In the Shadows of My Mind

by Schnickledooger

They say he hasn't been right in the head since he fell through the ice. They say that the man who is enshrouded in shadows and lives under his bed isn't real. But Jack knows he's there, always watching, waiting to drag this one mortal who can see him into his realm of nightmares. Who is this spectral boy that keeps haunting his dreams? Human Jack/Pitch if you squint.

8. Forgotten Lullaby

Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians. Dreamworks and William Joyce does.

Ch. 8 Forgotten Lullaby

Jack sat in front of the fireplace, watching the flames flicker this way and that, crackling as they greedily devoured the kindling he had piled high upon the hearth. Slim, slivers of smoke curled into the air unleashing the faint scent of pine. It should have been relaxing. There were many times before that Jack could recall sitting there, he and his sister wrapped in a blanket with hot mugs of cocoa listening to his mother share another one of her fantastical tales before bedtime.

But though the fire blazed cheerily, the warmth it put out was only an echo of what it should have felt like, and Jack vaguely wondered if he touched one of the dancing tongues of fire if it even had enough heat to burn him.

He hadn't realized his hand was already out, hovering a few inches above the orange-red flame, when he heard the barest of whispers.

"Whassitdoin?"

Jack blinked out of his stupor, noticed what a precarious position his hand was in and yanked it backwards, looking wildly about for the source of the words he was certain had been spoken.

"Damp ash!"

"Wet wick!"

"Green wood!"

The words flew at him in a tirade of hushed burbling just as a log on the fire split irately in half with a particularly loud pop, sending up a shower of fizzling sparks which he scrambled away from out of pure habit before Jack realized in utter bewilderment that the firewood had just insulted him.

He sat there, squatting on the back of his heels, gaping at the blazing hearth which had gone silent—thin spirals of smoke streamed innocently upwards in lazy loops as if it hadn't just been talking mere seconds before.

Jack didn't even have the pleasure of denying that nothing had happened, not after all he had been through last night. If he was quite honest with himself, this was probably the least craziest of all the side effects from falling through that thrice-accursed ice.

The door to the bedroom swung open then and his sister tumbled inside, hair messily askew and cheeks flushed rosy pink from excitement.

"Jack! Jack, the tooth fairy came after all!" Emma shrieked, clambering onto his back and wrapping two tiny arms around his neck in a hug. "Thank you for finding my tooth!"

Her tooth… yes, that's why he had gone out last night; that's what had led to Pitch Black and his new found powers. But he had given the tooth to Pitch…

Emma unfolded one of her arms from around his neck and held out her cupped hand so he could see what lay in her palm: a tiny emerald feather, shining iridescently in the fire's glow.

"I found this under my pillow this morning! Isn't it pretty?" Emma said.

There was only one way his sister could have received that feather. Glancing about, he caught a flash of the tip of one crystalline wing disappearing behind his water basin on his washstand. The little tooth fairy—it was here in his room. Was it the same one from last night? But Pitch had implied he was going to keep it confined, and Jack was under no delusions that Pitch had a spontaneous moment of compassion the night before. So why…

"Jack, Emma, come help with breakfast!" their mother cried from the beyond the door.

The little fairy was not budging from its hiding spot, and Jack didn't have too long to ponder on its presence.

"Brrrr, Jack you're cold," Emma said sliding down from his back and rubbing her arms where her skin had touched Jack's neck.

Jack balled his hands into fists swiftly, not taking any chances that they should come into contact with anything else. "Tell Mother I'll be out as soon as I'm dressed," he said forcing a smile.

He waited until the door was shut again before letting his fingers brush lightly across the surface of the wooden floorboards. A faint trail of frost trailed after them.

Jack clenched his hands again, trying to squash the panic rising within him. He had to stop this irregularity so life could go on as normal. If these new abilities truly belonged to him, then he would have to regain control somehow.

