#i cannot change this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lmelodie · 1 year ago

Text

The Day of Darkness

So I've been babying this idea for a week now because BlackIce angst/hurt comfort is my FAVE. So, since Killian is rather official unofficially CS canon, that means he was also around for the Day of Darkness. And I just wanted to see what the could've looked like. Fenagling the regular BlackIce timeline into the CS timelines for funsies!

Around 4.3k words for the curious. If you are unfamiliar with @safyresky characters this will make NO SENSE. Please read Crystal Springs. That is not a request 😌

564 CE

It was just a normal day! Or night where he currently was. That's how these things always start out. Everything is completely fine until it isn't. Killian was out in the field, doing his job. Sitting on a thatched roof in some unnamed human village, surveying the nightmares working en masse in the dimly lit homes. So, so ordinary, until it wasn't.

Until he feels it. A sensation that is very familiar to him, but never in such saturation as this. Almost like a really bad tension headache.

It's the pull of a massive collective fear spiking in Crystal Springs. The combined sense of doom from every citizen rippling through the entire continent. The whole of the country is doused in a terrible dread, and he can feel the pull of such a massive amount of unchecked fear in the back of his head.

And it felt wrong. The entire populace is all scared at once when they definitely shouldnt be. Something has happened and he doesn't know what. Something big. And he can't stand not being in the know. Especially when it's his domain to be concerned with. So he cuts his shift short and races off to Crystal Springs to find out what's got everyone in such a stir.

He trudged through the process of teleporting to the continent with much more difficulty than he was expecting. Something that's usually so effortless had him straining through the process. It left him wondering if he should even think about the possibility of doing that again once he reached his destination. And when he manifested the city center he could see why.

A horrible, terrible blizzard had taken the continent by the throat. Choking out any life that had once been idling in the streets. The gale force winds canceled out any other noise, big or small. And the tiny daggers of ice it carried on its back sliced through any open skin like paper. It was cold and dry and whiter than oblivion in all directions.

The sun was completely blotted out, plunging the magical world into an unusual and foreboding darkness.

The storm's presence assaulted Killian’s bodily senses as he stood in the midst of it. Not only his main five, but his sixth sense of fear factor was through the roof now that he was in the city. He can feel that everybody was hulled up in their homes; across all four corners, everyone feared what this could possibly mean. He stood in the middle of the whipping winds, squinting his eyes to try and see anything of value or use to him to figure this out.

But he did know one thing for absolute certain.

“Motherfucker!” he shouted into the howling winds.

He somehow knows that this whole charade he’s doing will also affect him one way or another. In a way that he definitely won't like dealing with. He can't decide whether he’s surprised about him doing something like this or not. A small part of him wants to believe that maybe this is Winters doing. Maybe he finally broke the poor woman and she finally snapped and went full snow queen on the Springs. But he knew that definitely cant be anyone else but him.

But before he could do any of that there was one place he had to go first. He knew Jack and his family would be doing just fine in a storm like this. One summer and three winter sprites should be able to hold their own.

But it was his own that might be having issues with conditions like these.

Again, it was a surprising trek and a half to teleport to the eastern province. He managed just enough to get to the massive open cave entrance on the evergreen mountain face. He wanted to be inside the thing, but just outside the front door will have to do.

But he didn't have a spare second to collect his thoughts before he was being shoved aside by a swarm of goblin citizens hurtling themselves through the cave entrance. Smacking into the back of his knees and shoving him a little of balance before eventually flowing around him when he didn't move.

The stragglers that were caught outside on their daily commute were trying to run back into the safety of the underground. Some more frostbitten than others depending on how far away they were coming from. The cliffside cave did most of the heavy lifting when shielding the city from the harsh conditions, but only somewhat. The goblin populace was still vastly unprepared for such a sudden onslaught.

But the moment he wasted in observing the chaos was short lived, as he too joined the trickle of people and all but leapt onto the stone path. He slithered through the shadows, swimming from one darkened corner to another at breakneck speeds. On the search for the only one here he really cares about.

