Chapter Text
Heights offered a great deal of distance from the scent of burning petroleum and the constant clamor of a city.
Jack lounged across the red beam of a half-finished skyscraper’s skeleton. One leg dangling off the side and his staff in a loose grip.
Metal, solid and cold, seeped through his jacket and right into his back. Not the least bit comfortable, but boredom overtook him a long while back and the cold was the closest to keeping him somewhat awake.
Jack pulled down the blue scarf over his nose and mouth, it rucked at his neck and somewhat eased the heavy air. He sighed, gaze lingering on his visible breath in the colder air.
Turning his head a little to stare at the city’s skyline. Lights were beginning to flicker and twinkle in the presence of the evening blanketing the sky. The day faded faster every week, it was no surprise when nearing the winter season.
From afar, Jack could make out a large billboard in town square between the buildings. The city had it put up in reverence for the highly effective division of the Guardians including Jack, or rather Frost as his pseudonym.
Today’s patrol had been calmer than most. A break in or two was a miracle compared to a villain with vengeance and tech. And not one of the Guardians, not even North had bothered him with buzzing notifications for missed calls, patrols, or tips.
It meant crime rates had lessened, the Guardians—Manny's plan—had finally shown results. The city was finally at a state of ideal peace and quiet.
It was a perfect enumeration for all the good that it was.
But Jack didn't feel quite at peace in the silence; he squirmed uncomfortably in it.
For the past few hours, he'd occupied himself with humming, or talking to himself and the wind. Even reciting whatever song he remembered until the nearby pigeons flew off when his voice cracked.
Virtually anything to fill up the dreadful space the quiet filled.
Jack didn’t want it admitted aloud knowing no one would respond to him. But having nothing to do bothered him, it put him on a literal and figurative edge.
He didn’t necessarily despise “good”, but he couldn't entirely appreciate what it brought. Jack heavily disliked it for forcing him to settle without giving him a proper place.
He couldn't accept it if it led him in circles.
Before Jack could brood any further, the wind insistently blew into his ears. It seemed to respond to his melancholy, jerking him from side to side on the beam.
The wind shook snowflakes right off Jack, who yelped in shock. “Hey!” He braced his hand onto the border of the beam and clutched his staff in the other. Wind tousled his dyed hair right into his eyes on top of meddling with the styled spikes he spent perfecting in the mirror.
“Okay okay, I’m moving I'm moving” Jack scoffed back. Rubbing at his eyes, scleras a little bit red and the blue at the center glazed over, still somewhat groggy from having laid down for so long. He was amused enough to almost laugh at the audacity, but quieted, being partially insulted that he was actually and successfully nagged.
“Making me miss the view..” Grumbling to sit up from where he'd been practically frozen in place. But Jack was thankful that it wasn't entirely silent.
It had been a while since the Guardians blew up his phone and crackled over the speaker directing him to an address, now Jack insisted on bothering them first. Digging into his pocket, he fished out the issued flip phone.
He had complained about it before, especially over it being too ancient with all its thick buttons and a small pixelated screen. Jack had expressed his distaste throughout North’s workshop, offering up ideas left and right—more specifically designing an app as it was the twentieth century.
Besides, Jack had a perfectly fine and modern touch screen phone, cracked screen and only capable of charging at an angle be damned. How on Earth could he read any notifications fast enough while patrolling on this brick?
And yet it was still decided on by the Guardians, particularly Bunny, with the heavy and sound reasoning; “for the sake of privacy”, “it's practically immortal”, and handed him the glorified burner phone.
Jack huffed as he fumbled with the keypad for the nth time, buttons beeping under his thumb. Skimming his options and already irritated, he knew he’d have no luck begging and poking around for missions with Manny, he never spoke with the intention of giving a straight answer. Bunny would have shrugged him off and lectured about “taking an off day” as would Tooth, and Jack didn’t have enough patience to bear either.
The number he needed was already available at the top of his contact list. Might as well try.
“North, any news?”
“You are the bad news for being very antsy, Frost.” Was the answer over the phone, Eastern European accent laying thickly over every syllable, not in the least bit amused to hear Jack. Who in turn smirked wider that it could be heard; “You calling me paranoid?”
“I do no such thing. I say what I hear.”
Saving the eye roll at the proverb, Jack readjusted the phone from his hand to press between his ear and shoulder. If trouble wouldn’t find Jack, he’d seek it out first.