A frown wrinkled Jack's brow as doubts and worry began to prey upon him. As he sat there, wondering what to do, wondering what dire consequences lied in store for him if he didn't succeed, a memory, musty and dim, drifted up to the forefront of his mind.

"You think too much. Difficult answers require a great deal of thought or none at all."

The voice which the words belonged rang familiar, but Jack couldn't remember who had spoken them or the situation involved.

The advice, however, seemed to make perfect sense; its logic simple but sound. So Jack followed it.

He imagined his fingers making contact and not freezing things, then put that idea into motion.

The next time he touched the floorboards, there was no frost of any kind, and the skin of his fingertips remained a healthy pink.

Jack felt victorious as he pulled his day clothes and boots on without icing them over. Perhaps if he focused enough, this new power would vanish on its own accord.

He spared one last glance at his washstand and water basin and thought perhaps if he should coax the little fairy out, but his mother was calling again so Jack left it alone for the time being. It was probably frightened anyway and Jack was restless to get back to his ordinary routine he used to find boring. But after the events of last night and this morning, ordinary was something to be envied now.

oOo

Emma wasn't much help at breakfast. She kept getting distracted by her new treasure—the tiny emerald feather—stroking its downy softness, twirling it in the light streaming from the window, tucking it behind her ear and pretending she was a grand lady as she sipped her mug of warm milk.

Lydia allowed her these small fancies and did not chastise her for neglecting her chores like she normally would have. Jack supposed the fact that Emma had her tooth knocked out and was in great pain the night before had something to do with it. She was supposed to have gathered the eggs from the henhouse to be sold for later, but her basket lay untouched near the door. She also was supposed to help prepare their morning meal of the day, but instead she was playing with the ingredients spread out on the table. Black grains of pepper fell between her fingers as she scooped it up then released it back into its container. Her two tiny legs swung back and forth from the chair she was sitting on, never touching the floor. Under her breath, she began to sing a familiar nursery rhyme.

"Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold,

Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old;

Some like it hot, some like it cold,

Some like it in the pot, nine days old."

"Well, it would help if the peas actually got put in the pot first," Jack couldn't help but grin wryly.

His mother arched an eyebrow at him, and Jack cleared his throat and began mixing the ingredients in himself. Soon a pot of peas hung simmering over the fire with Jack occasionally stirring them. He had been a bit tentative at first, eyeing the flames, not forgetting what had happened earlier, but thankfully, this fireplace had been blessedly silent.

"Make sure you keep an eye on the pot, Jack," Lydia said. "Don't let it boil over like last time."

He watched as his mother spread out a variety of fabrics on the other end of the table: Yards of navy blue satin, a roll of white ribbon lace, shimmering pearl buttons, and fancy velvet bows one shade of blue lighter.

Jack had seen the navy blue satin before as he had the misfortune of being the pin-up model, but he hadn't realized how extravagant the governor's wife's gown was intended to be.

"If she weren't already married, I'd say she's actively trying to catch a husband," Jack said.

"Hush, now," Lydia chided. "The poor dear grew up in England where the upper class dress in this fashion every day. She's been here over ten years and she's still not used to our lifestyle. Wearing these types of clothing must make her feel less homesick."

Jack glanced at Emma—usually she'd be hovering over the fabric, staring at it longingly, never even daring to touch something so fine. Today, however, his sister was completely enraptured with her "magic fairy feather" and kept asking their mother how long it would be until they could go outside and play. She wanted to show the feather to her friends.

Their mother told her after chores were done. Fortunately, it was winter and chores were relatively light. After breakfast, Lydia and Jack worked on the gown for a few hours. Since the material had already been pinned and measured, now all that needed was the pieces fitted and sewn together. Between mother and son, they managed to get the bare outline roughly finished, even if Lydia had to pause and recheck some of Jack's lesser skills. Jack supposed if they had continued working all day, they could have attached the lace-ribbon fringed and some bows to the sleeves at least, but his mother understood that the human mind could only handle so much intense focus on one project for only so long before concentration began to wane.

