.

"when I am feeling
low
all i have to do is
watch my cats
and my
courage
returns."
Charles Bukowski

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.s.

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Jack dreamt of drowning and woke to a bright but chilled morning, the cold snap still lingering on the air. Well, survived another day, he thought as he stepped out from under the pine. He stretched his stiff leg, grimacing at the discomfort. He ignored his grumbling belly, too eager to find his friends than to delay a moment more. After one last lick to his wounds he began to trek up the side of the waterfall.

Jack sniffed at every rock for a trace of his friends, but by the time he reached the fallen hemlock, he'd found nothing. He blinked at the sun's brightness as he surveyed the spot the best he could, but as with everywhere else along the river, there was no sign. No blood. No patches of fur. A part of him twisted while another unwound. They must be out there, somewhere. Were they also looking for him? Or did they trust he could find his way himself?

Jack forced himself to sit down and squeezed his eyes shut. Okay, Jack. This isn't your first rodeo being alone. Think.

On instinct he looked up, hoping beyond hope the ghostly Moon might shed answers. But instead of seeing the Moon, the aurora borealis gleamed like Tooth's feathers in the sky. Jack climbed to his paws, head and tail high. Of course! It would lead him to the second crystal and the others. His tail drooped when he realized to follow the borealis he would need to cross the river. That, or take half the day to backtrack the way he'd come.

He eyed the hemlock. The very thought about repeating the river's ordeal bristled his fur. A fresh wave of disgust came over him as he remembered how Pitch easily glided across.

Jack's belly chose that moment to feel like it was filled with bees. He winced. But despite his hunger he didn't dare take another step towards the river to hunt, the very thought of repeating yesterday's ordeal making him shudder. He stared at the water, hating his fear, hating how this fragile body limited him. If only I was a Guardian again, he thought.

What are you thinking? Of course you're a Guardian, an inner voice said. It sounded suspiciously like North. Snap out of it! Just because you have fur doesn't change who you are.

But something had changed. He knew it every time he looked into the dark water. The little voice began whispering again, filling his thoughts of that fateful winter morning all those years ago. He shook his head, meowing. Those thoughts would do little to put food in his belly. Jack took one last look at the river before taking the long, slow journey back the way he came.

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.s.

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Jack didn't know how long he walked. He twitched at every sound, ears swiveling. Twice he thought he saw a coyote, only to realize it was a pile of rocks. He dared not call for his friends despite the awful temptation, worried his meows might attract something larger and meaner. Perhaps worse than the loneliness and his limp was the hunger. It was hard to concentrate on anything else. He quenched his thirst on the various puddles he found, ignoring the grit and sand he drank along with it.

It was hunger more than courage that forced him to a small stream's edge. It was shallow enough he could count the rocks on the bottom. Translucent ice covered the thinnest part of the stream's edge. He dipped a paw in the water and whipped it out a second later with a hiss. Cold! he thought. The irony wasn't lost on him, but he was in no mood to laugh.

An hour went by before Jack caught the scent of something slightly rotten. With a little searching he found an old mouse in a clump of pale grass, dead of age or frost kill. He pounced on it, tearing into the rigid little carcass with his sharp teeth. It tasted like a salty strip of leather. Jack swallowed it down anyway and licked his lips when it was gone, whiskers fanning. For the first time in hours the belly cramps eased. Focus sharpened. With one last sniff he continued on, slinking through bushes and trees in his quest to find his friends, wherever they were.

The sunset was peeking through the latticework of branches when Jack smelled blood. His hackles rose and he slowed. Bushes crashed in the distance. A squalling caterwaul pierced the air and Jack's stomach fell: the cry had belonged to a cat. Jack forced himself into a run despite his leg and skidded into a small clearing and found—

Pitch locked in a fight with a bobcat.

Tufts of black and brown fur littered the forest floor. The wild animal was twice Pitch's size, swatting the smaller animal with huge paws. Pitch scratched and bit, twisting like a black eel as he fought back. Jack forgot to breathe as he watched. Pitch moved with a grace that filled Jack with envy, striking with the same style as his old form. In the glow of the sunset he seemed part of every shadow, only his eyes catching the light.

But the bobcat was a creature of the wild, used to fighting. It lashed out, faster than Jack could follow, and pinned the other to the ground. Pitch screamed a horrible sound as the bobcat closed in.

