Author's Note:

Hello everyone and welcome back! It's been a minute but I'm happy to finally have another update ready for you. As always, thank you for your patience and for sticking with me. I have the next chapter started but it's going to take some heavy editing before it's ready to post. My goal is to get it done in time for Christmas but no promises, unfortunately.

Please be aware that this chapter jumps around a bit as characters remember/think about things that happened to them in the recent past that we as readers didn't directly witness. To make it less confusing, I put the major "past" scenes in italics, but if it still doesn't make sense please let me know.

Enjoy!

Jack still wasn't altogether sure what he could do to help, but Fisher was right: he had to do something. The whole mess was his fault. Yeah, Morsoi had instructed him to summon the wind and told him where to direct it, but Jack was the one who'd listened and obeyed. Jack was the one who'd walked away without keeping an eye or ear out to see what, if anything, came of it. Jack was the one who'd made the deal with the wretched plague spirit to begin with.

And he'd done that entirely of his own free will.

He could ignore it, pretend that it wasn't his fault or his doing, pretend that he had no idea what was happening. No Watchful Eyes had been there when he and Morsoi had met in the Aleutians, so none but the two of them and Fisher knew that the storm wasn't an entirely natural occurrence. He could feign innocence and maybe, just maybe, get away with it.

But Jack wouldn't do that. Couldn't do that. He'd made this mess so it was his responsibility regardless of the consequences. Better to own up to it now and hope for leniency versus keeping his silence and risk Morsoi pinning all of the blame on him.

And that's his end game, isn't it? Jack thought bitterly. To get me into trouble.

Good thing Morsoi and Fisher were on the outs. Jack had no idea how the spirit of fear knew of their Alaskan rendezvous, or why she'd waited until the last possible second to get cold feet about it, but he was grateful. Not only did it give him the chance (however slim) to try and salvage the situation, it was proof that Fisher and Morsoi weren't nearly as close as everyone assumed. Bunny in particular had been fretting for years about the plague spirit's odd obsession, insistent that nothing good would come of it.

No matter her reasons, Jack owed it to Fisher for warning him. He'd been flying across Russia on his way to Finland when she'd found him:

"'Frost!'" she bellowed. Startled, Jack twisted around midair then tumbled out of the way with a yelp as her massive sand Pegasus was suddenly right there. He hadn't even heard them approach over the noise of the wind in his ears.

"'What?!'" he exclaimed, hovering over the snow-laden rooftops of a small village whose name he couldn't pronounce. "'For Manny's sake what?'"

She was riled up big time; Jack had never seen her like that before. Her hair was in disarray, windblown and wild. Her silver eyes blazed so bright they shone in the dark like twin stars, and she bared her teeth at him in an ugly snarl as she commanded him: "'Go fix it you imbecile!'"

"'Fix what?'" he snapped back, annoyed and insulted. "'I haven't done anything.'"

She barked out a laugh, cutting and sinister. It was deeper than her normal laugh, almost disembodied. Shadows danced around them, flickering and pulsing with power. Jack knew then that whatever this was about, it was serious, for Fisher hated putting her full nature on display. It made her feel out of control. Less human. Jack and the other Guardians knew she clung to whatever vestiges of humanity she still could, for while she'd embraced her spirithood with unrivaled vigor and resolve she remained, to this day, terribly bitter about how the entire thing with Pitch went down.

Bitter about being forced to make a choice. Bitter about being used and transformed against her will.

Bitter about being made to live without Barb.

"'Really?'" she said in a sardonic tone. "'You honestly think Morsoi allowed you to get away with nothing? That whatever you did up in the Aleutians amounted to something inane and forgettable?'"

Unease unfurled within him. Unease and foreboding.

"'What happened?'" he asked. "'What did I do?'"

That's how he learned about the storm. About the massive vortex of ice and snow and wind bearing down upon the world, slowly but surely trekking its way across Canada and the Northern U.S.

"'I didn't mean to!'" he cried. "'I didn't know that would happen!'"

"'Obviously.'" She was about to tack on something else but Jack, worked up by the news, spoke over her.

"'Has anyone been hurt? Has anyone died? Oh, sweet Manny, the kids! Are the kids okay?! What's―'"

Fisher cut into his babbling. "'No kids have been hurt or killed, they all appreciate the time off from school, thank you very much Guardian of Fun.'"

He glared at her. "'That isn't funny!'"

"'Do I look like I'm laughing? I came here to make you fix it.'"

"'Fix it?'" he repeated incredulously. "'I can't fix something like that!'"

"'You can.'"

"'I can't!'"

"'Yes. You. Can.'"