After a light lunch of corn muffins and more peas porridge—they had cooked enough to last the whole day—Lydia finally gave them reprieve to leave so long as they did their daily tasks that should have been done at daybreak.

So Emma at last gathered up the eggs in her basket and Jack chopped some firewood to restock their supply for the night. His sister was already waiting at the door, shawl, mittens, and knitted cap thrown on hastily, stamping her wool covered boots impatiently.

Jack had gone into the bedroom to slip the little fairy in hiding half a corn muffin. He heard a frantic fluttering of wings and an agitated chittering as his hand drew near the water basin, so he didn't linger long. It was when he reached for his staff and noticed it was gone that he finally realized the price Pitch had decided upon for not locking the tiny fairy away in one of his shadow cages.

Jack did not feel the stomach-lurching fear as he had before when he realized the staff was still back at the lake. Now its absence was just a mild annoyance, a minor inconvenience imposed on him by the Nightmare King. Pitch had threatened to destroy it true, but he couldn't now, not even if he wanted to. Not when the staff had helped create those shadow shards that Pitch had big schemes for. He'd get his staff back one way or the other, Jack was sure. It was what Pitch was doing with it in the meantime that troubled him.

oOo

Snow had fallen during the night, so now there was an extra layer upon the thick white blanket that covered the village of Burgess. The trees had been frosted over like icing on a cake, their branches hanging heavy with the added weight. Chimneys and rooftops peeked out from under their new white caps. Jack and Emma added their own footprints to the many that milled throughout the town, calling out their greetings as they made their daily round with the eggs. In the end, after they had gathered a handful of traded items in their basket, they made their way back to the open field they visited the day before. A handful of children were already there playing, flinging snowballs and building snowmen. The field was alit with a flurry of puffy explosions of the fresh, powdery snow. The sky was clear and the sun's rays were nearly blinding as they reflected over the white-covered field, but it was a nice change from the murky, overcast weather that had been plaguing the village lately.

Abigail and Caleb were the first to notice them and rushed over excitedly. Jack smiled as Emma pulled out her fairy feather and Abigail made the appropriate ooh-ing and awww-ing sounds. Caleb, meanwhile, crossed his arms over his chest and beamed proudly up at Jack, displaying the purple circle ringed around his left eye.

"Quite the shiner, you got there," Jack said. "Did you get into trouble?"

"Da wanted to thrash me for fighting, but he tempered down when I told him what happened. Mam says I did right defending Emma and she says Anthony Hawkins is a weasel in boy's clothing that needs a good few whacks across his pelt," Caleb said.

Both he and Jack shared a bout of snickering, reveling in boyish delight, before the other children caught sight of the new arrivals.

"It's JaaaaaaAAAAACK!" screamed the smallest of the group, Thaddeus, whom was referred to as most by Thaddy or Todd.

"Jack?" yelped one of the oldest, Ezra, who halted mid-jump in his game of leap frog, causing his friend, Gideon to crash into his back and send both boys tumbling head over heels into mound of deep snow.

"Jack!" exclaimed Silas, popping up from the ground where he had been making a snow angel, clumps of white covering him from head to toe as he rose.

"Jack!" shrieked the twins, Constance and Verity, abandoning their snowman to sprint across the snowy field to his side.

Soon, Jack was surrounded by a small gaggle of animated children who were pawing at his cloak as if to make certain he truly stood there in front of them, each shouting over each other to be heard, fairly bursting with questions such as "you're not dead?!" and "did you really drown?" and "they said you lost your wits! Do you remember us?"

But before Jack become truly overwhelmed, it was Ezra who stopped the tirade of endless demands.

"Quiet!" the boy roared and the rest of the children fell silent. Ezra, along with Gideon, was one of their ringleaders and as such, they listened to him without quarrel.

"Now then," Ezra said, stepping over to Jack and peering suspiciously up and down at him. "Are you really Jack?" Being only eleven, he was a full head shorter, so he wasn't quite as intimidating as he tried to make himself appear. Jack decided to humor him though.

