"You can't kill fear, Jack."
– Pitch Black (Rise of the Guardians)
1.
"Children, have you ever met the Boogeyman before?
No, of course, you haven't, for you're much too good I'm sure."
.
Harry James Potter has always like the dark. There, in his tiny little room under the stairs, no one can touch or hurt him. Not even his 'family'.
Where he can be Harry, just Harry. No one to call him a freak. No one to ridicule him. Peaceful. Quiet. Safe.
Harry is grateful for his cupboard. Mostly. Most night he would look forward to returning to his room. But sometimes, like tonight, he just wishes he could disappear, anywhere but here.
He has done something 'freaky' again. And his uncle hates it when he does something 'freaky' (not that he has any knowledge of the things he was blamed for. If he could control the 'freaky things' that his 'family' always shouted at him about, he would have made sure it gets his freaking tiny little white lily ass out of this house, this neighbourhood. Far away from his caretakers and never to be returned).
You know, sometimes, there are days when you just know it's going to be really bad. Today was one of these days for one little Harry Potter. He had known from the moment he heard his Aunt's shrilly voice woke him up to the moment he fights Dudley back when his cousin was bullying a kid who was even smaller than Harry.
So here he is. Trembling, scared out of his wits, praying to whatever and whoever up or down there to help him – God, I'm so so so dead. Please please someone please help. He's scared, he's terrified. Even the dark can't help him when Uncle Vernon lay his hands on him. Another beating, another episode of broken bones and bruises.
Harry was tired. He used to wonder what was wrong with him. Wonder why his family hated him so much. They are a family, are they not? Family's supposed to love each other unconditionally. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon adored Dudley, so why not little Harry too? So he wondered and wondered, silently watching and observing, wanting to know why.
But then one day, he realised it's not him that was the problem. No, it was the people that are supposed to be 'his family'.
He woke up, suddenly realised that he would never be good enough for them, and went on with his day.
After all, what could an abused little boy at the age of eight do?
He lives in fear every day. Fear of what could happen, fear of what could be blamed, of what could go wrong.
'If you don't behave, we would let the Boogeyman take you away. After all, the Boogeyman loves freaks like you' – he remembered his Aunt used to say. He wishes. Oh how he wishes – Please take me away, please save me. Hide me under the bed, in the closet, anywhere. Where his uncle can't hurt him, where he can have enough food to satisfied his stomach, where he can sleep soundly with no worrying. Please.
Then he abruptly feels like someone was there, in his cupboard, scrutinizing him.
"Hello?"
Silver-golden yellow eyes appear then. Waiting. Watching.
"Who are you?" – His voice was soft, hoarse like it hasn't been used for days. Someone is in his cupboard with him. No one has ever been in his cupboard with him (or than his spiders, of course).
Dull pale-grey skin, and glossy black hair. The being was tall, but it looks as if though that the small space his room provides does not bother him. Something clicks just then in little Harry's mind.
"Are you the Boogeyman?"
Black sand appears, slowly forming shapes, showing him his nightmares in forms. His Uncle's belt, his Aunt's frying pan, his cousin's big fat piggy ass, and the bright green light that has always haunted him.
Little Harry is in awe. The black sand is very beautiful. They sparkle like stars in the sky at night, so soft, so smooth, and so warm – like a mother's touch.
"Are you not afraid, my dear child? I'm the Boogeyman, and yet you pray for me to take you away from your family."
"I wonder, how many children out there who are just like you? So scared, yet so brave. Fear the life they live in, yet facing me head on. How I wonder."
Little Harry gains a Guardian that night. He gains someone who would be there for him through thick and thin. Someone who would protect him from harm as best as they could. But more importantly, little Harry gains a friend, a family he has always wished for (and if that someone is the Boogeyman, well, that was just a bonus).
(Pitch Black watches little Harry in astonishment. So small, yet so brave. So obedience, yet so rebellious. So pure, yet already understand so much how hard life can be. He wonders then if there are any more children like little Harry? Still pure, but not naïve. Wanting, wishing so desperately for someone to just be there. Oh how he wonders.)
2.
"Hush, hush, hush
Here comes the Boogeyman!
Don't let him come too close to you
He'll catch you if he can."
.
His Dad is drinking again.
He hates it when his Dad drinks, which is most of the time. His Mom is off somewhere, ignoring them, oblivious to the turmoil and to the fear her child is experiencing.
He hates it when his Dad drinks. Hate it. Detest it. Loathe it. Always Captain America this, Captain America that. 'How I wish you are more like him. Brave, strong, and righteous. How I wish I could trade you for him, my greatest creation.' Tony is his son, and yet Howard barely looks at him. Always look through him with glazed eyes and muzzled mind, always wandering back to the good old days when he was standing side by side the American's Hero. Always spend hours and hours looking for someone, someone that should be dead for half of the century instead of his own blood and family.
