#no jack did not leave the kids permanently at the end of rotg

[perfectlyfrosty]

What if jamie, inevitably getting older, ends up getting bullied in high school and jack finds out.

The consequences for these bullies are severe 😈

[high5nerd]

Into the Open Air - ROTG

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9041929/1/Into-the-Open-Air

Date: Feb. 23, 2013

Fandom: Rise of the Guardians

Ship: General/None

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Into the Open Air

Out of all the other things I've heard happen to people, I always thought, "It'd never happen to me." And for a long time, I believed it. I was healthy, I was athletic, I ate good meals, and I hung out with my friends. I was loved by my parents, I was cared for. I helped accomplish something no other children would experience besides my close buddies, because they were there with me. We witnessed the dark sand, the towering Boogeyman. We saw the beautiful golden sand rain down on the opposing, turning the most frightening nightmares to blissful images. I believed in all of them, even Jack Frost.

But…I'd never thought I'd end up here.

My life was planned out, of course. Mom and Dad were thrilled at my excellent grades; how I yearned to go to college, raise a family just like them. I'd enter college with a soccer scholarship, and make new friends down the road. I'd end up becoming a gym teacher at the same school I went to, keeping those past memories with me when I would walk down the hall to the gym. If I couldn't be that, I would want my face to be on television, the whole world watching me kick a goal at the Fifa World Cup Championship, in the name for America. Crowds would chant my name and people would wave flags. I'd tease the opposing team with my expert moves. Once I'd reach my old age, I'd hand down my soccer gear to the oldest grandkid, and just spend my days relishing the things I did in the past on the back porch of a ranch house. I'd be faithfully married to a man I loved with all my heart, and he'd love me equally back. He'd always be by my side, even during the deliverance of our kids. Maybe two or three, but no more than four. We'd live in a big house with large land, big enough for a dog to run laps in. I knew what my future life would be like. I wanted to have it.

But apparently God didn't want me to.

The doctors said I've been diagnosed with cancer for a while, and it hasn't been detected early like it should've. Mom was crying most of the night, afraid of me. Well, maybe not afraid OF me, maybe just for me. The kids at school didn't notice a thing when I wore that annoying hospital band around my wrist, and I tried keeping my cool. I wanted to seem like nothing was wrong, like I was the normal Pippa everyone knew. But Jamie was the first one to see. I guess he does in fact pay attention to things more than I realized, because he pulled me aside from a soccer game after school.

"Pippa, are you okay?" he asked me seriously.

"Yeah! Never been better, why?" I forced a smile. My chest was starting to hurt again.

"You're not a very good liar, Pips." He frowned, "and look, I'm not the only one noticing you're getting thin. I mean, look at you! You look like a walking stick!" he poked my side.

I just laughed it off like it was nothing. To me, it was nothing. To my friends, it was worrying and curious. To my parents, it was scary and worth crying about.

One night, I sat in my room on the floor, playing a one-on-one game of checkers with myself. The doctor said I had to stay home for a while. He said it was getting worse. Dad knew I was worried about my own leukemia, so he said as he was bringing in my dinner, "Hey, baby cakes; let's look up what leukemia is. Maybe we can learn something, kind of like school." He tried putting on one of his small smiles.

"Like health class?" I look up, knowing my dark circles from painful sleep were visible even in the dim light.

He bit his lip as he sat down next to me with his laptop open. I couldn't tell if he was thinking or trying to hold back tears. All I knew is that he was struggling.

"You got it, Pips. Just like health class."

I learned about different childhood cancers, and a little bit more on leukemia. It's a cancer in the blood cells, mostly the white ones. It starts off in my bones, and then spreads on from there. Dad says it's because the marrow-I don't know what that is-in my bones makes the blood cells, and the disease is in there. Also, I have a type of leukemia called AML. I don't know what that stands for. The worst thing I read even made me close to crying. Dad had to leave the room, knowing something I didn't. Usually, there's a five-year survival rate for children; for me. If I live beyond those five years, then it only means I'm cured.

For the first time in ages, I prayed that night. I prayed that I would live, that my marrow would become healthy again. When I got into bed and turned off the light, I couldn't fall asleep. I knew even as I lay there, I wasn't safe. I was wallowing in fear. What if the Boogeyman came out and gave me a nightmare? So I said out loud, strongly and bravely:

"Now is not the good time, Pitch. You crawl back to whatever hovel you call home and leave me alone. Do not come near me."

I fell asleep listening to my mother's crying and the wind howling outside, not knowing what was in store for me.

That was three years ago. Now, I'm permanently stuck in the hospital. The leukemia was fighting back against the medications and the chemotherapy, and I was losing the war. I stayed in bed mostly, watching the other hospitalized kids play on the play mats, draw in the coloring books, or talk to one another about their reason being here. I called in a nurse and asked her if I could play with them once, and she gave me a sad look and then said, "No. You need to stay in bed."