"Well, when I woke up, that's what Emma and my mother were calling me, so I thought it best to go along with them. Dad always told me never to argue with the ladies," Jack said, winking at the twins.

Constance and Verity, two years older than his sister, giggled behind their hands.

"Next question, the most important," Ezra said. "Do you," he paused dramatically, before lowering his voice so everyone had to lean in to hear, "Remember the last game we played here, the best game in all history of games in existence?"

"Hmmmm," Jack tapped a finger to his chin pretending to have trouble recalling while the rest of the children waited breathlessly. When it looked like little Todd might break down and cry at the thought of his favorite person not remembering, Jack finally relented.

"Knights and Horses!" he bellowed suddenly with a wild grin.

The children bounced in place, clapping and laughing at Jack's ruse.

"It's called Jousting War Steeds!" Ezra objected, but he was grinning too.

"Whatever it's called, I remember I was winning," Jack couldn't resist bragging.

"Oh!" Ezra gave an affronted squeak as he sputtered. "You were not!"

Gideon came up behind his friend with challenging glint in his eyes. "I say let's put that claim to the test."

"Same teams as before!" Ezra shrieked, not allowing any room for protest. Not that anyone would have. It was the children's favorite game after all.

"To the hiding spot!" little Todd cried, racing ahead of everyone as they dashed towards the woods that aligned the edge of the snow-covered field.

The hiding spot was a gnarled, withered dead tree, hollowed out in the center by the time and the weather, serving no purpose until the children discovered they could store their most precious possessions inside, away from the disapproving eyes of their parents. There was a small array of items within, some the children had made themselves, others which they had snuck out of their houses. Not stealing, they would deny, simply borrowing things that would never be missed.

The children gathered up the necessary equipment for their game then made their way further into the forest to a narrow glen, nerves quivering with anticipation. They hadn't played this game ever since the day Jack had fell through the ice, half out of consideration and half out of lack of motivation.

The game had been invented by Jack one winter day when the snow was too grey and slushy to build proper forts and have snowball fights. The children had been bored and restless with far too much time on their hands and practically nothing to do. As most adults know, this formula often spells headaches and disaster for when children are bored they become incredibly imaginative at becoming un-bored no matter what risks are involved.

The game of Knights and Horses was no exception. The idea had sprung into Jack's head probably because the night before his mother had retold one of his favorite stories to him and his sister, the story about King Arthur and his Knights. The jousting was the part that stood out the most to him. It sounded awfully dangerous and thrilling at the same time. He didn't have a lance and he didn't have a horse, but that didn't mean he couldn't pretend.

Of course, when he first suggested the game to the others they weren't completely won over. Not until Gideon demanded an example of how it was played. So Jacked had hitched Caleb up onto his shoulders and handed him his staff, while Ezra had leaped onto Gideon's back armed with a sturdy branch. Then, unleashing their battle cries, the two human ladders ran at each other full force with as much heed to their safety as a goose gives to a cow charging at it.

The end result was Caleb gaining a nasty gash on his forehead from enemy's branch and Ezra knocked clean off Gideon's back onto the slushy ground, dislocating his shoulder on impact. Of course, their parents had banned them from playing such a "violent game with no rhyme or reason" after they had limped home with their injuries. And being children, of course, they had gotten around directly disobeying this law by creating their own loophole.

If it was a game it must have rules, and if they wanted to keep the brutality down to a bare minimum so their parents wouldn't suspect what they were up to, they had to take safety precautions. Jack had pointed out that in the stories, knights wore helmets and breastplates to protect themselves from the brunt of the lance. While they were a bit lacking in actual armor—no one was willing to ask Nathaniel for help on this—they found good enough substitutes for the real thing as children often do.

