I started this with the note that said "Oops I accidentally Jax" but bugger that; I have spent a while trying to wrangle this out and it is no longer an accident.
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"Have you seen her?"
The first time she had disappeared, he had been worried. Tex was not prone to vanishing; even when she was angry with him, she let him know it rather than ignoring him. It was scary--definitely scarier than any shadows Pitch could whip up. It had not lasted long, though; Pitch had released her at Cassie's insistence, and later the story had been funny. They told it repeatedly for the next weeks, everyone roaring with laughter as Cassie reenacted the scene with North, who made a hilariously unconvincing Pitch.
This time, as Cassie shook her head, eyes wide, he was afraid.
"You're sure?" he pressed, panic creeping into his voice. He had not been able to find her for days now.
"We hung out last week," Cassie answered. Her voice was quavering, too. "That was the last time I saw her."
"What's all this?" asked a new voice, one that was smooth and lilting and unaffected.
Jack launched himself at Pitch with a shout, only just missing the shadowy figure as he spun into a shadow. He had materialized on the other side of Cassie, mouth curled in a taunting grin. Jack leveled his staff at Pitch. "Where is she? Let her go, right now!" he bellowed.
And then Pitch did something that left Jack even colder than usual--he looked genuinely confused.
"You... you don't know where she is," Jack concluded softly, lowering his staff.
Pitch appeared to understand. "As if I would bother with her friends again," he snorted, nodding to Cassie, who had not moved from his vicinity.
Jack didn't have time to entertain the numerous questions that had come up; there was only one he was concerned with. He dashed to the window and leapt onto a vicious winter wind. Wherever Tex was, he had to find her.
And so he went as the wind blew, flying and swerving from one place to another, starting from the last place he had seen her and going everywhere she might have. He did not know how or where to look for her, so he could only search frantically. Tex had to be somewhere, and he would find her. What use were these stupid powers otherwise? He was not sure how much time had passed before he ran into Bunny.
"You all right, mate?" the other guardian asked, voice low with concern. "It's the middle of winter, and no one's getting any snow."
"I have to go," Jack muttered, already impatient to end the conversation and leave.
Bunny grabbed his arm before he could escape. "You've got a job," he reminded firmly. "You're a guardian--"
"And I can't even protect my own girlfriend," Jack shot back, voice raised.
Bunny didn't let him go, but he did remain silent for a moment. "You're a guardian," he repeated after a moment. "One of us. It's not just you anymore, mate." He pulled Jack closer and let go, watching him grimly. "Now what's the matter?"
Jack let out all his breath at once, sinking down to a slouched seat against the wall. "I can't find Tex. No one knows where she is. Not even Pitch."
Bunny crouched next to him, eyes narrowed and ears laid back thoughtfully. After a moment, though, he smirked. "I know just the bloke to do it."
Half an hour later had Bunny explaining the situation to Sandy, who was listening with serene concentration. Jack paced anxiously, freezing or kicking whatever caught his eye. He really was grateful to the others for being willing to help, but all he could think of was that if it didn't work, he had just wasted time he could have spent looking for Tex.
His frustration was interrupted by a tug at his sleeve. Sandy was standing beside him, smiling calmly. He winked and gave the a-okay sign. Jack smiled weakly in return. Sandy took to the air and drifted some distance away, spinning dream sand into existence. Bunny loped over to Jack. "So he's helping, right? What's he doing?"
Bunny shushed him. "Relax; it's a good plan. Let him work."
Jack didn't even know what the plan was, but Bunny wouldn't let him speak long enough to ask again. So instead he waited. Every second dragged by, and his mind was buzzing with every worst possibility. He hadn't had to think of mortal dangers in so long that he hardly knew what to guess at, and his ideas were only getting worse. He had to save her; that was what he did. Please let her still be alive.
He looked up again when Bunny punched him in the arm, but he was too on edge to be annoyed. Sandy was giving him that same reassuring smile, and pointing emphatically to one particular strand of dream sand. Jack blinked, then understood. "That's hers?" Sandy nodded and made a shooing motion. Jack didn't need any more than that. He took off, peripherally aware of Bunny bounding after him.
The dream sand led them a number of miles away, though Jack could not have said how far. All he knew was that he was headed for Tex. The strand corkscrewed down into an small building, maybe a house. Jack wedged himself through a window and kept on, doggedly following his golden line to Tex. And then, after days of panic, there she was.
She was tied securely to a column, against which she was slumped, head forward and hair obscuring her face. The dream sand pooled above her head, and a tiny figure danced about. Jack knelt beside her, too choked to breathe, gaze sweeping over her and then fixing to her miniature dream. So that was how Sandy had found her: she was dreaming of Jack.
"Tex," he whispered. He brushed her hair back and peered at her face. "Tex."
She awoke with a start, and the dream sand dispersed silently. The hardened wariness in her expression melted away just as easily when she saw him. "Jack."
