A/N: I need to stop starting new stories. Ah, well.

Disclaimer: I don't own RotG. Also, cover image is a drawing by Gustave Dore and is thus in the public domain.

"What are you, Jack Frost?"

The answer was quick to come, as he jokingly paraphrased. "I am not a friend, and I am not a servant. I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me." *

Being thrown at a brick wall at some two hundred miles an hour was just one of those things that never got old. At least, in Jack's opinion.

For one thing, depending on the way you were thrown, different bones were broken at different throws. Judging by the fact that a few of his ribs were cracked, his right shoulder hurt like hell (possibly dislocated), and his head felt like it had been enthusiastically pummeled by a sledgehammer, he determined that he'd been thrown so that most of the force of the impact had landed on his shoulder.

Which suited him fine. From what he could currently feel (blood trekking down his face, right arm rapidly numbing and turning clammy, ribs creaking ominously with every breath, blood rising up his windpipe in choking coughs and trickling out the corner of his mouth) the injuries he sustained would be inconvenient and mildly annoying, but they would heal in time. He would be fine. *

"Jack!"

Ah. That would be Tooth. What did she want?

"Jack, are you alright?"

He hauled himself into a sitting position, barely restraining a cough, as he gave his automatic response to such questions. "I'm fine, Tooth."

Her concerned amethyst gaze grew suspicious as she landed in front of him, shimmery wings whirring to a halt. She hesitantly reached out to him, but drew back her hand before making contact. "...Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She evidently did not notice the strange twist of his shoulder (it's dark, what did you expect), or the blood dripping from his mouth (most of these bloodstains are from your head, anyway, so why would she notice a little trickle amongst a waterfall?), for she took his word for it and looked away.

He followed her gaze, and found himself glancing over at the town square, in which the torn body of the Gorgon still lay. While spirits were immune to the creature's deadly gaze, the demon could still pack a powerful punch, as Jack had just learned.

"...We should probably get that out of here before daybreak."

He nodded in agreement, and dragged himself to his feet. Tooth did not seem to notice that he was holding the staff in his left hand, or that he was using said staff to keep himself upright (and why would she, what is she, your mother), instead hovering towards the Gorgon. *

He took a moment to compose himself, before he flew off after her.

No one noticed, not Tooth when he had to use the wind to lift the Gorgon, not Bunny or North or Sandy when the two rejoined them to report success on their mission, not any of them when he winched at every jar of the sleigh and every move he made. All they saw was the shallow yet minor cut to his head, that bled a great deal but meant little to them.

He was fine with that, though. He was fine. He didn't need help. He was the Cat who walked by himself, and all places were alike to him.

"Jack, you're hurt-"

"I'm fine," he interrupted, ignoring the stab of pain shooting through his chest. To prove his point, he threw a careless smile on his face, and after a few moments during which she was clearly doubtful, the Yuki-onna shrugged and turned away, taking his word for it.

He ended up hiding inside a cave as the pain got worse.

The cave was lonely, yet comforting. There was no sound apart from the faint trickling of a thin film of water flowing slowly down one of the walls, no light apart from that which came inside the opening of the cave. He dragged himself as far inside as he could manage, before collapsing, his back flush against the wall.

He probably looked pathetic at the moment, the panting, coughing, wincing mess that he was, but there was no one to see it, so it didn't matter, anyhow. He could fix it, he was fine.

(Out of sight, out of mind. What others don't know won't hurt them.)

With this resolve in mind, he set to work. It was easier than he thought it would be: it was not the first, nor the second, nor the third time his shoulder had been dislocated, so with a little effort, it slipped smoothly back into place*. The ribs and the damaged lungs were things that would heal in time, as was the head injury. All he needed was rest and time to fix what was broken.

He slumped against the wall, closed his eyes, and slipped quietly into a deep dreamless sleep, as his body began to heal.

Three weeks later, and he was good as new. The Guardians were puzzled at his disappearance, but after a few annoying questions that he dodged like a snipe, they left him alone.

A part of him, one he abruptly crushed, felt disappointed. He'd been half-hoping that they cared enough to at least try to see past his pseudo-lies (they weren't real lies, of course, he could take care of himself). The way he saw it now, though, this only proved that he couldn't rely on the Guardians to help him. He'd need to remain self-sufficient, independent, and solitary if he wanted to continue surviving.

He preferred it this way, though. Depending on others involved too much risk. The brutal truth was that no matter what people said, they always left you, and if he placed his trust in his fellow Guardians then he'd be sure to suffer the backlash eventually. It would be madness to create a dependency where none was needed, to sabotage himself with a 'friendship' that was neither infallible nor desired.

He didn't need them. He was fine. He'd always been fine. As long as he could manage things on his own, no one needed to know when he was damaged, because he didn't need their help.

(Which was fine. Because if something breaks, and no one notices, and that something is fixed in the meantime…)

(...Then no one needs to know it was ever broken at all.)

A/N:

1-"I am not a friend, and I am not a servant. I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me" is a quote from "The Cat Who Walked By Himself", by Rudyard Kipling.

2-Jack is dead. He's essentially a walking, talking corpse. He probably doesn't feel physical pain as well as a live person would. Which isn't to say that he doesn't feel pain at all (far from it), but he has a much higher pain tolerance than most.

Also, a word on spirit physiology: spirits can only die from magically-induced injuries. A fall from a height, a stab from an ordinary blade, or an attack from a wolf won't kill them, even if their neck is broken, their heart is cut open, or their throat is torn up. Magical stuff, like spells, magic weapons, or other things could mortally wound them, though. This strange selective immunity is due to some complicated theories I have about spirits that would take way too long to explain now. Plus I doubt you're interested. (If you are, though, PM me and I can explain it to you).

3-Ever heard of Medusa? Yep, she was a Gorgon. A Gorgon is a psycho creature that looks like a woman with snakes for hair. Her gaze can turn people to stone (although judging from the Greek/Roman legends, it doesn't seem like immortals are vulnerable, so I guess spirits aren't either)

4-Occasionally, people who had their shoulder dislocated multiple times beforehand can eventually relocate it themselves if it happens to be dislocated again. Please don't try this, though. Whenever your shoulder is dislocated, you must go to a doctor, even if you manage to pop it back in yourself (and you probably shouldn't try to do that, unless you're alone in the wildness, days away from medical aid. Even in that case, it's better to get someone else to do it for you).