A shriveled and browned leaf twitched on its perch. Without its brethren, it produced no significant sound when hit with a light zephyr. Within close proximity, one could hear its rattles and scratches as equally dried end rubbed against one another. It hung in the air, suspended by a single filament composed of desiccated plant material. It jangled and convulsed, whipped violently by a stronger breeze. It was nothing more than deadweight on a sleeping tree's branches.

In a final gust of air, the leaf snapped from its temporary post above the forest. Like the others of its kind, it would fall and land on the cold, hardened ground. Nobody would notice a tree losing one more leaf. After all, it was winter. But a few scatterings of deceased leaves could be seen on the branches, clinging onto spindly wood in hopes of surviving until spring. That was their goal: to survive.

But survival is not tantamount to living. To leaves, surviving was feeling the sun hit chloroplasts. Light drove production of vital organic molecules, thus fueling the rest of the organism. Weaker leaves dropped to the ground early on in the season. They did not have the capabilities to survive and were not needed for everyone else to continue their existence. Such a small amount was lost. Could it be considered a loss at all? Perhaps it could, that is, in terms of living.

The leaves that dropped the fastest were the ones with the most spirit. They were buoyant, almost weightless in the Wind. They held no burdens and simply lived. Survival was second nature and allowed them to focus on the wonders of the world. Why was the sun so bright? How close could they get to their life source? Would they get the opportunity to climb to the highest branch, become closer to the star than any other dared?

They acted like children because they were children. The Wind made it a priority to cajole them into a playful game of swaying and swishing. It loved to hear the serious leaves grumble in protest as it hit them with a breeze. The mischievous ones, the leaves with heart, would laugh and cheer as they rode current after current. It was like surfing and the Wind was the water. If the trees complained, they all earned bonus points.

But then the time would come when the laughter abruptly stopped.

The signal was inaudible among humans, yet the Wind knew it so well. There would be an all-consuming snap that resonated throughout the tree. The adult leaves would quit their work in a moment of confusion. The children would notice the silence and fall to it themselves. They were simple creatures and knew nothing of loss and death. But that moment always came when the children were forced to grow up. Whether it was out of fear or shock, the Wind would never know the answer. The only thing they could do was watch as one of their own, fresh from the bud, disconnected from its root and fell.

A life was cut short. The dot of green would sway and descend; taking its final surf on the currents it knew and loved. The second it touched down on soft grass, the leaves burst out of their stillness. Gone were the children that once happily played in the Wind. The innocence and vivacious younglings became enraptured in work. They no longer wished to enjoy the Wind's company. The vile force of nature had taken one of their own. How could they interact with such a horrendous being?

At first, the Wind had been offended. It would violently tussle the once-considered friends, cause the entire tree to quake under its power. The leaves would spout curses at the Wind, but the Wind didn't care. A few insignificant leaves couldn't tell it what to do!

Yet the realization came when, one after another, the leaves began to fall. The tree was more annoyed than anything. The leaves were beside themselves with anger. The Wind was completely horrified. Why did it go so far? Didn't it know when to stop? I was just trying to play because this is not Jack's season.

The blame would never last. As soon as the leaves turned, they knew their time was up. The survival they had cherished months before was nothing more than a fleeting memory. In their old age, they'd apologize and beg the Wind for one more ride. Every year, the Wind always debated on whether or not to indulge their wishes. These were the same beings that called it out, yes? They were the ones wanting the Wind to leave forever, to never feel the caress of a zephyr or the ferocity of a stormy airstream. Why should the Wind comply? The Wind listens to nobody.

But then the Wind would remember Jack, the one that was always there. And it always made the same decision.

Much like Jack, the Wind made it a priority to spread fun and laughter. Blurs of yellows, oranges, and reds rode the drafts of autumn, giggling as they surfed on the air currents. When they came lose, they no longer cussed and spat. Instead, they embraced life for what it was. They used the last zephyr to, not survive, but live. Even as they grew wrinkled and crumbled into dust, they would always remember their final ride on the Wind.

