This chapters going to be a little on the long side; I apologize in advance.
Also, the violence is going to pick up a lot.
"That which holds the image of an angel becomes itself an angel."
11th Doctor; The Time of Angels
It was a slaughterhouse.
For someone who could be so deadly in actual combat, Sting didn't stand a chance. For starters, it was her first snowball fight ever. There wasn't much snow on the beaches of California (where her home was) and except for the absolute coldest parts of winter there wasn't even much ice. Everyone's first snowball had gone straight for her without mercy; Jack's had been the first to make contact. By the time she'd shaken the snow out of her eyes, he'd already put some distance between them. The next several minutes were spent bobbing, ducking, weaving, and generally trying to make use of the countless nerf and laser tag wars she'd played with her brothers. Everything was icy cold, and she could already feel the moisture from the snow seeping through her hood and getting her hair damp. And yet this was still the most fun she'd had all week. When the free-for-all had evened out somewhat she began to return fire. Because she was a strong believer in the principle of payback she wasn't deterred from looking out for an opportune moment to hit Jack even though he was the hardest target of all.
For the sake of sportsmanship, she used her powers as little as possible, although they did help her avoid some painful experiences. At one point, she realized that she was on an unavoidable crash course with Cupcake. There was no way to stop in time without either party losing their footing, so Sting instead jumped high over the girl's head, flipped in midair, and landed on the other side. Cupcake lifted her head to follow Sting's arc but forgot to pay attention to her feet and slipped, thudding onto her back. A snowball that Jack had chosen that instant to throw missed her nose by half an inch and sailed on to solidly cream a random man walking by.
The man stumbled, cursed, and roared with anger. Everyone stopped and held still. In the blink of an eye, Sting, after (correctly) deciding that she - as seemingly the oldest person present - would be singled out for a tongue-lashing, willed her energy to direct light away from her. So it was when the man looked up, he failed to see the two teenagers and instead just saw a bunch of kids. This did not at all help to abate his fury.
"Sorry, Mister!" Yelled Claude apologetically.
"Who the hell threw that?!" Hollered the man. Everyone exchanged awkward looks, then Jamie answered:
"Umm . . . Jack Frost." This reply only seemed to aggravate the man.
"Jack Frost? Grow up!" The man turned and continued to walk down the sidewalk, brushing the snow off his coat and droning on to himself. "Damn kids can't even take responsibilities for their own s****ing actions."
Sting was standing too far away to properly hear this last part, but Baba, even from where he was nestled in her hood, had no problem making out the words and reporting them to her. And although she was still invisible, her eyes began to turn a dangerous shade of green as her temper flared. This man was irking her to no end.
"Wanna join us?" She called after him. "We'll play 'Horse.' I'll be the front half, and you just be yourself." Jack guffawed and the kids snickered while the man whirled around angrily.
"You should be apologizing for your irresponsibility and negligence!"
"We did apologize. You should apologize for using such awful language around children. Y'know, like 'I'm sorry?' Ever hear those words? I think they're what the doctor said when he handed you to your mother!"
Sting usually didn't talk this way to adults - but the look on this guy's face was priceless as he scanned the faces of all the children, watched their mouths and tried to figure out who was taking. After several seconds, his eyes widened and backed away for several steps before turning and walking away very, very, quickly. The giggles of the children echoed after him. Well, at least until they heard their parents calling them in for dinner; then the giggles turned to moans of protest. But they had to give in, and as Sting became visible they bade her and Jack goodnight and even asked her to come back again sometime. As the kids left, Jack looked at Sting and raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Hey, your hands are glowing."
Sting looked at her hands. Sure enough, in the sparse daylight a faint golden radiance could be seen coming from her hands.
"Yeah, they do that when I get excited." She failed to mention that it also might be her healing factor curing her bare hands of mild frostbite, and instead reached into the pockets of her skirt to pick out clumps of snow that had made their way in. The clumps melted under her touch before she could flick them away.
"Is that why you kept hitting me with slush-balls instead of snowballs?"
Sting rolled her eyes. "Oh, you zip it."
They walked over to a nearby pond. Sting formed her energy into two small, thin rectangles which she projected on the bottoms of her feet and proceeded to use as ice skate blades. Jack, who had insisted on going out on the ice first in order to add several more inches to its thickness, slid around on his bare feet with surprising ease. A light wind sprang up to dance with them as they spiraled about. The sun gradually disappeared and stars unhurriedly became visible in the dark, inky sky. It was beautiful and peaceful.
That is, until a brief cry of pain sounded through the night.
Baba, who had been dozing off in Sting's pocket, startled awake and zipped up to her shoulder. Sting and Jack exchanged a single look before taking off in the direction of the noise. It took them several minutes to find the source. In fact, they might not have found it at all if it weren't for Baba's sharp eyes and sense of smell.
