Just a Little Knowledge

by Kitty Smith

Jack Frost's amnesia is not complete. He can still remember a few key things, and that little bit of knowledge is a very dangerous thing. ( PitchFrost / BlackFrost / BlackIce ) Warning(s): essentially a ship!fic, movie plot vaguely in play, ridiculous amounts of sap abound, and some super!dramallama!logic

Just a little knowledge

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim any part of Rise of the Guardians and associated merchandise.

Alright, I wrote this for the sheer fun of it so I won't apologize for even the actual destruction of your mind upon reading this whole thing through hahaa

However, I will apologize for the fact that this is out before the next chapter of Cold and Dark

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When Jack Frost awoke for the first time, there were a few things that were very clear to him.

It was cold. It was dark. And he was dead.

He knew he'd fallen through the ice, but he couldn't quite recall how it had come about. There was something before that, he knew. Something warmer and happier, but though he could feel it – a memory of remembering – the experiences were no longer there. So.

Cold. Dark. Dead.

It stayed that way for some time. Whether it had been a second or forever and a day was somewhat beyond Jack's comprehension. He wasn't exactly lucid for however long it may have stretched.

Then the Moon found him. It was bright, and he was no longer alone. But as his face broke the surface of the lightly frozen pond, he could tell. Still cold. Still dead.

Quietly, on the breeze, or maybe only in his mind, the Moon whispered two words, as if bestowing a title on a knight, or trying out a name to see if it fit the finished product, "Jack Frost."

And so he was. His feet touched down gently on the pond, and on instinct, he thickened the sheet of ice floating on top. Jack didn't want a repeat experience with those waters, thank you very much. The second the ice left him and strengthened the layer beneath his feet, the coldness he'd been feeling ebbed away, replaced with a distinct lack of temperature that left him uneasy. Stretching and clenching his fingers sporadically, Jack mused that at the very least, the Moon had solved two of his problems. No more dark. No more cold. Ah, Jack corrected himself on seeing the winter wonderland of which he was smack dab in the middle, no more cold I can feel, anyway.

Something dark against the ice caught his eye, and Jack retrieved a familiar-looking shepherd's hook- for all of a second. The moment he lifted it from the ground, felt the wood's grain against his hands, a repulsion- a fear- ripped through him so strongly he'd thrown it away. Perhaps in another world he may have picked it up and marveled at the way his frost spread effortlessly across the wood, but here and now… He just knew the thing had something to do with his death. Jack eyed the staff mistrustfully and poked it with one, too-pale toe. The feeling didn't bubble back to the surface again, but Jack felt oddly torn. There was a strange, unnamed part of him that wanted that shepherd's crook, weird feelings be damned, but though he knew it likely couldn't hurt him now, the lingering miasma of death clung to its gentle curves in his mind. It felt tainted.

Maybe he'd just… touch it.

Jack reached out and paused. If he couldn't feel the wood, it wouldn't be a problem, would it? Instead of directly grabbing the staff, Jack let his hand hover an infinitesimally short distance above it, and tried to pull up that instinctive pushing feeling that had let him thicken the ice. Eventually, he tapped into it, coating the staff with clear, solid ice nearly half a centimeter thick. After poking the thing and noting the lack of flashbacks, he snatched it up, cradling it to his chest. There was a definite possessiveness in his mixed feelings towards the shepherd's hook.

Idly, he found himself setting down swirling designs in the ice coating of his latest acquisition, and wondered what exactly he was meant to do now.

Looking up at the Moon, he scratched the back of his neck in thought. Could anything he say even reach the one who'd let him out? Better to try before writing it off, "Um, Moon? Can you hear me?"

A peal of laughter answered him from the woods, and Jack scrambled back onto his pond, staff instinctively held before him in a defensive stance. In the darkness between the trees, Jack could make out a pair of yellow eyes and the sound of a slow clap before the speaker revealed itself. A tall, thin man looking as if he'd been washed of all color but for his eyes- skin shades of grey, robes a pure black- stood, very still, at the edge of the tree line. His shadow stretched back into the woods, too large for the size of the man making it.

"Good try, but," he waggled a finger, "that bastard only speaks with his chosen Guardians."

"Who are you?" Jack gripped his staff a bit tighter, unwaveringly pointed at the other man, "What are you doing here?"

"The name's Pitch Black," he swept a grandiose bow, yellow eyes glinting up at Jack, "and you can think of me as a… welcome committee." Abruptly, the stranger's thin figure dissolved into the night, and a hand wrapped about Jack's staff from behind, tilting it for a better view, "Now, to business. Why are you afraid of this little bit of wood, but not me?"