However, there were always the stubborn ones that held on too long. Those leaves were filled with spite and malice, rejecting change as though it were the plague. They clung to their branches, shouted at the Wind to go away and never come back. Well, if the Wind did that then it wouldn't be doing its job.

Ignoring every jibe and criticism, the Wind always went after those stubborn brown masses with determination and pure annoyance. The unappreciative, elitist little things would plague the Earth no longer. But over the years, the Wind learned a few things. It learned to leave the dying to their fates. Those leaves were so intent on surviving past everyone else that they lost sight of the world. They refused to go even after their time was long used up. The Wind didn't know whether to laugh at their ignorance or to pity their states. It shared its sentiments with Jack. The boy took matters into his own hands (literally) by picking each offending dead leaf off of its branch and crumpling them in a closed fist. He'd offer a cheeky smile and the response of "Hey, someone's gotta do it!"

There were always ones that managed to stay (even after Jack the Leaf Slayer caught sight of them). The ones that escaped detection were the ones with no life at all. At least the survival maniacs were quite verbal (and offensive). These poor children were ones who had given up. They stayed on their perch longer than they wanted to. Their strong hold on the tree, as involuntary as it was, prevented them from egress. They wanted to join their brethren on the ground, wanted to become one with Mother Nature again, but couldn't.

Those were the ones like Jack.

As the shadows grew longer, Jack grew smaller. Staff gripped with pure white knuckles, the teen had curled his body around the artifact. Frost spread at least three meters out, the fern-like patterns crawling up surrounding trunks and painting them in ethereal designs. The Wind had tried for hours to rouse the boy, but every attempt was in vain. No matter how hard of a gust it sent towards its child, the nightmare sand would not dispatch. The boy only woke once after the Sandman had come, only to cry himself asleep once more.

The Wind could only think of the lost leaves positioned high up in the branches of the trees. Jack was a child and life was leaving him little by little. How much longer until he became like those lost little spirits? How much longer until he too shriveled up into nothing? Would he become so frail that he'd fall apart in the breeze? The Wind worriedly mused on its questions for hours, barely noticing as the sun travelled across the skies.

Now, the sun was nearing the horizon. A light pink hue was complemented by soft reds and oranges. The star itself had taken on a blinding ginger tint, indicating that night was fast approaching. Jack still hadn't stirred, only mumbling incoherently to himself as the last of the sun's rays faded away to nothing.

He was so young and so alone. Would he try to stay connected to the Guardians and crumble? No. The Wind had a nagging suspicion that its charge's fate would be much more dismal.

Jack was like those youthful, kindhearted leaves. In the midst of mirth and belonging, he had fallen from his perch and watched as the world didn't seem to care. He was falling now, growing ever closer to the earth as gravity reeled him in. He was fighting that mighty force of nature, struggling to remain above the ground that called out to him in every way possible. To fight gravity was to fight a losing battle. There was only one outcome to this toil: Jack would land.

It's easy to fall. It's painful to land. And when nearly every force was working against you, the landing becomes unbearable. The grounded always lost everything. They knew not of freedom and dreams. They were the closest to reality and one step away from breaking. Sometimes, a head in the clouds was not necessarily a bad thing.

Dreams created a goal, creativity once unknown to its beholder. Reveries inspired minds once believed to be dead. Flying was complete freedom from the ground below. In the protective hold of the Wind, Jack could rid himself of the burdens he carried. He could discard the baggage and badgering voices within himself. He could remember what it was like to have a friend (because he did make some during the three centuries before the Guardians). His flights served as reminders that being on your own wasn't the worst fate in the world. But when he touched down to the earth again, he would realize that he wouldn't have anyone to go back to. He hadn't missed communicating with others or interactions. No, he had always missed a family. He never had a home to return to. In those moments of brutal clarity, Jack knew he was alone.

And just as those initial years had predicted, he would remain that way.