Silas, as a wood-cutter's apprentice, brought two misshapen but sturdy wooden bowls he himself had carved out to provide as helmets. Constance and Verity had fashioned two brooms out of bramble sticks and tied together with twine to act as their lances. (There was considerably less damage dealt now.) Ezra, being the miller's son, brought two empty grain sacks that would cushion the blows if they stuffed them under their clothes. Abigail and Emma each had brought an old woven basket to serve as shields.

Gideon had added the point system and rules to the game. If you struck someone's shoulder, it was one point. Two points if you struck the ribs. Three points if you struck a direct hit to the chest. No aiming for the head—they were aware the bramble brooms were capable of scratching one's eyes out. You never targeted the knight's "horse". It was dishonorable and you would instantly lose—not that any of the children were devious enough to do this.

Their jousting gear donned and ready, the children split into two groups: Jack, Emma, Abigail, Silas, and Todd in one; Ezra, Gideon, Caleb, Constance and Verity on the other. To be honest, Jack couldn't recall the score from the last time they had played; only that he had been surprised when Caleb had asked to switch to Ezra's team. Later the boy had told him he wanted to see if he could win against Jack—that he felt there was no challenge when he was on Jack's team, because Jack "always had good fortune on his side". A bit touched, Jack swore not to go easy on him and he intended to keep his word.

So now the two groups of children stood within the small glen concealed in the forest, which they had nick-named the Courtyard, because it was where the valiant knights of Burgess fought and fell in battle.

"For Glory and Honor!" Silas proclaimed, perched on top of Jack's shoulders as he readied his weapon at his opponent.

"For Guts and Blood!" Caleb crowed from his seat on Ezra's back as he did the same.

"Caleb!" came Abigail's admonished gasp. Emma, Constance and Verity all cheered appreciatively.

"HUZZAH!"

"HUZZAH!"

Unleashing their war cry, the knights and horses clashed in the most spectacular display of bramble-broom jousting the world had ever seen. Pretending to fight was much more fun than actual fighting itself, and if you asked Jack, it required a great deal more thinking. Real fighting was all adrenalin and raw instinct. Play fighting was inventive, brimming with mystery, never knowing until the last moments what the outcome would be.

So as the Knights of Burgess battled, they were very often interrupted by other calamities disrupting their quest, as what usually happens in all adventures. Once, they had to unite under one banner to defeat Gideon when he jumped out of a tree and transformed into fire-breathing dragon. Unluckily for him, the twin princesses Constance and Verity quickly apprehended him by tying their aprons together to create an enchanted dragon snare. Then they took great delight in screaming, "Off with his head!"

Little Todd was supposed to be keeping track of the points scored by each team to help him better learn his numbers, but half way through, he grew bored and ran in circles around the knights singing, "Ring a-round the rosies, pocket full of posies!" and would not relent until everyone had fallen down into the snow pretending to be dead of plague. Thankfully, they were all revived by Emma and the touch of her magic fairy feather she brushed on the tip of their noses, and the battle resumed again.

So enthralled with their grand adventures, so utterly fearless in fighting off imaginary foes, so captivated in their own fantasy world they themselves had built, the children gave little attention to their actual surroundings or the possibility they were being watched.

oOo

It was December and night came early. The children only had a short time playing make-believe before the sun's radiance began fading and the violet hues of twilight began filtering through the woods. Resorting to pick up the game again as soon as possible, the children placed their jousting gear back inside the hollow tree and waved their goodbyes before departing their separate ways.

Emma made it halfway back before she began straggling behind as tiredness sat in. Jack gave her a piggyback ride the rest of the way even though his muscles screamed at him for doing so. Their mother clucked at them when they walked through the door with sheepish grins, frosted over with snow and flushed from the cold. She shooed them to sit by the fire, made them strip down to their undergarments, then wrapped them each in blankets, giving them bowls of leftover peas porridge from that morning. Jack didn't complain. The porridge was still just as tasty and warmed his insides. He did a better job of finishing his portion than Emma. His sister only managed a few mouthfuls before she started nodding off, drowsy from the fire's heat. Lydia sighed, prying the bowl away from her hands before scooping her up, blanket and all, and headed towards the children's bedroom.

