Summary: Slightly AU, set somewhat if in the middle of the movie, it took a different turn. Mentions of Dark!Jack. And a much more evil Pitch.

In order to once again claim the world, Pitch had to trick a winter sprite into falling under his control. The Guardians had been too focused on themselves and their duties, and had not caught onto Pitch's plan until too late and are now paying the price. The remaining Guardians must now hold on to the one called the "Shadow Creeper" until they can find Nightlight, the one The Man In The Moon has told them to temporarily recruit.

But little do they know she is a target for Mischief. And who is hellbent on capturing her.

*Jack/OC
one-sided Tooth/Jack
maybe Tooth/Bunny

T for language and mentions of death. May be rated M later for future mature content and maybe graphic writing.

A/N: This is another flashback chapter, flashback to a past life and this is probably the last one.

Listen to: "Until We Bleed (Mikael's cello version)" by Kleerup ft. Lykke Li

Ch11:Immoderate

ˌi(m)ˈmäd(ə)rət/ | (adjective) 1. not sensible or restrained; excessive.

The summer in the south was quite unforgiving. The sun created an perpetual daylight sauna and the wind was dry and the mosquitoes relentless. Popsicles were sold out and and all types of juicy fruits were in high demand. So was summer school for some—but that wasn't important. Because here in this summer, many years ago, it was not a joyous one for a town in an American south. Here this summer, a girl has gone missing and so far, there hasn't been a police officer in town willing to look for her. And her family was growing desperate.

It's been more than a week that she's been missing.

In the nearby country, a bird squawked and the paint on the outside of the barn peeled and fields of dried grass swayed in the humid heat. Nothing was out of place or stuck out on the property—a country house, a small barn, a few animals wondering the fields, cattle chewing on cud; a boy, a tall and tan young man crossed the dry grass, the top of his overalls undone and sweat collecting under his brow. His legs took long strides that left the dog at his side following at a quick trot. The outside was quiet, the buzz of insects making up background ambient noise.

As he approached the barn doors, he made sure to shoo the dog away to not follow inside this time before swinging the right large door open. Sunlight streamed in through the few windows high on the walls inside, but created deep shadows in contrast. And as he quietly closed the door behind him, his eyes narrowed to a troubling look.l, adjusting to the light.

In the middle of the barn was a wooden chair, and on it sat a girl tied with her hands behind her back and a cloth around her mouth. Currently, her head sagged above her chest, and as the tall boy took long yet few strides to stand in front of her, he pulled her face back by her short, dark hair and she squealed, eyes flying open, wide, and terrified.

Her dark hair that was straightened by chemicals was sweated out and fell limp above her shoulders. On any other day and if at home, it would have been styled nicely. Instead, it was tangled, matted, and dirty with dried blood—the results of the cruel torture she had been put through in just the last twenty-four hours.

If she was back at home with her little brothers and sisters, for example, she would have been happy, warm, and loved.

But she had been kidnapped after trying to attack a man that had been a foot taller and had been after her brother and sister instead. She had been shoved in a car instead.

And the girl didn't know how long she had been in this place. All she did know is that she was probably in the hands of her capture, and in the hands of the person who would probably end up killing her.

"Hey," the boy called, his heavy hand whipping her head to the side after the slap. "Wake up."

The girl lifted her head, still groggy from passing out hours earlier.

"No sleeping," he ordered, snapping.

She didn't dare speak.

The girl watched through tear stained eyes as the boy disappeared to a corner of the barn and she began working on the ropes around her wrists. So far, she hadn't had much luck; the events she'd been through draining her and putting her sleep too much. But she worked her best on those ropes for those two minutes the boy had his back turned.

She was unsuccessful.

This girl was around her late teens, seventeen or eighteen perhaps, and the boy knew this. And when he came back around, she froze from fear again because she knew the routine, she knew she should keep her mouth shut and maybe—just maybe—he'd let her go, by some stroke of luck or conscious grown.

The boy strutted back over, now wearing a pair of thick gloves and another rope between his hands. He was shirtless and dirty from being out in the sun and his faded overall jeans rode low on his hips but his face—she knew him.

