Survival

Chapter 10: Holding Still

He had an idea. Sandy could track his own dream sand across the globe when no tainted with fear. Somehow he had to get some of his golden sand attached to this nightmare without it transforming or being noticeable by Pitch. The black sand seemed to be unable to travel through glass. Pitch had to be there in person for the first fearling of every child to be created. They would then escape through open windows, under door cracks, up chimneys, or lurk under the bed for months to come if commanded to by Pitch. If the Sandman could place some of his sand in a jar, paint it black so its luminescence would not shine through and place it in the stomach of the mare, he should be able to follow her to the ends of the Earth. Thank MIM that nightmares clung to the Nightmare King instinctively, so she should lead them straight to Pitch.

With no time to waste, he put his plan into action, borrowing some of Aster's paint to complete the project. He opened the jar to let her resume her twisted form but bound her with golden ropes so she could not move much. Using his hand like a spear, he knifed his hand into the center of the beast and deposited his homing beacon. Shrill whinnying filled the cabin of the dream plane as she bucked in pain, shrieking as the jar was enveloped inside her. Mission accomplished, he let her loose.

It was a strange sensation, sand drawing away from his wrists as the chains lengthened him to deposit him on the floor face up. It was much gentler than he thought Pitch would ever be. 'Stay still. I have to hold still whatever he does. I can't drain the others. They didn't do anything wrong. I have to spare them.'

"Very good, Jack. You are becoming very good following orders."

Jack grit his teeth in response. He was not trying to please Pitch, just trying to cause the least damage to those he cared about. He was not good enough to be a martyr, he was no Saint, but at least he could do some damage control. His eyes followed Pitch warily as he crept up to one of Jacks exposed wrists, his pale finger ghosting across it in examination, his face drawn in contemplation.

Suddenly, a dark knife materialized in his hand and was brought down into his thin wrist carving an intricate pattern across all his self-inflicted scars. Jack was too tired to arch in pain, he just let his head flop to the side and let a weak cry of pain escape his slightly blue lips. Then that disturbing, slimy sensation reoccurred. Pitch was licking the incision, a pleased hum escaping his throat. Eyes narrowed, but warily watching the enemies movements, Jack was perturbed to see Pitch raise his own wrist over Jack's and cut it with the same knife, allowing his dark, tainted blood to drip and mingle with Jacks own. It seeping into the etching and was followed by more of that blasted dark sand flowing through his veins. It stung and itched. Something was happening, but Jack was too fatigued to concentrate fully to figure it out.

After inspecting his work, Pitch prowled to the other side and duplicated his work on the other appendage. 'So close, so close to the perfect revenge.' Standing back he was hypnotized as grey spread from the ruins he had just carved into Jack. They were spiraling and creeping in all directions, slowly enveloping the entirety that had once been Jack Frost.

Frost was hyperventilating. It hurt, it itched, it burned. His veins felt like they were on fire, and it was spreading. He could not stop it. He could no longer hold still and started clawing at the offending sites where the torment was focused and most prominent.

"Ah, ah, ah little Jackie! Hold still!" His feet came down on Jack's arms, pinning them in place while he writhed beneath him. "It's almost over." The grey had consumed both Jacks arms and torso, moving downward and up his neck. His hair turned black, soft as raven's wings. Now, just his face was left. Then his eyes. With the last spurt, the gray entered Jack's once ice-blue iris', tainting them to a frosty grey. They blinked once, then twice. A feral grin spread across the once innocent-looking face of a child.

'Transformation complete.' thought Pitch. 'Now, time to see what we have here.' Removing his feet from Jack's appendage, Pitch stepped back to admire his handiwork. There, laying on the cold ground was the perfect inverse of Jack Frost. 'Mine.'

They were hot on it's tail, had been for hours. The air currents were bumpy like Mother Nature was grieving. Something was wrong. They could all feel it. Their connection with Jack had snapped. They were no longer being drained of their healing magics.

"Wha' 'appened? Wha's goin' on?"

"It's Jack. Pitch must have broken our connection with him somehow. That should be impossible! What did he do?! Jack could still be dying right now and we can't even help him! We might be too late!"

"Tooth, calm down. Sandy, don't lose that nightmare. 'Tis our only hope of finding Jack before too late."

With renewed determination, Sandy flew like the devil was on their heels, which metaphorically, he was. That demon Pitch had better not have killed off their precious young Guardian. With narrowed eyes hidden beneath his goggles, he watched as the mare dove towards the ground suddenly. They must be close to the entrance.

"There it is! Sandy, land next to 'er and we can go in on foot." the Pooka exclaimed. While the plane was a vast improvement from the sleigh, he still preferred hard earth to shifting sands.

There were here. Jack was down there, wherever "here" was. It was desolate a cold with little vegetation. Perfect Pitch haunting ground, rotted bed frame and all.

"Alright. Bunny, you take lead. Feel the tunnels for any traps or surprises. I go next, then Tooth. Sandy, you take rear. Protect from surrounding nightmares."

"Wait!"

"Tooth, we can' wait for anythin'. Jack's dying down there!"

"I know. But please." She whistled into the still air. A tiny flock of her little faeries appeared carrying what appeared to be twin rapiers in sheaths. "I had them reforged after the last time Pitch tried to take over. I haven't used them in battle since the Dark Ages. Now, let's go get Jack!"

They entered the tunnels warily but with determination. They had to move fast if they were to save Jack if they were not already too late, but they could not think on that right now. There were glowing eyes watching them from offshoots of the main tunnel they were traveling through. They were not attacking though which was a bad omen of worse to come. Descending into the bowls of the earth, the air became more damp and frigid. It was too quiet. They were surrounded on all sides by quivering mares, some 15 hands tall. Why had they not noticed so many being created? Suddenly they stopped dead as a chill rose up their spines. An echoing laugh was filling the tunnel of shifting shadows. The laugh that should never be uttered by a child's lips, so twisted and full of evil intent. It bounced off the walls and wrapped back on itself causing it to be untraceable until a set of glowing eyes opened in the darkness above them. Glowing grey-blue.

A/N I couldn't sleep, so here you go.