It hurt. Everything. Hurt.

Not for the first time, Jack envied those who got to have a normal afterlife. No 300 years of isolation, no winter powers, no guardians, no stress, and certainly no more pain.

The wind rushing in his ears told him he was falling, but his eyes told him they were going to pop out of their sockets. He felt pain. Just pain. Like nothing else in the world existed. It made sense, in a way. It was a normal response to pain, for the brain to focus on only the pain that may or may not be threatening his life, not that he had one. This was just some… leftover instinct from when he was mortal.

In this case, he just wanted it to stop. It wasn't like this was the first time a fatal migraine snuck up on him while he was flying. Fuck. He'd have to stop at North's again. Though this one seemed worse than the others he'd been receiving so far over the past month. "Wind," he spat through his teeth, his voice strained. It was all he could say through the haze of pure suffering, but the wind knew what he wanted. It shot him north like a rocket.

For the first few hundred years of his immortal existence, he couldn't travel very far or very fast because of G-forces threatening to rip him apart. Yet over the course of 200 years of having nothing to do but fly and explore the world… his body got used to it, and he was able to travel from America to Russia in about 20 minutes if he wanted to. Faster now that he was about 300 years old, actually. The first time he had done it successfully it was by accident, he had also ended up scaring the shit out of a few Snow Sprites. Either way, when he landed in North's workshop 45 seconds later he immediately collapsed and didn't even get to hear, let alone see, the expression on North's face.

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"Dad? Mom asked for you…"

The door was left open

Dad never leaves his door open

A small creak echoed through the silence

he pushed it

"Dad?" He called out again

It was too dark to see

He stepped in something

Startled, he stumbled back

It was behind him too

His heel bumped something

It rolled into the light–

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He painfully opened his eyes to find himself in the workshop, only it was a different room. The room was nice, it had a window that was open to let fresh air grace the curtains with its presence. Everything about the room itself screamed 'safety' and yet… Jack couldn't help but feel a sensation of anxiety, like that feeling you get when watching horror movies right before the jumpscare. Foreboding, that's what it was, and there were five major factors that made him feel this way. One, he had woken up standing in the middle of the room. Two, there was dark and vibrant blood coating his clothing. Three, he was wearing his mortal clothing. Four, he could see his sleeping form in the bed next to him. And five, this was not the first time this had happened.

It hadn't happened to him in the last 320-something years. The first time it had happened, he could recall. By then he'd received all his memories–and it had terrified him, especially when the last time, he… no, he shouldn't think about when he was alive. Did he regret getting his memories back? Sometimes, no use in denying it, but he'd worked respectably hard to get them back. So, to turn around saying he didn't want them anymore would be admitting he was a hypocrite, and he had too much pride for that. He had yet to look at his reflection in this state but he had a feeling he knew what he'd find if he did.

Something clattered to the ground in the other room, breaking him out of his stupor. The door had opened. When did that happen? He stood up slowly as the clanging fell silent, and he felt he should investigate. After all, there were rare instances where the visions showed him something dangerous that was set to happen a few minutes after he woke up– SLAM. Or not, he thought, growing cautious as the door in front of him suddenly shut. The force seemed to shake the workshop.

He backed up trying to figure out what the vision was trying to show him. The window? He moved to look out the window only to see snow, snow, and, oh, would you look at that, more snow. Fine, he thought, make it hard for me. He twisted in a circle before deciding to focus on the nightstand. Next to his sleeping form sat a white polyester old-fashioned mug with a logo he hadn't seen since the 1920s, and an inconspicuously folded, very old-looking newspaper. At a glance, nothing was wrong, but Jack knew better. There was something off about some items but the buzzing of an annoying fly wouldn't let him concentrate.

No, not fly, flies, plural. Flittering around him and the nightstand were so many flies, that one might think they'd found a pile of manure. He noticed they were all landing on the mug or around it, and at closer inspection, he realized that the liquid inside the mug was much too thick and dark to be something drinkable. He revolted back with sudden disgust at the smell.

Gingerly setting the mug back on the nightstand, he went to inspect the newspaper.

NEW YORK TIMES

Today we cover a series of unexplained disappearances located across the country…

Jack lifted the newspaper off the nightstand to get a better look at the text. It's dated 4/16/2023 and yet it's only 4/15/2023… Jack thought, confused, before startling back a step at the large piece of frail, yellowed paper that had fallen out of the newspaper's folds and onto the floor.