A traitor, a vagabond, he would continue existence in his solitude. Nobody would lend a helping hand lest they be associated with loathed recluse. Many may seek him out in spite. Nobody would bat an eye at the spirit's suffering and no one would care. Jack's greatest fears were becoming a reality. It wasn't about belief anymore, it was about being known.

The wayward winter spirit had friends. There was the forest sprite and the autumn spirit. There was the Wind and a dryad here or there. There were grand dragons and the river spirits. Every (and any) mythology contributed to their world and Jack had met at least one spirit from every mythos and knew the names of every one.

What would they think of him now? He was never intimately close with any of them, but they were still good friends. They didn't know of the others secrets, but valiantly upheld their end of the friendship. They helped each other through hardships, yet never went beyond the line between being a companion and being a relative.

In that sense, he was alone. The sequestering from what he so dearly needed nearly drove him insane. He found sanctuary in the Wind, in flight, and the mad thoughts of life lessened from resounding howls to low murmurs. The acquaintances he had helped to diminish the hole in his heart, that emptiness never gaining enough strength to overcome his willpower.

But how would he react when his associates turn on him? The Wind was not ignorant, it knew this would happen. It doubted that anyone would show compassion or understanding. Maybe some of the wiser spirits would question the crime and seek out answers, but nobody would be coming to actually help the boy. With a low gust, the Wind sighed and ruffled its charge's hair. What would become of its fragile little leaf?

Unlike the times before, Jack's eyelids fluttered. His mouth felt impossibly dry and his head felt far too heavy. Despite the overwhelming amount of sleep he got, he did not feel rested in the slightest. Every bone in his body resonated with sorrow and hopelessness as reality made itself known to his waking mind.

Jamie was dead.

The Guardians abandoned him.

Jack didn't want to wake up.

But sleep also gave him nightmares. It was only a matter of which horror was the lesser of two evils. Would he rather relive Jamie's gruesome death or face its aftermath?

Limbs groaned in protest as Jack stretched his body. Using both his staff and the tree for support, he shakily climbed to his feet.

Crap, his legs fell asleep.

Stumbling, Jack positioned his shoulder against the conifer. He struggled to remain upright as pins and needles dug into his legs. They tingled uncomfortably, sending waves of a strange type of agony through the appendages. He focused on the weird sensation, willing it to stop so he could just move and fly away. He desperately wanted to run, but found himself collapsed against a tree. It was humiliating (and slightly infuriating) at best.

But the feeling also served to numb him. He could carry on as he usually did, right? It was a week until Christmas and the Northern Hemisphere would soon be in high demand for snow. He would do his job as always, instigate snowball fights from the sidelines, and freeze someone's tongue to a pole…

And never have the opportunity to watch Santoff Claussen go into Christmas overtime.

He'd never be able to see Phil again or his fellow mischief-makers. He'd never see Baby Tooth unless their paths crossed during the night. He'd never have the chance to see Sandy's grand dreamsand vessel sail elegantly through the clouds. He'd never help rebuild the springtime holiday he'd inadvertently ruined or bridge the gap between him and Bunny. He'd never experience that feeling of belonging, of having a true home. Even through his carefully composed apathy, the thought stung his heart and made it cry out in pain. He didn't want to be alone again…but if this was the price he'd pay for murdering a child, so be it. He'd never deserved his Guardianship anyways, right?

Right?

Shaking off the last of his lethargy, the winter spirit settled for walking around the forest. The Wind remained by his side, loyal until the day it would disappear from the Earth. With its playful demeanor, it managed to coax a sad smile out of the disheartened teen.

"Don't worry," he told the ancient being. "I'm not going anywhere."

It was the truth. As horrible as things were, Jack knew that he did not want to die. Could he even die again? Whatever the answer was, he wasn't interested. How would he benefit from death? There were still things to live for, right? He still had a job to do and the world didn't stop for him. It never had before, so why would it now? Time stopped for nobody, spirit or mortal.