"Your nightshirt is on the chair there, Jack. I'll call you once I get her changed," Lydia said.

"You're sending me to bed this early too?" Jack protested feeling slightly offended.

It might have been dark, but it was not even six o'clock yet. He was older than Emma. He didn't remember going to bed this early since before she was born.

"You children have been doing some strenuous activity that has drained all the energy out you," Lydia said somewhere beyond the door. "I won't ask what. Every child keeps their secrets. But I won't have either of you falling ill because you dallied too long in the snow, you especially Jack."

"I feel perfectly fine!" Jack exclaimed before his body betrayed him and he sneezed four times in a row. He cupped a hand over his nose to muffle the sound and hoped his mother hadn't heard.

"Doctor Brown's medicine is on the top shelf in the cupboard," Lydia said, displeasure ringing clear as a bell in her tone.

Jack pulled a gruesome face, his stomach turning at the thought, but he went and took the bottle down anyway. Then as he was pouring himself a spoonful of the vile concoction, he paused as it occurred to him that he hadn't felt unnaturally cold all day. Nor had any frost spilled forth unexpectedly from his fingertips. He glanced at the fire but there was only the steady crackling of the flames—no insults of any kind were hurled at him. It was almost as if this morning were a dream…

But it had been real. As real as the shadows that Pitch Black prowled in. Pitch, who had not showed himself not even once today. Not the even the faintest whisper or abnormal movement came from the shadows that danced on the walls and lurked in the corners of the log cabin. It wasn't like Pitch to stay away this long, especially when he had been so interested in the creation of the shadow shard the night before. What was he up too?

"You better have taken that medicine, young man," his mother's voice called reprimanding, scattering his thoughts.

Jack took a deep breath then gulped down the bitter liquid, shoveling the rest of his porridge behind it quickly to dampen the awful taste. Then pulling his nightshirt on, he swiped a corn muffin from the table before heading to his room.

Lydia had already gotten Emma settled into bed, even though now his sister was fighting against sleeping for some reason.

"Not yet," Emma whined as she sat on her knees on the bed and stared up at the night sky outside the window. "It's too dark. I can't see them!"

Though the sky had been clear in the daytime, the clouds had rolled in to once again cover the moon's soft glow, concealing the stars as well. There was only blackness enveloping the earth and Jack felt an ominous shudder drift down his spine.

It's only clouds, he told himself, breaking the corn muffin in two, stuffing one half into his mouth and placing the other half tucked away behind the water basin for the little fairy. He thought he might have heard an appreciative chirp, but it was drowned out by Emma's howling.

"No, I need to make a wish!" His sister cried, cranky from exhaustion. "I need there to be stars!"

Instead of growing irritable at her daughter's fussing, Lydia only smiled in a secretive, knowing manner that mothers often do. "If its stars you want, I can make them appear. Wait a moment."

She went out of the room for a moment and Jack heard her rummaging through drawers and pulling things aside. When she came back she was holding a round tin lantern. Behind its translucent cow horn pane in the front, the pale glow of a beeswax candle cut a path through the inky darkness. The lantern's tinplate had been pierced by tiny holes dotted all over, and the flickering light from within made soft white-yellow speckles twirl and dance along the ceiling in a variety of patterns.

"Stars," Emma gasped, her eyes wide with wonder.

Jack stared, half-forgotten memories uncurling in his mind.

Their mother placed the lantern on the nightstand, turning it so the cow horn pane was facing the wall. "Do you remember, Jack? You were always so scared of the dark when you were little. Your father made this for you so you could fall asleep. It was your nightlight."

Nightlight.

The word shone with such bright conviction he staggered under its weight. He sat down on the edge of the bed feeling a bit wobbly and wondered what this relentless drumming in his head all of a sudden meant.

Emma nibbled on her bottom lip as she stared at the glimmering lights splattered across the ceiling, her eyes darting outside her window to the darkened sky above.