He eventually finds Duna huddled up in her home, bundled in a heavy shawl, stoking an infant fire in the fireplace. He reforms just outside the smaller than average door and nearly kicks it off its hinges as he barges in.

“Duna!”

The goblin woman who carried the name turned to see the intruder. Her creased face lighting up upon recognition, nearly stumbling over herself to get to him across the cramped living quarters.

“Killian!” she called back in a thick romanian accent. She ended up squeezing the lower half of his legs before he set to crouch down to her level.

“Killian, that boy needs sense! Și-a pierdut mințile? (Has he lost his mind?)” she said, grabbing onto his collar.

“I have no idea what he’s done, let alone why. Definitely for stupid or petty reasons. Do you have any hypothermia?”

“Fah!” she scoffs with a grin, “Am văzut mai rece decât asta (i've seen colder than this). I lived under Regina Frosti!”

“I know, you're a tough cookie,” he says, “but these are nasty temperatures out there. You're all just lucky that the cave repels a good chunk of it.”

“We can't use the crystal balls,” she sadly explained, “Nothing gets through. Teleporters are down.”

“Yeah I know. Manual teleporting isn't doing much either. It's hard enough to cross provinces, but I bet it's damn near impossible to make it anywhere off continent.” He closes the space between himself and the floor and sits with his legs crossed, “The whole country is scared shitless so I had to come and see what it was about. But now I don't think I can go anywhere else.”

“Desigur că nu (of course not). You're not going anywhere,” she makes her way across the hovel yet again to continue stoking the fire.

“But I can't just sit here. At the very least I can try and find Jack and get him to stop the storm.”

“Use your head, Killian,” she sternly says, “Iarnă (winter) es a very powerful season. She will set things right, as every good mother does.”

His mouth tightens into a line, “I don't know. If she were able to, this storm probably wouldn't even be happening right now. Something isn't right here. And don't you trust my opinion about when things aren't right?”

“You're not going out in that storm,” she demands, pulling up a small wooden stool from the corner, and sitting herself down in front of the fire; sitting the iron poker against the wall with her palms facing the open flames, “Stai pe loc (stay put). The winds bite like dogs. You will freeze.”

He doesn't have any clever retort or valid point to throw back at her. Because he knows that she's right. Teleporting has been made difficult, and he won't last for very long if he just starts wandering out in those conditions. He crosses his arms and stares down at the weathered floorboards to try and think of something else.

“Babau.”

Killian doesn't move but looks up through his browline at the call of his nickname. Duna faces him over her shoulder with an unusually soft grin. A sense of tactness encases her sentiment, “Everyone will be fine. Calmeaza-te (calm yourself).”

And, surprisingly, begrudgingly, he did.

He, along with the rest of the springs, stayed in lock down for another full week. He occasionally lended a hand to Duna as she poured her efforts into helping those being hit the hardest in the town. One piping hot meal at a time. But Killian mostly kept to himself as the week crept on.

The blizzard never getting worse but staying painfully consistent. He watched from his ledge perch handing off the stone ceiling. He watches and he thinks and he waits and he stirs. He tries getting into Jack’s head to see what use this could’ve possibly served. Maybe a little area here and there, but the whole country? He could help but wonder if he’s actually gone off the deep end this time. What on earth would have set him off.

But after the week was up, and after everyone had given the ordeal a somewhat inaccurate name, the storm finally cleared. Everything was still frozen over but the air didn’t hold any malice anymore. The creatures of the springs poked their heads out of their homes to see that they were in the clear.

And now the cleanup work began.

Killian was quick on the uptake and immediately went to Frost manor to see if Jack was lingering around. But not even the usual residents were there. Eventually nearing dusk he managed to find Blaise giving instruction to a group of assumed city council members just outside the springs themselves.

