Okidoodle, let's get this show on the road!

Quite literally, as a matter of fact. ;)

Just about 100 views! Appreciate it!

I'm working on some more meat for people to chew on, but for now, here's a snippet. :D

DFTBA

doubtfulfig

The paper crinkled louder than I wanted it to as I smoothed it out, but Emmett's head kept lolling against my shoulder, dead to the world. Orange light streamed across the map, tangoing with shadows as the Greyhound bus propelled itself onto the overpass. Sighing, slightly annoyed at the street lamps passing by my window, I brought out my phone. Its steady white light almost blinded me, after the muted street lamps and the darkness of midnight. I squinted at the red line labelled Hwy 1, and I soon found where it crossed overtop 22. My finger traced along it.

I'd been on this highway before. The TransCanada. Probably more than half of my life I'd spent on it, hitchhiking or bussing or being driven. Travelling. Running.

Now I was dragging Emmett into it.

My eyes kept wandering to the blood caught under my fingernails. It made me feel dirty. Dirty and ashamed. These hands, with dried blood crusted under the white crescents, dared to clutch at Emmett's. I felt like everyone could see it. But no matter how much I slid my teeth under them, I couldn't get it out. I wished I had mitts or something to cover it, but my tattered hobo gloves only went halfway up my fingers. So I folded up the map, tucking it back into my duffel bag, and curled my hands into fists.

I leaned back, staring out at the black night. Now that we were out on the highway, no light angled down at us - just stars staring down, stark naked and unafraid. That was one of the things I knew I'd miss about this small town: you could always see the stars. They'd even poke their way through clouds here, like we were the best audience, the most likely to give them a standing ovation.

Those same stars had watched us as we had trudged down our driveway and through back alleys. I lugged my duffel bag over one shoulder, and my backpack on the other. Instead of textbooks, a few items of Emmett's, a couple water bottles and a box of granola bars stuffed it to bulging.

Before leaving, I'd made sure to close the door to my room. I didn't know why. It wasn't like it contained Jason's death in that tiny little room. I knew Emmett would never be the same, and neither would I. Blood even seeped its way through the fissures in the hardwood, and under the crack in the door.

Emmett was my relentless little tiger. He didn't complain once when I told him he had to leave behind most of his belongings. Even his collection of Avengers action figures. He just stared me in the face, cupping a little Iron Man figure in his hands. "Now I'm going to be like Tony, looking after Pepper." He seemed taken aback when his voice didn't waver, but he went back to scribbling a note to his mom.

I didn't mention to him that it was Pepper, in the end, who saved Tony. That it was her who kept him going. Maybe because I didn't want him to realize it. But I wouldn't ever let myself forget it.

I let him take Snowfie, because, hell, even I had my stuffed cat, Cheetah, from when I was his age. She was shoved between my Macbook and my favourite T-shirt in my bag.

I was his age. Exactly his age. Seven years old.

Death can do stupid things to kids, but it was the fear from it that tended to really screw them up.

The note went onto the spotless counter, but I figured Jackie wouldn't even recognize the childish writing until morning. She'd be too busy flipping out about her husband to notice that we weren't in bed.

When we'd stumbled into the Greyhound station, it was almost eleven, and Emmett was almost falling over from exhaustion. My nose and my ears and my hands were numb; I figured that they were this close to falling off, and Emmett's little fingers must've felt the same way. The lady behind the counter didn't take a second glance when I bought a couple of seats on the next bus. It was only to Banff, and I knew my little sock of money wouldn't last long there, of all places, but I figured we could power sleep on the way there so we could just hop the next bus. I'd done it before.

Now, with Emmett's head flopping around at every bump, I pulled Oswald off of my head and tucked it under his cheek.

"Thanks," Emmett's soft voice mumbled.

"No prob." I tweaked his earlobe. "I'm sorry you don't get to have your snowball fight of epicness." The whole Jack Frost thing seemed too cheery, too far away to even be real. I must've been deluding myself into thinking that Jack Frost of all people on this good earth would actually make me smile.

"That's ok," he mumbled in return. "I'm sorry my dad was a jerk."

"Hey, it's not your fault." My voice was sterner than I'd meant it. "It's no one's fault." Just mine. This is all my fault.

"Thank you for saving me." His voice cleared a bit as he sat up. He seemed determined to keep me company, but it was almost one in the morning. He wouldn't last too long.

