The Guardians all looked worried for Jack, they knew something was wrong. But Tooth, being the mother figure of the group, decided it was best to leave him to rest - he had been through a lot and maybe, in time, he would remember what happened.

"Shout us if you need anything." North instructed, to which Jack just nodded, before remembering he had one more question.

"Wait!" He shouted just as they were leaving, surprising himself with the volume of his voice. "Where's my staff?" Immediately, Tooth's wings stopped fluttering and North looked down at the hard wood floor, both of them avoiding eye contact. In a way, Jack didn't want to know the answer but he had to: that staff was the only the thing he had had since day one. It helped him control his powers and he had never let it out of his sight. He didn't wholly know, but he believed that his staff was a source of his powers, as it was such a big part of him. Maybe that's why he hadn't healed, because such an important part of him was missing. He knew every little detail on the carefully sculpted stick and his hands felt empty without it.

It was the only thing he trusted, other than Wind.

"Oh Jack," Tooth said, hovering by his side "we tried, we really did."

"Tried to what?" Jack asked them and when nobody answered he repeated, more forcefully, "Tried to what?"

"Show him North" Tooth muttered, as if she felt guilty. From behind his back, North produced his broken stick, ends damaged and fragmented. Jack's heart plummeted in his chest.

No.

"Get out." he muttered to the Guardians, suddenly not having the strength to shout at them. "Out" he said again and they left without a word. The room was silent apart from the gentle click of the door. Jack broke down into sobs, but not before checking he could not hear the others outside the door of the battered room.

Battered room for a battered me. Fits perfectly. Jack thought. Trying to slow his breathing, he carefully placed his broken staff on the drawers next to his bed and got up. He found himself wobbly and shaky but he desperately wanted to get to the window: to feel the cold air and the snow. He felt instantly refreshed as he opened the window and took three large gulps of the crystal clear air. It felt like his lungs were thanking him as he found it easier to breathe and he felt slightly more awake.

For a while (Jack didn't know how long), he just sat on the window ledge, concentrating on the falling snowflakes. Nobody knew how much work and precision went into the making of one single snowflake. After all, every one was unique. The only thing most people saw in snow, especially Bunny, was trouble. Bunny hated the snow and he wasn't afraid to make it clear: he hated the cold and wet, the damage the ice could cause.

He didn't know how much this hurt Jack every time he said it. They all thought his job was easy - make some ice, make frozen water fall from the clouds, cause some trouble and be done. Oh how he wished it was that simple. So much care and practice went into every individual aspect of his winters. It was hard to control, harder than anyone would ever know. He often felt like his own powers would consume him if he held them in for too long. True, he could create a raging blizzard with the blink of an eye now, but in the beginning it wasn't that easy.

In a way, the three hundred years alone had actually benefited Jack. This way, he had all the time he needed to practice and perfect his craft. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't lonely: the only reason he didn't go mad was because he focused all of his attention on the ice.

With a small sigh, Jack turned around and started to head back to the bed: he was shattered. It was only a few steps away but Jack struggled immensely. His knees gave in from underneath him, unable to support his weight, even though he weighed barely anything. He gasped, suddenly in pain and clutched his heart. There was that burning sensation again. After a second, it slightly faded and Jack found the strength to pull himself up, using the bed frame as a support as he stood up and faced the large decorated mirror infront of him.

He looked terrible.

His eyes were sunken and faded and his cheekbones were clearly visibly under his tight, pale skin. How long had he been in the Antarctic? On the left side of his neck, he noticed a small black scar, or that was what it looked like. His heart seared again and he painstakingly lifted up his hoodie up to see if there was any visible damage.

When he saw it, he gasped and nearly fainted at the sight. Across his chest, dark, sinister snake-like tendrils trailed, reaching as far down as his stomach, up to his neck and over his left shoulder. They all originated from the same place: a large round circle of black just above his heart that looked like a hole. Jack gingerly reached his hand up and touched it, sending a gut-wrenching burning feeling across each tendril, looking like whips on his body. It certainly felt like he was being whipped, all over. It looked as though there were snakes inside his body, squirming and wriggling under his deathly pale skin. One of the... things... reached up to the top of his left side of his neck, looking as if it would strangle him any second. No wonder his heart hurt. But how did the tendrils get there? Why were they curling around his body and why was his chest nearly all pitch bla...

Pitch.

Who else could it be? Suddenly a vague, hazy memory came to him of him and Pitch fighting in a snowy scene. In his mind, he had a sensation a falling, a long way down into the snow and landing with a loud, painful crash.

Jack flinched, his hand instinctively reached for his head. Again he felt the large bump and the stitches. Why did it still hurt - was it because of his staff? North said it had been over a week since they found him and yet there was still a visible, painful scar. After a while of pondering, he decided it would be best just to go to bed and try to sleep, so he did just that. As soon as his damaged head touched the light fluffy pillow he fell into a dreamless sleep.