Momentarily forgetting about the newspaper, Jack set it back on the nightstand to crouch down and pick up the fallen… map? It was a map. A very, I'll-turn-to-dust-if-you-blow-on-me-too-hard looking map, and even without that particular detail it happened to be a map of many islands he'd never seen in his life. Which, was saying something because he'd been all over the world, even in places that hadn't had winter, if only briefly to quench curiosity. Then another piece of paper fell, only this was part of the map. At first glance, this was a blank piece of paper with a small circle and many, many, many arrows pointing towards the circle. But, when he looked closer at the center of the circle in question, what Jack initially thought to be one of those ink stains you'd find constantly on old paper was actually an island.

Suddenly the door to the room slammed inward yet didn't open, as if some heavy force had just rammed into it. Jack regrets admitting, even to himself, that he flinched. When he heard more clattering, which eventually evolved into full-on banging, he grew increasingly worried. Was this vision trying to show me something dangerous after all? He wondered. Deciding it best not to risk it, he grabbed the door handle to fling it open, only for it to suddenly freeze at his touch. Was he waking up? He tried again to open the door but it was frozen shut. He let go of trying to figure out what to do when a sudden pain hit the back of his head and he was knocked out cold, (no) pun intended.

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His eyes shot open to find the same room he was in before. Everything was in its place, except he noticed that the newspaper wasn't there, and so neither was the map. His head throbbed. Migraine is still here… he thought, intrigued at the sudden realization of a piece of paper that was resting under his hand, folded. He sat up, his head protesting the movement, to unfold the paper. It was the exact same piece of paper with the circle surrounded by arrows on it. Every detail was the same, all the way down to the yellow tint. A knock on the door was the only warning he got before he was forced to fold the paper and hide it.

North lumbered in with a tray of cookies Jack refused to eat, and a… 1920s mug… Jack couldn't help but stare. What was it trying to tell me?

Jack.

Something that happened in the 1920s?

Jack…

Or something with North?

Jack?

Wait, why does North have a 1920s mug anyway?

"Jack!"

He snapped to attention, "Sorry, what?" He raised an eyebrow at North's seemingly concerned expression.

North sighed, "This is, what? Fifth time of week? Never mind of month!"

"I know, I know–"

"What is wrong, Jack? Are you sick? Is it something with the believers?"

"No! They're fine!"

"Cause every day you suddenly fly in and pass out and screaming–"

"Woah, hold up, I was screaming?"

North paused in his rant for a moment, "Eh… Jack, listen, the point is that you are starting to worry others," he waved a hand to the door.

Jack sighed, "It's nothing, just…" he racked his brain for excuses, but came up empty-handed. North set the tray of cookies down and looked at Jack for a second before turning away.

Then Phil came bursting in, and everything went to shit.

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They all stepped through the portal in unison, each Guardian wearing some level of focus on their face. Though Jack himself was having a hard time processing everything that had gone down in the last 20 fucking minutes. He had a migraine, a vision, then Phil barges in and says Father Time has ordered a meeting immediately with all the Guardians. He understood the rush so he stayed silent, even if it had seemed quite uncharacteristic of him. After all, he did have a map to think about, the damn migraine was still there, plus the strange vision that decided a map was more important than the possible end of all time. Sufficed to say, they came across something rather unexpected when they showed themselves through the portal.

Nightmares, all of them, swarmed the group and it only took a mere pathetic 30 seconds of fighting until they were on their last limb, which unfortunately happened to include Jack. How did this happen? They'd targeted Sandy first, immediately immobilizing him. Then they targeted North, it took them some trouble, but soon they had North rendered out of commission, too. Of course, that's when the rest of them realized what was going on and started attacking, but it was too late. Tooth was the next to go, pinned by her wings, a hand holding her head by the feathers. These nightmares weren't steeds and horses like the last time they had faced Pitch down, they were humanoid. And, while there weren't as many as last time, there were still plenty.

That left Jack and Bunny to do the fighting, and Bunny and him weren't a good combo. During the last 10 seconds of their fight, Bunny seemed to underestimate Jack at every enemy and honestly, Jack didn't even know if he was particularly mad about that, because he had shown no signs of being even remotely close to as strong as the others were. Yet, somehow he managed to dodge enough of them that he could make it to the rafters above, but Bunny was already caught. His staff broken to pieces lay a few feet away, forgotten in the chaos.

Jack looked down in panic from his spot near the ceiling, the Nightmares crouching, ready to lunge and pin him too. That's when they suddenly stopped. All attention went to Father Time's throne where Pitch Black was sitting, his hand put up in a pausing signal.

He looked up. His face was scarred, he looked too skinny to sustain life, and his left arm was missing from his body. He smiled that creepy smile of his that made skin crawl and turned on his seat to grab something behind his chair.

He turned back, smiled, and asked: "Looking for him?" As he held up the decapitated head of Father Time himself, the smell of blood filled the air. It was not a clean cut either, Jack could tell his head had been cut off slowly and tortuously, its owner clearly still alive at the time. He heard Bunny gag, yet all he felt was shock.

