Chapter Text
Mike Shepherd wasn’t dead; that was the good news. The owner of the dry cleaner’s found him, leaning on the wall with his eyes and mouth wide open. His heart was beating. He was breathing normally. But aside from those basic physical functions, he was completely unresponsive—brain-dead.
Overdose. That was the initial diagnosis. Mike had a reputation for habitual drug use, but the hospital couldn’t figure out what, if anything, he’d taken. The toxicology contained trace amounts of methamphetamine, but it was nowhere near enough to cause permanent damage. Mr. Shepherd concluded there was no evidence to support that theory and took his son to an out-of-state neural facility, hoping for a more palatable diagnosis.
“Jamie?” His mother rapped lightly on the bedroom door. “It’s past time for school, sweetie. Are you going today?”
Jamie pulled the covers over his head. The blinds were shut, the curtains pulled tight, but he could still see a chink of light surrounding the window, and it was driving him crazy.
We should go home. The dark voice spoke. He’s waiting.
It was sitting somewhere in the back of Jamie’s mind, giving him time to cope with what it had done.
What we did, it corrected with a yawn. It’s bright out. Let’s go to sleep.
A small blot of shadow passed across his bed, exploring the room and brushing against his possessions as though marking ownership. Jamie watched it, shivering with revulsion. The others had gone, disappearing into wisps of shadow, but the smallest spindle-wraith had followed him home, rubbing at his neck and orbiting his head like a tiny satellite. He wished it wouldn’t. He wished it didn’t exist at all.
“Jamie? Honey, are you okay?”
Answer her. Tell her we’re sick.
Jamie made another halfhearted attempt to push the voice away. He’d tried. Imagined it trapped behind locked doors and brick walls, but nothing worked. Jamie curled up under the covers, squeezing his eyes shut.
There was a click and the door opened.
“Sweetie,” Ms. Bennett sat on the side of his bed, pulling the blankets back to see his face. “I need to know what’s wrong. Is this about Mike Shepherd? Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. It’s just a headache.” He lied, though it wasn’t entirely untrue. “They’re getting worse and the pills don’t help anymore.” Doctors and pills couldn’t fix this.
“You need to see the doctor?” She asked, combing her fingers through his hair. “The neurologist can’t see you until Friday, but I can take you back to Dr. Lieberwitz?”
He shook his head. “I just want to stay home.”
“Well, okay...” She kissed his cheek and stood up. Mike, the fearling, drifted lazily around her head, but she either didn’t notice or couldn’t see it at all. He wasn’t sure how that worked. “I’ve got work, so you’ll be alone until Sophie gets home. I haven’t forgotten about that message, by the way—and I want to know why you missed the bus after school. We need to talk—soon.”
Jamie bit his lip and nodded. He didn’t regret making the call, even if it made things twice as complicated. He could explain the danger; that was easy. Mike’s envelope was still tucked inside his school bag (which was really just the same duffel from the hospital.) The problem was his reaction to the threat. The school hadn’t noticed his absence, but if someone saw him in town, they’d probably mention it to his mother, and that would get him in trouble.
The door closed, giving him a few more hours of respite. Jamie sighed. His head was fuzzy, aching from light and tiredness, but he didn’t want to sleep. Sure, it felt wonderful, but Jamie was beginning to suspect it was dangerous.
Sleep. The voice sighed with obvious impatience. We need to heal.
That wasn’t true. The wounds on his neck and chest had faded without a mark. He wasn’t sure how to explain the stains on his shirt and jacket, though, so he’d ditched them in a dumpster on the way home. He always carried a spare shirt in his bag, because honestly, he ran into this problem way too often. But now, once again, he had no coat, and that was something his mother would notice.
Don’t jump ahead. What we did yesterday—opening that gate, making our fearling, and healing our wounds—that took a lot of energy. We need to rest.
Jamie wanted to scream, protest that it wasn’t his fearling. He didn’t want it, couldn’t stand it, but it was his fault, his mess. He could have fought harder, done more to stop the dark thing in his head. If he had just left town, Mike wouldn’t be playing vegetable in some luxury hospital while his blackened spirit floated in the air a thousand miles away. It was their fearling—his fearling.
The bulbous creature made a shrill moan and floated toward the closet, which lay open and sprawling with clothes. The door bugged him almost as much as the window. It was dark inside. Dark and safe—no not safe! Not safe! Shaking his head, he looked away, but the temptation remained.