"'How many times do I have to tell you that I can't? I can't take something like that back! Not of that scale! I don't even know what I did!'"

"'You force-fed a cold front you twit! You took a harmless snow shower and turned it into a monster!'"

"'But I didn't mean to! And stop calling me names! If I had any idea that this was what Morsoi intended, I never―'"

"'You had no idea because you didn't think. You never think. Did it not occur to you that Morsoi was letting you off far too easy?'"

Jack flinched, but recovered quickly. He straightened to his full height and squared his jaw before replying in a stony tone, "'Yeah, it did, for your information. But what was I to do? Tell him no? Part of the agreement was that I wouldn't ask questions! And though I knew something was up we were in the middle of freaking nowhere, and all he asked me to do was send some cold air into the sky. Normally that doesn't amount to anything, so I figured I'd count my blessings!'"

"'Consider them counted, and consider yourself an idiot. Now you have to fix it.'"

Frustrated, Jack threw his arms up. "'Repeating yourself eight hundred times isn't going to change anything. I can't undo something like that, it's beyond my ability!'"

"'Then don't undo it. Temper it as best you can, or perhaps redirect it. Just do something, Frost, unless you want it to flatten Ikiaq.'"

Jack reared back as if struck, knuckles white as he clung to his staff. "'Ikiaq?! But―!'"

This was bad. Really, truly, honest-to-Manny bad. If a storm of that caliber struck Ikiaq it would look like Jack had done it on purpose. Like he'd meant to launch an attack against Issitoq. Jack could insist he hadn't meant any harm until he ran out of breath, could point the finger at Morsoi all he wanted. Little would come of it. Morsoi hadn't been the one to raise the staff or summon the wind―Jack had done that.

In fact, calling out the plague spirit would only make things worse for Jack. For all Morsoi had to do (if he even acknowledged that he'd had a part in it, which Jack seriously doubted) was point out that he wasn't a winter spirit, so he, unlike Jack, who really should have known better, couldn't possibly have predicted the outcome of Jack's little stunt. No Watchful Eyes had been there in the Aleutians to witness their meeting so he, unlike Jack, could easily feign innocence. Ignorance.

Jack couldn't claim ignorance despite it being the truth. That would be akin to a human saying they couldn't be held accountable on reason of ignorance after driving a car with their eyes shut. It didn't make a very sympathetic case and certainly didn't absolve the wrongdoing. Because Fisher was right: he should've questioned it more. Should've at least thought about it. He knew that Morsoi was devious, treacherous, yet he'd still allowed himself to be played like a fool. He should have known Morsoi was up to no good and kept an eye on the area just to make sure nothing happened.

Too bad 20/20 hindsight was useless.

Jack didn't know how he was going to get out of this. Spirits had been destroyed for far less. He didn't want to be destroyed, dammit, he wanted to live! He had so much life and mischief and fun left in him!

Horrified, he whispered, "'It's all my fault.'"

Fisher, so very done with Jack and his theatrics, said, "'Now that we've established that, can we please move on to how you're going to fucking fix it?'"

"'I don't know what to do,'" Jack admitted. "'Anything I do is only going to make the storm worse, not better. And it's too big for me to redirect on my own.'"

"'Call in a favor. Ask for a favor. Beg on bended knee. I don't care what you do or how you get it done, Frost, but fix it.""

Despite his growing panic and anxiety, Jack couldn't help another sharp pang of annoyance. "'Why do you care so damn much? It doesn't affect you at all. Let the storm have its way and leave Issitoq to skewer me!'"

"'Morsoi's actions paint me as a liar, and I am not a liar. I will not allow his selfishness and self-importance to ruin me.'"

Time was very much against him, but Jack was determined. He'd left Fisher in the snow and rushed off to the closest winter spirit he knew of that was friendly to the Guardians, hoping to find some help. But the response he'd gotten from the much older spirit was one he hadn't expected at all.

"'Don't you see?'" the spirit had told him. "'This isn't just about insulting Issitoq. There's very real danger, boy.'"

"'Danger?'"

The winter spirit had nodded. "'Issitoq is ancient, and his realm is a powerful place. Its wards are strong, nearly impenetrable. The storm will not harm or destroy Issitoq himself. But the portal, boy. The tree that harbors the entrance to his realm. It stands tall on the island, bare to the elements which water and nourish it, that whip its branches and lash its roots. Magic has prolonged its already long life, but cannot protect it entirely. It is merely a pathway, a temporary thing, not a true part of the Adjudicating Eye's realm, so it is not indestructible. If it suffers conditions too terrible to withstand, it will fall, and until it is replaced Issitoq will be blinded to the world around him.'"

