TW for violence, blood, and panic attacks this chapter. Also some nudity. Just a heads up!

Chapter 8

Pitch is not brooding when he feels the rush of icy wind through the tunnels of his home.

A smile crosses his face; it's been some time since he has seen Jack, and even longer since she has visited him here. Perhaps this time he can convince her to stay a while longer than usual.

"Jack," he calls out in greeting, and stops when he feels the unpleasant taste of her fear just before she enters the room, her face bruised, a serious gash across her chest, and her clothes in an even worse state than usual.

"Hi," the winter spirit says softly, and is that bruising on her neck he sees? "Could I stay here for a bit?"

"Who did this to you?" Pitch demands, his voice just above a growl as the shadows of the room writhe in response to their master's emotions.

"I just got into a little fight," Jack insists, and it is only because Pitch is so used to listening for small sounds that he is able to hear her now, so faint is her voice.

"Jack," he hisses. "Who did this?"

"No one important," she says, and Pitch is so infuriated, because anyone who would dare to even look the wrong way at her let alone cause injuries of this kind is very important indeed, but her expression stops him short.

"We should get you cleaned up," he says instead, and the relieved look Jack gives him for dropping the subject makes him grit his teeth. He extends his hand and she takes it.

The coolness he has come to associate with her proximity is barely there. In fact her hand is clammy, alike to human sweat, and his concern spikes, because as Jack is so fond of reminding him, she is a winter spirit, and it cannot be good for her to be this warm.

They twist through shadows to an underground pool, and Pitch catches Jack as she stumbles. "It isn't too deep," he says, indicating the pool, and Jack smiles.

"Thanks," she whispers, steps towards the water, and before Pitch can do anything, strips off her tattered top, finally answering the question Pitch had had long ago as to whether she had anything on underneath, and the answer is a resounding, "NO, no she is not."

Jack turns back at Pitch's sudden noise that was not spluttering, not at all, a curious look on her face, and now he can fully see the wound that goes across her chest, staring just below her left collarbone, cutting down and across the top of her right breast. IF she were human it would most likely have been fatal, and the dark blue dripping from the gash that is beginning to cake must be blood, Jack's blood, how dare someone lay hands on her-

The acrid taste he has come to associate with Jack's fear is like a slap to the face and he is pulled back from his fury to Jack standing very still, hands clenched in the rags that remain of her shirt, her blue eyes wide and fearful. He imagines her heart would be beating furiously if she had a pulse.

"I'm sorry," he says, not just for scaring her with his anger, but for her loneliness, for the Moon all but abandoning her, and because someone as kind as her deserves better company than a monstrous relic who cannot go long without behaving rudely. "I'm sorry," he repeats, and melts into shadow, leaving her to wash in peace.

Jack hadn't meant to intrude on Pitch, but there hadn't really been anywhere else she could think of to hide out for a bit just in case that fucking fae got it in its head to follow her.

It wasn't like it was her fault anyways! She'd apologized for invading the fae's woods, been the epitome of politeness, grovelled quite a bit because you didn't piss off the Fae, it was a Bad Idea, even a nobody like her knew that, but it just grinned and said, "I've always wondered if winter spirits bleed, or if inside you are just ice," before the trees came alive.

She couldn't remember much after that beyond a lot of pain, but when she came back to herself she was nearly to Pitch's home and saw no reason to change course. Thought now Jack wonders if maybe she should've just gone somewhere totally deserted, like the land of the cold to the South. Seeing Pitch that angry was frightening, even on her behalf - especially on her behalf.

She lays down her staff, then steps into the pool. The water is cool, almost refreshingly so, and that combined with the fact that there is only a little bit of frost spreading across the surface from where the water meets her sin is worrying. She gives a small sigh as she sinks into the water, reclining at an angle so she can rest her head against the lip of the pool. She starts to rub at the area around her wound, grimacing at the feel of blood, her blood for all its strange color. It's almost mesmerizing the way the dried flakes blossom into snow crystals as they hit the water.

"Huh," she says, and winces at the strain it takes to speak above a quiet whisper. Not trying that again, she thinks.

After she finally scrubs away the dried blood, she prods a little at the wound. Quite a bit of it is raw and sensitive to the touch, but there is a bit which is already iced over. Jack is torn between the fascination at her first scab, possibly scar, and revulsion over the fact she has one in the first place.

Her hand goes to her neck and she softly moves her fingers over the bruising she can feel has developed. She looks down at the water, and even this close she can see her face reflected back at her, dark blue and purple mottled high across one cheek. At least my bruises are a normal color, she thinks morbidly.

Frustrated and a plethora of other emotions she doesn't dare dissect at the moment, she sinks in to her neck and then goes to dunk her entire self underwater.

It's dark. It's dark and cold and she cannot breathe oh God she going to die, the ice is closing over, she cannot surface, cannot help if Emma goes under, no, please, I don't want her to die, I don't want to die

Jack surfaces with a pained gasp, trembling but not from the cold water (because she's a winter spirit why would the cold ever affect her?) and even dripping wet she can tell she's crying, except everything is freezing over, she is frozen just like before, and her breath is coming quick, so quickly until she cannot breathe but she doesn't need to breathe, doesn't need to eat, probably doesn't need to sleep but it gets so lonely, had been much worse until she met Pitch-

Large hands and large fingers close around her arms and she shrieks, which hurts her throat even more, and lashes out, everything within two inches layered in frost and ice but then she's being lifted from the pool, and oh it is Pitch and then there is a shadow and a blanket and oh.

He's warm.

How a being of shadow and fear and darkness can be warm escapes her but also makes sense, because she is so cold and in comparison everyone else must be burning.

As the haze thins and she can finally hear beyond her head pounding, she hears him saying her name.

"Jack, it's all right, nothing can hurt you here, just breathe. It's all right Jack, it's all right-"

She cuts him off. "I died."

She can feel him go stiff but keeps going. "The pond, it- I died, Pitch, it was so cold and dark and I couldn't breathe and now I don't need to I don't need to breathe, God, I'm dead, Pitch, I'm dead." She's crying again, her throat hurts from talking too much, too loud, and Pitch is silent, not saying anything, just holding her, and Jack doesn't know whether that, this, is good or bad.

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry this chapter is so late ^^; Life lately has been busy and I had about half this written when I got a review from Joan on AO3 reminding me "hey, go do the thing!" So yeah, hope you all enjoyed, and remember to leave a review telling me what you did/didn't like, what really made you cry, etc!