Chapter Text
Jack had learned the hard way not to annoy a coven of witches. He had seen them near Stonehenge, and after a bit of conversation Jack may or may not have made a joke about their spells not being “real magic”. Hey, not his fault witches were all hot-tempered.
Now he had a terrible migraine, and had barely managed to make it back across the ocean from England before he practically dropped out of the sky, somewhere in the woods. Probably Canada, he thought, but it hardly seemed to matter what with the throbbing pain in his head. Jack didn’t try to fight the sudden weariness that washed over him while he lay in the snow, after all, at least it would let him get away from his headache for a few hours. Yawning, Jack rolled over, burrowing himself underneath the powdery snow as if it were a blanket and promptly slipping into a dreamless slumber.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“…No, Sandy, I haven’t seen him.”
“Me either, mate. You sure he’s not just off somewhere causing trouble like always?”
“…Alright. I’ll send some fairies out to look for him if you’re still worried. But you know Jack’s never in one place for too long.”
“…I need to get back to the Warren, but if Frostbite shows up I’ll tell him you were worried, Sandy.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Pitch knew something was worrying the Guardians, as well as the children of Burgess. He could feel their fear, washing through them like waves and giving him strength he hadn’t felt since his defeat six years ago. From what Pitch could gather, they hadn’t seen Jack in over two weeks, which considering how often he liked to bug them was a long time. And unfortunately for Pitch, the only logical explanation that the Guardians could find was that Jack had been kidnapped by Pitch himself.
Hence, four angry Guardians demanding that he tell them where Jack was, while Pitch hissed and rubbed the bump on the back of his head, trying to prop himself up on his elbows so that he at least wouldn’t be on his back in the snow.
“So? Where is he?” Demanded Bunny angrily, and Pitch glared at the rabbit.
“I haven’t the slightest idea.” He answered, standing up with another small hiss of pain.
“What do you mean you do not know?” North asked incredulously. “We have searched whole globe for Jack. Only explanation is Jack is with you.”
“Maybe he’s avoiding you.” Pitch said bitterly. “If you’re always this quick to jump to conclusions, then I don’t blame him.”
The Sandman formed a series of pictures with his sand, and Pitch watched carefully before a scowl twisted across his features.
“No, Sanderson, like I’ve been trying to tell you, I have not seen Jack.” The Nightmare King snarled.
“Then, if you don’t have Jack,” Tooth looked to her friends worriedly, “Then where is he?”
“I do not know.” North said dejectedly. Pitch turned on his heel and prepared to walk away, only to have a golden whip around his wrist. He glared at Sandy, who looked far too smug for Pitch’s liking. A series of dream sand images appeared around the Sandman’s head, asking Pitch to keep an eye out, which the others looked less than pleased about. Knowing he would not be allowed to leave if he refused, Pitch gritted his teeth.
“Fine.” He growled, seething with hatred for the tiny golden man in front of him. “I will help look for Frost,” He wrenched away from Sandy’s grip and jumped into the nearest shadow before they could stop him, letting his voice surround the Guardians as he finished, “But that’s not to say I’ll be telling you if I find him.” Pitch chuckled darkly as the Guardians exchanged worried looks.
Pitch left, letting the shadows take him away from the Guardians and back to his lair and sending out a few nightmares in search of the missing winter sprite. He wasn’t too concerned about actually doing anything to find Jack, but he knew he should have a valid excuse should Sanderson come to him about it.
He didn’t give the issue any more thought until the next night, when he felt something catch in his mind; one of the nightmares was trying to pull him to it. Reluctantly, Pitch exited the lair, finding that he was somewhere very cold and with much-too-plentiful snow to reflect the bright moonbeams back up at him. Blinking against the sudden light, Pitch’s gaze fell on the nightmare, which was standing atop a large pile of snow. One of many, indistinguishable from any of the other multiple snowdrifts around it, and yet the nightmare was whinnying impatiently, as if it could smell its next meal under the snow. Pitch swiped a bit of snow away with one foot, then a bit more, finding nothing under the top layers of snowflakes. He looked at the nightmare dubiously, but it whinnied again, insistent.
Sighing dramatically, Pitch knelt down, swiping away more snow with his hands until he saw a piece of wood sticking out of the icy powder. Pitch recognized Jack’s staff immediately and began to move more snow until he had completely uncovered the winter sprite, who was fast asleep and curled in on himself, smiling as if nothing was wrong. But something was very wrong.
Frowning in bewilderment, Pitch looked Jack up and down, then scooped the boy into his arms and melted back into what tiny shadows there were, bringing Jack with him. He laid Jack on the ground, still frowning, and watched the smaller spirit sleep, ignoring the nagging thoughts that told him to hand Jack over to the Guardians, as well as the ones that told him to give the sleeping boy back to the snow. Under most other circumstances Pitch wouldn’t have even had those thoughts, would have instead just put Jack in a cage and been done with it. But looking at the small sprite now, Pitch doubted. He doubted himself just enough that giving Jack to the Guardians almost became a liable option. And Pitch hated himself for that.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The boy didn’t wake up for several more hours, and when he did he woke up slowly, yawning and rolling over before sitting up. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and opened them to see Pitch sitting nearby.
Pitch hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he knew that if he wasn’t close by the fearlings may try to prey on Jack while the boy slept. So the Nightmare King had formed himself an armchair and sat down, never expecting to be woken up some time later by the younger spirit. Although he would firmly deny it in times to come, Pitch startled when his weary eyes opened to find Jack staring at him, and he stood abruptly, sending the boy scurrying backwards. Jack’s staff, Pitch noted, was no longer clutched in a death grip but was lying ignored on the cavern floor.
