Work Text:
Jack was in Pitch's room in the workshop. The axe that he had destroyed an irreplaceable sword to make was laying unused in Pitch's still unmade bed. He wondered if Pitch would ever use the axe at all. Maybe he'd hate it so much he's just throw it away. Jack absently felt a sting of worry for how Pitch would react to seeing that axe, if... no, when he came home. At the same time, Jack both wished and did not wish to be there to witness it. What if he absolutely hated Jack for doing that to his sword? Jack swallowed heavily, a sudden lump in his throat. He'd known that from the beginning - he had known what was at stake. He wondered if he was a fool for believing so much in Pitch's love for him, that Pitch might even forgive him for doing something as taboo as destroying one of Pitch's only keepsakes from his past. And right now, he was even plotting to do even more unforgivable things against him.
He turned away, looked at the wall where he and Pitch had shared that first awkward hand-job so long ago. Was that really in this lifetime? It felt like years ago. It felt like something that had happened to another person. And maybe it had. It felt like there was another Jack Frost out there somewhere, still being carefree and fun, making snow days and throwing happy-snowballs at kids just to see them laugh. He wasn't that person anymore, and he didn't feel like he'd ever be him again. Didn't think he'd ever want to be that person again. That saddened him, but at the same time, he knew how necessary his change had been.
He didn't want to look at the armchair where he had happily fallen asleep next to Pitch many times, watching him read or write in the mysteriously beautiful lunar language. But he knew that he had to look at it, and sit in it, one more time. Perhaps the last time. Jack walked over to the armchair and stroked the armrest, imagining he could still feel the warmth of one of Pitch's hands on it. There was no warmth there, of course. But it was nice knowing that there had at one time been, and might one day be again. If everything went according to plan. Jack's plan.
Pitch's things were still on the work desk, neatly placed in piles. Several Russian books about fairy tales, and some about warfare, were stacked on top of each other. Jack felt a smile tug at his lips, but it disappeared as he realized how alien the movement felt. It highlighted how much he had changed since the last time he sat by this desk. He sat down carefully in the armchair, and opened the book that was lying in the middle of the desk, beside a beautiful goose pen. It was Pitch's journal.
Jack didn't want to say goodbye. He didn't do goodbyes. He wasn't planning on saying goodbye to anyone, actually, not North, Tooth, Sandy, Bunny nor Gwyn. He thought about all the children who believed in him around the world. He thought about the brave little girl who had helped him during the battle in the gymnasium against the Unseelie court. Jack sighed. What would happen to their belief in him, when he wasn't there anymore? It warmed him a little bit that he'd leave something behind, no matter how tiny, in this world, at least for a while.
Jack shook his head. He didn't believe he was going to make it back. Even if he did, he knew he wouldn't have long. If he made it back, though, he might be able to remove what he was about to write, before Pitch read it. It would be unnecessary for Pitch to read it if Jack was still alive. Not because Jack would tell him personally instead, but because Jack wasn't sure he wanted to live with Pitch knowing everything he was about to write. This was a message only if Jack didn't make it back – and he believed that was a huge possibility at this time, but didn't want to linger on that fact.
He took a deep breath, awkwardly grabbed the pen – how long had it been since he had last written something? - and opened Pitch's journal. He turned pages, past all of Pitch's writings, feeling a twinge of love mixed with sadness as he saw the lunar alphabet that he couldn't read but knew so well by now. He found a blank page, and very carefully ripped it out of the journal. He didn't want to write in the actual journal, and hoped Pitch would forgive him for tearing out a page or two. He supposed there would be so much Pitch would have to forgive him for soon that it would probably not matter amidst all other things.
He put the pen to the paper, and started writing. He wasn't sure what he wanted to write at first, but he soon found the words flowing out of him. It wasn't as hard as he thought. If this was to be the last communication he had with Pitch, the last words he could say to his Pitch, then he wanted to have no regrets.
He felt tears burn in the corner if his eyes, and he hastily wiped them away. He didn't have time for tears. Gwyn could come back at any time and call them to arms. Everything was ready, the plan was set, and Jack had reserved his last energy for the battle approaching.