Stop whining. He won’t hurt us.
He…Somewhere in his memory a lid snapped—closets, shadows, the space under beds—nightmares blotting out the moon, crashing down on the Pennsylvanian suburb like a wall of black water. There’s more than one way to stuff out a light. A different voice spoke from Jaime’s memory, followed by the pop of ruined streetlamps.
The image evoked a peculiar feeling in his chest, a fluttering thrill that went beyond fear, gnawing at the dark corners of his heart. He closed his eyes, shivering as he felt thin fingers sliding through his hair, brushing across his skin. Something heavy pressed against his chest, weighing against his ribs, and crushing his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. Velvet whispers tickled his ear, echoing through the haze of a half-forgotten dream. You needn’t worry. I won’t let you finish growing up.
Jamie bolted upright, tossing the covers back. NO!! No! No! No! He paced the room, rubbing the goose bumps on his arms as he moved through the clutter. This wasn’t happening. That wasn’t a memory. It was just a dream—just a nightmare. Just a…
Jamie felt his heart stall with a single, sickening thump. The rules have changed—you’ve changed. He should have known, should have asked. All those conversations by the lake, those games played in drifts of purest snow—countless opportunities lost, and they’d never even mentioned it. Pitch wasn’t a Guardian. He didn’t play by the same rules, and he never would, because fear didn’t end with childhood. A shudder ran down Jamie’s back and he sank to the floor, gasping for air.
Calm down. The voice rolled over in its nest of pillows. Why are you so frightened?
Why—Why?! Another lock snapped, releasing a deluge of nightmares. The terrors rose, flashing before his eyes in an endless loop—every dream the Sandman had banished or buried: thunder in the distance, black sand blotting out the moon, shadows shifting on the wall, a black scythe punching through his friends, one by one. There were no more sweet dreams, no golden sand, no escape. Jamie was standing on a path to nowhere, stranded at the edge of a bottomless chasm with a locked gate at his back. No way forward. No way back. He was trapped, pressed against the wall, eyes wide, mouth gaping, black shadows crawling up his throat, pushing past his lips like an insect shedding its skin. Jamie bit back a scream.
Shh…The dark voice pulled, and Jamie fell, tumbling down into the dark plush of his subconscious. Blinking back tears, he found himself staring up at his own reflection. No, not a reflection, but a perfect replica. It had the same upturned nose, the same bright gold eyes, the same narrow build. Jamie’s doppelganger pinned him to the pillows with a flat expression that bordered on predacious. Stop. That won’t happen to us—it’s not even possible.
Jamie made a feeble attempt to free himself, then gave up, limbs slack against the velvet.
“We’re not going to die.” The other leaned down, inches from his counterpart, soft puffs of breath tickling the boy’s lips. “We’re not going to end.” Cool fingers trailed down Jamie’s arms, guiding them. Jamie felt the thin, underdeveloped muscles of his own back and let his arms tighten, pulling the other close. The shadow returned the gesture, crushing himself against the frightened boy until the lines between them blurred. Jamie felt his breath, the steady rhythm of his pulse—their pulse. Beat by beat, his own heart slowed, keeping pace with its reflection. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Soft lips found his, and it wasn’t a kiss so much as an affirmation, a promise sealed. Jamie relaxed, reassurance pulsing through the shared heartbeat. The cushions faded, and the other began picking through the old nightmares, taming the suppressed fears, and filing their sharp edges. He didn’t banish them or lock them away. He stood with Jamie, walking him through each terror, reigning in the sea of sand, bending it to his will, and blocking every swing of the scythe. One by one, he pried the terrors free, and slowly, gradually, they began to change. The light shifted. Shadows pulled into focus. Streetlamps flared, shredding the night with luminescent razors. Jamie’s eyes dilated, straining against the blinding glare as he stepped back, retreating from the light, wishing it would stop—and it did.
A shadow swept across the wall, extinguishing the orbs in a burst of sparks. Darkness. Blissful dusk flooded his eyes, cooling his abused retinas. Jamie sighed. His shoulders relaxed. The sounds of battle faded, banished to distant memory.
We belong in the dark. The voice was back in his head, echoing in his thoughts. We are the dark.
“No…I’m not…I’m not…” He gasped, stepping away from the shattered lights.