“What are you staring at, Frost?” Pitch scowled, for the boy’s eyes still hadn’t left him.
“Fwost?” The child said questioningly, his bright blue eyes widening in curiosity. Pitch faltered. Had Jack been de-aged in both mind and body? As the tiny boy— who looked no older than three or four—began to wander a few feet away, tripping over his long pant legs, looking around the lair with interest, and still paying no attention to his staff, Pitch decided the answer must be yes.
“Do you remember your name?” He asked the boy, and Jack scrunched his face up in concentration for a few moments before shaking his head. Pitch frowned again. “Your name is Jack Frost.” He told the child, who thought about the name before nodding curtly, almost as if accepting it as satisfactory.
“Jack Fwost.” He repeated. Then he continued on his self-given tour of the lair, tripping over his pants again before Pitch finally picked him up. The boy wriggled in Pitch’s grasp as the Nightmare King sat down in his shadowy armchair again, rolling up Jack’s pants and hoodie sleeves so that his limbs could move normally again. Pitch tightened Jack’s pants with a belt made of shadow, then made sure the hoodie sleeves would stay rolled before finally setting the squirming boy down.
“Do you…do you remember me?” Pitch inquired, and Jack shook his head again, although he seemed much less concerned about the lack of memory this time. “My name is Pitch.”
“Pitch.” Jack confirmed, stressing the “i”just a bit too much and making the word sound like “peach”. The Boogeyman hesitantly nodded, and Jack smiled self-satisfactorily. The white-haired toddler finally caught sight of his staff and went over to it, although it was now nearly three times his height. Jack stared at the staff, as if unsure whether he should pick it up. “Mine.” He finally decided, but instead of picking the staff up he sat himself down next to it, laying it carefully across his lap as if it were a living creature.
Pitch watched this with mild amusement, wondering what had happened to the winter sprite, and also wondering what to do about it. He didn’t have to think for long, though, because the bright yellow glow of dream sand was fast approaching through one of the dark tunnels leading off of the main cavern. Sandy emerged from the tunnel with great caution, looking around the room warily as he entered. When he caught sight of Jack, which, of course he did, the Sandman’s eyes widened in surprise.
“How did you get in here?” Pitch demanded of the smaller man, but Sanderson ignored the question, charging toward Pitch angrily, through his dream sand calling Pitch a liar and all manner of other unsavory names.
“No!” Sandy stopped, blinking at the little boy in front of him, who was standing protectively in front of Pitch with his arms spread wide.
“Sanderson, I promise I am not the one who did this to him. I found him last night somewhere in Canada. Or possibly Greenland.” Pitch shrugged. Sandy still wasn’t buying it, but at least he wasn’t attacking anymore. He used a cloud of dream sand to scoop Jack into the air, and the boy gave an indignant squeak of protest.
“No, no, no!” Jack made grabby hands toward Pitch, who blinked incredulously before stepping forward and lifting Jack from the sand cloud. He almost smirked at Sandy’s discomfort, but he knew that it wouldn’t help his situation much.
Sandy made a series of images with the sand, trying to explain to Jack that they had to go find out what had happened to him, but Jack couldn’t understand. He turned to Pitch for explanation.
“First thing’s first.” Pitch said, setting Jack down, but the boy still clung to the bottom of his robe. “Jack, this is Sanderson.” At Sandy’s request, Pitch corrected, “This is Sandy.”
“Sandy.” Jack said, looking the golden man up and down almost reproachfully before sticking out one hand. “Jack Fwost.”
Sandy shook his hand, still befuddled, before beginning his explanation again, this time directing it more toward Pitch.
“Jack, Sandy wants you to go with him.” Pitch said, and Jack hugged Pitch’s leg, clinging to him so tightly Pitch wanted to reach down and rip the boy off. But he didn’t. “You need to go with Sandy.”
“No.” The boy replied petulantly, looking at Pitch like a kicked puppy when the Nightmare King carefully pried Jack off his leg.
“Yes.” Pitch said, his tone making it clear that that was the end of it. This time Jack didn’t protest when he was picked up by the dream sand, along with his staff. Jack did nothing but glare at Pitch defiantly as he was floated away.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Their first stop was North’s workshop. Sandy was let in by the yetis, who stared perplexedly at Jack for a moment before rushing off to find North himself. Jack watched the colorful wonders of North’s home pass him by as Sandy moved toward the globe room, the child’s gaze flitting from one thing to the next in rapid-fire succession.
“Sandy! Is November. Can this not wait until after Christmas?” North asked as he entered the room. But he stopped talking straight away when he saw Jack. Sandy set the boy down, and Jack proceeded to chase the closest elf. The elf ran away quickly, its bell jingling as it ran to hide in a niche in the wall. Hiding was not effective against Jack, whose tiny fingers grabbed the elf’s hat and refused to let go.
Sandy quickly explained the situation to North, who then busied himself with freeing the elf by the means of bribing Jack with cookies.
“Cookies?” Jack grinned, letting go of the elf’s hat and stepping closer to North, still unsure whether or not to take the cookie. As the elf and all his kin ran off to hide, the boy eventually decided that cookies were worth going near the big red man, so he snatched up a cookie in each hand and retreated a few steps, but then put both cookies in one hand and stuck out the other for a handshake just as he’d done with Sandy. “Jack Fwost.” He introduced himself, and North raised an eyebrow.
“I am North.” He finally said, shaking the child’s hand gingerly. As Jack nibbled on the edge of a sugar cookie while watching North warily, the Guardian of wonder simply stood and rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
“So you say he does not remember anything?” North asked Sandy, and the smaller man affirmed this with a nod of his head. “I had better call others.”