The figure lay motionless, partially concealed from view behind some bushes in the backyard of his house. It was a full-grown man, lying on his back; his wide-open eyes were staring into space while his lifeless hand still gripped the handles of a trash bag. Whatever intruder had lured him this far from the trash cans had quickly bested him, for the man's neck was wrenched to the side and twisted at such an inhumane angle that at one glance Sting and Jack both knew he was dead. Sting bit her lip, then made her hand glow and held it close to the unfortunate man's face to chase away the shadows of concealment. Double shocker: It was the jerky louse from earlier – the one whom Jack had hit with a snowball by accidence.
"Who could have done this?" Jack asked in a horrified voice. Sting didn't answer. Her eyes turned a sad shade of blue as a momentary pang of guilt coursed through her for the insults she had called after him. Sure, the Jerk had deserved them at the time, but now he was dead. She hadn't wanted that.
Suddenly, a female voice called out from the house, "Kyle?"
Almost all the blue in Sting's eyes faded back to chocolaty brown as she reflexively disappeared. A woman, who looked to be about the same age as the man, stepped out from the back porch. She was dressed in a turquoise bathrobe and her wet hair hung down her back. From the way she looked around the backyard she, like the man before her, could neither see nor hear Jack. Her eyes focused on the dark lump protruding from the bushes that was the man's upper body, and she cautiously stepped forwards.
"Kyle? Honey?"
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity she neared the body. Sting and Jack cautiously drew back and stood a little way behind her. All at once, she screamed, turned, and ran sobbing back to the house. In the process, she took a slightly different route – one that threatened to bring her on a collision course with Jack. Sting, still invisible, reached out and grasped his wrist with the intent of pulling him out of the way; but instead of colliding with Jack, as Sting had expected, the woman ran through Jack.
Jack gasped as though he were hurt and both he and Sting froze with shock at the exact same moment. They didn't move until the woman had slammed the door behind her, then Sting flickered into full visibility. Her fingers were still locked around Jack's wrist.
"What . . . just . . . happened?"
"She must not believe in me." Said Jack softly. His voice was horse, but calm as though it were old news. Sting didn't let go of him, but instead squeezed his wrist a little tighter as though trying to reaffirm his presence.
"She ran . . . right through you. It was like you weren't even there."
"Yeah, I've really never gotten used to it."
Sting raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to ask exactly how often this kind of thing happened, when something white on the ground caught her eye. It was a polaroid photo, but when she lifted it up her heart almost stopped beating.
It wasn't just any polaroid photo. It was one of Jamie's. It was the one she's been looking at earlier: The one with an Angel standing watch at the gates of a cemetery. But now the gates had been left unguarded.
The Angel was gone.
She bent down and carefully lifted Kyle's shoulder, pulling out two more pictures. Jack looked over her shoulder.
"Aren't those Jamie's?"
"Yea." Her voice was gravelly, as though her mouth had suddenly gone dry. "Notice anything missing?" She placed the pictures in his hand, then bent to retrieve two more that were scattered farther away.
"Where did the Angel things go?"
Sting straightened, paused from examining the other pictures, then slapped her forehead. "GAH! That's IT!"
"Huh?"
"Why couldn't I remember before?" Sting asked herself. "Cause I'm a ding-dong, that's why." She was pacing a little now, her eyes whirlpools of frustrated green and nervous silver. Baba was an agitated white puffball and his ears were swiveling back and forth like tiny radars while his mistress ranted. "And now they're on the loose. I should've gone with my gut. I should've just taken and burned-"
Jack dropped the pictures, got in front of her and took her by the shoulders. "Hey. Okay. Slow down. Just tell me what you remembered."
Sting took a calming breath. "I met this wacked-out old guy once. He knew all sort of things about these dangerous beings called the Weeping Angels, and one thing he told me went something like 'anything that holds the image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel.'"
Jack frowned slightly and looked as though he were about to say something, but without warning he pivoted away from the house and fired a blast of ice from the tip of his staff.
"What's wrong?" hissed Sting. Jack tensed slightly as though he were hearing something unpleasant, then pushed her behind him.
"What do you want?" he demanded the darkness.
Sting squinted ahead into the blackness, but could see nothing. Yet Baba was bristling like a cat when it sees a threat, so there must be a threat of some kind. She tapped Jack on the shoulder.
"Um, Jack? Who are you talking to?"
"Pitch Black." Upon getting no response he looked back and studied her face. "You can't see him?"
"Uh, no." She admitted sheepishly. "I guess you'll have to translate for me."
No sooner were the words out of her mouth, then it seemed to her as though a tall figure dressed in black materialized from the shadow of a tree. He had grey skin, dark hair that was divided into three tall spikes, a mouthful of pointed teeth, and, weirdest of all, yellow eyes. Seriously, what person on planet Earth actually had yellow eyes? Okay, no, she should just act cool.
"Never mind." She said calmly. "There you are."
The tall figure smiled maliciously. Sting couldn't help narrowing her eyes – the last time she'd seen a smile that psychotic it had been on the face of someone who'd been leading an army against Earth. She stepped out from behind Jack.
"Who exactly are you anyway?"
That psycho smile grew even wider. "Haven't you ever heard of the Boogeyman?" Sting's face looked as though her brain had short-circuited. The Boogeyman was at the top of the list of things she positively didn't believe in.
