Five Times
...
"Gah!" Jack cried seconds before he slammed into the trunk of a rather large tree and tumbled to the snow-covered ground below.
It had taken him a while, but he'd eventually learned that the wind didn't obey him; wasn't his to control. The wind had semi-sentience and a mind of its own. He could only fly because it was willing to carry him. And in the few months after he'd emerged from the pond before he'd realised this he'd had a rather tough time flying without falling or hitting things. If he was going to harness the wind's power, he had to acknowledge that they had a partnership; not a dictatorship.
"Ow," he said, rubbing a sore spot on his head as he sat up, the snow dislodging from where it had settled in his clothes and hair.
But he must still be doing something wrong if he was still crashing half the time.
The wind gently rustled his hair in apology. In truth, his rather unspectacular flights weren't actually Jack's fault at all. The wind he rode had only rarely carried creatures larger than birds on its breath before, and while it greatly loved its winter child, it still needed a little more practice in knowing how to spread itself and how quickly it needed to move in what direction. Unfortunately, it had no way of conveying any of this to the boy, and so Jack continued to blame himself.
"Sorry," Jack apologised, getting to his feet. "Shall we try again?"
The wind rose in excitement at his suggestion, ready to give it another go and bring forth the beautiful smile that accompanied Jack's child-like joy.
They made it nearly five kilometres further than the last time before Jack shifted his body just far enough that the wind lost its control over balance and he plummeted, unable to catch himself on his sudden descent.
Jack crashed through no less than six thick branches before the trees dropped him to the earth below. The wind wrapped around him in concern, silently asking if he was alright.
Jack groaned as he sat upright, holding his right arm to his chest. "I'm okay," he managed. "But I think my arm is broken."
The wind moaned a mournful cry, a deeply sad and remorseful sound echoing through the forest in which they were.
"It's okay, I'm okay," the winter spirit tried to placate it. "Look, I'll just set it and make a cast and it'll be good as new in no time!"
Setting the bone turned out to be far harder and more painful than he'd thought. He'd had to use his feet to hold his wrist in place and pull back with his shoulder and good hand to get the bone back into its proper position. His cries of pain were louder than the wind's.
"S-see?" he smiled shakily. "'S all good. Just gotta make the cast now."
He had to wait until he could catch his breath, and the cast was really just a covering of thick ice that would stop the bone slipping again, but it was all he could do and it was all he needed.
...
...
Jack learned about the effect of heat on winter spirits the hard way. If someone had have just told him that it wasn't a good idea to stay in Burgess all year around, he wouldn't be in this mess to begin with. But no, so there he was lying on the bank of his pond melting into a puddle of water.
"Ugh, I think I'm dying," he groaned.
The wind blew on him, trying to cool him down, but with the heat that naturally accompanied the season, its efforts were in vain.
"I know, I know," Jack continued with a lazy flap of his hand. "It's my fault and I should have gone somewhere cooler when winter ended blah blah blah…"
He contemplated going to lie in the pond but the thought of submerging himself in the water was enough to send an unknown trill of fear creeping down his spine. The wind picked up again, pushing on him as if to urge him on.
"You're right," he sighed, trying to force his overheated body upright. "I should get out of here before it gets even worse." He used his staff as a crutch to get to his feet and then once again to stay there. "C'mon, wind, let's go somewhere cold. Like Antarctica."
The wind, happy to be of service to its winter child, swept him up in its embrace and started directing him southwards. But he was dazed and only semi-alert, not able to properly work with it to keep him in the air and on track. In the end his flight became so unstable it was forced to set him down again lest he fall out of the sky. They hadn't even managed to leave the state.
"There has to be somewhere cold around here," Jack mumbled, wiping copious amounts of sweat (or was it water?) from his brow. He was out of Burgess now, in another town further south.
He let his unfocused gaze drift over the buildings and people surrounding him until his eyes settled on a restaurant. Perfect.
He hobbled more than he walked over to the building, pushing open the door with waning strength. The customers and workers inside looked up as it swung inwards, but of course they couldn't see him. One of the beauties of being invisible was that he could walk through to the kitchens and then to the back where the large, walk-in fridge and freezer was without so much as a sideways glance in his direction. Although it did catch some employees' attention when the freezer door opened and closed of its own accord.
The wind couldn't reach him locked away as he was in the freezer with the food stores, but Jack was too exhausted to care, revelling in the feeling of chill all around him. He'd just sit there long enough for his body temperature returned to normal levels and then he'd worry about flying down where the weather wasn't as mutinous.
...
...
Jack curled up on his side, both arms wrapped around his stomach.
"Oh, man, I knew I shouldn't have eaten that burrito," he groaned, wishing he would throw up already so that he would feel at least partially better. That was the last time he ate leftovers from the park. He'd rather starve than go through this pain again. He didn't really need to eat anyway.
The wind directed the snowfall in his direction, slowly coating him in a layer of flakes in an attempt to offer comfort in the only way it knew how. Jack looked up at the gentle flurry and smiled, understanding the gesture, even if it didn't actually do anything to stifle his stomach's protests.