This was the last selfish thing he granted himself.
After a while, he put the pen down. Softly, carefully, he lifted the still-drying paper and kissed the corner, right beside where he had signed his name. It was childish, and perhaps even silly, but he imagined that Pitch might pick up the paper, and his fingers might brush right over the place where Jack had kissed, and then Pitch might put his fingers by his mouth, maybe to bite on a nail or something, and that would be like a last kiss between them. Jack flushed blue, slightly, looking around in the empty room to make sure no one had caught him doing something so corny.
He stood, took his staff that he had tilted against the wall near the door, and took one last look at the room. He took a deep breath, and exited the room, walking toward his fate. He could feel himself sharpening the shell around his heart with ice, cold enough to burn its victims. He was as ready as he ever could be.
On the desk a letter was laying, neatly folded in half. It read:
To Pitch
Man, this is going to sound so cliché, but if you're reading this, it means I'm dead. But that also means that you're alive, that you're you, and that's what I wanted. I have no regrets.
First things first – I'm so sorry about your sword. I hope you understand that I didn't have much choice. We didn't have many ideas at the time. The metal turned out to be a huge help, though. I hope you'll understand and forgive me. I also had made a chain for your locket. The chain is unbreakable, and will also repel shadows. I think she'd have liked that. I'd have loved to meet her. If we're in the same place now, you can be sure that I'll find her and protect her for an eternity. You might hate me for creating her likeness with my frost. I am sorry about that too. I saw no other option, if there had been one, trust me that I would have done that instead. I hope you get your locket back, anyway. I've been wearing it everyday and tried to keep it safe.
Things have changed. I have changed. The things I have been through... I couldn't even begin to tell you. But they don't matter anymore, don't worry. I've managed well, actually, despite everything. You know, except that I ended up dead in the end, haha. I wonder if you're sad. I hope you're not. Don't worry about me, though, I'm in a - as they say - better place now. I'm not scared of dying. It was always far more scary to think that I might have lost you forever. Losing you was never an option. I hope you understand.
But things have definitely been different since you... left. Things that once were fun, aren't so much fun anymore. At times I can't even understand how I could have been so carefree. I should have listened to you more, when you told me to fear things more. I've even trained with Gwyn! Me - train! Can you believe it, haha? If I had been more attentive, more active before, maybe none of this... no. It doesn't matter. The resolve I found to get you back has led me this far. And that has nothing to do with my death, because I was sentenced to death the moment the Nain Rogue took a piece of my soul. If I at least managed to get you free, Pitch, before I died, then I will not have died in vain. I'd have died fighting for someone I love. And if that isn't noble, stoic, and all soldier-ish, then what is! I bet you're proud of me, haha!
I know you're probably mad at me, and you might want to just throw this letter away and forget all about that annoying little frost spirit who was just a bundle of unsolvable issues, but I still needed to say some things to you. Since this is the last chance I have.
I want you to know that I am okay. I was always okay - as okay as I can be - since I met you, without you being possessed by shadows. You gave me what no one else has ever given me. You showed me a way of expressing love that I didn't know existed. You let me discover what it felt like to fall in love with someone. That meant a lot to me, more than I could ever express. Thank you, for believing in me in a way no one else ever did. Thank you for seeing me in a way I didn't even know I wanted to be seen in. You have given me so much, and I had so little to offer you back. I am truly thankful.
I hope you get to be free, like I wanted to be. Free from the shadows, free from the darkness. Free to live in the light. You're worth all that, and so much more. I know you don't believe that yourself, but you truly do deserve it. I have seen what a wonderful man you are, Pitch. Please, be happy. Find happiness. Try to be friends with the other Guardians, they're a nice bunch, I promise. I think you'd like them if you only gave them a chance. Go and build a new life, a new family. Fall in love again. I wish you all the happiness I could never offer you.
Take care of Mora for me. I know you'll give her everything I couldn't give her. I know she's safe with you.
Yours forever,
Jack Frost