You are. We are. Murky figures wafted from the ground at Jamie’s feet, rising up in black plumes to orbit his body, brushing his skin as they passed. Arms slid round his shoulders, and the other appeared, pressed against his back. “I’m not a parasite, Jamie. I’m not a monster living inside your head.” Jamie shivered as lips ghosted up his neck and pressed behind his ear. “You can’t banish me or lock me away. Even if you could, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would change. The lights would still burn. The night would still heal. You can’t change what you are.”
Jamie flushed as teeth scraped the shell of his ear. “I’m not supposed to be this way…”
“Nobody knows what they’re supposed to be.” The other said, and with a snap of his fingers the darkness shattered, evaporating in a haze of white. “You know that.”
The memory shifted. He was sitting in the snow at the edge of Jack’s lake, staring down at a pair of gloved hands. They were small and clumsy, but Jamie recognized them—or, at least, he recognized the gloves. They were still in the hall closet, waiting to be patched.
“You became Jack Frost?” Jamie felt his lips move as he turned to face his companion, but his voice sounded different, younger. Jack, of course, looked exactly the same. Snowflakes fell in his crop of white hair, clinging to the edges of his frozen sweatshirt as he held his staff loosely against his shoulder. The image felt so familiar, but a gentle haze was already forming around the details, blurring the forgotten and the lost. If he wasn’t careful, he might lose Jack completely. “Like, you used to be someone else?”
The white haired youth met his eyes, and there was something cautious, almost guilty in his expression. “Sort of…” He scratched his head and looked away. “It was a really long time ago, but I…I used to be human.” He paused, picking at the handle of his staff. “We all were.”
“You were?” Jamie asked. “Even Bunny?”
“Maybe.” Jack shrugged. “I’ve never asked.”
“Does that…Does that mean I could be a Guardian? You know, when I grow up?” With that forbidden question, the memory clicked. It was mid-January, almost a year after he first met the Guardians. Jack had stayed much longer than usual, lingering in Burgess until the whole town was buried in snow. Jamie didn’t mind. He liked Jack, and having the attention of someone so important made him feel important, too. It was almost worth all the hours of shoveling. The Guardian must have had other towns to visit, other kids to play with, but he stayed in the small Pennsylvanian suburb with his first believers. Jamie hadn’t questioned it at the time, but now he thought he could understand. Jack needed to keep them close...to make sure they could still see him. Despite everything he’d said about clouds and the moon, he was still afraid of being forgotten.
“What?” The Guardian turned and Jamie caught a hint of fear in his blue eyes. “Why would you want that?”
A ghost of pain plucked at his heart, and Jamie felt a prickling heat around his eyes. He looked away, fidgeting with a loose thread in his glove until he could cope with the overwhelming sense of rejection. At last, he opened his mouth, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I just want to help…” Jamie’s eyes fixed resolutely on his twisting thumbs. “I know the other Guardians are busy, and I’m really glad you’re here, but I didn’t even hear North’s sleigh this year, and I waited up all night. I haven’t seen any of them since last Easter.”
Jack exhaled and gave his friend an understanding half-smile. “I get it, Jamie, believe me, I do. It took me 300 years to get their attention, and I still don’t see them that often.” He said, and placed a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, giving if a timid pat. “That’s just how they are. Don’t take it personally. You still got presents, right?”
“Yeah…” Jamie leaned against the Guardian, wrapping small arms around his chest and pulling him into a hug. Jack’s body stiffened for a moment, before relaxing into the affection. Physical contact was always a little strange with Jack, but he never pushed the children away. Jamie liked being this close. He could hear the soft thumping of the older boy’s heart and smell the crisp chill of frost as it crackled against his cheek, promising mysteries greater than any monster. Jamie tightened his grip on Jack’s sweatshirt as he spoke into the dampening cloth, “I still believe in them, and I always will, but after everything that happened last year, I feel kind of…left out.”
“Jamie…” Jack let his arms close lightly around the boy, cold fingers smoothing over his hair. “Look, I’ll talk to North, if it means that much to you, but you’ve got your friends and your family—you’ve even got me. Isn’t that enough?”