“C’moooonn. You know, I hate waiting around, North.”
A deep sigh came from the other end, “You’re supposed to be waiting. Stand-by, understand?”
“What’s the harm in extra-credit?” Jack shrugged.
It earned a bellowed mirthless laugh from the man, “Suit yourself, snezhinka.”
“Missing cat; black fur, green-eyes, with a collar, named Toothless, and somewhere on the street below you.”
“Pfft, consider it loose snow.” Jack already decided. The name would surely hold a resemblance to appearance—what kind of owner wouldn’t use a convenient naming convention?
By then he’d swung both feet off the beam and pulled his scarf up until his nose. Bare feet balanced on his staff that steadied midair. Jack whistled for the wind, casting a barrier around him as he glided past buildings and their mirrored sides.
Brushing a hand over the smooth surface to draw out twirls of frost, Jack peered in. Being this high-up meant mostly office spaces that displayed rows and rows of desks and computers with hunched over workers no matter the building.
The monotony of desk jobs and corporate made Jack shudder.
Turning away, the Guardian rode lower. Past humming ventilation shafts and pipes on apartment tops, and open balconies and windows wafting out the smell of dinner until he was just above the street lamps and the crammed traffic of Burgess's rushing city.
Within the wind barrier, Jack was invisible.
To any passerby, it was only a particularly windy area. A completely normal occurrence when the gale picked up between buildings and carried with it magazine papers and plastic wrappers.
He was free to watch the crowds rushing over crosswalks—an officeworker stumbling after the next train stop, a college kid racing with flowers in her hands, older folk taking tentative steps at the tail end of the rush.
Jack’s gaze flickered for a moment, settling and insisting he stay.
The Guardian stilled as he reached a foot out to stand at the top of a street light, stepping off his staff and crouching lower. Jack's smile, earned by the wind, now wavered and pulled downward at the edges. Beneath his feet, frosted tendrils of white ferns sprouted out. He hadn’t entirely escaped his earlier melancholy.
Only four years ago, Jack had once been part of the crowd.
Four years. A thousand, four hundred, and sixty-one spins around the Sun.
Four years since a deal with Manny that erased the whole of Jackson Overland.
Since the Guardians was what was left for him.
Since Jack settled into the routine of rooftops.
Since Jack traded everybody—Mary, his mother, Jamie, Sophie—and their safety for their recollection of him.
A deal that he determined now to be as damning as a prison sentence, no matter how selfless it was.
Somewhere in the sound of the city, a child chatted away with their parents, lovers strolled and kissed, and the world spun on without him.
There was nobody waiting for Jack.
No station anticipating his return.
No schedule surrounding people.
No celebratory college send off.
No flowers in his hands or at his grave.
And now Jack was eighteen: a high school dropout wearing a scarf over his face, barefoot, invisible in the wind with a ridiculous flipphone in his hand playing hero.
He knew he was stuck.
The kind of stuck that he’d walked into without knowing the exit. And most definitely the kind Jack convinced himself not to really be stuck in—that it was the best choice, his conscious decision. Round and round with the same reasoning, his responsibility—only now the effect of coping wore off much faster.
Jack shrugged off the sudden douse of awareness.
Best not think too long, the Guardian reminded himself instead. Turning his attention to finding the missing cat, somebody was still looking for it, he stepped back onto his staff.
Finally moving his gaze away from the crowd, Jack thought aloud; “If I were a cat, where would I be?”
The sun had almost completely set, leaving a red-orange hue across the buildings. It’d be harder to find a black cat in the city’s shadows, Jack had to hurry.
Squinting into the shadows and gliding close to the buildings, Jack looked high and low between the crevasses and ledges. Next he had furrowed an eyebrow as he attempted to consult street cats. Which led Jack to a plastic bag of canned tuna and an emptier wallet. Curse his bleeding heart.
He considered the alleys last. Using the end of his staff to prod at the garbage only proved to startle sewer rats. Jack grimaced at the smell and the sound of the squelch.
Still no cat.
But Jack persisted, he’d rather have this than deal with himself and that would’ve made him twice as sick and more of a mess that couldn’t be easily washed off. So he hiked up his sleeves, intending to avoid garbage juice all over himself. Determination having fueled him again as he called out; “Toothless!” in between his prodding. He'd even tried the “pss pss pss” he'd seen on a video once.