"'But the Watchful Eyes―'"

"'They will retreat to Ikiaq, the danger calling them home. There is naught they can do to help but go they shall regardless. They have no desire to be trapped outside their master's realm, barred from his protection and magic, for if ever the Eyes were imperiled it will be while Issitoq is inaccessible. To remain in the wider world will be to risk destruction.'"

Jack had a hard time believing it. "'But they're…I mean…they're Issitoq's. Everyone knows not to mess with Issitoq.'" He shuddered, remembering some of the many punishments Issitoq has inflicted in the past, including Sophie Bennett's loss of memory.

The old spirit shook his head. Blue-white hair waved back and forth, creating a quiet tinkling sound, like ice sickles rattling gently in the wind. "'It is not so simple, young one. Issitoq is the most powerful of us but even he is not infallible. And you gravely underestimate how much bitterness and hatred spirits harbor towards him.'"

Jack swallowed. "'If the tree's destroyed how long will it take him to replace the portal?'"

"'A day. Maybe two. But it will be enough, young Frost. It will be enough.'"

And oh, did Jack know the truth of that statement. A day or two didn't seem like much time at all, but Jack had experienced firsthand what sort of havoc a spirit could wreak in a single weekend. Pitch had ravaged two realms, tricked and trapped Jack, terrified Burgess, ruined Easter, and nearly eradicated the Guardians.

And Pitch had been just one spirit, infection notwithstanding. If word got around that Issitoq was temporarily blind…

If it got around that it was Jack's fault…

Fear curdled in his stomach. He flew faster, faster, eyes narrowed to slits against the lashing wind. There were dark clouds on the distant horizon, a harbinger of what was to come. Jack would reach Nova Scotia just before the storm, and there was no telling how Issitoq or the Watchful Eyes would react to his presence.

But Jack was determined. He would protect that tree no matter the risk.

No matter the cost.

After checking on Lorcán and receiving the snow globes from Sandy, Bunny had accepted a lift back to the continent before shooing the other Guardian away. Sandy went, but reluctantly; it was quite apparent that he still didn't believe Bunny when the Pooka said that he was handling things. Bunnymund was grateful to have such a supportive, caring friend, but at the same time he didn't want Sandy to get sucked into this mess with Morsoi unless absolutely necessary. Tooth, Jack and North were in it deep thanks to those favors they owed, and with Bunny cursed, Sandy was the only Guardian not under the plague spirit's thumb. Bunny wanted it kept that way for as long as possible.

Especially since Sandy was still the only Guardian that Fisher would talk to.

In fact, apart from Morsoi and Miyako, Bunny was pretty sure Sandy was the only spirit Fisher saw on a semi-regular basis. Which was…upsetting. Bunny didn't particularly like Fisher, given her dour personality and rather vocal opinions of him and his holiday, but she was a good kid, and didn't deserve half the shit life had put her through. First the neglect, then that nonsense with the rite, then Barb had passed, and now Morsoi was constantly harassing her. She didn't―couldn't―trust anyone to have her back except maybe the Guardian of Dreams. Miyako the yousei came close, but Bunny suspected that was only because Sandy had vouched for her, and because she hadn't done anything to betray or upset Fisher yet. The smallest of transgressions would probably be enough for Fisher to cut out Miyako too.

Bunny didn't like it at all. For all Fisher's faults she didn't deserve to live like that. The longevity and politics and work of spirithood was hard enough to bear without having to go through it on your own. It was probably why Morsoi considered her such an easy target. It made Bunny absolutely sick watching and hearing all about the ratbag's increasingly ridiculous attempts to "court" her. The bastard knew she was young and alone and isolated―vulnerable― and got twisted pleasure out of toying with her. He probably found it funny, dangling pretties and promises of love in front of her just to see if she'd take the bait.

Like Morsoi knew anything about love. He was a narcissist through and through, and an utter psychopath. His ability to care about others only extended as far as he was able to use and exploit them.

One of the many reasons why Bunny was determined to protect Fisher at any cost.

He'd spent the last few days racing all over Europe, and was currently bounding through the Scandinavian taiga on his way to Russia. It was a long, cold journey, but he didn't dare use any of the snow globes unless he had to. Without his tunnels he was susceptible to attack and much easier to corner; better keep the few globes he had for emergencies.

But oh, did he hate the snow. His toes had gone numb ages ago, and he was fairly sure one of his ears was frozen in its current position.

