Prism pulled the blanket over Jackson's limp, sleeping form. He had taken the chemo extremely well, with no allergic reaction to the medications. The needle had scared him, and he'd asked Prism to hold one hand and his mother the other, but that was the worst of it for him. The nausea had already kicked in, and Prism stared at the head full of rich brown hair and wondered how long it would last. Hair loss wasn't quite as scary as the needles to Jackson, and he'd shrugged when the nurse had reminded him of that side effect.

"There you are," Lucy said softly.

Prism turned and inclined his head. Lucy had two mugs of coffee, and she held one out to him. Prism took it gratefully, gave Jackson one last look, then headed downstairs. On the coffee table, Lucy's laptop sat already open, a blank document taking up the screen. Prism smiled and took a long drink of the hot coffee then set it aside and began to type.

Well, that went as well as could be expected.

Lucy read this then shrugged. "I didn't know what to expect. I hated seeing him like that. And he was so sick afterwards. Is that normal?"

Unfortunately. But there wasn't an allergic reaction. I've seen some that became medical emergencies because of how severe the body rejected the medication. He did well. He'll be tired for a few days, just so you know.

Lucy sat back and sipped her drink. "I know." She paused. "Thank you for coming, Prism. I appreciate it. When Jamie said he had to work, I was terrified. The thought of going alone to that terrible appointment almost made me want to scream."

Prism laughed then typed, What about when Jackson asked me to hold his hand and the nurse looked at you to tell him that it was just the three of you?

The young mother laughed so hard she had to set aside her mug before she got coffee everywhere. "That was so funny! I never understood why Jamie was so thrilled to have invisible friends before, but oh my goodness, the look on that poor woman's face when you took his hand and he squeezed it and she couldn't see a thing was hysterical!"

Prism nodded. Being invisible on Earth has its perks.

Lucy pursed her lips. "What do you mean, on Earth?" She paused. "You weren't kidding when you said you were from outer space, were you?"

No, Prism typed. I wasn't. I'm from a planet very far away from here. I'm also older than anybody else on Earth besides Sanderson Mansnoozie. That's Sandy, as Jamie calls him.

"What about the Man in the Moon?" Lucy asked. "Jamie says he hasn't met him, but he sure does believe in him."

He's younger than me by a couple of years. We grew up together, you know. Most of my childhood was spent on the Moon Clipper, sailing around the galaxy and visiting other planets.

"Moon Clipper?"

Your moon. Before it broke down and got into orbit around your planet, it was the best ship in the Golden Age. It's still a ship on the inside. There's passages and computers and rooms that fill the inside. It's my home when I'm not on Earth. I go there every few months and take some time off.

"Time off? You have a job? How? You're invisible!" Lucy laughed at the thought of the sparkling form working at a store or in a fast-food restaurant.

I don't work at a normal job. I told you before, I'm the Guardian of Courage.

"The Guardian of Courage," Lucy said. She liked the way that sounded. "What do you do?"

I give children courage. I help ease their fears. Most of the time I'm at hospitals or domestic abuse centers. Once the children believe in me, I help them. I listen and help them be brave. Even if there is no way for them to live, I give them courage and guard them until the end.

The conversation had taken such a serious turn that Lucy shifted uncomfortably. "Have you seen children die?" she asked, her voice subdued.

Yes. Many of them. I've been around on this planet for four thousand earth years. According to Lunar, I was a Guardian long before he appointed me. The first girl I watched die was only eleven. Her drunk father hit her too hard and she couldn't recover. Her name was Althea.

Lucy stared at the shimmering form before her, and she could see the slump of his shoulders, though his head was held high. She couldn't fathom what this man had been through.

"I'm so sorry, Prism," she finally said. "I don't know what else to say. You've been through a lot."

You have no idea.

That sentence surprised her. "What do you mean? More than watching children die?"

There was a long pause. The outline had become very still, very stiff, almost rigid. The shimmering form began to noticeably tremble. Lucy knew at once that she had asked the wrong question. Some kind of deep pain was radiating from Prism, and he seemed unable to move. Then there was a soft clicking as he typed out seven words.

I don't want to talk about it.

"Of course," Lucy said at once. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

It's not your fault. You're curious. But what happened is still too painful for me to think about.

Before Lucy could respond, there was the jingling of keys and Jamie walked in the door, looking haggard and exhausted. Lucy jumped up and hurried over to embrace him. Prism watched for a moment, his heart thundering in his ears as the man before him seemed to become a boy, a terrified boy afraid to die by Pitch Black's hands. Without a sound, he lifted his finger and erased everything that he'd typed to Lucy. Then he closed the document and stood up.

"How did it go?" Jamie asked, kissing her head as he held her close.

"It went as well as we could have hoped," she sighed. "No allergic reaction, and he was brave about the needles."

"That's my boy," Jamie said. He looked up. "Did you have company?"

"Huh?" Lucy turned, expecting to see the outline of Prism, but he wasn't there. Only two empty coffee mugs.