Jamie hesitated. How could he explain without sounding selfish? He just wanted to be a part of things, to feel needed and useful, and above all, important. Jamie never got awards for school or sports, but the knowledge that these legendary beings needed him, that their very existence hinged on the strength of his belief—that was better than any medal or trophy. It wouldn’t last—he knew that. But if he could join them, it wouldn’t be so bad. “That’s not—it’s not about that. I’m not ungrateful, I just...” He broke the hug and pushed away, wiping his cheek with the back of his glove. “I know you’re going to leave.”
Jack flinched, hands falling back to his sides. “I’ll come back. I always do.”
“I know.” The younger boy crossed his arms and exhaled, hunching his shoulders as white breath billowing up around his head.
“No. You don’t.” Jack fixed his eyes on the younger boy, his expression conflicted and uncharacteristically grim. “You don’t know how much I want to stay, how many times I’ve tried. This—” He gestured to the accumulating snow, “follows me everywhere and I can’t always keep it under control. I can hurt people, Jamie. I don’t mean to, but it happens if I stay too long or visit too early.” Jack paused for a moment, and Jamie could feel it now—the fear, which was strange, because he couldn’t have felt it at the time.
There were shadows lurking in his friend’s heart, buried deep in his core. They spoke in inky pictures, twisting lines of ice and death. A boy—lost and buried in a blizzard. A woman—broken and splayed at the bottom of an icy stairwell. Jamie watched, unable to move or look away. He was seeing Jack all over again, but this time, there was no joyful revelation or burgeoning friendship, only guilt and betrayal. Jack wouldn’t want him to see these images. It was wrong, so wrong, and yet Jamie couldn’t help but wonder how many people his friend had hurt. In some ways, it actually made him feel better—knowing Jack wasn’t perfect. It gave Jamie a basis for comparison, and made his own crime seem slightly less appalling. After all, he hadn’t technically killed anyone.
“Don’t ever ask to be this way…” The Guardian said, “You have so much already—family and friends, people who would put their lives on the line to protect you, and…” Jack gave him a sidelong glance, blue eyes swimming with pain and loss. “…you don’t know how much I envy that. The Man in the Moon pulled me from this lake, but my life was over. I never saw my sister again—I didn’t even remember she existed until last year, and I still can’t remember her name. I don’t even know if she made it home after I fell in the lake, and—” Jack bit his lip, shoulders shaking with suppressed tears.
“Jack…” Jamie’s body moved forward to console the frost spirit, but he was caught, transfixed by the horrible scene looping in Jack’s heart. Again and again, he watched the ice crack, the nameless girl screaming for her brother as he fell. Ice clawed at his lungs, ripping the air from his body, and suddenly it was Sophie screaming, reaching forward as the shadows swallowed him whole. He screamed, jolting free of the memory and thrashing in the darkness.
He fought the other’s grip, desperate to escape the shadows moving through his mind, but he couldn’t shut them out. He watched them consume his childhood home, staining the streets of Burgess until everyone he’d ever known was gone or forever changed. Jamie froze, tears rolling down his cheeks as the truth ground home. It was over. He could scream, and fight, and dig his heels in, but no matter what he did, he was going to lose, and there was more at stake than he’d ever realized.
He’d been prepared to give up his house, his friends, and his memories, but never his family—at least, not while he was alive. Death, he could cope with, because death was the end. He wouldn’t miss his family or friends. He wouldn’t miss anything, because he’d be gone. But this…this wasn’t an end. As far as he could tell, it never would be. The future was an open void, and he was already falling. There was nothing he could do—nowhere he could go. He was alone.
Wrapping his arms around the other’s neck, Jamie buried his face and cried—really cried. It felt like an invisible knife had ripped through his heart, his body shaking with disjointed sobs. He was drowning, choking on pain and misery. All the injustice, the fear and uncertainty—all the guilt and loneliness he’d felt over the past week bled from his soul in a river of molten anguish. He cried for his loss and the pain it would cause. He cried for his mother and his sister. He cried for Jack, who had tried so hard, yet failed to save him. He cried until his lungs ached, and his eyes were red, but no amount of tears could fill the hole in his heart.