Only barely hearing North whisper something under his breath along the lines of, "We were too late…"

"That you were," Pitch stood sinisterly, carrying the head by the hair, only to drop it. They all watched in horrified silence as it tumbled down the steps at his feet and rolled to stare unseeing at the Guardians.

"What do you want, Pitch?" Bunny asked as he stared defiantly at the abyss that was the Nightmare King, "Believers?" Bunny continued the question, each Guardian replaying in their heads the way Pitch said he would kill to have been believed in. Wanting believers Jack could relate to, but killing for it?

What Pitch answered with was something no one expected, "I want to prevent my downfall, first and foremost…" He let that sink in, "That means you, specifically," He said as he turned… to Jack.

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…What?

"Yeah, why him?!" Bunny implored vehemently. Jack didn't know he'd said that out loud. They'd let me escape on purpose…?

"Call it paranoia, if you will, but I rather think of it as a preemptive strike. See, they have informed me that he will be my demise," Pitch's speech was drawn out and slow, like thick blood or cold molasses, but Jack noticed Pitch didn't even seem very sure of his own words. It was then Jack realized Pitch was different not only physically, but also mentally.

"Them? Wait, what-... what are you talking about?" He questioned, fearful of the answer. When he turned his head, he saw the Guardians had some sort of guilty… or, avoidant expression on their faces. Like that visage people got in Harry Potter, whenever someone mentioned Voldemort. The he-who-must-not-be-named and you-know-who.

Pitch gave a scandalized gasp, "You never told him the history of the Guardians?!" He said it as if it was the most profoundly astonishing thing since Ted Bundy became a known serial killer, "Well, Jack," He purred, visibly relishing in how disturbed they all were, as he bent at the waist like he was lecturing a child despite how Jack was above him, "Let me give you a little… history lesson."

"Bugger off, Pitch, we don't have time for this!" Bunny thumped a foot.

"Silence him," Pitch ordered dryly, waving a haughty hand in his direction.

One of the Nightmares grasped Bunny by the ears like a farmer hunting a hare would, pressing a nightmare-sand knife to his jugular.

Pitch stood at his full height, folding his arms behind his back, pacing in languid strides as he began the story, "Long ago, just as mankind was beginning, there existed dark spirits called Darklings and light spirits called Lightlings. Both spirits were at war with the other. A cold and bloody affair that lasted centuries," Pitch began, lazily gesturing like he didn't really care, "It all ended when the Lightlings made this huge sacrifice, no one really knows what that sacrifice was, yet it somehow led to all the Darklings being imprisoned on the Moon. Years later, my father saw to the birth of two children. Me; and the Man in the Moon.

"I was the eldest, first in line to the throne. When I ascended to the throne, I had a daughter. She was so sweet and precious to me. But every day, those Darklings would speak to me. They'd tell me things, and give me horrible dreams, and every day I'd wake up convinced my wife and daughter were captured in the dungeon with the Darklings. One day, they were convincing enough that I set them all free, all for my daughter, my precious May…" Pitch trailed off, slowing his walk, as he lamented his daughter.

Jack was eerily shocked at the similarity between the name May and Mary, Mary who happened to be his sister. It unsettled him to no end, how much he related to the love that he also felt- still feels, for someone like that.

Pitch seemed to steel himself, picking up both his stroll and story, "I came out powerful and like this. And so I abdicated the throne, left the kingdom, and went to Earth for more power. They are my family now, the Darklings. I did and will do whatever they please, and listen to all they say, and for a long while it was perfect. Oh, the power I wielded! But as you know the Man in the Moon took over and created the Guardians… you and your hope and wonder destroyed all my Fearlings, leaving me forgotten in the shadows," He sneered, spitting the words 'hope' and 'wonder' like they left a bad taste on his tongue.

"But I am Pitch Black. I'm the King of Nightmares...! And you…" He waved his hand with flippant dismissiveness at the Guardians, "Are about to cease to be a problem," It didn't go unnoticed how he included all of them instead of just Jack.

"Hold on, mate, earlier you said just Frosty over there!" It was Bunny. Sandy and Tooth seemed to be the only Guardians who were shocked at how fast Bunny would throw Jack under the bus, while North just glared. The sad thing was, that Jack didn't even feel all that betrayed. He hadn't really known them anyway, the closest to him were North and Sandy and even then, he felt North only put up with him because he had to.

"Why not kill two birds with one stone?" Pitch chuckled as he pulled out a pocket watch, dropping it and smashing it under the heel of his foot. A portal opened up behind him, "So, who would like to go first!" He waved his hand at the portal.

