Summary:

Jack was used to finding dead birds, wings fractured, underneath a tree. It happened a lot during winter.

But he had never found one alive.

Jack stared at the sight in front of him, a silent plea escaping his lips. Feathers were littered around it like a wreath, bloody and split. Dead leaves churned around them both, coated with new frost.

It was a few weeks into winter. Already the cold winds had swept through the town, cold and uninviting. Children and adults alike began to wear coats and scarves – some scarcely moved out of the warm comforts of their house.

Jack was there, of course, watching. He watched as a wave of his staff created a light snowfall, the click of his fingers created black ice across roads and pavements. He watched as a tap of his foot made the gravel frost and puddles turn to ice.

He was trying to delay the inevitable, really.

"Get inside, get inside." He had sang to passers by, knowing his warnings would never be heard. "Get inside before you freeze…"

It had been around twelve o clock when the wind moved from a irritant whistle to a howl louder than thunder; the snowflakes were razors, ice underfoot a silent killer.

But not for the humans. Humans had pretty houses. Warm fires. Cozy beds.

The animals that inhabited the north woods, however, did not.

From experience, Jack knew there was nothing he could do. He had tried a few times before detaching himself from the entire event, counting the corpses afterward.

Five mice. Two deer. Six squirrels. Twelve birds.

"Well done." He would whisper to himself. "Good job. That's two less than last time. Good job Jack."

So this time was no different, or so he thought.

The woods had been almost destroyed; frost covered every tree, every stone, every leaf. Jack moved through it calmly, dragging his staff along the ground. He counted quietly.

"Two, three hedgehogs. Four rabbits – five rabbits. Bird number eight, straight ahead."

The bird was white, spread across the ground. It made Jack stop, toes digging into the ground.

Feathers littered like a wreath.

Dead leaves churning around them both.

It's chest was coated with a thin layer of frost, blood splattered on the breast.

And it was breathing.

Jack blinked, tilting his head. Unsteady but strong breaths escaped its parted beak feebly, it's hooked claws twitching with in inhale. Jack watched, crouching.

Slowly, he extended his finger, letting the top brush against the feathers. He hadn't expected it to be so soft. Still, he could feel its weak heart fluttering underneath.

In a trace, he let his finger travel along a bone and to one of the twisted wings. He pressed harder, feeling blood seep into his nail.

Jack gently picked up its limp form, cupping it close to his chest. The bird shifted but didn't wake, it's head flopping lifelessly to the side. The spirit stroked it again, whispering.

"That's one less than last time." Smiling softly, he made his way to a small cave where he often spend winters in this area; it was familiar, safe and, most importantly, warm. Or, as warm as it could get. Deeper into the cave there was no freezing winds, no frosted grounds – Jack made sure to drop his staff upon entering, worried that he might make it colder.

The spirit sat down, placing the bird on the rocks (he figured they were warmer than him) before pulling off his hoodie. He made a small nest, laying the bird inside it and folding the sleeves over like a blanket. Smiling at his handiwork, he dashed back into the open, grabbing a plastic cup that had been littered carelessly a few feet away. He couldn't get to the stream fast enough; with his bare hands he smashed the ice until it was splintered in his hands. Hurriedly he scooped up some of the water and sprinted back, sliding into the cave and kneeling beside the bird once more.

It still hadn't opened its eyes, but was shifting more in the makeshift nest.

"Hey…it's okay." Jack whispered. He dipped his finger in the cup, coating it with water, and dabbed it on the cuts.

Jack had never really taken care of any animal before, but whenever he was hurt he would clean his wounds before doing anything else – so he did the same to the bird, deciding that it was the best place to start.

"Hey…I'm sorry about that, by the way." Jack muttered to the creature, washing the blood off the wings. "I mean, I'm sorry about that big storm. But it would've been even bigger if I left it 'til later, y'know." Jack paused to pour more water onto the bird's breast. "Then that would've been bad."

The bird stirred, opening a black eye to stare at the spirit. Jack held his breath, snatching his fingers away quickly.

"You're awake." Jack smiled at the bird tilted its head, blinking. "How are you?" He hadn't expected the bird to answer and it didn't, instead shifting so it was in a more comfortable position, legs tucked under its chest. It tested the twisted wing gingerly, seemingly deciding that it hurt to much to do anything with.

