague promises, he didn't actually trust them, didn't have faith in their pledges to never harm him. Yes, the Big Four were both hurt and confused at what they had witnessed with the dryads, but that didn't mean that they would cast him off so easily without giving him a chance to explain himself. They were long past that now, or so they had thought.

Apparently, Jack didn't agree with them on the matter.

Slowly, carefully, they inched closer to him, fanning out so that he couldn't escape, and watched as the action prompted him to brace himself as if for a fight, his frantic blue gaze flitting from one Guardian to another so that he never had any one of them out of his sight for too long. He was so ready, so prepared for them to betray him, and it made them wonder how long he'd been waiting to be forsaken by them. Deep down, they didn't really want to know.

There were a few moments before Bunny decided to break the silence, speaking quietly as if to a frightened animal. "Jack, are you all right?"

Jack looked surprised at the question, even as he answered stiffly, formally, his words more automatic than sincere, like he was giving some sort of preprogrammed response. "I'm fine."

No, you're not, Bunny wanted to say but restrained himself. "Okay. That's good, Jack. Can you please put the sword down?"

Jack simply shook his head haltingly.

"Jack," Bunny repeated, his voice a bit louder, watching as Jack flinched a little in response. "Put. The sword. Down."

"No."

Bunny blinked at the sudden harshness in Jack's tone, green eyes narrowing. When he next spoke, his voice was challenging and belligerent. "Why not, ya gumby?"

Jack glared, eyes filled with sorrow and bitterness. "You know perfectly well why."

Bunny could feel his short temper already slipping away from him, an angry retort forming on his tongue, and privately, he was relieved when Tooth spoke, thus preventing him from yelling at the stupid winter spirit.

"Jack," she said, her wings buzzing anxiously as she wrung her hands. "We just want to talk to you, Sweet Tooth."

"Is that so?" now Jack was smiling, although it was really more of a caustic, sardonic flash of the teeth than a smile. "Before or after you kill me?"

"We're not gonna kill ya, ya drongo," Bunny snapped, ignoring the twin glares from Tooth and Sandy.

Jack huffed. "Yeah, right. Pull the other one, Bun-bun. If you're not going to kill me, you're still going to, I don't know, torture me or something."

They all winced at the way that the word 'torture' slid so easily off his tongue, like it was somehow normal for him to be senselessly tormented by others. Sandy started making frantic symbols, dreamsand twisting and thrashing like a drowning octopus as he struggled to get his point across, and North translated. "Sandy says that we are serious, we will not hurt you, Jack. We wish only to talk."

"That's what everyone says," Jack retorted. "And all I have to show for these little 'talks' are scars from people who hated me because of what I am. Try again, guys."

People who hated me because of what I am...

Their eyes widened in shock. It was slowly becoming clear, agonizingly clear why Jack was acting the way he was, and yet none of them wanted to admit it. Everyone knew that winter spirits were hated, abhorred, that they were the scum of the Earth. Deep down, they had known that Jack, their Jack, surely hadn't been exempt from the alienation, but none of them had wanted to think about it. Now, though, it was painfully obvious that not only did Jack suffer from the widespread animosity towards his ilk, but had also received the brunt of it. Rumors were fickle, untrustworthy things, but if even half the things that spirits gossiped about were true…

What I am...

Boasting was an unfortunate habit, and it was not many a spirit who would pass up on a chance to brag about one-upping the scapegoat of the spirit world, the Suzerain of Winter. The sheer number of stories about how one person or another had managed to somehow injure, maim, hurt the Suzerain...well, the Guardians had been mostly skeptical of such seeming tall tales, but Jack's behavior told a very different story from the one that the four had chosen to believe.

It would explain the episode with the dryads, after all. Dryads were normally peaceful and tranquil creatures, but in the battle, there had been pure hatred shining in the almond-shaped eyes of each and every one of them. In that moment, the Guardians found themselves wondering if Jack and his small army hadn't been attacking the dryads, but rather defending themselves against them.

Surely, though, Jack didn't mistrust them...did he?

...Did he?

In a way, in a terrible, twisted way, it would clarify everything if he didn't. Why Jack flinched when they moved to touch him, why he always seemed to keep a careful eye on their movements and actions, why he was always like a tightly-wound spring that seemed about to snap at any moment. Why he was eternally suspicious, showing a level of wariness that none of the other winter spirits the Guardians had met had shown. Why it had taken decades to get him to stop jumping out of his skin every time one of them drew their respective weapon.

It was a frightening thought, but it made sense. Terrible, ghastly sense.

"Jack," said Tooth, and when she spoke, her voice shook like a leaf in the wind. "Why are you so sure that we're going to hurt you?"

She was praying that he wouldn't say what she thought he would say. Because if it turned out her suspicions were correct, that would mean Jack had never trusted them, and she didn't want to hear that. She didn't want to hear that he couldn't have faith in them, that he had learned to distrust them before he'd even known them.

(And oh, wasn't that ironic, to be shoved away before she'd even met him, like they and all before them had done to him. Wasn't it a nice twist, a droll situation, a fitting end to a play that had no beginning?)

All of her prayers were futile, though, as Jack's next words demonstrated clearly.

"Because," Jack said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, as if it was perfectly commonplace, "that's all that people ever do."

There was a silence. A long, long silence, the silence that followed something irreparably shattering into thousands of sharp, lethal pieces, the deafening quietude that typically came after a fragile object was smashed against the unforgiving ground.

Far away, a wolf howled desolately, as if it were mourning the terrible, agonizing loss of something that it had never had.

A/N: First off, I would like to personally apologize for the ending. I got into a bad place mentally when I was in the middle of writing this, and had no clue how to finish it, so I basically just went all gloom-and-doom on everyone and left it at that. Hey, if I'm going to fail, I'm going to do it in style.

Secondly, William Joyce said that Jack's battle style is modeled off of Kendo. So now Jack has a katana. Deal with it.

(Questions? PM me)

(Techie out)