Prism had slipped into the kitchen, his breathing heavy. His mind was open and Shadow Man was going to slip in, pull him down, make him hurt Jamie. The world was becoming narrow, and he knew somewhere in his mind that he was about to have a panic attack. He heard Lucy come in, and she asked what was wrong, but all Prism could see was red eyes.

"Who are you talking to?" Jamie asked.

Prism let out a sharp cry and bolted for the door. He opened it and shot out into the yard, leaving the gaping couple behind him. He launched himself into the air, needing to get away from the memories, but they chased him like a bloodhound on a hot trail. He shuddered and pushed himself faster and faster until he broke the sound barrier. The explosion rocked him, and he screamed, seeing the lightbulbs bursting as he threatened the poor, innocent child, threatened to kill him because he still believed in hope and fun and wonder…

"Prism!" a voice called from far away.

Prism groaned as he came back to consciousness. He blinked at the full moon above him, and he could feel Lunar's gaze, worried, concerned. In a daze, he shifted then sat up. He was in a crater, the earth scarred from where he'd hit the ground and skidded to a stop. Jack Frost knelt beside him, scanning him with fear on his face. What could have happened? the fear asked.

Prism's entire chest felt raw, like an open wound, but his dark clothes were in place. He could tell, with dawning horror, that his clothes were wet. Terror seized him. Had he wet himself? Then he noticed that he was lying in a pool of water. He looked around him, his eyes taking in the landscape bathed in soothing moonlight. What had happened? He shivered, suddenly noticing how cold he was. He was pretty far up north, he surmised, and he was soaked.

Jack reached out to touch his face. "What happened? The Moonbeams saw you lying here when the moon came up. Lunar's worried sick."

Prism got to his knees, wobbling to keep his balance. He thought back. He had gone with Lucy and Jackson to the chemotherapy appointment. That much was clear. He'd gone back to their house, put Jackson to bed, then talked with Lucy awhile. Then Jamie had come home…

A wave of terror broke over him, and he fell back, gasping as his muscles spasmed and his memory went white and eluded him. Jack caught him, angling himself behind Prism so that he supported him. Prism knew only one thing at that moment: he had had one of the biggest panic attacks he'd ever known. He had fractured memories of clawing at his own skin, of trying to break free of the prison of his painful memories, of trying to rip out the bad parts of his past. He remembered blood soaking his clothes, pouring from him in rivulets down his skin. It wasn't only water that made his shirt stick to him. And at that moment, he was ashamed. He couldn't tell Jack. He just couldn't. So he broke the first promise he had ever made to the boy. He lied.

"I think I almost hit a plane," he rasped.

Jack paused and frowned. "You would have gone through it," he said slowly.

Prism swallowed then said, "All I remember was terror. I think it was falling out of the sky for a few moments. It was raining. And the fear… It was so… so strong Jack. I couldn't think."

Jack's face twisted. "Oh, Prism. You poor thing. Let's get you to the moon. You'll be okay there."

Prism felt a hollow splitting in his heart as his lie was fully believed. A part of him had hoped that the boy would detect the lie. How could he break his promise to Jack? But even thinking of what he'd done to himself while in his panic attack was too much to bear. He hated his panic attacks, his anxiety. Both Jack and Lunar had dealt with them enough. So he decided that he wouldn't tell them. He couldn't face their pity anymore.

He struggled to his feet, weak and terrified that Jack would notice the tears in his shirt. But his dark blood camouflaged the tears in his dark shirt. He staggered over and sat under the leafy boughs of a tree.

"I need you to go get my ship," he gasped, his entire chest on fire from the little bit of movement.

"Of course," Jack said. "Where is it?"

Prism told him, and Jack promised to fly as fast as he could and that he would get back in half an hour. Prism nodded, relaxing against the tree. He waited for Jack to go, checked around for any curious Moonbeams (they had all gone to the moon to report what they'd heard) then he stripped off his shirt to see the damage. The tree hid him from the moonlight, but his sharp Shadowling eyes saw every gouge and tear in his pale grey skin. He paled at the number of marks. How could he have done this to himself?

After a few moments, he solidified his resolve and drew his fingers over the rips in his black shirt, willing his magic to fix the ruined garment. Within two minutes, the shirt was whole, and he looked around furtively. Melting into a shadow, he snuck through the darkness to a willow tree that was beside a creek. Hiding beneath its leaves, he disrobed and washed the blood off of his body, determined to hide the damage. He looked down ruefully at the gouges; there was no magic he possessed in himself to heal such wounds. He would have to tend to them in his room on the Moon Clipper. He only hoped that Lunar wouldn't see what he'd done.

Silently, he dressed then slithered through the shadows back to the tree. Sitting down with a grunt, he leaned back and waited for Jack to come back with his ship. He knew that he should tell Lunar what he'd done, but he was determined to deal with this himself. He was enough of a burden without tearing himself open during a stupid panic attack. He didn't want to be a burden anymore. So he simply would keep it to himself. If it happened again, he decided, then he would seek help. But it wasn't likely. He was strong enough to handle himself.

Are you? a part of him asked, the part that could still feel Obscurus digging into his psyche, dirtying him with thoughts and actions that weren't his own.

'Yes!' Prism thought viciously. But he wasn't so sure anymore.