Of course he asked about Jacks’ whereabouts, but his father provided little detail and was very avoidant about whatever thing had transpired that caused the blizzard. Says he wasn't anywhere near Crystal Springs and he hopes it stays that way. Praying for his son's own well being that he never comes near the place again.

When seeing Killian leave, the governor couldn't tell whether he should be angry at him by proxy or to pity the poor fool.

So Killian began a more extensive search for Jack. Another two days went by of him trying to juggle his usual job spreading nightmares and trying to hunt down Jack for an explanation. Of course he checked his home in Sweden first thing, only to turn up empty.

This proved to be the same outcome for other local haunts that he searched along the way. Spots in Norway, Greenland, Canada and Iceland all came up empty. Wherever he was, he was somewhere terribly far away or terribly hidden to avoid any potential fall out. Somewhere he himself probably didn't think too hard about.

And that's when the lightbulb went off.

Baikal.

Killian went trudging through the ankle height snow in the surrounding forests of Lake Baikal in Russia. Sleep deprivation showed on his face and under his eyes, but carried not in his body as he searched. He was perhaps more determined about this than he should've been. A bit more invested in this idea of looking for him than what was necessary. Definitely more than anyone else thought of doing.

You ask anyone else and they’d tell you they were glad he’s flown off to Timbuktu or farther. Happy to be rid of him.

But not Killian. Whether such determination was a good thing or bad thing, he continued onward. Sending out a swath of sentient shadows to cover more area.

It's one of less visited areas outside of work. But he comes here to think and to mess with the lake water during the winter. And after a moment more of almost aimless walking, he thinks he finds him.

A shadow came back with knowledge in tow of a strange fixture in the snow a couple miles ahead. So that's where he went. He slips between shadow and solid form to then search the supposed area of laden activity.

“Jack!” he calls.

It doesn't matter if he wants to talk or not, if he’s outright avoiding him as he wanders the vicinity. Killian has always been an excellent hunter, and he will find him eventually whether or not Jack himself wants to be found.

And it was then that he spotted the structure of snow in the distance. An unnatural rise in the snow levels. Killian moved as fast as he was able in the snow and closed in on the half wall. A wall of packed snow waist level high that formed a perfect circle. Leaning over to look inside the sunken indent was none other than Jack.

Laying on his back facing the heavens, and completely unconscious.

However, as a first reaction, Killian was more irritated at him than anything. Not having put all the pieces together quite yet. Of course he couldn't make this easy for him. He never does after all.

‘Oh for fucks sake.’

“Jack!”

He brute forced his way through the tiny walls that surrounded him, crumbling the snow as he passed through them.

“No sleeping on the job asshole! You got some explaining to do!”

Killian stood over Jack and kicked him in the leg in an attempt to stir him. When that didn't work he tried it a second time but just a little harder. Also a failure. He even tries a third time, even harder. But the physical assault does nothing. At this he cocks an incredulous eyebrow, and annoyingly crouched down to his level.

And it's only when he gets closer does the hostility finally start to dissipate. The hardness in his eyes ever so slightly softens as he gets a better look at the state of him.

He has the odd scorch marks on his sleeves, blackening the area and even exposing the burned skin underneath. More week old burn marks also adorned his hands, and his face was not much better. It was now that he fully settled to be sitting on his knees, gently taking the sides of his face in his hands, leaning in even closer to discern the visible damage.

A micro-bruise on his nose, another scorch mark far up on his forehead and a few shallow, scabbed over cuts in odd places on his face.

Suddenly the mask cracks. The terrifying persona that was The Boogeyman slips away in the cold presence of no one else but him. The silence of the forest around them rings out and imposes itself upon the pair. Killian’s deep and small breaths caught in clouds of white; his thumb absentmindedly running over his cheek.

He wracks his brain on this exact thing that Jack has told him about before. A sprite thing that puts them in a coma or something. He’s said something about it before, but he just couldn't be bothered to care at the time. And for the life of him he can't remember if it was physical or emotional damage that put them out.