I smiled sadly at him. I could never say how sorry I was. The kinds of things this kid had been through made my stomach turn. Though he didn't realize it, I'd seen the bruises and cuts, running up and under the seam of his boxer shorts. His bastard of a father had laid a hand on him. Both at once, I would assume. He just kept it discrete enough that I didn't see it, probably so I wouldn't bitch at him for it. I didn't know if killing a man counted as bitching at him. Whether or not it was, joke was on him.

"Are we going on an adventure?" he asked. His big eyes drooped a bit with sleep. "Like one you've had?"

I nodded. My braid shushed against the back of my coat.

"Are we going to have a new family?"

He didn't see the tear streak down my face, disappearing into my scarf, because his head plopped back onto my shoulder, smothering poor Oswald's felted face. I swallowed, but said "Yeah." I cleared my throat of the thickness.

"Am I gonna have as many families as you?"

"No. Just one more. The right one." I looked back out my window. "We'll find the right one this time." My promise fogged the glass.

Jack raced the wind, flipping around haphazardly as he approached the moon.

"Come on, Manny!" he shouted, laughing as the white orb emerged from behind the cloud he popped out of. No matter how close Jack ever got, the Man in the Moon insisted on tormenting him. He always stayed the same size. Remote, distant Manny, a little orb in the sky.

"Fine. Be that way. I'll just go and visit my new friend," Jack said, crossing his arms. No one answered, not audibly, but Jack knew what Manny was thinking. "And no, she's not being a distraction. Her little brother is in need of some fun."

Without a second thought, Jack stopped climbing, and like the flick of a switch, hurtled Earth-ward. He angled his agile body to descend as sharply as he could.

He had to double-check that the house he was aiming for was the right one. He'd heard the sirens, but he'd just assumed they were downtown, like they always were. Until he saw the red and blue glow in the subdivision near the west end of town, he didn't think twice about it.

Now, it was all that filled his mind.

Dread seeped through his joints and burned his nose as he plummeted toward the ground faster, faster, so that his hood and his hair flew into his face. He couldn't pull up fast enough as he reached the ground, and he flew straight into a man with a sheriff's star, who'd unexpectedly jogged onto his destination.

Jack never got used to it. Even after 300 years, he couldn't help but breathe in sharply as a huge mass of blood and tissue passed through him. He had to remind himself to close his eyes as the guy's head passed through his own. Sometimes, Jack would catch glimpses inside people's bodies, like live working models of brains and the backs of eyeballs. He always figured he'd ace Biology, if he had to go now.

He shivered, trying and failing to shake it off, and followed the man into the house. There were policemen everywhere, clumped together with little notepads and walkie-talkies. A blonde woman with streaked mascara was crumpled in the front entryway. She had the moderate build of Emmett, with no resemblance to the, well, willowy posture of Willow. But her face was so screwed up in body-wracking sobs, and it was covered with so much smeared makeup, he couldn't be sure if it was their mom or not.

Oh, no… The image of Willow passing a gentle smile to the little boy flitted through his mind, and suddenly, all these adults didn't matter in the slightest to Jack. He fluttered up the stairs, bowling through the hulking men, skipping steps at a time to reach the top.

He stopped dead in his tracks, careful of the blood that flowed over the floor. It made the carpet of the stairs poky, stiff, flaking off red between his toes. His heart seemed to stop in his chest, forcing its way up his throat. The skitter of his staff against the wall made him adjust his grip on it - he didn't notice it slide from his hand, but all the policemen did. The random noise made them turn grim faces toward him, although they stared clear of his head.

With a gentle, if biting, breeze, Jack lifted himself off the ground, hopping the crime scene tape hastily stuck across the hallway, and he floated a few inches from the floor. No need to make footprints. He didn't want to freak out the cops too badly.

By the time he got to the room, he was almost flat against the ceiling. The smell of heavy copper made him gag, and he found himself breathing through the fabric of his sleeve. His eyes watered, so he gazed, frozen, at the shape against the wall.

The room was empty of people, except for one body.

A dead body.

With his head smashed in.

Willow's lampstand lay tipped over, feet away. Jack's eyes stung with the smell of copper, since his dread wouldn't let him blink. Smeary red handprints entwined around the black finish of the steel. An open pocketknife lay near the door.

"What happened?" Jack croaked to no one in particular. The body didn't answer, so he let the wind jerk him out of the window, which no one had bothered to close.

That story Willow told, about the invisible boy… It gave him the horrible feeling that it would be hard to find them.

But he had to try. After all, he was a Guardian, right? Protecting kids was his job.

The wind sang in his ears, whistling a tune to occupy Jack's racing mind as he wheeled into the dark.