But was continuing his existence in any way selfish? If he was a threat, would his death protect others from what he could potentially unleash upon the world? He'd never experimented (out of fear), but Jack knew he had the power to send the world into another ice age. If he lost control due to his mental issues and insecurities about the past, would he endanger the entire world? It scared him that he didn't know the answer.

Hastily, he shook his head. No, death was not an option in this situation. He'd live, only to do his job and nothing more. The Southern Hemisphere hardly needed snow. Maybe he could hole up in Antarctica for half of the year and direct snowstorms from a cave. He could live in Antarctica and then he'd be out of everyone's way and still do what he was meant for. But where was the fun in that?

Then again, he didn't really embody fun anymore. The privilege was stripped from him.

Shouldn't he feel outraged?

No, because he deserved it.

But…it wasn't really his fault…

No, it was because he let Pitch get to him and then all this crap happened and-

"And now I'm idly pacing around a clearing," Jack noted aloud. "Great," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I can check off 'Complete Insanity' from my list of reasons why I'm so screwed up. And here I am, alone, in a clearing…talking to myself." He huffed. "There's nothing new with that." He laughed. "And I don't have a clue for what I'm supposed to do now." He looked up at the moon. "You gave me a purpose and then you let me throw it all away! Why? Why did this happen and why didn't you try to stop it?" A moonbeam nearly hit his face, but Jack turned away at the last second. "Never mind, don't answer. After all, it's just me, right? It's just Jack Frost. He doesn't need anyone to talk to because he has soooo many friends. They probably all hate me. I know I do." He stopped pacing, staff falling limply to his side as the melancholy overtook his mind. "…So now, nobody wants to see me and the ones who may want to can't." The emptiness was threatening to engulf his soul, but he pushed it down hastily. "But…I don't want to die. Not yet…not when I feel like-like there's more that needs to be done."

Silence followed, the Wind embracing Jack in a limbless hug. It whispered and sang sweet nothings to him, trying to alleviate his tumultuous thoughts. It feared and loved, just as any human did. Jack subconsciously nuzzled back, a hand outstretched to pet the invisible companion. "You're always there and you'll always be there, right?" To anyone else, his question would have been met with silence. But the Wind speaks a language of its own, completely understood by its winter spirit.

"Jack?" The moment was broken. The teen spun on his heel, staff held out defensively at the trees lining the clearing. The wood glowed blue in warning, illuminating a small patch of the ground around him. Turning to the left and right, his eyes darted across the blackened branches of the surrounding trees. Moonlight came down from above, chasing the darkness away from the startled teen. Adjusting the grip on his staff, Jack swallowed his fear.

"Who's there?" he shouted to the inanimate beings. The Wind ruffled his hair and curled around him protectively. It hissed at whatever dared to threaten its child.

The creak of a stiff branch reached the teens ears. The snap of a twig followed, originating from the opposite direction of the first disturbance. Jack paced and spun lightly on his toes, focusing on what was around him. The trees offered him no hints and hid the secrets within the night's darkness. The shadows hung over the branches like window shades, hiding their rooms from his view. He couldn't see anything within the tree line. Whatever was out there was taking cover in the shadows. Then again, there could be absolutely nothing hiding in the forest. He was probably just overreacting. He was a pariah, why would anyone want to find him now?

Jack stiffened as a shadow descended from a branch. Raising his staff in defense, he grimaced. "Show yourself, now," he hissed. The figure appeared to nod before stepping forward.

It was a man of Middle Eastern descent. He couldn't be a day over thirty and was dressed modestly in light brown Bedouin pants, a white shirt, and a flowing cloak. The tall figure held up his hands in a pacifying manner. "Jackson, you have no need to fear me," a soothing, deep voice said. "I have no reason to harm you. I only wish to talk." The man continued stepping further into the moonlight, revealing soft brown eyes. He had a short brown beard and slightly messy brown hair. Unlike the other spirits Jack had last seen, he wore a small smile. "Please boy, hear me out."