All in all, though, he couldn't complain about how things were turning out. Most of the allies he'd gotten in touch with were willing to help, with the few refusals having acceptable enough excuses. It seemed everyone had finally opened their eyes to the dangers lurking on the metaphorical horizon. Dark spirits were gathering, and growing bolder with their increased numbers. A coalition (or several smaller ones, as the case may be depending on how things panned out) was inevitable. Best strike now before things got out of hand.

And first on the list was Morsoi.

That had been the hardest part so far: convincing the others of the importance of dealing with Morsoi first. No one was keen to raise the plague spirit's ire, and given the ratbag's history Bunny could respect that. But they couldn't risk him throwing in his lot with one of the dark alliances, not when Jack and Tooth and North owed him favors. That particular detail Bunny had kept to himself out of respect for his friends. Instead, he had focused his arguments on a possibility that was just as dangerous:

What would happen if Morsoi took sides and successfully dragged Fisher along?

That had given the other light spirits pause. They all knew of Morsoi's strange fixation with Fisher. They also knew of Fisher's persistent refusals. But, as Bunnymund pointed out to them, courting and alliances were two different things. Morsoi and Fisher had made mutually beneficial deals in the past, back during the rite when Fisher was still human. There was no reason to believe that she wouldn't do so again if she decided the plague spirit's logic was sound.

That had stirred some disquiet among Bunnymund's allies. Fisher was young by spirit standards, but powerful and resourceful, and one mustn't forget that she had a horde of Nightmares at her beck and call. She'd certainly make things difficult if she took up arms against them.

As for Morsoi…they'd never beat him in a direct confrontation. That had been brought up several times over the past few days, but Bunnymund had thought of a solution to that particular problem.

Issitoq.

After what had happened with Lorcán, after all the harassment (clearly unwanted) that Morsoi had foisted onto Fisher, after he'd killed Savaş for virtually no reason whatsoever, after everything else the ratbag had done to so many spirits in the last few decades, there was more than enough evidence for grievances (a lot of them) to be filed. No one had bothered to do it before because they were so bloody scared of Morsoi. Filing a grievance, in their minds, meant one of two results: either they won and Morsoi spent the rest of their existence actively plotting revenge against them, or they lost and earned Morsoi's ire anyway for wasting his time. But Bunny had managed to convince them that it wasn't a lose-lose situation anymore. They may not be able to best Morsoi in a fight, but there was no way the ratbag could dig his way out of trouble with so many grievances filed against him at once. He'd either be kept occupied with legal ramifications long enough for them to deal with whatever nefarious plots the rest of the dark spirits were cooking up, or Issitoq would see fit to put Morsoi out of commission completely.

Win-win.

And even if Morsoi wound up walking away relatively unscathed in the end, there wasn't anything he could do to get revenge when there were so many spirits upset with him. It'd be like taking on the world.

Morsoi was arrogant, not stupid. He knew better than to upset the balance of the world by taking out so many spirits over personal grievances.

Skidding to a halt, Bunny leaned against a tree, panting. His breath lingered in the air as icy white puffs. He shivered with cold, a stark contrast to the constant itching caused by cursed fleas crawling along his skin. He ignored both sensations.

His rest would be brief. He still had one more stop to make and time was running out. A storm was bearing down on Ikiaq, one that would strike anytime now with potentially devastating consequences. The winter spirit who'd told him was quite distraught about the affair, telling Bunnymund that he'd just missed Jack, that the frost spirit was on his way to Nova Scotia to try to help.

Why Jack was getting involved was beyond the Pooka, and the winter spirit hadn't known either. But they both agreed that something about it wasn't right. Jack had no reason to get involved if the storm was a purely natural occurrence, and if it wasn't natural then all the more reason for Jack to stay out of it. Issitoq was going to be livid if his tree was damaged, his retribution against any and perpetrators swift and merciless.

"'Run quickly, Aster,'" the old winter spirit had said. "'The evil ones will not waste an opportunity to strike while the Adjudicating Eye is blind.'"

Bunny had listened, sprinting off for Russia as fast as his Pookan legs could carry him. He was nearly there now, the border only an hour or so away. By his estimate he'd reach his destination just as the storm struck Issitoq's island.

Good luck Jack.

A sound jerked Bunny from his thoughts. Ears stood ramrod straight as he listened intently, keen eyes peering through the dark silhouettes of snow-laden trees.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Footsteps, Bunny realized.

Footsteps drawing closer.

He drew his boomerang and dropped low to crouch against the base of the tree. He was too cold and tired and cranky―not to mention busy―to deal with anyone's shit tonight. Whatever crazy gumby was out in the middle of nowhere in the dead of winter had better mind their own business and not give Bunny trouble.

A shadow appeared between the trees, one that was vaguely human in shape. It sharpened into focus as the figure drew nearer, then finally stopped.

