Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap.
His footsteps echoed around the shadowed room, nearly visible against the twisted ceilings and inverted staircases in the silence. Strides slowing, Pitch stopped in front of the only source of light within his shadowed home, the faint glow brushing the shadows of his home off his face delicately. The globe spun slowly, the metal silently fighting against the rotation of the Earth, not unlike the actions of the Guardians. They just didn't get it; they never did.
Pitch closed his eyes to the golden lights, sighing. There were so many this year, glimmering around the world as the rusted steel globe spun. A soft smile trailed over his lips, warmth glowing happily in his chest. Seeing this always made the antics of those worthless Guardians worth it, the derision and hatred from all the other spirits worth it. He could stand being despised and ridiculed but all the others, so long as those little lights kept glowing. For those weren't just the lights of believers, no not on his globe; those were the lights of kids who were still alive. Because that was his job, to scare kids into staying alive. Turning away from the globe, Pitch strode back into the welcomig arms of the darkness, golden eyes shimmering in contentment.
So many little golden lights, glimmering all around the globe as it spun. A soft smile trailed across his lips; seeing this always made the hatred all worth it. He could stand being despised by all of the others, so long as it kept those little lights going. For those weren't just lights of believers; those were lights of kids who were still alive. Turning away from the globe, he strode off back into the darkness, golden eyes glinting happily. The shadows brushed around him comfortingly, as if to remind him of his place.
Tap tap tap.
Only three steps into the embrace of his shadows did it rush him, slamming him against the wall, leaving him gasping for air. Fear. Not the kind he wanted to feel, the kind he fought to prevent. Mortal fear... The fear of death. Whirling around to face the tattered globe, he searched for the light. The small flickering of a light going out. Where where where WHERE? Where were they? He had to—had to—There! It wasn't one light. No... Swishing out of his home in a whirl of darkness, he was there in moments. Whimpers and muffled sobs met his ears immediately.
"It's all your fault! You see, you all deserve this! It's because your parents just won't listen, so I need to give them a reason to!" To his left. Snapping his eyes over, he could see the man. Crazed eyes, trembling hands, wavering voice... this was a desperate man. The scariest kind. The man reached out, snatching a small girl from the group of children—Hanshew Elementary Students—huddled in the corner. The corner opposite them held a dead adult, the teacher most likely. The man yanked her up to his face by her pigtail, snarling. "But they still won't pay! Guess you aren't worth it." The girl whimpered, holding still as the man held a gun to her head. Maria Waters, age seven. Nightmares of falling since age four.
Tear filled gray eyes met golden ones, as Maria fought not to cry. "Please," she whispered, not begging the man, but him. Begging the boogeyman to help her. He reached out, prepared to snatch her from the man, to hold her close and comfort her, as he had once done with his own. Maybe this one...maybe this once...please...
But it wasn't meant to be. BANG, and screams and red red red red all over the floor, droplets on Pitch's outstretched arm. His feet halted, ears deafened by the screams of the children. Blank grey eyes stared blankly ahead, no longer focussed on him, as red dripped to the floor. No no no no no not again Pitch grabbed the gunman—a benefit of being the boogeyman, not many stopped believing—holding him up by his throat as the man gasped, dropping the gun no no no no no please pleading for his life no no noNOno NonO pleading for a mercy no given to a child not another nONononono the children ran out of the room as he held the gunman immobile plEasE NonoNOnO. Pitch didn't see unseeing eyes, blank eyes no nononoNonOOnononono nono.
The man pleaded for mercy again, and Pitch grabbed the gun. No mercy no mercy no MerCY he put the gun to the gunman's head always no mercy what did they do to you? The man was crying now yes weep cry for what you have done for lives to never be lived BANG. Dropping the body, Pitch fell to his knees, gathering the small body that had been seeping in it's blood, sobbing quietly.
"I'm sorry," Pitch whispered into bloody, tangled brown hair. "I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm—" He cut off with a shuddering breath. I failed you too. Pitch cradled her closer to him. His job was to make the children safe, to fear the dark, to make them stay where it was safe in the light but I never win. I always lose. Why can't I keep them safe. I can never keep them safe. They grow up, they die, they leave the light. Clutching the small body closer, Pitch wept. He knew he had to go, the Guardians would have felt his activity, would be here soon but I don't care they would arrive to investigate the influx of fear because they couldn't tell the difference between safe fear and horrible fear horrible horrible WRONG fear.
He closed Maria's eyes, clutching her tightly. Fading out of the room, Pitch found himself clutching nothing but empty air, kneeling in a clear. White light do you mourn too, old friend? brushed against him from above. He tilted his head back, looking up at Manny. "Why?" It wasn't the first time he had been here, waiting for the answer to that question. And just like always...
Manny never answered.
Parents tell us stories to keep us safe. Manny made a father out of fear to tell those stories to the kids around the world.