After about twenty minutes of scrounging and inhaling rotten air, Jack caved. He refused to smell like he hadn’t showered. Now hovering out of the alley with his staff and back on the street with fresh air.
Gliding above the parked cars at the curb, Jack whistled for the wind that rustled the row of trees. He was at least delighted to see the yellowed leaves tumbling down below and earning a yowl from a tree.
Wait, a yowl?
Jack paused, listening to the wind again, blowing right into his ear until it dragged him upward through the leaves and right in front of a branch high up on the tree. Then the wind barrier dissipated around Jack, turning into a breeze keeping him afloat on his staff.
The leaves blocked out most of the leftover sunlight and it left it quite dim inside the tree. Even so, Jack squinted around, looking for anything cat-shaped.
Wide green eyes stared back at Jack. The gaze belonged to a black cat, almost fully camouflaged into the shadow.
“Hey, heard you haven’t got much teeth.” Jack began, attempting to sound friendly though he wouldn’t know if cats could tell the difference. Black ears pivoted toward him then flattened on its head.
Already tired out with the dumpster search and find, the Guardian wanted all of this over with. He stretched out his hand slowly and hoped it'd return his careful reproach in kind.
But the cat already looked incredibly displeased, bordering on straight offense at his presence. The hair on its back was already raised, tail inflated and swishing lowly.
A shame he ran out of tuna cans. “Please be nice.” He mumbled under his breath. Slowing his reach around the back, hoping to catch it by the scruff-–only for its eyes to narrow into slits. Its head swiveled to his hand, mouth opened to a set of definite small sharp teeth that dug into his finger.
Oh, the irony definitely bit Jack now.
“Ow ow–” Jack yelped at the sting, backing away then some more to narrowly avoid a swat to his face deterring his second attempt.
He steadied himself on his staff and rubbed his finger. Jack checked over his digits, at least the teeth had only pricked skin but it didn’t lessen the pain it had caused.
Jack tutted, “That really wasn't nice.” God this cat hated him. Hissing, bearing claws, and by his third attempt it almost caught on his scarf or worse, his skin again.
Thinking fast, Jack pressed his hands together, fueling just enough burst of frost between his palms for a few snowflakes. He called them ‘fun flakes’—or light hypnosis by whatever magic ran through him if it were a technical definition—his most favoured asset during long debriefs just to spin up some of his antics. Jack blew them up into the air, watching as one carried itself farther and slowly spiraled down right between the cat’s eyes.
Upon the flake’s impact, it vanished and left a marginally more docile cat.
Jack sighed, shoulders sagging as he reached for it without claws greeting him. “See? Cooperation’s not so bad.” Hands cupped and supported underneath furry limbs, Jack tucked the cat against his side, patting its furry little head and focused on getting down.
But the branch rustled again.
A second cat? Jack thought, squinting into the dimmed light.
Another set of green eyes stared back at him near the trunk. Only now they didn’t belong to a displeased cat but to a very relieved boy around his age.
“Hi. You've got my cat.” The boy managed an uneasy smile across his freckled face, before tensing again and scrunching his round nose as he clung tighter to the tree.
Jack held his breath—having forgotten he wasn’t behind a wind barrier and lamenting that maybe those public speech lectures he’d skipped out on would’ve helped now. Or maybe he’d become poorly socialised the past few years.
He squeezed his eyes shut in a prolonged, deliberate blink when he spoke. “I figured.”
Suddenly and painfully aware of his tone, Jack pivoted for something a bit lighter, a smirk tugging at his mouth: “Same eyes. Same tree.”
The boy shakily reached up with his free hand, dragging a sleeve across the sweat on his brow. “Fair point.” The wind blew through the leaves a little, tousling his shaggy brown hair and the two small braids by the nape—almost an overgrown mullet Jack would think though it framed the boy’s face surprisingly well.
“Need a hand getting down?”
“Yes, please,” the boy breathed out instantly, slumping his forehead against the bark.
Jack adjusted the cat to the crook of his arm as he floated closer, extending a pale hand toward the boy. Warm, slightly calloused fingers gratefully clamped around his. The boy took a tentative step onto the wooden staff, followed by his other foot—or rather, a polished steel plate in place of an ankle and heel that clacked heavily against the wood.
When the boy wobbled, tipping dangerously close, Jack tugged him closer by the waist. “Not a fan of flying?” He commented, not really looking for an answer.