"Aster," the spirit said. Bunny gaped.

"Gerissen?"

It was, indeed, the spirit of cunning. Same blood red eyes. Same ridiculous haircut and clothes. Same long, lean physique.

"You're dead," Bunny said stupidly.

"Obviously not," was the deadpanned reply.

"Issitoq destroyed you. North and Tooth saw it."

"No." Anger, bitterness, and loathing surrounded the dark spirit like a cloud. Magic gathered, thick and ominous. Bunny shifted, standing up slowly and using the movement to disguise how he retreated a step, put a bit more distance between himself and the irate spirit. "What they saw was just the beginning. I was punished, you see, not destroyed. I did not do anything deserving of destruction. I did not do anything to deserve punishment―" Gerissen all but spit the word, red eyes luminous in the dark "―yet here I am. And look, Aster. Look at what I've become."

Upon closer inspection, Bunnymund saw that Gerissen wasn't quite the same after all. His clothes were immaculate, as usual, his hair styled just-so, as per normal, but his pale skin was twisted with scars. The once handsome spirit was damaged beyond hope of repair, including―Bunny swallowed thickly―missing an arm.

"I touched her," Gerissen breathed, his anger a tangible thing. "All I did was touch the brat and this was the result. This." He gestured furiously at himself with his remaining hand. "The offending hand removed. My body permanently disfigured. Incessant, inescapable agony. All because of a touch."

The hand dropped to his side and clenched into a fist. Then the dark spirit smiled, but it was all teeth, and he said in a false-sweet voice, "How have you been, Aster dear? I hear you've gotten yourself into quite a bit of trouble too."

"I don't know what you've heard," Bunny said, slowly and with great care, "but I doubt it was the truth."

"I heard that you were accosted by Morsoi. That our old friend took great offense at your interfering with his courtship. I heard that he put a rather unfortunate curse on you."

Bunny stiffened. He hadn't told anyone about his curse. With the sickle moon that'd been in the sky that night it was possible Manny knew, but he'd never share Bunny's plight with anyone without his consent, let alone an enemy.

No one else should know except Morsoi.

Grinding his teeth, Bunny's boomerang-free paw clenched by his side. Gerissen saw and smirked.

"Irritating, isn't it?" the dark spirit purred. "Having everyone in your business? It's quite unflattering and most inconvenient."

"What are you doing out here?" Bunny demanded, shifting the topic firmly away from his plight and onto more pressing matters.

"Observing. Same as you."

Bunny blinked. "What?"

Gerissen's expression turned sly. "Oh? You mean you haven't heard? There's quite the performance going on tonight. I thought for sure you knew about it and that's why you came." He shrugged. "Well, no matter. I am willing to share in the fun."

"I think you're mistaking me for Jack."

"Nonsense. Frost is far too busy trying to correct his foolish mistakes to enjoy this. You, on the other hand…" Gerissen lifted his one remaining hand and pressed a fingertip to his lower lip. He said in a silky whisper, as if divulging a delicious secret, "I think you will enjoy this immensely."

"I highly doubt it," Bunny said dryly.

"I don't. After all, if anyone wants to see Morsoi put in his place, it's you."

Morsoi? The dark spirits were after Morsoi too?

Impossible.

"I don't believe you." Bunny scowled at the dark spirit and positively spit at him, "I don't know how you came to know what you know, mate, but I'm not going to run off into the dark with you. I'm not that stupid."

Gerissen's smile vanished. All playfulness disappeared as his eyes narrowed into a cool, calculating look. Then he announced in a firm, clear voice, "E. Aster Bunnymund, what I wish to show you is not an attempt to harm you. It is an extraordinary event, one I believe you will take great interest in, for the spirit of pestilence and plague is being put in his place tonight. May Issitoq strike me dead this instant if any of these assertions are false."

Bunny reared back in shock. That was old, unforgiving magic. By invoking Issitoq's name there was no escape for Gerissen if his oath bore a lie.

The seconds ticked by.

The dark spirit didn't drop over dead.

Bunny's mind reeled at the implications.

"Right now?" he croaked. "You're going after him right now?"

Gerissen's smile was back in full, charming force. That his scars had the detrimental effect of distorting the expression seemed of little importance to the dark spirit. "Why not? Now is as good a time as any."

He turned and, crooking a finger in a silent gesture for Bunny to follow him, strode off the way he'd come.

Bunnymund hesitated. He really, truly did.

…but…

He swore that it isn't a trick. He swore on Issitoq's name and did not die.

Bunnymund, utterly at a loss but with hope blossoming in his chest for the first time in ages, followed Gerissen into the dark.