Heaving a heavy sigh, Jack waved his staff and called on the Wind to whisk him away. No matter what he did it was always the same. Why couldn't they see him?

He ended up at his lake, standing on the ice as it thickened beneath his bare feet. Tears feel from his eyes and he swiped his sleeve across his eyes, the sheen of half frozen sludge on his white shirt broadcasting the very thing he was trying so hard to hide.

Bloodshot eyes turned upwards to stare at the moon, blue orbs pleading and wide.

"I'm sorry! I'm so, so s-sorry." he hiccuped, erratic breathing making it hard to speak.

Jack pushed the words past his lips, chest constricting painfully.

When the moon just glared down at him, silent and unwavering, Jack broke.

Letting out a mournful cry, the Spirit of Winter fell to the ice and curled in on himself.

He never ment for it to go that far. But the storm got out of his control, the cold a harsher than he had intended.

By the time he had reigned the storm in it was too late for the little boy that got lost in the gale.

The people cursed Old Man Winter, and Jack never failed to notice the way the children winced at the sight of his snow or the feel of the cold winds.

They were scared of him; there was no doubt in his mind about that.

He cried that night, laying there on the ice, and hoped for the hundredth time that his body would give into the cold.

"We can make them believe. We'll give them a world where everything-everything- is-"

"Pitch Black?" Pitch turned, caught off guard by his own slip up. So, he tried to amend.

"And Jack Frost, too. They'll believe in both of us."

A night from Jack's past came to the front of his mind and he pushed it back. "No," he said the outcome of that night still fresh in his mind.

"They'll fear both of us, and that's not what I want."

Turning his back on the Nightmare King, he threw the last thing he had to say over his shoulder, "Now for the last time, leave me alone."