The other let him cry, stroking his hair between sobs. The pain wasn’t pleasant, but the worst of it was over now, and he could already feel the soothing weight of sleep pressing them into the void. Leaving his double wrapped in a dark cocoon, the other forced himself back into consciousness, blinking up at their bedroom ceiling. Pushing himself up with a frustrated sigh, he cringed at the persistent line of light, and reached up to touch the fading lump on the back of his head. Split consciousness had many conveniences, but this certainly wasn’t one of them. Jamie didn’t regret their conversation—quite the contrary. With a little guidance, his alter ego proved to be surprisingly reasonable. But forcing a shared subconscious without proper planning had left their physical body in a comatose stupor. Without a driver, the fragile vessel had crumpled, knocking its head on an incidental piece of furniture. It was an irritating weakness and he mentally moved that problem up his internal list of priorities. Honestly…
“Stop—Stop it. I’m fine.” He snapped, swatting the fearling away as it circled and moaned. Gritting his teeth against the growing pain between his eyes, Jamie pushed himself up and stumbled toward the safety of the closet. They needed rest—rest and…
He stopped just short of the closet door, gold eyes flashing as they focused on the mirror. Jamie reached out, fingertips prickling as they brushed the thick layer of frost. The bedroom door creaked inward and he swore, covering his eyes as a chill breeze stirred the curtains, breaking the darkness with a flash of blinding light. Mike gave a shrill squeal and zipped into the closet, hiding in the shadow of an over-sized suit jacket.
“Jack?” Jamie called, sweeping the renewed darkness with recovering eyes, but there wasn’t a trace of his former friend—not yet, anyway. He had time, but it was burning fast—a day or two at most. Even as the thought crossed his mind, a muted shout thrummed against Jamie’s eardrums, forcing him to reevaluate that estimate. It was hazy and barely recognizable, but however faintly, he could hear it. If he concentrated, he could almost work out the syllables of his name. “Save your breath, Jack. I can’t hear you. I can’t see you.” He said, with a touch of bitterness. As he spoke, curved lines appeared on the mirror’s surface, tracing the familiar form of a frosted rabbit. Jamie rolled his eyes and wiped his palm across the glass, obliterating the drawing. “I know you’re there, stupid. I said your name twice.”
There was a pause and the glass began to frost again. This time clumsy writing began to appear.
Jamie, what happened to you? There’s someth—
Jamie clicked his tongue, rubbing out the words with his sleeve. Preternatural indifference was losing ground to human emotion, and it wasn’t an enjoyable experience, particularly when coupled with a splitting headache and a desperate need for sleep. “Like you have any right to ask that. You got what you wanted, right? I grew up. I don’t need you anymore.”
No! Something’s wrong! You’re not supposed to—
Jamie’s fist collided with the mirror and it shattered, ink-flecked fragments shimmering as they fell to the carpet. The air wavered, and he glimpsed a familiar flash of pale skin—Jack’s face, stricken with shock and pain. “Don’t. Don’t tell me how things are supposed to be. You don’t know—you never did.” The words cut through the silence, cold and sharp as broken glass. “I’ve been broken since the night I first saw you, but there’s nothing either of us can do about it now.”
He let his arm drop, fist loosening as drops of black rolled down his fingers. The garbled voice seemed to sob as it said his name again…and again. Useless. Completely useless. Jamie took a deep breath and shuffled toward the closet, ignoring the ghostly chill on his arm. He turned at the edge of the shadows, staring down at the line of frost creeping up his pajama sleeve. Eyes glinting gold, he followed the shimmering space up to where he knew Jack’s face must be. It was time to go. This was progressing much faster than anticipated, and he was too tired to suppress the noxious tendrils of emotion leaking from his subconscious. If he kept talking, he was going to do something stupid—well, something else stupid. Better to twist the knife now and make an exit while he still had the upper hand.
“Besides," The darkness opened at his back, yawning like a jagged maw as he stepped backwards, "it’s not like you had any other choice…”
The room began to fade, shadows closing around him, and in that last moment, he realized he’d never see it again. Jack knew. The Guardians knew. If he came back, they’d find him, and he wasn’t strong enough to face them—not alone, not yet. The thought shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. It cut deep. His home, his family—gone forever. He forced a smile, intending to say something cruel and witty, but his eyes were burning, he could barely breathe, and Jack was standing there in his bedroom with wide blue eyes and that same horrified expression. Jamie laughed, but it came out choked and shallow.
“Tell Sophie I love her and…I’m sorry.”
“JAMIE—JAMIE, NO!!”
Jamie saw the Guardian reach out, but the next second he was gone…
It was all gone…