We Are All Mistaken Sometimes
Title taken from this quote: "We are all mistaken sometimes; sometimes we do wrong things, things that have bad consequences. But it does not mean we are evil, or that we cannot be trusted ever afterward."
― Alison Croggon
Wow it's been a while since I've been on this site. And a while since I've been in this fandom! Well, I am here to drop off a new story for you. All three chapters will be posted off the bat. Thank you in advance to anyone who comments or favourites!
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It's been months. Months, and not a single sign of Pitch.
North is worried that he's trying to gather his strength again. He's told them all to watch out for signs of him, for any sudden, surprise attacks.
There's been nothing until today, and even today, the encounter is not what he expects it to be.
Jack is idly wandering the forest that surrounds his lake, occasionally tapping a trunk with his staff to send frost patterns spiralling up it, happy for a while in the soft blanketed quiet, the gently falling snow, the Wind gently winding through the branches. The dark figure is easy to pick out amongst the white of the snow, and Jack narrows his eyes, his grip on his staff tightening.
A few steps closer and the figure becomes distinguishable, recognisable – Pitch. Jack is instantly on his guard, staff raised, the Wind picking up enough to howl through the trees. Pitch's figure shudders and stumbles a little. He seems extremely worse-for-wear, which is not all that surprising considering that the last they saw of him was his own Nightmares dragging him down into his lair, but it seems odd for him to be wandering the forest alone while in such a state.
"Pitch?" Jack ventures, stepping just a little closer, already preparing for conflict. "Whatever you're planning, it won't work; leave now and there won't be any trouble." Pitch looks up at him, his face properly visible for the first time, and he does something Jack would never have expected in a hundred, a thousand, a million years.
He smiles.
"Not Pitch." He says, his voice soft and rough, nothing like the strong, clear confidence he spoke with before, before the battle and his defeat. "Pitchiner."
"What?" Jack frowns, almost lowering his staff in his confusion, before hastily correcting himself, returning to his tense battle posture.
"I'm not Pitch Black." Apparently-not-Pitch says again, his expression earnest. "My name is Pitchiner. Kozmotis Pitchiner."
Jack casts distrustful eyes over him. "What are you playing at?"
Pitchiner's smile drops a little, but he holds up his hands as if in surrender. "I understand that it's hard to trust me. I share the same face and the same body as Pitch Black – but I do not share the same mind. Not truly." There's something haunted in the back of his eyes at those words. He shakes it away, the smile returning. "I want to thank you, Jack Frost."
"Thank...me?" Jack looks lost now, confused and bewildered, muttering under his breath, "What the hell is going on?"
"Yes; thank you. There were so many times you could have given in, or walked away. You didn't even have to join the fight to begin with, not really. But if you hadn't... I hate to think how that might have ended." Pitchiner shakes his head again, as if to shake the thought right from his head. "But you did; you fought against the Nightmares. You didn't give in, even when you were tempted. You were stronger than me, in that respect. It could have been so easy to stop fighting... but you didn't. For that, I respect you; for that, I thank you."
During this discourse, Jack had lowered his staff; it now hangs loosely at his side, while he stares disbelievingly at the man in front of him. He takes the time to look at Pitch, or Pitchiner, or whoever this man is, really look at him. He looks haggard, tired, weak; he's leaning on a tree for support, is shaking, subtly, perhaps from cold or perhaps from exhaustion. His eyes are no longer golden; it is hard to make out their colour, from the distance, but they no longer hold the sinister glow they once had. His complexion still holds a shadow of the grey pallor from before, but he no longer seems a walking shade. His expression is not cold, or cruel, or calculating; it is open, it is honest.
It isn't Pitch Black. It's visible in his eyes, his stance, audible in his tone – this isn't the Nightmare King.
Jack isn't sure what to do. North told them to watch out for Pitch, act as necessary, and report to the others; but this isn't the attack Jack has been anticipating. For a moment he just stands and thinks, still considering Pitchiner; the man is watching him, seemingly waiting for Jack to do or say something.
"I need to take you to the Pole." Jack says eventually. Pitchiner nods, making no protest. Jack frowns, still wondering about the possibility of this being a trick – but it seems unlikely, to him. The earnest honesty in his voice when he had spoken would be hard to fake. He hopes, not only for his own reasons, but for Pitchiner's sake, that this isn't a trick.
"I am sorry that it is so hard for you to trust me, Jack." Pitchiner says softly, obviously reading Jack's conflict. Jack isn't quite sure what to do with that, so he pulls out a snowglobe from the pocket of his hoodie and mutters "North Pole" to it before throwing it down. The portal opens, and Jack looks to Pitchiner, gesturing with his staff.
"You first." He says.
He watches as Pitchiner stumbles through the portal – he doesn't seem quite able to stay steady on his feet – and then sighs as he follows close behind.