“Planes are fine,” breathed a nervous laugh right against Jack’s neck, the boy’s hands clinging tightly to Jack’s forearm now. “I’ve just never flown with.. uh this set-up before.”
This wasn’t so bad, Jack’s thoughts traitorously implied. No—this is strictly for balance, of course, he slammed the door on his own brain, clearing his throat as he lowered all three of them to the pavement.
The boy stepped down first, instantly putting a little distance between them.
Now on the solid ground, this boy was definitely taller than the Guardian by half a head—lean like he was, but with a surprising breadth to his shoulders. Jack watched him frantically dusting off the moss, bark, and grime stuck to a green shirt layered over long white sleeves. As he adjusted an ID lanyard twisted around his freckled neck, bold stitched letters came into view: Burgess Engineering University, and on the other side: Aeronautical Engineering.
Oh, a smartypants with an Ivy League badge, Jack thought, feeling an unbidden prickle of amusement.
On the card itself:Hiccup H. Haddock.
Hiccup? What an absurd, unfortunate name. Then again, looking at the boy’s flushed cheeks and perpetually messy hair, it was somehow ridiculously fitting.
Jack’s gaze flicked between the picture on the card and the boy. Fundamentally the same, except the version in the picture looked brighter, wider-eyed, and unburdened. The one standing here looked like the world was chewing him up in real-time
At least he hadn’t been spat out yet, Jack mused. Unlike me.
“All yours.” As he handed over the cat, a warm weight against its owners chest. Jack watched with quiet amusement as HIccup’s mouth floundered for words like a fish on land, his freckled cheeks burning a shade darker.
“Ye–yeah. Thanks. Really,” Hiccup stuttered, pulling the cat close like a shield.
“Wasn’t a problem,” Jack lied right off into a smile hidden by the scarf, his blue eyes twinkling in spite of the dimming sky.
Hiccup, seemingly desperate to kill the sudden, heavy silence, stretching between them, began to ramble. “Cats.. don't sit well with college schedules, honestly.”
Jack raised a teasing eyebrow at the seemingly irresponsible owner. “So they naturally choose trees then?”
A sharp, unexpected laugh, bubbled out of Hiccup, catching Jack completely off guard. “No–well, maybe? I guess?” He cycled through answers, cutting himself off with another helpless chuckle. “He’s never actually been up a tree before.”
“So scaling a thirty-foot oak was your best master plan?”
Hiccup offered a lopsided, self-deparacting grin that made the skin around his green eyes crinkle. “Hey, it’s a massive downgrade from the side of a dorm building.”
Jack raised both his eyebrows at that. Hiccup just held his gaze, a quiet, taunt of curiosity hanging in the air between them.
“You might want to consider renaming him, though,” Jack said, breaking the stare first. “It’s very misleading.”
Hiccup blinked, “Sorry?”
“It bites.” Jack bluntly put.
“Oh! Well–Toothless isn’t rabid, if you’re worried–” Hiccup shifted the cat, looking partially horrified.
“I’m not worried about rabies, I’m saying he’s got a full set of teeth,” Jack pointed out. Right on cue, the cat let out a wide, lazy yawn, showing off a terrifying row of sharp white fangs. “A bit pointless to call him Toothless. Or maybe point-ful.”
Hiccup’s lips twitched upward again. “It would’ve made sense if you saw him as a kitten–”
A sharp, violent buzzing in Jack’s pocket cut him off. His phone rattled, insistent against his hip.
“Sorry–just a second,” Jack offered apologetically.
Hiccup nodded quickly, stepping back to give him space. Jack t urned slightly, rolling his eyes at the inconvenience as he flipped open the old screen.
Alerts and notifications loaded into the small screen causing the pixels to hang. Jack impatiently pressed at the keys, willing it to obey him, until the interface for receiving a call finally popped up.
Pressing it to his ear, he barely had time to brace before North’s voice barked through the speaker: “Frost! Where have you been–”
Jack winced, rubbing a knuckle against his ear, his eyes flicking back over to Hiccup, who was casually scratching Toothless under the chin, trying very hard not to eavesdrop.
“I’m answering, aren't I?” Jack drawled into the mic.
“An anomaly has been spotted.”
“Really?” Jack offered in feigned shock, a small smile slipping out as he looked at the green-eyed boy with the green-eyed cat. “You don’t say.”