Tony is bitter. Tony is disappointed. Tony hates how big of an impact Captain America was – is, for his Father. Hate how his Father still live in the past, and cannot, won't look to the now and the future.
So Tony tore down the Captain America's poster his Dad has left there in his room once upon a time. Throw out all the merchandise, burn down all the sheets, the clothes that even have remotely the symbol of a shield and star on it. It won't make his Dad look at him the way he wants, but he does feel better afterwards.
Anyway.
His Dad is drinking. And when his Dad drinks, he gets violent.
And Tony Stark is anything but stupid. Reckless, petty, bitter, yes. But not stupid.
So, when his Dad is drinking, Tony runs away and hide. He does not care it makes him a coward, does not care how prideful and stubborn he can be on a good day. All he cares about is how not to get hurts, how to live another day. He does not hide in his room (his Dad found him there once. Broken ribs were not fun to have, he had trouble breathing for months).
There's an abandoned room on the west side of the Stark Mansion that contained all the James 'Bucky' Barnes merchandise (there are more abandoned rooms which are like this in the mansion. Uninhibited, forgotten – just like him.).
Tony hides there whenever Howard drinks. But he still afraid to be found. Intoxicated as he is, Howard's still a genius, still can be smart enough to figure out where his favourite punching bag could hide. There was a time his Dad found him hiding in Jarvis's room when he was still small, still afraid of being alone, of facing his Father alone. He was found and dragged back to his room crying, kicking and screaming (he broke his hips that day).
So, Tony is in hiding, again. He was hunching, face hidden between his legs in the corner of the room, too terrified to even make a sound. Just another night, another day for one Tony Stark.
But then he feels something is surrounding him. Small, rustle sound was heard. Being a curious boy that he is, Tony lifts his face to have a look.
Sand.
No, his mind corrected, BLACK sand. How strange, how interesting.
"What are you afraid of, my dear child?"
"What or Whom creates such terror, enough to prevent a mind, which is full of curiosities and imaginations, to ever find out the answers that are waiting to be sought?"
Tony Stark finds a companion then. Someone to talk to, someone to express his feelings with. Someone who would be his confidant. Who would never care what he could not do, who he could not become. Someone who would simply just is there.
(The Nightmare King stares at Tony Stark in puzzlement. The child is full of curiosity, full of questions, of the needs to know how the universe works. He should not have believed in fairy tales, should not have believed in children's story. Yet, here he is, another child, another believer. Pitch is looked at, is talked and listened to. There is someone else to treat him like a being, not a nightmare that needs to be defeated, not a nuisance that just won't let go. There is someone else, other than little Harry, glad to have him – Pitch Black, the Nightmare King – in their life. Oh how his core sings with contentment.)
3.
"Hush, hush, hush,
Here comes the Boogeyman!
Tell him you got soldiers in your bed,
For he will never guess that they are only made of lead."
.
There is a small little boy. A boy who is too smart, too intelligent. A boy, whose brain is much more developed than a normal kid, who is awkward, desperately trying to survive in the sea of teenagers.
A little kid, who always wear a sweater vest, thick glasses and braces. A boy, who has a small, tiny, with a squeaky voice of a mouse. Easy target.
A small kid, who is left naked, tied up to a pole in the middle of the night with no one out there to help.
Sniffled.
No one cared – the small child realised, tears on his face – I am too different from the rest. Even though I'm more intelligent, I'm still an easy prey. Oh, how I wish.
He is cold, he is alone. He was jeered at, was looked down. He's used to the bullying, but this, this is new. I guess the saying 'teenagers are cruel creatures' is true. Kids can't understand how words can hurt others, teenagers just don't care.
In the morning someone from the school would get him down. But oh the humiliation. The humiliation. He just knows this memory will haunt him for the rest of his adult life. For he was too weak, too meek, too naïve to believe that someone would like to talk to him, to be his friend, to enjoy his companionship.
"My dear child, how I pitied thee."
"Am I, the Boogeyman, what you really wish for?"
Spencer regards one Nightmare King as one of his dearest friends. The one who helped him to overcome the nightmare that is his life. The one who was there when everything was too much, when his Mother had her episodes, when his Dad simply gave up and left. The one whose shoulder he cried on.
(Pitch looks at one Spencer Reid with amusement. The boy is different from little Harry, who is brave and cunning; from Tony Stark, who is also a genius in his own right but more iron in his veins and more fire in his eyes. Spencer Reid is weak, pathetic, naïve and meek. But there is stele in his bones. The boy is special, but not because he's a genius. He is special because he is weak. He is weak yet he's still courageous enough to look at the one who had hurt him in the eyes and smile.)