Without thinking—because thinking meant rationalizing, and Jack didn't even want to touch that with a ten-foot pole—he shot at the bobcat like a white bullet. Jack's muscles shuddered under the impact when they collided. The larger cat rolled twice before leaping to its paws, hissing at the surprise attack. Jack hissed back and rushed again, fur sticking out.

The bobcat lashed but it kept backpedaling, its hindquarters low to the ground. In a change of heart it wheeled away and crashed into the bushes, little tail flicking.

Jack stared at the spot where the bobcat disappeared, unable to believe. A fire roared in his belly. He turned and found Pitch licking a bleeding paw. Jack puffed up again, the heartbeat in his ears drowning out all other thoughts. He rushed at Pitch, claws out. Pitch made no sound as he reared up, teeth bared. His claws scored a line across Jack's shoulders. Jack ignored the sting and bit down as hard as he could on whatever he could reach, remembering how the coyote's jaws had clamped down on him. Fur filled his mouth and baffled his teeth. His leg exploded in pain and he let go, yowling. He kicked out and caught skin. He scratched and kept kicking until the teeth retreated.

Jack tumbled to his paws and quickly backed up. Pitch didn't advance but stayed crouching, ears flat against his skull, growling little punched-out sounds. Both glared at each other, tails lashing.

The last of the sunset highlighted the disheveled tufts of Pitch's once sleek fur. He held his left forearm close to his body, never letting the paw touch the ground. He was bleeding from a bitten throat and a torn hind leg, though by Jack or the bobcat's doing, the Guardian couldn't tell. Some part of him cheered to see Pitch in such a state. Another part wondered why he hadn't let the bobcat finish the Boogeyman off. Jack growled. It didn't matter. What was done was done. Jack got up to move just as Pitch began to head in the same direction.

Towards the borealis.

Both stopped, glare deepening. Jack puffed out and hissed.

We're both searching for the second crystal? Wonderful. It wouldn't be Pitch Black if he didn't somehow make everything difficult. Pitch broke the standoff and began to limp away, favoring his hurt front leg. Jack let him go, knowing both were too hurt to continue the fight.

The vast reality of Jack's aloneness pressed down on all sides as Pitch disappeared into the forest. He hated the twinge of fear.

No. He could do this alone. Hadn't he been alone for three hundred years?

Jack looked up, aching from more than his bites. The aurora borealis glowed like a beacon, urging him onwards. His gaze shifted to the treetops. He briefly entertained the idea of sleeping in the safety of one until the moment his own wounds began to throb, his previous injuries bleeding along with the new ones. Never mind.

Jack curled up in the crotch of an old tree, sore and tired beyond measure. He missed the others' warmth, huddling in on himself as he tried to ignore the wind cutting through his fur.

At some indeterminate point he jolted awake as if electrocuted, the memory of the coyote's jaw on his leg and his chest heavy from near drowning. When the panic subsided Jack fanned his whiskers and huddled back down, his stomach twinging with hunger. The world was the deep blue of the pre-dawn, still hushed and quiet. Jack fluffed his fur hoping to catch every ounce of body heat.

Eventually the hunger was too great. The aurora borealis was faint, almost too faint to make out, but Jack knew he had to follow it. Dark thoughts refused to let him enjoy the sunrise as he padded through the forest. How long would the adventure be? Already it'd been three days. He was limping, hungry, and it was getting harder to feel warm. He needed to eat.

Oh, Jamie.

A fear he'd never experience exploded in Jack's chest. What if he never saw Jamie again? What if he was trapped in this moral cat body for the rest of his life?

The sky was the colour of pigeon down when he spied Pitch hunting by a large river, sitting as Sandy had sat alongside a small pool. Jack wanted to move on, wanted to keep going, but his stomach crunched and, morbidly curious, stayed. He crouched low, hoping the grass would hide him. If Pitch noticed his presence, he didn't react. Despite his numerous wounds he struck with unerring precision, expression almost bored. Jack's empty stomach tightened as he watched Pitch eat fish after fish. He groaned. One of Pitch's ears flicked.

Pitch caught a final fish and let it wriggle in his mouth. He turned his head and stared directly at where Jack was hiding. Once their eyes locked the Boogeyman tossed the fish back into the water. Jack jolted forward before he could stop and hated his weakness. With an expression that could only be described as a smirk, Pitch began limping away. I should've let the bobcat kill you, Jack thought, wishing for his staff. He waited until Pitch was out of sight before hurrying over. The Guardian licked and nibbled the skeletal remains, scarfing the uneaten entrails and unwanted bits Pitch left behind.