"Go on, make your make your wish," Lydia said. "The ones outside are still there, you just can't see them. They'll hear you, I promise."

Emma nodded. Then opening her mouth, a familiar lullaby tumbled out.

"Star light, star bright,

First star I see tonight,

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have this wish I wish tonight."

Then closing her eyes, she made a wish, not daring to utter it out loud lest it not come true. When she opened them again, she looked very content.

Lydia gave her a hug, helped her under the heavy blankets, pulling them up to her chin, before kissing her on the forehead. Jack tucked himself in, the words to the lullaby resounding in his ears with a sense of wrongness that he did not know how to explain. His mother swept his messy bangs out of his eyes before kissing him on the forehead as well.

"Good night, my darlings," Lydia said, closing the door behind her gently.

Emma had already fallen asleep as soon as her head had touched her pillow. Jack remained awake thinking hard, hands resting behind his head, as he stared up at those flickering stars the lantern had illuminated on their ceiling.

"Starlight, star bright," Jack murmured to himself with a wrinkled brow. "Not right, not right…"

Finally, feeling as if he might go mad if he did not solve this puzzle, he turned back the covers, swung his feet over the side of the bed and knelt down in front of the nightstand so his face was level with the lantern.

Not lantern.

"Nightlight," Jack whispered mesmerized, as he reached out and touched one finger to it, glazing the tinplate over with frost. The candle within still burned brightly, melting the frost into tiny beads of water. A numb kind of haze had wrapped around Jack's head. Coming forth from it, he heard a quiet voice reciting the true lyrics and he found himself chanting in unison.

"Nightlight, bright light,

Sweet dreams I bestow,

Sleep tight, all night,

Forever I will glow."

He felt his heart skip a beat happily as he heard the words spoken out loud and a great calmness wash over him. A detached part of him realized he was more than likely not going to remember this in the morning, but he did not care. He felt like he had completed something special, some task that was meant to protect.

Jack fell asleep halfway to the floor—his head nestled in his arms that lay folded on top of the nightstand. Frost sprawled out from under his bare feet in elegant, swirling designs and his breath escaped in crisp, white puffs of air, but Jack felt no biting chill of the cold, not even in his slumber.

He did not notice the golden eyes in the darkness that had watched the entire bedtime ritual, listened as the forgotten lullaby was spoken out loud, and even now watched him as he slept, caught fast in the throes of a dream.

Golden eyes which were both brooding and calculating in their gaze.

If Pitch had been able to stay and observe Jack's dream, perhaps the events of later would have played out differently. But the fact was he could not. The nightlight prohibited him. So begrudgingly, he took his leave, disappearing back into the shadows with a great deal to think upon.

oOo

Jack was walking down a grand hallway, reminiscent of the castles in stories; the walls and columns glowed with a cool, white light. There was a kind of ethereal fog lingering about and Jack waded through it, seeing no more than a hands length in front of him, his muffled footsteps the only sound that fell upon his ears.

Then the fog seemed to part and Jack saw another figure standing at the other end of the hall: it was a boy like him, with brown tousled hair, scrawny legged, thin and willowy, and an untold joke hovering at the corner of his mouth.

"Who are you?" the boy asked.

"Who are you?" Jack echoed, stopping in place.

"I'm Jack," the boy said as though it were obvious.

"I'm Jack," Jack corrected with a huff.

"We're both Jack!" the boy laughed, clapping his hands together in delight.

"We can't both be Jack," Jack protested.

The other Jack cocked his head to one side as if considering this, "Why not?"

Jack really did not have a reason. He was simply offended there was someone else walking around with the name that should belong solely to him. So he squared his shoulders and said the most powerful argument a child can give without having any facts behind it.

"Because."

The other Jack's eyes widened as he stared. His features morphed into one concerned. "Why are you crying?" he asked.