The teen relaxed, the end of the shepherd's crook firmly planted on the ground. Frost extended tentatively from the point of impact, faintly giving the ground an icy coat. Jack couldn't bring himself to talk to the older spirit, cobalt eyes betraying otherwise stoic features. He was frightened, but was willing to stand his ground if the other decided to attack. It was highly unlikely. This spirit was a peaceful one and one Jack had known for at least fifty years.

"Elijah," he managed to say. He struggled to keep his voice steady while maintaining his composure. "What are you doing here? Isn't it a little cold for your tastes?" The question was far from scathing. The teen was simply curious.

Elijah laughed heartily, vaguely reminding Jack of North whenever he was told to lay off the cookies. "My dear boy," the elder replied, "Does a man need a reason to visit an accomplice?" Before Jack could answer, he waved off his own question. Shaking his head, he became serious. "Word travels fast amongst our world." Their eyes met. "I simply want answers, nothing more. It is not my place to judge."

"Oh, I see," Jack said coldly. "You just want details so you can go on your merry way and tell others about how bad of a person I am. Well, you can forget it." I used to consider you a friend.

The man shook his head. "No Jack, I would never do that to another being. Something about your tale does not feel right. I cannot describe what it is, but it does not sound completely plausible." He took a few steps towards the boy. Jack backed up out of reflex. Upon seeing the action, Elijah halted his advances and allowed the spirit his space. "Please understand that I want information, not to spread it, but to solve a puzzle." Chocolate eyes caught sight of marred skin. "They act rashly," he commented. "They never learn from their mistakes. I hope this is not one of them. If so, it would bring more pain and suffering to all of you." Before Jack could fully process the prophet's words, a loud thud filled the air. Whirling around to face the source of the interruption, Jack came face to face with a fairly young Chinese monk.

"Hey Eli," he greeted, "I told you to wait up! In case you didn't notice, I don't have a magical cloak of teleportation!" His equally russet eyes fell on the young winter spirit. "Ah, Jack Frost, my fellow mischief-maker, how goes it?" His friendly query was met with silence. "I know, rhetorical question and completely uncalled for. Seriously, I apologize for that lapse in judgment." The wayward monk's robes swayed as he bowed in respect. "I'm assuming Eli here caught you up on our visit, correct?"

"Well, he so conveniently forgot to mention that you'd be dropping by," Jack snapped back. His snark was met with uproarious laughter.

"That he would kid, that he would!" the monk chortled.

"Are you quite done yet, Ji Gong?" Elijah asked irritably.

"Yeah, I'm done."

"Good." He turned back to Jack, Ji Gong now standing beside him. "Jack, we have come to discover the truth. As I-"

Before the man could finish, an arrow whizzed by Jack's ear and imbedded itself in the bark behind him. Strong, thick vines burst from the shadows and pinned the two older spirits against the trees. Jack's heart skipped a beat as two more silhouettes became known to the group. One was of a young female and the other of a strong male. As they too stepped into the light, Jack's heart dropped.

"Johnny…Aisling…" he whispered. He nearly dropped his staff in shock. These two…they were his friends…are his friends? By the looks on their faces, they did not appear to be pleased with him.

Aisling strode up to Jack, stopping when they were two feet away. Tears were gathering in the corners of her bright green eyes, hands clenched into small fists. A breeze ran through her auburn hair and caused the leaf-green skirt of her dress to billow with it. The straps of her brown leather gladiator sandals came up to her calves and the white top of her dress glowed in the night. Despite her rather frail appearance, barely contained emotions simmered under the surface. She was going to lash out and the results weren't going to be pretty.

Johnny Appleseed joined her seconds later. The older male was a good head taller than Jack and wore an expression of outrage. Fairly toned arm muscles peaked from underneath a red plaid shirt. He wore loose jeans and work boots. A bow lay in his hand and the strap of a quiver was visible across his chest. Another strap crisscrossed over his torso, attached to a bag carrying seeds of various plants.