He sighs, and lifts his head up to scan the general vicinity. Almost like he was checking to make sure no one else was there. That no one would be there to witness him care about someone. But with the coast abundantly clear, he turned his attention back to Jack and gently set his head down back onto the ground.

He knows that some serious shit has gone down and it is most definitely his fault. But there's not a lot of willing or available testimonies he had access to at the moment. For now, Jack is out of commission and possibly injured. Which means he takes precedence for the moment.

“Don't make me regret doing this,” he quietly warns.

He shifts to be crouching flat on his feet, and with some squirming to get the hold right, he slips his arms underneath Jack and lifts him into a bridal carry. Any limp extremities immediately trying to pill out of grip as he fully stands back up. And with Jack in tow, found and retrieved, they disappear into a swath of darkness.

Promptly reappearing in the dark corner of a bedroom. Jack’s bedroom. He left home a couple hundred years ago and made a new place for himself in northern Sweden. It was modest living compared to Frost Manor, but luxurious to the eyes of the average soul. It was spacious, clean, cold in its own right and at the moment, only illuminated by the beams on the daylight sun breaking through the windows.

Killian took hold of the home's owner and scuffed his boots across the hardwood to the bedside. Trying to set Jack down on top of the comforter as gently as he can muster. Even though he's already kicked the guy thrice and he didn't even twitch, he feels he should be more careful, considering the circumstances.

After setting him down he goes to the window on the adjacent wall and closes the blinds together. He then goes over to one of the nightstands and lights the oil lamp sitting on its surface, diluting the light that's in the room.

His final place is to be seated on the floor, with his back resting against the right side of the bed frame, closer to the headboard. He crumples to the ground and lets out a constricted sigh. His head craned backwards onto the mattress as he ruminates, his heart beating slowly in his chest.

He finds himself oscillating between being mad and irritated at Jack for doing who knows what, burning with intrigue about what exactly he did do, or being concerned for his well being. The latter option being only relegated to this room. Only in his presence will he ever be concerned about him.

‘What did you do…?’ he thought to himself.

In any case, his partner being unconscious after making a blackout storm was not something he thought he was going to have to deal with. All he knows right now is that all of this will surely come back to bite them both in the ass.

...............................................................

What he also didn't expect to deal with was the fall out coma of “The Day of Darkness” to last roughly another two weeks.

Crystal Springs was in the middle of trying to get itself back in working order. It was a large scale job that required all hands on deck. Of course he tried to further track down Blaise or Winter for an explanation on what exactly happened, but both were thrown here and there in the effort to dissipate the remaining ice. And even when he did manage to corner one of them, they both brushed him off and avoided the topic like the plague.

Blaise ignored him in favor of the thaw job at hand, simply having more important things to do. And his fiery temper sparking in and out of conversation in the lurch of the dreaded events, made him a less than ideal conversation partner.

And he never did talk to Winter directly after the fact. She somewhat joined her husband's efforts in defrosting the springs. But she provided even less conversation than Blaise. Her face lived in a permanent state of forlorn. Of grief. And she just wasn't around as much to try and bother with his questions. Blaise said she was at home taking care of Jacqueline and wasn't seeing any visitors. End of story.

Which means waiting for Jack to come to for his inevitably skewed explanation was now more of an anxious wait. The days went by and waiting for him to wake up was the only thing Killian could do. And usually he was pretty patient, after all you don't get a good scare unless you learn to wait for the right moment.

But this was different.

Like many things in his life, it was different because it was him. He was assured that a sprite sleep would do nothing but help, but he didn't like Jack being out for this long. It doesn't sit right with him. It reminded him of looking at a perfectly preserved corpse, and now in a fun way.

Like on his search, he did go about his job like usual, after all there was plenty of fear fodder to sow in the wake of such a continent wide disaster. Everyone had their own reservations about such an event. But he couldn't seem to fully enjoy the process.