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"Actually, don't answer that, it was a rhetorical question," Pitch backtracked, "I already know who's going first."

The remaining humanoid nightmares jumped Jack. While Jack did what he could under the stress of it all to fight back, in the end, there was only so much he could do. They held him like chains on a cargo ship, both sides of him pulled taut as they shoved him so close to the portal that if he were to lean forward he could probably see through to the other side.

"Uhm, just out of curiosity, where does this lead to?" He questioned. Maybe, if he stalled enough for time…

"Oh, how I am so glad you asked! This portal will chuck you across the multiverses, plural, so far away that it'd be impossible to ever come back. Fun fact, Mani actually doesn't exist in most universes alone. Which means…" Pitch trailed off, a wry and sinewy grin stretching across his face as he left them to fill in the blanks.

"We'd lose all our magic…" Tooth supplied, eyes widening as it dawned on her.

"Precisely!" Pitch exclaimed, nearly ecstatic.

"The chance of Mani or any spirits existing outside of our multiverse alone is close to zero…" Tooth continued, doom striking her face.

"How clever of you," Pitch commented dryly, deadpan.

"We revert back to our previous selves, back before we were Guardian or even magical being?" North concluded.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Pitch's grin returned, somehow more menacing than before.

Jack felt his veins run cold like he'd been plunged into a frozen lake, or maybe that was just fear, but did it really matter? He was dead when he became a 'magical being'. The others had nothing to worry about besides losing their powers, but him? He would die.

Pitch looked at him for a moment and Jack turned towards the portal, away from Pitch.

"Are you scared?" The Boogeyman asked, his mirth clear as day. Clearly, he thought sarcastically. He didn't answer, he couldn't think of anything to say or do, they were trapped. For good this time.

Or maybe not…

"Just wondering... what were you before you became some magical being?" Jack asked as Pitch signaled for the Nightmares to bring his friends to stand side by side with him at the portal. Tooth looked at him with a quiet 'What are you doing'? Being this close to the portal, he could feel its magic and the type of magic it correlated to:

Ice magic.

This world was ice-based and he sincerely doubted Pitch thought to check for such an oversight based on his monologue earlier.

Pitch scoffed, "Lightling, you?" He reciprocated, probably thinking Jack wouldn't answer, but it was the best way to stall so Jack gave him a truthful answer, or in other words, the most disquieting

"Dead."

He could sense the surprise of the Guardians, seeing them do double takes from his peripheral vision.

If somebody were to ask him what was said next, he wouldn't be able to say. He was too busy focusing all his energy on the portal, feeling his own magic merge with some of the magic threading though its edges, feeling it shift as if it was moving under his skin. Which technically it was; the magic flowing through his veins just beneath the surface. He let his power wrap itself around the edges of the portal and pull outward. In the next second, to everyone's surprise, the portal expanded, swallowing them all, and Jack immediately felt the pressure holding him down ease up until it was off his chest completely.

He looked back to find the walls gone and the sky an ever changing whirl of motion, everything bypassing him too fast, throwing him so far the force threatened to send him off kilter. Pitch was nowhere to be seen. He must've fallen off the little broken platform they had been standing on.

Debris flew around them like a tornado and he was nearly too late in noticing the huge metal spike coming at him. He dogged it just in time so that it didn't impale him, but it still made a gash large enough to make him lose his balance and shred his torso. Someone screamed, or was it him? He couldn't hear very well over the noise, but the next he knew he was falling, faster and faster. He couldn't move, or see, or breathe. He couldn't fucking BREATHE.

Suddenly he wasn't falling as fast anymore, he could see and breathe again but he still couldn't move.

He hit the ground with a sickening crunch. He screamed as sharp, white-hot pain shot up and down his spine like a lightning rod. He stilled so as to not jostle whatever was causing the pain, he couldn't think straight, and there was a dull ache throbbing in his head that directly opposed the much more demanding one. He sat there just to breathe, hoping he would be able to think if he just lay there, somehow feeling both warm and cold at the same time.

He had the acute thought in the back of his head that he wasn't supposed to feel warm or cold but the pain flooded too much of his senses. He let out silent screams of agony every time a spike of pain shot through him. Then he saw something, something blue in the distance. It moved closer ever so slowly, but he couldn't focus on it, his vision too blurry from pain. He closed his eyes as another wave of pure agony made him tense more than he thought possible. When it passed he kept them closed, deciding to rest, full-well knowing he was dying anyway.

Then a flare of indescribable torment like no other came over him. He screamed out loud this time as he was moved to lay on his stomach. The last thing he felt before the world went black was the sweet sensation of wind in his hair as he faded away into dark nothingness.