"Hey," he managed, and it was half a relieved laugh. "Are you okay? Let's get you out of here."
"Yeah," she rasped as he pulled at the knots in the rope. "Just thirsty. Maybe some bruises."
Bunny tossed Jack a knife, and from there he made quick work of the rope. Shawna leaned forward, rolling her shoulders and rubbing at her wrists. Jack eased beside her and grasped each of her wrists; he knew the cold would make it feel a bit better. She sighed. "Are you sure? You aren't injured or anything?" he insisted.
Tex shook her head. "Fine."
"Okay," Jack allowed dubiously. He gave her a few moments before helping her to her feet. "Let's go home."
She nodded into his shoulder. Jack almost tripped over something on the floor--rather, someone on the floor. He could only guess that this was the man who had taken Tex. They were lucky he had been asleep for this; or maybe he was lucky. Jack would gladly take any excuse to make this guy the first failed experiment for cryogenics....
But then again, maybe luck had nothing to do with it. Tex tripped over the man, too, and he did not stir--and she did not seem concerned.
"Tough sheila you've got there," Bunny said appreciatively.
Jack half-smiled and looked at Tex. "You took him out?"
She nodded again. "He's not dead, but I got him good."
Jack held her closer, about to suggest that someone should fix that particular problem when he saw Bunny shaking his head. The other guardian smirked, showing teeth. "I think Cassie could convince someone we know to make sure he's sorry."
Jack didn't disagree. Pitch could actually make himself useful for once. Jack picked up Tex and carried her all the way back home. Neither one said a word the entire way. When they finally returned to her apartment, Bunny disappearing to tell Cassie the news, Jack asked, "Are you sure you're all right?"
They were so close that by tilting her head, she pressed her face against his chest. "Fine," she replied.
He didn't point out that she was crying. He just wrapped his arms around her and leaned his cheek against her hair and told himself that he wasn't crying, either. "It's okay," he breathed. "It's okay. You don't have to be afraid."
JACKOVERLLANDFROST SAID: TUMBLR HAS A HABIT OF MAKING YOU FEEL LIKE THAT BUT RLY YOU’RE ALLOWED TO. IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH OR HATES YOU FOR IT THAT’S THEIR PROBLEM NOT YOURS.
thanks shawna
you're right. if they cant respect my issue on the matter, they can suck it
He would steal in at night, whispering and laughing his cold, sharp laugh. He threatened and toyed with a voice like the creak of old hinges. He snaked from one shadow to another, keeping out of reach but close enough to loom over her. But she was not afraid.
The Guardians were the keepers of hope and faith, and they spread light in the darkness. It was them she believed in, and they drove Pitch back into the deepest shadows. He was growing weaker. She could tell it with each visit, that the rumble of ominous thunder in his voice waned, and his yellow eyes flashed paler each time.
It was not until the fifth time he came, rasping, menacing, that she saw something else spark in those eyes: it was fear. She laughed, causing him to bellow in rage, and wondered what would frighten the king of fear--and then her brother entered, stared at her through Pitch, told her to stop talking to herself. It was then that she saw the ragged edges around him, the howling desperation.
The next time he appeared, she said, "You don't have to be feared to be real."
He watched her in silence--calculating, wary. He was afraid of her. And with one last primeval snarl, he vanished into darkness.
She saw nothing more of him until a long time after. He manifested from a mass of shadow and stood before her as he had done before, as if his absence had not occurred. She stared him down and waited for the inevitable, but he only returned her gaze, something vast and unreadable on his features. "You can still see me." She nodded. He turned away, paced, leaned against her dresser. "You can still see me," he muttered, almost inaudible.
This time, she didn't demand that he leave.
He appeared once every few nights. Each time, he was more at ease, less braced for the moment her eyes swept past him. Even so, it was weeks before the first time she saw a quirk of a smile--one without a razor-sharp edge. For a time, she did not know why she let him come as he pleased, but once the smile appeared, she gave in. It was not bright, nor handsome; it did not do much to ease the heavy air of darkness; but it was genuine and unselfish, and somehow that was enough to break down the rest of her resistance.
Eventually, she had to admit that one reason for her lenience was clear. Every time the Guardians spoke of another child who had faith in the light and brushed aside bad dreams, she saw his despair from the incident with her brother. And though it was a victory, it did not feel entirely triumphant.
So he stayed--at first lurking quietly, but then with remarks that were snappish and sardonic, but not vicious. His humor was dry, drawling, wicked--and the first time he made her laugh, she dismissed it as the product of sleep deprivation. The second time, she cursed and shooed him away for the night, because she knew then what was happening and it angered her. But when he came back, she did not protest.
Months came and went, and she learned that the Guardians had won: none of the children believed in the monster under the bed anymore. When she asked him, only half joking, why he did not go out and try to reclaim their belief, he only looked at her with golden eyes that held only confidence and amusement, and did not answer.
It was just as well. She wouldn't have believed him.