Down on the pavement, sliding beneath the shadows cast by the leaves, was a dark, wispy silhouette—crawling with unnatural speed. Whatever North was booming into his ear faded into static. The rush of adrenaline took over.
“Was just about to leave a tip for its tracks,” Jack mumbled into the phone, his gaze locked on the creeping shade.
“Stand by.” Jack bristled when he heard North’s sharpened warning over the phone. “Manny's protoco–”
Jack thumbed the button to hang up, shutting the man off mid-sentence. Screw protocol.
He snapped back to the boy, who was watching him with a mix of genuine concern and deep curiosity, clearly having caught the tense tone of the call.
“I'm usually around..” Jack said, his voice dropping a register as his eyes traced the shadow creeping up a nearby brick wall. “If you ever need a cat sitter.”
Hiccup flushed slightly under Jack’s attention, shifting Toothless in his arms and scratching at his nape. “That’ll.. be up for consideration.”
Jack flicked his gaze back to him, offering a smile that reached his eyes despite the scarf covering his mouth—maybe a little wide. He held a hand up for a high-five. “Have a nice evening then, er..”
He trailed off, suddenly realising he’d never actually asked and read it right off the ID card like a creep.
“Hiccup,” the boy clarified, awkwardly meeting his high-five.
No crisp clap sounded—just a soft, clumsy smack of a warm palm against cold skin, their fingers tangling for a brief, breathless second before pulling apart.
“Hiccup!” Jack quickly repeated, the name lingering on his tongue.
He whistled and the wind that responded in kind as it gave a sudden dramatic surge beneath his staff. A stray gust sent dried leaves swirling around their ankles and whipped Hiccup’s hair wildly across his face. Jack’s bright blue eyed locked onto Hiccup’s one last time, “Don’t go getting into any more hiccups, yeah?”
The wind lifted Jack right off his feet and shuttled straight up.
An unmistakable black mass darted along electrical posts. “There!” Jack directed the wind, bending his knees for stability to keep the speed from entirely knocking him off.
The thing flitted across the roofs, Jack almost had trouble keeping up. Coasting the corner in a sharp turn when it veered off, he ducked just in time as a signage came into view. He trailed after it still, until it stalled, circling atop a building. Jack landed quickly, already shifting the staff into his grip. Aiming the end of his staff at the shape, he felt the frost charging up from his palms and through the wood.
It moved too fast for Jack to guess its next position. The blast missed it entirely, hitting the floor and spraying chipped ice.
Not so bad, at least now he’d figured that it’d be wiser to predict its movements—right? Jack supposed the better option was to take the effort to be patient and maybe pick up the buzzing phone. He might have picked up on a creature out of his depth but he wouldn’t readily admit that. After all, that was the excitement that Jack chased after without a second thought.
Still, he considered a thought or two enough to make a semblance of a plan. It went something along the lines of freezing it, handing it off to North, then assuming stand-by again. Easy and clean. If there were any gaps in Jack’s logic, he’d figure out how to wing it while in motion—it’d be in-the-moment Jack’s problem.
When it inched away into the dark shadow an air vent casted, Jack followed after.
He didn’t make it three steps before the air went bone-chillingly stale, and the hairs at the back of his neck began prickling. The thin, wispy shadow didn’t just slide up the wall—it bubbled outward as pooling ink until it spilled over the cement. Reappearing now, larger, thicker, twisting into a towering silhouette that loomed right over Jack.
Even for a stray shadow, this thing felt heavy. Smelled like old terror and cold ash.
It was unmistakable. Jack saw it clearly; a shadow personified led to only one point: Pitch.
“Looks like we got off on the wrong foot,” Jack grunted, dodging it now, tilting and ducking any of its attempts at grabbing him.
Change of plans. Maybe it’d be better to lure this thing out into the open—somewhere with room to breath, far away from green-eyed college boys and their tree-climbing cats. Besides, Jack was confident he could outlast it. He always did.
As he inched toward the ledge, Jack leaned his weight into his staff and let it tip into the open air. Laughing as he whistled for the wind, lifting him up mid-fall. When landing on the surrounding roofs, he raced over them, whipping around to swing bursts of frost that barely seemed to manage between him and the thing snarling at his heels.
Peeking over his shoulder as he was set to lift off, he found the thing was nowhere in his sights. Jack paused by the edge of the building. Was this its plan all along? He considered that maybe being chased, only to leave him in the dust had been part of its escape plan. He panted slightly, eyes wildly tracking the slightest twitch of a silhouette.