"I'm not"—that's what Jack was going to say. Only as he opened his mouth to do so, he felt the thin trail of tears tracing down his cheeks. Jack lifted one hand to catch a teardrop as it dripped off his chin. It fell into his palm, hardened and pearl-shaped, cool to the touch like a small piece of hail.

He rolled it between his fingers dumbfounded and noticed movement out of his peripheral vision. Turning his head, he noted for the first time that rows of giant windows lined the grand hallway, their sheets of glass misted over by the fog. It was his reflection that had caught Jack's eye.

Or was it? There was a boy trapped in the windowpane, a boy cloaked in silver armor decorated in countless dark gemstones that glistened like beads of water; a boy with snowy white hair and pale blue eyes that seemed to hold a lifetime of secrets; blue eyes overflowing with tears as clear as diamonds. His countenance looked both astoundedly elated and so utterly wretched as he returned the stare, that Jack was seized by an incessant urge to discover why.

Jack reached out his hand—the one that held his frozen teardrop between his fingertips—and pressed his palm flat against the glass, the spectral boy mirroring him on the other side. Frost spread out over the window in tiny, intricate, blueish-white patterns, slowly obscuring the spectral boy from sight.

"Wait!" Jack cried. "What's wrong? Why are you so sad?"

The spectral boy was mouthing words he could not make out. Jack pressed his face closely to the chilled pane to hear him better. The boy on the other side did the same as though if he wished hard enough he could pass right through the thin sheet of glass dividing them.

The boy's mouth quivered with a heavy emotion. His lips turned up in the barest whisper of a rueful smile. He blinked slowly, once—twice—then finally…

"I dreamed for too long," he breathed a weary sigh, pulling his hand away just as the frost covered the window completely.

There came an abrupt burst of a brilliant white light from beyond the other side and the thin sheet of glass shattered into a thousand pieces of glittering crystals.

Shattered like the ice on the lake when he fell through.

Jack was falling again through bitter coldness, out of time, out of space, and the stars around him reached out to engulf him in their silvery luminance.

To Be Coninued…

A/N:

"Once upon a time, I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was myself. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man."
― Zhuangzi

Whew, this was a long chapter. I had all these scenes in my head and I didn't realize how in depth they would be when written.

So, I finally gave in and read the final book in the series, Jack's book. No spoilers, but I will say I had to pause and put the book down and mad pace in my room to compose my emotions because it was written so hauntingly beautiful. Gawd, my heart. Btw, Anastasia's "Journey to the Past" is a scene straight outta the book. That's Jack's theme song.

Yes, it's canon that Jack can talk to firewood and trees in general. You think it'd be more difficult to wonder what insults a fire would say to someone, but of course to a fire, something that can not, will not burn is just blasphemous, amirite? Anyway, Jack's powers are fluctuating wildly if you noticed. He's not in full control yet. Oh my, I guess he'll have to have a mentor or someone to train him, hurhur. Sorry there wasn't much Pitch in this chapter, but he was doing what he does best: observing a tricky situation from the shadows.

So, coughs, does the poem in the notes above make sense with the last dream scene? I'll leave you all to your own thoughts on what is happening. This fic is canon divergence now, as are the books from the movie obviously. But I can tweak here and there to fit if needs be certain elements I enjoy.

In case anyone is confused about the children's ages: Jack—17 or 18 (he has a young soul), Ezra—11, Gideon—12, Silas—10, Constance and Verity—10, Abigail—9, Emma—8, Caleb—8, Todd—6

Me: these are good Puritan names that don't sound too odd and would have been used back in those days. Also me: I'm using the name Ezra because I adore that sassy space brat it belongs to in another series. Asdfghjkl; You'll definitely be seeing these kids again. I had to stop myself writing the entire chapter about their escapades.

If you want to leave a review and can't think of what to say, I love hearing what your favorite parts were so far. Also, one of my friends has pointed out to me I need to reply to my comments more. So I shall try my best! I haven't written this much in so long. I'm not used to this feedback, but I appreciate and love all your kind words. Until next time!