"Jack," Johnny addressed, hazel eyes blazing with rage, "You have committed the worst taboo." Before he could continue, the forest nymph advanced on the bewildered winter spirit. Her vermillion eyes flashed with betrayal and hurt.

"We were friends Jack!" Aisling exclaimed, her Irish brogue prominent. She drew a small dagger from her waistband. The blade was no more than five inches in length, but it glinted menacingly in the moonlight. Clouds were beginning to surround the area, overshadowing the comforting beams of the orb in the sky. The biting metal of the weapon still reflected what little light it could. In that moment, Jack knew they were no longer companions. It hurt more than the attack.

Jack backed away from the enraged sprite, staff and hands up in a pacifying manner. "Aisling, I'm so sorry," he said softly. "Please, I-I don't know what to do. Look at this." He lifted his right hand, the backside facing Aisling. The extensive detailed brand was harsh against his pale, flaking skin. Dried blood was evident on the still healing wound as were the words forever engraved on his skin. Aisling recoiled, drawing away with a small hiss. "They've already branded me and condemned me and I agreed to everything. I felt every one of those kids stop believing in me. They gave me the choice to run and I stayed. Do you know why?" He didn't give her the chance to answer. "I felt like I deserved it. Jamie was my best friend, my first believer, and I killed him." Green eyes darted to the single tear that slipped from Jack's cobalt eyes. "I killed him because I wasn't strong enough to protect him from myself. I know that I'm not a Guardian and I know that I'm dangerous. Please Aisling, leave while you still can. I don't know what I'll do next. I don't want to hurt you."

Aisling's grip on her blade faltered. "Jack, I was so happy when you became a Guardian," she started softly. "I was so proud of you...what happened?" Disappointment and sadness were prominent on her features. "I know you're a kind spirit, even after so many ignored you for all those years. What compelled you to do this? Word has been flying throughout our world and so many want to cause you harm. I'm sorry I almost let anger control my actions, but I just don't understand why."

"It's because he's winter!" Johnny cut in, walking up next to Aisling. "Winter kills people. The season is ruthless! I've watched families freeze to death because of him. I used to think that he never meant to hurt all those people and when he became a Guardian, I realized that I was wrong. But then he goes and kills, not only a kid, but his best friend. I don't want a guy like that around! Look at this Aisling!" The older male grasped the teen's hand. Ignoring Jack's whimper of pain, Johnny poked the burn. "He's a traitor to our kind! I don't know about you, but I don't take well to traitors!" He threw Jack's hand away, as if it were diseased. He watched coldly as Jack pulled the extremity close to his chest. Specks of blood were beginning to ooze out of the wound again and the horrible burning sensation was coming back full-force.

Jack looked at Aisling pleadingly, willing her to see reason. It was a lost cause. He could already see Johnny's words driving a stake into her heart, corrupting her thoughts again. That feeling of betrayal made its way into her eyes as she tightened her grip on her weapon. "Jack," she said sternly but quietly. "What you did...it was unforgivable." She met his eyes, tears shimmering in the weak light of the moon. Clouds passed overhead and cast her face in shadows. "I...I can't do this!" She launched herself at Jack, slashing at him with her dagger. The edge grazed his cheek and blood bubbled to the surface. A hand reached up to the afflicted area, more in shock than in pain. Johnny was smug and Jack wanted nothing more than to wipe that look off of his face.

"That's it Aisling, just let it out," the autumnal spirit cooed. "He's not worth your kindness."

"But...we are friends," she replied, voice no more than a whisper. Johnny's hand wrapped around hers, steadying the shaking appendage. His grasp was soft yet firm, gaining control over the dagger's movements. He leaned over the small forest sprite, running a free hand through her auburn hair.

"Do you really want to be friends with a murderer?" he whispered into her ear. "Remember why we came here." Jack's eyes widened as Aisling's torn expression morphed into one of complete apathy.