It was hardly a meal. Jack finished more unsatisfied than before, stomach aching. But glancing at the dark water so close to him had Jack retreating. Maybe he would get lucky with another mouse.

A chilled wind picked up, slicing at his cuts and bites. Jack soldiered on, trying to work the stiffness from his muscles. Bare trees bent and creaked, their brown leaves clinging like suicides unable to let go. He was surprised when he caught up to Pitch. The other cat's limp was more pronounced, his left paw barely touching the ground. Something twinged in the young Guardian. Two is better than one, the little voice whispered. Jack immediately rejected the idea and gave the other a wide berth as he passed him. He didn't look at Pitch as he did, focusing on the faint aurora borealis ahead.

The sun rose in the sky, peaked, and began to descend. Jack's hunger became less of a pain and more of a hollowness. He blinked wearily, trying to find energy to enjoy the sunshine peeking through the clouds. Keep going, just keep going.

The winter spirit was so focused on walking he almost missed the barest scratching sound. His ear twitched. The scratching grew louder. Jack stopped, both ears cupping towards the source. The wind turned and suddenly he caught a whiff of a warm musk. He took a hesitant step towards it, belly clenching. Jack abandoned the aurora borealis to venture deeper into the woods, heading towards it. The musk grew stronger. His pace quickened.

At last Jack stopped. A rabbit lay caught in a hunter's snare at the base of an old tree, slowly strangling to death. He could almost hear Jamie say, Oh, what a poor bunny! For a moment Jack stood in an agony of indecision. As he looked at the rabbit, he was reminded of the feeling he had when he'd watched the struggle between the bobcat and Pitch. It loomed as something larger than him, something ruthless and undeniable. He felt small before it.

Then there was no thought. As easily as if he'd been a cat his whole life, Jack fastened his jaws around the rabbit's throat and squeezed. The rabbit pummeled him in a sudden flurry of strength, boxing his ears and kicking his stomach. Jack held on, eyes squeezed shut. The struggles soon flagged, the rabbit fighting against the snare as much as it was Jack. Then it went still, liquid eyes unblinking. It was dead.

There was no time to mourn, no time to think. Jack ate until his stomach was so full it hurt. Even when he thought he couldn't eat he kept gorging himself, hot meat filling his mouth. It was only when he finished did Jack realize blood covered his chest and most of his face. After a horrified heartbeat he began licking himself clean. Something chittered behind him. Jack whirled to find Pitch watching him, tail slowly undulating. The Nightmare King chittered again, laughing. Jack's ears flattened and he hurried away, shame hounding his steps.

That night the slow creak of the surrounding pines filled the air. Night was a time of introspection and silence, and Jack Frost hated both. The young Guardian stared up at the cloudy, starless sky, the events of the afternoon still playing in his mind like a bad dream. He'd spent hours before licking himself clean, the repetitive motions helping calm him, but it didn't wash away all the thoughts. Fish were one thing, but a rabbit? He'd seen Jamie and Sophie hold the stupid things at petting zoos. Jack blanched. Bunnymund. How could he ever tell Bunnymund what he did? Would he slowly forget what he was and slowly become wild? How much of him was Jack Frost the Guardian and how much was Jack the Cat?

"You're Jack Frost," Pitch's voice sneered in his ear. Jack shuddered, remembering the horrible Easter in Pitch's globe room, how snidely the Boogeyman had mock-bowed at him. "You make a mess wherever you go. Why, you're doing it right now."

"Mraaaaw!" Get out of my head! he tried to shout. But Pitch nowhere to be found. The area was empty.

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.s.

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Jack Frost regretted waking when he heard the patter of rain. Rain. Stuff was worse than snow. Peering out of the his hollow did little to raise his spirits: the world was gray, sleet pouring from leaden skies. There, more of a whisper than a suggestion, hung the aurora borealis.

Jack's fur clung to his body within seconds of leaving the hidey-hole. As he walked in the downpour, again marveling how his fur kept him warm, he realized the rabbit from yesterday had saved his life. Without it, he was sure he wouldn't have had the energy to conserve body heat, let alone travel.

The winter spirit's shoulders slowly relaxed. Maybe he was a cat. Maybe he was a Guardian. Maybe killing the rabbit was cruel, maybe it was not. Life fed life. Everything eventually died. Jamie knew it. His human friends knew it. Jack himself used to know it when he was a mortal. Well, it has been a long time since I've had a front-row seat to all, Jack thought.