"You already look better." Jack whispered. It was getting darker outside and Jack frowned, looking from the mouth of the cave and back to the bird. It would be night soon, and Jack knew that the nights were colder – and the day had been bad enough.

"You're gonna get cold…" The spirit but his lip, watching as the bird weakly puffed out its feathers. "And hungry..." he folded the sleeves over the creature again and tipped the cup so it was almost lying horizontally, held up by his hoodie. That way the bird could drink.

"Just…please don't go." Already the bird was a nice company to him; long nights with no one to talk to, or even be with, left him curled up at the end of his cave, drawing with frost. No spirits so far had approached him, though he had seen them from time to time, and even spoke with others (even if it was an argument). He had spoken to a strange spirit a few days earlier, but it disappeared into the shadows – Jack wasn't even sure it was real, or his mind finally breaking.

The bird stared at him unblinkingly and Jack took that as a queue to leave, grabbing his staff and drifting over the town, scanning the icy streets. He dropped to the ground, snatching some clothes off a washing line. Dropping the items onto the ground, he dug his staff into the mud. Worms writhed under the wood and the spirit grabbed them, throwing them onto the pile of clothes before taking to the sky.

He landed at the mouth of the cave, rushing through the tunnels, dropping a few materials as he did so. He reached the main chamber and smiled, slowing to a walk.

The bird was just as he left it, apart from the fact its eyes were half closed lazily. It perked up as he entered, tilting his head and opening its beak.

"Here." Jack smiled, dropping the worms beside the bird. He took a particularly fluffy jumper and covered the creature with it, grinning as he made a small cooing sound with its throat.

"That's the best I can do, I'm afraid." Jack sighed, smiling as the bird poked out its head and ate some worms, still staring at him.

"I don't think your wing is broken…" Jack crawled to the other side of the bird, studying the damaged wing. Once he had washed it it looked less severe – a long scratch (presumably a branch) had scraped it. The bone underneath was swollen, but he was sure it was a sprain and nothing more – experience told him that it wouldn't be able to fly for a while.

"You done?" He asked, watching as the last worm disappeared into its beak. The bird answered by nestling further into the blankets, closing its eyes.

Jack looked away and over to the darkened sky, watching as the clouds gathered.

He had never managed to save anything before.

—

A week passed, and Jack spent most of it in the cave, taking care of the bird he had now called Angel. It was a little cliché, but it was Jack's first time naming something, and that was the excuse he told himself.

Angel, though she hadn't came out of the bundle of clothes yet, was beginning to look more lively, chirping and flexing her wing. By the end of the week, it seemed to Jack that she was much better, and was itching to fly again.

"Looks like you're ready to go." Jack smiled. He handed her the collection of foods (bread crusts, he had fetched, and watched as she stood up and pecked at them.

Jack looked outside at the darkening sky, his chest tightening. Clouds were growing more black and deadly, and the wind was picking up. A storm was going to come soon, and fast. And he would be there.

Orchestrating it.

A burst of song caught his attention, and he turned on time to see Angel flutter into the air and around the cave.

"You can fly again…" Jack laughed, letting out a joyed cry. "You're fine! You're okay!"

A violent gust of wind tore through the cave mouth. Jack shuddered, frowning.

"Maybe…maybe stay here today though." Jack murmured, watching as the clouds twisted into another, casting shadows over the town. "You'll get hurt agai – no!" Jack cried out as angel flew past in a blur, escaping out of the cave.

"Wait! No!"

The wind howled and Jack grabbed his staff, taking off into the air. He was too late.

Angel was gone.

—

Jack counted the dead animals as he walked through the woods.

This storm had been particularly bad – he had tried to hold it off, only to get reminded why that wouldn't work. The leaves crunched under his feet, frost digging into his heel.

"Five rabbits, six mice…seven mice…" Jack sighed, looking at the broken trees.

"Storm was coming, storm was coming…" he sang quietly, mentally adding another raccoon to his list. "But you didn't listen, didn't listen…"

There she was.

Angel was lying on her side, eyes frosted and glazed, her beak open in a silent song. Blood pooled around her head, wings crooked and torn. Her chest was still and cold.

"Good job Jack." Jack whispered, looking down at the fallen bird. "Good job. That's one more than last time."

Hey sparklehannah, I remember you

Thanks to everyone that has reviewed so far, I hope you liked this one. I will continue with Snapped next, but in all honesty I forgot about it XD