"To give the justice he deserves..." she murmured. Even under Johnny's hand, Jack could see the forest sprite tighten her hold on the weapon. She was steeling herself for either the world's biggest mistake or completely justifiable punishment. Jack didn't know which one he truly deserved.

"Aisling, please just walk away." Jack's voice trembled as he backed into a tree. His hands strained to find a good position on his staff. He didn't want to hurt them, but the self-preserving part of his brain told him to defend himself. He didn't want to come off as threatening, yet he wasn't sure if he could emotionally take the beating the two spirits were going to dole out.

The faerie walked closer until the tip of Jack's shepherd's crook lay on her bosom. Her breath hitched at the contact as frost delicately crawled across her torso. The elegant pattern continued to creep along her clothes, decorating it in the shimmering substance. Had it been under different circumstances, both Johnny and Jack would have admitted that she looked mesmerizing. But the blade clenched tightly in her fist ruined the aestheticism of the image. Auburn hair ghosted over slightly glazed emerald eyes. Terrified cerulean briefly met with listless jade, making any emotional interaction ephemeral. The moment of reason was lost as anguish claimed the spirits' hearts.

With a cry, she launched herself forwards. With the hilt of her blade, she struck Jack across the jaw. The winter spirit bit his tongue, blood welling up inside of his mouth. He stumbled to the side, still managing to remain upright. In that time, Johnny drew his bow and released an arrow. The tip clipped Jack's shoulder, the force of the projectile pinning his hoodie to a tree. Gently pushing Aisling aside, Johnny leaned into Jack's face.

"We were friends once Jack, but not anymore," he hissed. Jack tried to squirm away, but the older spirit held his jaw in place. "We are acting as the judges for this." Jack whimpered as Johnny harshly poked his still healing burn. "A dead child surrounded with a warning of a pariah…you deserve worse than that!" He struck Jack's cheek and the teen's head was whipped to the side. He punched and kicked, getting a few cries out of the boy. The two trapped spirits across the clearing were shouting in protest, desperately trying to escape from the forest sprite's vines. Every attempt was in vain as neither spirit carried a weapon on them. Both were well versed in hand-to-hand combat, relying on that skill instead of a conduit or bludgeon.

The winter spirit screamed when a blade pierced his left shoulder. Looking to the abused side, he was met with Aisling's fury. Tears were falling from both of their eyes, yet neither tried to console the other. None of them noticed that Jack had not dropped his staff in the scuffle or realized that the wood was glowing.

Jack stopped registering the harsh blows after the dagger cut across his side. His previously known friends were only doing what they believed was right. What could he possibly do to stop them when, within his heart, he truly agreed with him? The abuse continued as his bones creaked in protest and bruises littered his body. Blood began to collect on wrinkled brown leaves as the clouds cast everything in shadows. As the last of the moon's light disappeared, Jack's mind began to rebel. Why did he have to endure this? Hadn't he suffered enough already? Why weren't Elijah and Ji Gong trying to stop Johnny and Aisling?

Anger boiled to the surface as Jack clenched his eyes shut. He could feel something moving through his body, a powerful energy had awakened from its slumber. He had a choice, use it or ignore it.

Did he want these spirits to leave him be?

Yes.

It was all the confirmation his frazzled mind needed.

With a pained scream, a great force expelled itself from Jack's body. He shuddered and cried as ice and snow whipped around him, cutting across his body in their ferocity. He didn't know what was happening with the other spirits. He only knew that he was in so much agony and releasing his powers was not making him feel better. But he couldn't stop. Everything began to blur and Jack begged for it to stop. His mind was beginning to work again and oh dear MiM, what had he done?

Over the screeching winds, he could here Aisling cry out in pain as shards of ice struck her. He heard Johnny shouting to her and the noise stopped. They had left.

Just as quickly as it began, Jack's power cut out. The arrow holding him to the tree had dislodged in the wintery onslaught. Nothing held Jack upright and he simply collapsed on the frost-covered ground. The ice continued to spiderweb outwards despite the lull in activity. Jack's breathing was harsh and ragged, matching pace and tone with the Wind. Both were exhausted.