I can't even move. I ache all over. I feel pain. I'm a weightless freak. Mom tried taking my white cap off, but I choked out a yell when she almost tugged it off my head. I may have lost my hair, but there's no way I'm losing my favorite hat. She would sit next to me after work hours to read me the paper, or one of my favorite books. She even brought in the DVD player so we could watch Finding Nemo together. Something tells me she's never watching it again.

More days passed, and the doctors finally had the guts to tell me my cancer was terminal. I didn't know what that meant, and I guess that's why they told me. They knew I didn't know the term, so they told the innocent truth. So, being the sneaky girl I always am, I clicked the red button near my bed that called in a nurse. She came in hurriedly, quickly asking what was wrong.

"Can I have a dictionary, please?" I did my always-victorious puppy eyes.

"Of course, sweetheart." She smiled warmly.

I cried for a long time that night once I read the definition. Afterwards, I hated Webster dictionary. I blamed it like it was its fault for me having leukemia, that it was terminal. Terminal means the end.

Terminal cancer means there's no cure.

I'm dying. There's no hope. I have no life. I can't live the life I dreamed of having. I can't see any of my friends anymore, or even my family. I can't listen to music or kick a ball around. I'll be dead in the ground, all cold and dark. I can't imagine myself going to Heaven. I feel like I haven't been good enough. I wasn't given enough time.

The last night of my life came. I lay awake, listening to the other's heart monitors, especially mine. By and by each hour, it was slowing down. I closed my eyes, not in sleep, but in hope,

"Sandman…please…I need you. Sandman, I need you now." I opened my eyes.

Nothing.

I closed my eyes again, tighter, "I need a dream, Sandman. I need a dream to escape this nightmare. Please…I'm begging you."

I opened my eyes again.

Nothing.

Tears stung my eyes as my head sunk back into the pillow, ultimately defeated. I couldn't help it, I was breaking. I've been strong and brave throughout the entire operations and doctor visits. It's about time I let loose those tears I've held back for a long time.

"Help me." I cried, feeling my cheeks wetting.

Images of birthday candles, snow falling, soccer trophies and smiling friends flitted across my mind. Mom and Dad's happy laughter rang in my ears, along with the drone of the school teacher's. Memories of rainfall, of hiking with my parents, of sleeping over at Jamie's house, of playing with dogs all tortured me. I can never count to ten to play hide-and-seek. I will never finish a good novel I started long ago. I can't wrap any Christmas presents in silvery paper and green bows for my loved ones, and I can't help Jamie's sister Sophie find Easter eggs. I can't sleep in my room, and I can't eat enormous amounts of popcorn on Friday nights. Never again.

Suddenly, I felt a warm hand touch my bare arm. My eyes jolted open at the sudden feeling. I can't help but feel startled. But soon, the fright was replaced with overflowing joy. A smile spread across my face.

Sandman put a finger to his mouth, and then waved. He wanted me to be quiet. He was just the same as before, during that Guardian fight. He literally glowed with bright sand, and he was floating on a sand cloud to be level with my bed. He held out his hand, offering comfort. I squeezed his hand, but not too hard. He looked worried.

"I'm dying." I choked out between tears.

He nodded sadly, patting my hand with his other one.

"Will it hurt?" I whispered, hearing one of the kids stir in their sleep.

Sandman shook his head, looking at me straight in the eye. He was serious.

"Will I ever see you again?" I lay down, watching his sand dance around him and my bed.

He frowned, thinking deeply. He then looked back up at me and shrugged. A sand image of a phoenix rising from ashes formed above his head, along with a question mark.

"Reincarnation?" I guessed, smiling at the small games of charades.

He beamed at my accurate guess, and then patted my head approvingly. I could almost know what he's saying, Good job! I didn't think you would guess that

He stopped smiling when I hoarsely cried in pain. My whole body was starting to really hurt, especially my heart. I let go of his hand to hold my chest, hoping maybe that would help. I took deep breaths, and then soon, the pain passed again. It's been doing that for a while, soon to be never again.

"Sandman, can I ask for something?" I whispered.

I couldn't help it. My eyes were fluttering shut and my breathing slowed down. The heart beeping was becoming less frequent.

Sandman nodded, watching me with sad eyes.

"Can I have a dream? One more dream?" I looked at him, trying to keep my eyes open.

He floated up and sat next to me on my bed, Indian style. He touched my cheek and nodded, knowing my time was drawing to a close. He pointed to me, and then shut his eyes.

He wanted me to close my eyes. Does he know they'll never open again?

I did so. Soon, I felt a small tickle on my shoulders and on the tip of my nose. It was sand. I calmed down, taking a deep, shaking breath. Maybe even my last one.

Images of stars floated in front of my eyes. The dream he gave me was like nothing I've ever had. For the first time, I had all my senses in the dream. I touched clouds of nebula, I raced shooting stars, I spun around asteroids with a smile on my face; freedom. I was free. No pain. I felt like I was being tickled, hearing the best jokes from the funniest people. I was having a ball. I danced between comets, twirling among the shining stars.

I never woke up.