He approached slowly and his eyes were now so cold and distant and foreign than all the other times they've spoken, and they chilled her to the bone. Her wide, dark eyes followed him as he stopped in front of her and she flinched as he stroked her hair, afraid that he'd apply something burning hot to the back of her head again or yank her head back as he caused her to bleed as he—-

The boy squatted down in front of her, keeping his gaze with hers steady and silently.

She knew him, yes, as horrifying as it was. His name was Cole, she would never forget, and he had been another student from their school that integrated from being for white children only. She has known him for a couple years now and they've talked on the sidewalk and he had always been friendly before but never had she thought—-

Never had she, would she have ever thought that it would be him. That he would do this.

And Cole was a tall, tan, and kind of scruffy boy that came with being the son of a family of farmers back in the time, and she can remember him wearing worn jeans and t-shirts often.

Cole knelt down in front of the trembling girl and his hand stopped on the knot of the gag behind her head. Keeping his steely eyes on her, he slowly, menacingly untied and slid off the dirty white cloth. Immediately, she began talking again.

"Cole, p-please. Why-why're you—-"

He snapped, ordering her to "shut up," though not as nicely and with much more offensive words.

She obeyed, flinching away again when he loomed forward, jumping to his feet.

For more than seventy-two hours she's been trapped here, fearful for her life and begging for some type of miracle, hoping that there was some kind of celestial power that would grant her free.

The boy leaned over to the side to grab a pair of tongs from the small table. It was filled with a vary of other tools and equipment that were bloody and which would have gone more towards horse or cattle. There was a hammer, pliers, and a brush on the side table, and a few horseshoes hanging on the wall nearby.

The girl trembled. The boy straightened above her.

"Cole…"

He had scruffy, large dirty-blonde curls that she had never been sure if he'd taken a brush to or not, and azure-green eyes behind hooded lids, and a splash of freckles he's said he's gotten from his mother.

"C-Cole, its me! From school, Perkinson's class, remember? Wha-what...?!"

He spat at her, told her to shut her trap again, and then insulted her, cursed her, offended her.

Still she wasn't sure if it had even been him who had attackers her on the street—but that didn't matter at the moment.

She whimpered from fear.

Her hands were already tied behind her back and her shoulders to the wooden chair amd the ropes were scratchy, digging red indents in her brown skin.

The boy pressed his palm to her forehead, forcing her head back and over the top of the chair. With his other, he held the pair of pliers.

The girl's eyes brimmed with tears, and she suddenly remembered a time when they were younger, and his fascination with the make up of the human body in science class and about all the bones and the different holes that could leak blood.

"Cole—why? What did I—-?"

With his free hand, he grabbed her jaw, making her mouth open wide, still forcing her head back and over the top of the wooden chair. And with his other hand, he held the pair of pliers. And she wanted to scream but knew it would be fruitless.

She screamed anyway.

.~*~.

The girl died the next night due to lose of blood, starvation, and trauma. Deep cuts traces down her back and a brand was made in the back of her skull and she had a broken jaw. Her corpse had been broken, beaten, disgraced, and tossed outside of town, somewhere in a forest. The night she died, her clothes were bloodstained and torn in the back, and her family would burry an empty casket. She was around eighteen or seventeen, and she had died protecting her brothers and sisters.

Her family would have an empty casket funeral. Her mother would cry on the shoulder of her grandmother, having lost her eldest child.

The girl would have gone to college after she graduated. She would have become a lawyer, or a journalist.

Her brothers and sisters would grow up without closure and fearful and closer than ever. The eldest one would tell the youngest of the tale that would encourage them to follow their passions and dreams. They would tell of how their sister died guarding them.

The girl died too early in life and her body would never be found, and instead, would be bathed in moonlight, her one not-swollen eye watching the full moon as it grew larger and larger and larger still...

A/N: Since after this chapter the story will resume the same time period with Shadow, Pitch, Tooth, and Jack, what would you like to see next chapter, like, what scenario and what interactions? And what do you want to happen next?

I'm sorry about not being active with this story but I've been in a rut and I've not had much motivation with this story. So, please talk to me about it. What would you like to see within here? Any deaths? Any relationships, any situations, any little drabble or ?