In the silence, he could hear Elijah and Ji Gong escaping from their bindings and fleeing. Had he still been clouded with indignation, he would have called the two cowards. Now, however, he knew that they were trying to recruit more help. They still believed in him. They weren't scared of him. They wanted his side of the story.

Unlike the Guardians.

Why hadn't they questioned the situation? Maybe…maybe this was all some elaborate trick to make his life miserable and both he and the Guardians fell for it. He gave a crazed giggle which quickly gave way to angry grunts.

What if he had been set up?

The Guardians just threw him away. How could they? They promised to be there for him. Well, where the hell were they now?!

His anger ignited a dying ember and he was screaming again. Ice blasted across the clearing, coating the area in frost and snow. Trees swayed in the Wind, groaning in protest at the force of the attack. Jack just screamed, releasing his anguish and fury in wave after wave of magic. He was exhausting himself beyond his limits, but he didn't care. If he died now, would anyone care? No.

But he didn't want to die, right?

He wasn't so sure now.

Once again, the onslaught abruptly stopped. Jack panted from the exertion, struggling to keep his eyes open. The night was closing in, the darkness dotting his vision and thoughts. He could only ask why. Why did these things happen to him? Why was it always to him? Why, why, why?

Every part of him ached. His shoulder, side, and hand burned. His ribs creaked in protest. The back of his neck was just so very irritating and couldn't it get the picture that he was in no condition to try and scratch it? His head was buzzing, muffling the rise and fall of paw prints darting across the ground. He was incoherent, ignorant to the large Pooka staring at his downed form. He didn't care anymore. He just couldn't bring himself to care.

Would he be happy if he died?

No, probably not.

Would he fight it?

…No…probably not.

It was a surprise when he felt his body being lifted and strong appendages holding him close. It felt nice and for once, he felt safe.

A thick Australian accent met his ears and he immediately knew who it was.

"…Bunny?" he managed to whisper. To be honest, he didn't know whether to be delighted or pissed. He could care less about what Bunnymund was rambling on about, only focusing on the fact that he was there. Just this once, maybe he could take comfort in that.

But was he willing to open himself up for disappointment again?

"Jack," the voice rang clearly. "What have we done?" Jack's mind supplied the answer far too quickly.

Everything…and nothing at all.

A/N: Warning! Long A/N coming up! Feel free to ignore.

I'm sorry, I can't help but feel that this fell short (despite the length). :3 I don't think I like this chapter that much...

*passes out tissues* Yes, I know you need them now. Also, I'll be at Disney until April 1st, so I won't be able to reply to reviews for a while. :3

And this was my shameless Jack torture chapter. You see? I think I warned you somewhere that this would start getting generic. If I offended anyone with the spirits I used, tell me. I'm sorry if I did and please know that it was not my intent. I was just trying to think of different ones/avoid creating OCs. If you're interested in learning about the four spirits I used, keep on reading. If not, thank you so very much for the favorites, follows, and wonderful reviews.

Ji Gong: From Chinese folklore. He was a Buddhist monk. He kinda got kicked out of his monastery for his mischievous actions, but was very compassionate towards people. When he died, he was granted mystical powers and became a folk hero.

Elijah: A prophet, prominent in Judaism around Passover. My fellow Jews, happy Passover! He usually dresses as a poor beggar and tests a person's kindness. In the stories, Elijah is driven away by the rich and welcomed by the poor. He swaps their circumstances after his visits, wanting to reward the ones with kind hearts and let the others experience hardship for a bit.

Aisling: Inspired by the character of the same name in The Secret of Kells. If you haven't seen that movie, go watch it. It's really good. An Aisling is an Irish forest spirit (not one defined spirit). Originally, she was going to be my version of a fall spirit (Autumn Harvest), but Johnny filled that role.

Johnny Appleseed: Included one American folk figure. I hope you all know who he is/have heard of him. I decided to make him the spirit of autumn.