It came from beneath and yanked at the bottom of his staff, catching him completely off guard.
Jack tugged it back, only to feel it sink further into the black mass creeping up toward him. Tendrils crawled upward stretching itself up until it enclosed around his fingers. The moment they met Jack's chilled skin, he felt numb—a tingling that faded into nothing, as though devoid of feeling altogether.
The shadow clambered onto him, first trailing over the back of his hands then his wrist, latching tighter and crawling higher up his arm. Wherever it touched caused the lightly glowing frost forming in his veins to flicker and snuff out, turning an inky black under his skin.
Attempting to grab it, his fingers slipped through the sand that composed it. “What the–” Jack gasped. A moment of surprise turned to panic, which the thing took full advantage of.
Shaking his arm frantically yet any movement he made was hindered by it. “Ack! Getoffgetoffgetoff–” His earlier composure began to rapidly deteriorate.
Jack inhaled deeply and tried again, desperate to claw it off this time. Frost formed in his palms, cold enough to solidify the sand, but it only shifted under his trembling grip. Instead of relief, he felt the panic go numb the higher the dark tendrils reached, now wrapping around his throat, his breath catching as the shadows pulled him under.
The wind blew harder, howling straight into his ears until it abruptly silenced. The rooftop's cold had vanished entirely except the numbness lingered in his hand.
His head throbbed all of a sudden.
It was a violent tug at the base of his skull, hooking through his thoughts and ripping them backward. He felt himself slant, a subtle sickening tilt, like the room had lost its anchor.
Jack didn’t fall so much as he slipped through.
There was no splash, no impact. It was the quiet from being somewhere to being nowhere at all. Velocity became a cruel illusion: Jack was plummeting through the abyss at a speed that flattened his lungs. It became a conscious effort to breathe while sliding around in the nothingness. And yet he was entirely still, suspended in the dark.
The slurry of memories spewed out from every part of his mind and concentrated its pour. They whipped past his face in a dizzying relentless spiral, forcing him to feel every forgotten warmth.
The taste of cheap, sticky popsicles on a sweltering afternoon. He was seven in the back of his mother’s car, his knees scraped raw, laughing so hard his chest ached.
The smell of rain rising from the dirt as he trudged through mud up to his knees, his sister’s ridiculous snort-laugh right beside him.
A spinning carousel of images played behind his eyes, all the sounds overlapping, whirling faster by the second.
“ –elp me–”
“ –ack–”
“Ja–”
“Jack”
“ –Jack, you're making it wors–”
“ –offering you a–”
“ –Fros–”
“ –ack–”
“ –et out of my hous–”
“ –know you?”
“ —on’t know who you a–”
“ –the only way–”
Until all he could hear was “Jaaack!” sounding just from the other room.
“I’m right here!” Jack screamed, the terror cracking his voice as he chased the voice down.
“Jaack?”
“Mom?” he rasped, his voice raw from the wind that wasn’t there. “Mom, something’s wrong.” Jack could feel heat in his chest, the tears biting at his eyes.
The flip phone chimed and buzzed in his pocket. Jack felt it against his leg, calling him back to half-consciousness. The numbness ate all the warmth of the summers, simultaneously pushing more out of and into his head. Jack felt, and maybe believed, for a solid second that it was going to split through his skull and have his eyes burst.
His vision blanked again. Opening them to where he stood face to face with Manny—crossed legs behind his desk in his perpetually dim office. Manny’s face was obscured by the shadow but Jack knew he was staring right at him. “I'm offering you a deal, Jack.” Manny put, steepling pale fingers over a knee. Except Jack refused to hear the rest of it, he looked away as though it would stop once he couldn't see. “It's for the greater good.”
He was sent backward in the seat then tumbling off back into nothing. Jack felt what was maybe water on his back before it enveloped him wholly. Struggling for breath, he gasped mouthfuls of it that burned his eyes and his throat. To his horror, Jack found that the more he struggled and called for help the deeper he sunk.
“Scared yet, Jack?” A voice whispered—whoever it belonged to felt no need to yell to get underneath Jack's skin.
His lungs were burning, shrinking to hard, dry knots in his chest as the icy water dragged the heat out of his bones. Every muscle screamed, heavy and stiff like lead, but terror drove his legs to kick, his raw hands slamming upward against the underside of the frozen surface.