He shook his head. He was getting too distracted. There was still the mystery of the crystal and why Pitch wanted it, or why they had even fought for it in the first place. I can't let Pitch get to the crystal first, he thought. Jack blinked water from his eyes as he looked around for the other Guardians, wondering what was keeping them. All he could smell was the cold moisture of the air and the stink of his own wet fur. He kept following the borealis until he saw Pitch huddled beneath a fir tree. They sized each other up. Pitch's stare was particularly baleful, as if unpleasantly surprised to see Jack.

The black cat started walking away, tail stiff. After a moment's hesitation, Jack followed.

The winter spirit noticed the Boogeyman was slower than yesterday, his limp more pronounced. Though Jack could've easily outdistanced the other, he continued his measured stalking. Pitch cast side-eyed glares Jack's way every so often, ears flattening.

At some point the sleet turned into a slushy snowfall. Soon both of them were covered in wet, heavy snow. Jack vowed never to make the stuff when he returned to his body, because to hell with with this. What I wouldn't give for some sunshine right about now, he groaned.

Pitch never stopped to eat, never stopped to rest, didn't even react when a clump of snow fell inches from his face, following the beacon as if some unseen force drove him. By evening the snow stopped, the wind dead. It was then Jack took note a stillness in the forest he hadn't noticed in a long time, not since his early days of immortality. It'd been several hundred years since he'd really noticed that about the cold. Now he considered winter a time of activity, of snowball fights and ice skating and snow angels and children's laughter. And snow days—what better fun could be had? Hot coca and movies and snow forts and the undeniable sense of freedom. Jack didn't know how he felt as he trudged in the quiet of the cold forest. It felt like the true essence of winter, not the fun times he had with Jamie and his friends. Jack flicked a glance at Pitch's form. Cold and dark, he thought for no reason.

Pitch kept traveling throughout the night. The aurora borealis' pale greens and pinks gleamed above like the scales of a galactic fish. Pitch had all but disappeared in the darkness, the only thing marking him out throughout the night was his paw prints in the snow.

By the time the sunrise spilled over the treetops Jack was almost stumbling over his paws in exhaustion. He collapsed in relief when Pitch finally stopped in a small thicket. The ground was chilled and hard and wet, but Jack was too exhausted to care. Like similar battery ends Jack and Pitch remained as far apart from each other as possible. Jack hated how the Boogeyman curled up on the opposite side of the thicket as delicately as a deer, as if he hadn't traveled for a whole day and night. The young Guardian waited until Pitch appeared to sleep before closing his eyes.

When Jack woke some hours later, the thicket was deserted. His stomach growled, filling him with dread. He staggered on stiff legs and blearily smelled the place Pitch had last been, noting the melted snow. He picked up Pitch's scent and loped after it, suddenly afraid the other had found the crystal while he'd been sleeping.

Bright blue sky peeked from behind the clouds, cool sunshine dappling the soggy ground. Trees thinned to give way to a large meadow. Pale yellow grasses swished beneath a splotchy blanket of snow. Distant mountains framed the horizon, their peaks disappearing into the clouds.

Jack Frost was so focused on the windswept panorama he didn't notice the shadow until it was too late. A faceful of claws slashed his face and Jack yowled and shook his head free, shocked to find Pitch. He yowled again when a streak of pain sizzled across his shoulder. Jack lashed blindly but Pitch was quicker, rolling him onto his back. The black cat was larger than him, heavier. His weight kept Jack pressed down as he bit his throat. Jack struck back with everything he had, kicking and clouting and wriggling as if gone mad. Pitch was unmovable, bearing down as mercilessly as a glacier. Jack soon felt his struggles began to weaken, hunger mixing with exhaustion. Agonized fear filled Jack like a cancer. He wondered if this was how the rabbit had felt, pinned and trapped. In a last effort he miaaaaow'd as loud as he could, hoping beyond hope someone would save him.

Jack couldn't believe it when the jaws and weight withdrew. He found himself too spent to move as Pitch stood over him like a terrible shadow, regarding him with no discernible emotion.

Jack tried to flattened when Pitch leaned close and hissed, needled teeth inches from his face. With one last withering glare the Boogeyman limped away. Jack could only close his eyes, still catching his breath.

...

TBC