"Don't look so surprised." Pitch continued. "Who did you think it was that could make so many people afraid of the dark?"
Sting tried to save what remained of her dignity. "Weeeell, honestly, I always thought it was these creatures called the Vashta Nerada, but now I'm thinking it was a combination of you two."
"Vashta Nerada: The piranhas of the air."
"Yes!" She squeaked. She didn't know very many people who knew what the Vashta Nerada were. Then she caught the odd look Jack was giving her, and cleared her throat. "Anyhoo, did you have anything to do these?" She picked up the pictures on the ground and displayed all of them like a fan. "Or this?" She motioned to the dead body on the ground. She cocked her head to the side while she waited for his response. Her voice was relaxed and her face was calm, but her stance was cautious.
Pitch chuckled, a creepy skin-crawling sound, and was promptly swallowed up by the shadows behind him. His disturbing laughter continued to echo through the air. Then his silhouette briefly appeared on the back porch of the house while his shadow stretched to envelop to entire backyard. Sting tensed and involuntarily stepped backwards. Not out of pure terror, but more out of strong survival instincts – shadows that seemed to grow of their own resolve were strongly reminiscent of the Vashta Nerada and she had once lost three fingers to those things. Sure, they'd grown back after a few hours, but it was still a painful memory. Pitch laughed a second time, evidently enjoying her nervousness, and disappeared again.
"What wrong? Scared of the dark?" His voice seemed to emanate from all around them.
Jack glimpsed a shadow on the roof and fired another icy blast before jumping up in pursuit. Sting followed, growling threats under her breath. When they reached the peak, there was no sign of their opponent. That is, until a spectral black horse with golden eyes charged from behind the chimney and attempted to body-slam them. Sting grabbed Jack by the shoulder and pulled him out of the way with one hand and released a raw blast of energy from the fingers of the other. The blast hit the horse in the neck and it instantly vaporized into black dust. More horses charged from seemingly nowhere, but between Sting and Jack none of them lasted more than a few seconds.
"Is that the best you got?" She challenged when there seemed to be no more attacks.
Pitch appeared behind them. "No. Not anymore." He disappeared, then rematerialized on the roof across the street. Jack and Sting followed in pursuit.
"Why are you here, Pitch?" Demanded Jack. "What do you want?"
Pitch smiled nastily, then disappeared again and reappeared behind them.
"Will you stop sneaking around already?" Sting huffed.
Pitch eyed her and smirked. "Afraid?" He asked in a teasing voice. Two more horse things appeared on each side of him. Their combined shadows extended threateningly, but this time neither Jack nor Sting budged.
"Of you?" Her voice was almost scornful. "Keep on dreaming, you overgrown weasel, and answer his questions already."
"But you are afraid of something. Everyone's afraid of something." He and his otherworldly minions melted into the shadows. "Shall I tell you what scares you the most?" Sting looked, at the neighboring rooftop, and sure enough there he was.
"You're afraid that one day, something terrible may happen to your family and you won't be able to save them."
Sting tensed and stopped, hovering on the edge of Pitch's roof. He was right. She had never put much thought into what her worst fear might be, but he was right. Her eyes changed to a sickened, fearful grey. That is, until she gradually became aware of Jack's presence behind her – Jack whom she'd only known for a few hours and who now knew exactly what her worst fear was.
Her eyes changed from grey to green with alarming speed as her temper flared for the second time that night. If Pitch had known more about her he'd have already turned tail and fled the scene. Not everyone who had been on the receiving end of those green eyes had lived to tell about it. Her hand was raised before anyone could blink, and the blast that came from it caught Pitch in the face and knocked him off the rooftop. It wasn't a fatal discharge, but if he'd been human its sheer power would have melted his face and the impact of him hitting the ground would have fractured his skull (and probably half the bones in his body).
Sting turned back to Jack. "Okay, what next?" She asked in a casual tone.
Jack recovered from his surprise at her outburst. "I need to go tell North that Pitch is back."
"Who? Never mind. You can tell me on the way."
But Jack shook his head. "No, it's too cold for you where I'm going. You have to stay here."
He began to fly away, but Sting bounded after him, grabbed him by the hood of his sweater, and hauled him back down.
"Fat chance. If you think I'm going to be left behind now you've got another think coming." Jack looked unconvinced, so she switched tactics. "Look, wherever we're going, even if it's to the Arctic, I can take it. And whatever's happening now, I'll bet you ten to one the Weeping Angels are involved; and they are nothing short of bad news. I know more about them than anyone on the planet" (this was a slight exaggeration) "and between them and that Nazgul-ish weasel, you're going to need all the help you can get." Jack was still looking slightly skeptical. "And anyway, I'm gonna keep you here until you let me come with you." She looked him dead in the eye, and waited for his response.
Jack exhaled heavily. "How fast can you fly?"
Sting let go of him and smiled in relieved triumph. "Pretty fast." They took off into the night.
"Where are we going?"
"The North Pole."
This story takes place about two years after The Battle of New York.
So, how am I doing so far?