The sound was hollow, deadened by the deep water. He couldn’t find the hole he’d slipped through. Panic flared hot in Jack’s throat, a blinding, frantic instinct that shattered his numbness. He kicked harder, scraping his palms along the rough, jagged ceiling, searching for a gap, a crack, anything—until his knuckles struck a jagged break in the sheet.
Jack didn’t think; he lunged.
His fingers hooked into the sharp edge of the ice, slicing open his skin, but he didn’t feel the pain. He hauled himself up, his head bursting through the surface with a ragged, desperate gasp that turned into a choked sob.
Then Jack was back at the edge of the building. The thing—the dark, suffocating amalgamation of shadows that it was—held onto the hook of his staff, tugging and pulling now from both ends. He was left desperately willing any remaining strength into his numb fingers just to keep hold, but the tension was too much. He lost his grip on the wood, hearing it groan and creak under the pressure, followed immediately by a deafening snap.
Jack gasped, the sound echoing in his ears as he dug his fingernails frantically into the cold, dark sand for purchase, clawing for anything—
Then, he exploded.
A sudden, blinding burst of pure white erupted directly from his chest, turning his entire vision blank. Raw, unbridled frost raced trailing beneath his feet, spreading in violent uneven waves across the roof. The air felt sharp to inhale as a storm of snow and hail violently detonated around him—a sudden storm of snow caused by sheet survival instinct.
Before Jack could recover from the whiteout haze, he whipped his head around, wide-eyed at the sudden development.
Glacial ice stretched around him, smooth, pristine, and glowing a deep subterranean blue, instantly freezing everything that surrounded the rooftop. Intricate, frosted fern tendrils curled along the edges, sealing off the shadows in the thick crystalline.
He panted heavily, clutching his chest, his eyes locking onto the frozen mass.
At least the thing was contained.
The darkened evening sky overhead had started sprinkling snow.
His hands kept producing frost, literally leaking out winter, only adding to his current predicament. “Nonono stop–” he panted out, brows furrowing in confusion when the frost didn't follow. Staring at his palms then realising he'd been frozen to the floor.
Jack clamped his hands at his sides, flakes tumbling out of his fists. Trying to twist himself free from the frozen ground, he sighed shakily.
The moment Jack managed a reprieve, taking a step forward toward the thing stuck in the frost. the ice felt slick under his feet. Weird, he thought. Jack hadn't felt that in a while. Nevermind that, a few more steps forward and he'd be finished. Leaning his whole weight into his foot, the frozen floor moved underneath him.
Shit.
Jack toppled off the roof, arms swinging uselessly for balance as he fell through the air.
Bouncing off the corrugated roof, with panic still taking up much of his throat, a scream pressed out Jack's chest. He was sent scrambling uselessly and hoping an outstretched limb would hold onto something.
His number fingers caught onto a fire exit’s railing, breaking his fall as he gasped to try and whistle for the wind. Jack craned his head just a little until the steep drop below him was visible. He grabbed the railing with his other hand, slowly pulling himself up.
Ice shot out from his hands again, turning the rough orange rust under Jack's palms to slippery blue. “Nono–” Losing his grip, he was falling again, grabbing at nothing all the way down into the alley. Being unceremoniously dropped into the belly of the night, Jack landed flat on his back, right onto the center of the concrete with a heavy thud that earned a groan.
High pitched ringing filled his ears. He could hear his heartbeat thrumming quickly in his chest. The rest of the world sharpened back into view with each thump.
Jack panted, pulling his scarf low. He reached up and brushed away the hoarfrost that formed across his cheeks. His thumb smeared warm blood underneath his nose—either from overexertion with his earlier snowy outburst or from the impact on the ground. It would most likely be the latter, Jack assumed for now.
A nosebleed wasn't too bad, he’d been worse for wear before. Then he turned his head despite the throbbing at the base, his staff still in two pieces laying a few steps from him. He patted his limbs, aching but not broken at least.
Snowflakes and frost spiraled around Jack as he stared up and shakily sighed. Squeezing his eyes shut and willing away the intrusive memories that freshly lingered, echoing until they faded into whispers.
Jack felt a familiar buzz against his leg that broke his reverie. A choppy laugh left him as he gingerly dropped his head back onto the floor.
At least the flipphone survived.