Burrowing down into the snow to sleep the sickness off, he murmured, "Thanks, wind."
It was going to be a long night.
...
...
The little girl curled in on herself in a wedge between two sections of the building, striking match after match in a futile attempt to keep herself warm. Her clothes were far too tattered to be of any use and there were more holes in her gloves than there was material.
Jack watched sadly as he sat beside her, able only to offer his presence as comfort, even though she couldn't see him. He couldn't make winter stop, whether he wanted to or not, and the girl, he knew, couldn't go home. Not after such a poor day of sales. Her father wouldn't be pleased. They both knew what would happen before the night was over, but neither mentioned it. But Jack kept the snowfall off her as best he could.
He couldn't understand why she was smiling. Each time she lit a match her face would brighten like the flickering flame, as though the mere presence of its tiny light had somehow magically transported her somewhere better; somewhere warm. But then the match would go out and her peace would end until she lit another one.
Soon, though, it seemed to not be enough and she struck every match in the bundle she had against the wall, creating a blaze like a miniature campfire. Slowly, slowly her eyes started to drift shut, a small, happy smile gracing her face. She was gone before the matches went out.
And Jack cried for her. He sat there in the snow, cursing it and the world silently in mourning for a child who had departed from life too young. He cursed the moon for looking on so damn silently and seemingly without a care. And when the sun came up he cursed that too, because how could the world keep turning and time keep ticking when it had stopped for her? He wept because no one else was there to. And he wept because it just wasn't fair.
When he finally left that spot in the snow by the building and the girl who looked so peaceful in spite of the cold that had claimed her, it was midmorning and people had started to notice. He didn't want to hear their pitied words and half-hearted sadness. They'd all seen her the previous day and walked by without doing anything.
The wind was his sole support and comfort, and it listened as he spoke, never judging, but never talking back, either. It would take a long time for his heart to heal, but it would. And he would do it by himself because, like the girl in the snow, he didn't have anyone else.
...
...
Jack hissed in pain as he landed heavily in the highest branches of a tree. The howls and calls of the wolves that had attacked him were still echoing in the distance, moving ever closer, but they would be unable to get to him if he stayed up high and out of reach.
With a wince he looked down and surveyed the damage. His ankle was a bloody mess, more red than the pale flesh pink it normally was. The wind did its best to blow his scent away from the predators that had attacked its favourite winter child; it was a small gesture but all it could do. It didn't have hands to clean the wound or bandage it.
Grabbing a handful of snow from the closest branch, Jack began rubbing it against the blood still seeping from the teeth-marks in his leg, doing his best to clean it with the minimal resources he had.
"Looks like that's the best I can do," he sighed, touching the crook of his staff against the wound to ice it over. So long as he did nothing to aggravate it, it should heal seamlessly within an hour or two. That didn't mean it didn't hurt though.
"As soon as my foot's working again, we're getting out of this forest," he told the wind with a fake smile. "How about Greenland? I hear it's more white than green."
The wind chortled in reply, rustling the few leaves that remained on the tree. It would go with its child absolutely anywhere.
...
...
"Ow," Jack cried, glaring down at the half-carved sculpture he'd been admiring. "Stupid wood."
"Sweet Tooth? Are you okay?" Tooth asked worriedly, fluttering over and trying to get a good look at his finger.
"I'm fine, Tooth," he reassured her. "Just a splinter."
She gently took his hand in both of her own, examining the tiny speck with the scrutiny of a jeweller.
"Sandy, can you get me some tweezers?" she asked the man in question, who had floated over with a look of concern on his face.
At the request he glanced up at her and nodded, making to head out in search of a first aid kit.
"Guys, it's really not a big deal," Jack rolled his eyes.
"Hang on, mate," Bunny halted the Sandman. "No need for that; my claws'll get the bugger."
"Come on, Bunny, not you too."
Jack was ignored, Tooth relenting his hand over to the female Pooka who mimicked her earlier inspection. Carefully she used the claws on her right paw with the accuracy of a tweezers master. Jack tried not to wince as they dug in a little painfully.
"What has happened here?" North's booming voice called for their attention.
Sandy displayed a rather exaggerated image of a stake sticking out of a hand.
"Splinter?" North correctly guessed, moving over to them. "Ah, was my carving that did it, no? I apologise, Jack, I will be more careful with my projects in future."
"Guys, you're making way to big a deal out of a tiny splinter," Jack rolled his eyes, taking his hand back from Bunny who had successfully removed the hand-invader.
"What if you'd left it in there and it'd gotten infected?!" Tooth gasped, whatever she was imagining (probably something far worse than reality) clouding her face in horror.
Jack opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by North.
"She is right, Jack; is best to remove as soon as possible. Better safe than stricken, no?"
"It's safe than sorry, North," Bunny corrected.
"Is what I say."
Jack shook his head fondly at their antics. They weren't the most functional family, but he wouldn't trade them for the world.