He checked in nearly everyday to see if there was any progress. Just for a few minutes or so, just to see if he was still there. Check to see the healing process on his superficial wounds that he ended up cleaning a while back.

He visited for two more weeks before something changed. It happened when he wasn't even there.

Jack finally woke up in the middle of dusk, just as the sun was starting to set. The first thing he could see through squinted eyes was the color orange poking through the drawn blinds. It saturated the color of the ceiling above him as his vision slowly came into focus. His breathing came back to life in deeper pulls as he fully came to.

At first, he silently questioned why and how he woke up at home when he distinctly remembers falling asleep in the Russian woods. He works his memory backwards, retracing the steps he took to get there and then suddenly remembered the gravity of the situation.

His heart rate spikes just a touch at the memory of how he left. What he did. He slowly sat up on the bed and receded into the mindscape. He went searching and found the things that he was looking for; his tethers to things he chose to abandon.

He checked Jacqueline’s line first and foremost. Glowing a bright and strong light, signaling to him that she survived. And by all accounts he should be far more concerned for these people than he is. But for now, her being alive was good enough for him.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes as he walls off the connection tying them together. Nothing getting in or out.

Then he turned his attention to his mother’s line. Less glowy than his sisters, dull and almost limp. But just the thought of having that old thing still around stirred in him the anger he thought he left at the front porch. His next in line, a child’s line he wouldn't think of cutting. But his mothers? He needed no invitation.

He tore the thing in half and watched with the mind's eye as the rest of the glow disappeared and the thread fell to the ground. Something as taboo as that should have warranted far more thought beforehand. Drastic measures like these were not to be taken lightly. But to him? At this moment? Both of these troublesome little things are now out of sight and out of mind. He only hopes and prays that it doesn't take too long for him to forget they were ever there in the first place.

It's better this way.

After the fact he sat there for a moment. Getting himself in order in a room he doesn't remember entering, looking out to a world he left an indefinite amount of time ago. Gathering his thoughts, and pushing away and lingering feelings. An ice cold stare to oblivion.

But the world won't wait for him any longer. He doesn't know how long he’s been out, so he supposes that should be the first order of business; finding out what day it is. He stood up beside the bed and smoothed out any noticeable creases in his clothes. But he couldn't get even two steps toward the door when the night shift entered.

The darkness in the corner of the room deepend and writhed with activity, spitting out Killian in a slight hurry to check on Jack before work. But there was no need.

They both paused for a long moment and stared at the other for very different reasons. Neither one of them fixing to make the first move anytime soon.

Of course, Jack managed to forget one loose end. The only string still attached. The pieces started coming together that he must have been the one to move him during his sleep. And he quickly realizes that this poses a new problem.

He can avoid his family well enough, hell he could even avoid the entity of the springs if he has to. But him? There's no avoiding him. Not for now at any rate. And he definitely can't know the extent of what he did. The events of what went down need to stay secret. Because as much of an obstacle he is at the moment…he can't get rid of him just yet.

But he didn't have any more time to plan for such contingencies, when Killian came crashing into him; trapping him in a deceptively constricting hug. The amount of worry made abundantly clear through his grip and lack of words. He sewed his eyes tightly shut, and held onto him like he was going to fall unconscious all over again.

Jack was caught off guard for a minute, just sitting there letting him continue. Until he realized that he can put off spinning a cover up story for later.

He hugs back with minimal effort. The arms hanging off of his back nearly limp, ready to slip off at a drop of a hat. But even still he relaxed into the hold nevertheless. Not making any moves to avoid it or pull out of it, but just waiting for it to be over. He leaned his head against his shoulder, turning into the crook of his neck.

He smelled like firewood and iron.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Killian mumbled.

“I know,” Jack responded dryly, “I know…tell you over dinner?”

“It better be one hell of a dinner. It might be your last meal, so make it count.”

#musings #The Santa Clause #BlackIce #cs au #oops spoilers #this man cares more about the muppet than the muppet cares about him!#its a canon event #i cannot change this

5 notes · View notes