"It's so… well, I can't seem to think of the proper wording."

Sandman shifts a bit, seated between Pitch's forelegs (arms? hard to be sure), before looking up at him. Pitch, however, isn't looking at him. Instead his gaze is focused on some far off point, face void of emotion. It was disconcerting enough on its own, except that whenever Pitch speaks now his voice has a similar flatness to it, the edges just barely tinted with disdain and resignation. Coming from someone who had always been expressive, even at his lowest point, it leaves a cold and heavy feeling in Sandy's stomach. As if he had swallowed a stone covered in ice.

Sandy held back a sigh, going back to watching golden sand twist between his fingers. To be truthful this entire situation made him feel ill. He had heard of the possibility of Pitch having an alternate form. With the Fearlings being what they were he knew that those whispers among immortals were probably true; Pitch had never given any indication as to any truth they had or how, assuming they were true, to trigger the transformation. So Sandman let the rumors be. It was with that same lack of knowledge that the guardians brought Pitch down to his weakest state.

The perfect opportunity for the Fearlings.

The mass of darkness and scales and barbs that makes the form of Pitch's tail twitches, drawing Sandy's attention. Idly he wonders about things best left forgotten, the 'what-if's. What if Man in the Moon had never informed them of Pitch's situation? How long would Pitch had been left writhing and twisting in his lair in the darkness? How long would it have taken for him to give in to the hunger and rage?

And yet none of these answers will come. Man in the Moon did call upon the Guardians to help Pitch; they did arrive before he succumbed to the monster inside of him; and somehow, somehow, they (and if Sandy is going to be perfectly honest it is mainly Jack who should take credit for this accomplishment) talked him away from the hunger. The rage melted away on its own, leaving nothing but exhaustion and desolation in the wake. Pitch had slunk away, the barbs that lined his spine lying flat along his back.

Sandy's power is what held back the transformation. It's what stopped the hunger from rising up and seizing control again. He voted to stay behind, stay with Pitch, while the others went out to find some way to help their former enemy.

Pitch shifted, jostling Sandy out of his reverie, one of Pitch's recently acquired legs coming up to dig razor claws into his arm. It's frightening to see just how little control Pitch has over this form. The extra limbs dig and claw at his sides and arms, drawing blood and ripping muscle. A resigned sigh draw Sandy's gaze upward.

"How is it that one can turn into the very thing they fear and despise, Sanderson?" The desolation is Pitch's voice is heartbreaking, though his expression hasn't changed. Still stone faced. As calm and as unmoving as the sphinx herself. Sandy is at a loss for words; any comforts he could give would most likely come off as trite at best, insulting at worst.

Something still pushes at sandy to comfort Pitch, let him know he is no longer alone.

But after so many years of hating each other any words he could think to form have been lost.

Pitch shifts again, pulling his arms in to tuck them against his chest and positioning himself so Sandy is leaning against a shoulder instead of his chest. Pitch rolls his shoulders several times, unable to fully settle in this skin, and then rests his head upon his outstretched arm. From this angle Sandy can see the sorrow in Pitch's eyes.

Without thinking Sandy reaches out and carefully smooths a hand along Pitch's neck.

The Guardian of Dreams isn't sure what reaction he should have expected. Anger, maybe, but not for Pitch to let his eyes fall closed. His enjoyment in the contact evident in his suddenly relaxed demeanor. It isn't until the Boogeyman is fully relaxed and dozing, complete with golden butterflies swirling in lazy circles around his head, that Sandy has a realization.

Sometimes isolation is what opens a door that is best left closed.

A/N: Y'Know I write RPS so much that when I finally write something that isn't RPS I forget to submit it here. Aren't I just fucking brilliant? So here I an, putting it up on this site, almost 2 months after putting it up on AO3.