"Well, seeing as I've recently died," Jack explained to the stranger invading his personal space curtly, "I doubt there's much you can do to hurt me further." Pitch favored him with a distinctly unimpressed look and pinched his arm. "Ow," Jack rubbed the spot, "Okay, scratch that last bit."

Ignoring the revelation he'd brought about, Pitch trailed spindly fingers down the iced over shepherd's hook, "Were you beaten to death with this, then?"

"I drowned," Jack corrected, before realizing that a stranger so interested in the fear a reminder of his death evoked may not have been the best receptacle for that information, "but why do you care?"

"I wonder," Pitch hummed in a non-answer, vanishing into the shadows once more and reappearing before Jack, with a bit more breathing space between them. Now, his eyes had found Jack's, and the winter sprite found himself straightening under the gaze, gaining a brief smirk from his grayscale companion. "You may have been dead, but you're now what some might call a spirit."

"You mean, a ghost?"

Pitch waved this off with a snort, "Nothing so banal. No, you've become a force of nature; in this case, likely something related to ice. Possibly due to the… method of your death." He paused to allow Jack to absorb this information and elaborated, "There are many other spirits in the world, but usually only one of each type at a time. For example, I am a spirit of fear. While there are other spirits which may inspire fear, they tend to be spirits of vengeful mothers, or violent deaths, or deadly storms." The pacing he'd adopted was turning into more of a predatory stalk as he continued, "What interests me is that there is already a spirit of ice running about, and another of snow." Pitch stepped closer, "What else can you do?"

"I don't know," Jack admitted, his staff having come to rest at his side during the didactic spiel, "You got here minutes after I woke up."

"Did I?" Pitch asked, looking pleased with himself before he shook the expression away and extended a hand, "Never mind that. Shall we find out?"

-0-

When Sandy arrived to introduce the newest spirit to the world they'd become part of, he was surprised to find the area empty. It had only been a few hours worth of travel, so he set off towards the nearest town to see if the rookie had found their way there.

To his relief, the spirit was sitting atop a tree in the town square, alone, when he arrived.

"Hello," the white-haired boy greeted him, "Are you like me?"

Ah, Sandy thought, the poor boy probably has already tried to speak to the humans, by now.

"I never thought I'd end up a ghost," he continued blithely, the suppressed hint of a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth going unnoticed by the Sandman, "Still, I figure my unfinished business is probably somewhere in this town, since it's closest to where I died." He pointed at the frosted tree beneath him, "Maybe I just need everyone to chill?"

At the sad excuse for a pun, Sandy wondered why, exactly, it was still his job to deal with the newbies.

-0-

Jack thought he'd dealt with that rather well, all things considered. He may have had a bit more fun acting the simpleton than Pitch had suggested was safe, but the Sandman had been more gently exasperated than suspicious. It was a little difficult to avoid guessing topics they hadn't spoken of yet, with the Sandman's wordless form of communication, but he'd gotten through without even a raised eyebrow from the little spirit.

"You all suck, though," he informed the townspeople decidedly. As a lesson on humanity's obliviousness, Pitch had had him write their names on big ice statues of themselves and no one had batted an eye their direction. Pitch had systematically destroyed his own after the demonstration was done; something about an ongoing feud with the Guardians- Jack hadn't really been interested in the politics of it. At least, they'd figured out some of his powers; it wasn't all bad news. So far, they'd discovered he could create snow and ice, various storms related to both, call on the Wind, and some mild form of mind control. Jack blew on snowballs for good luck before tricky tosses, and it seemed like the people they hit began to laugh and start playing with whoever was around. It had been interesting to see each person abandon their tasks and act like children. Still, that last bit threw off Pitch's approximation of Jack's powers. The other spirit had theorized that Jack was actually the spirit of winter as a whole, but he couldn't understand where the snowball-hypnosis fit into it.

So, Pitch had wandered off into the night, saying he'd be back if he found anything.

Jack wasn't exactly holding his breath. While he'd appreciated the company while it lasted, he had a sinking feeling the dark spirit was only interested him from an academic standpoint. Once the mystery was solved, Pitch would be gone for good.

"Depressing," Jack sighed to himself, plopping onto his back and raising nonsensical frost patterns on the bark beneath his fingertips. At least he could still affect the world in one way.

It had… hurt when the first person passed through him. Not physically, like Pitch's pinch, but deeper than that. Even the other spirit's yellow gaze didn't alleviate the sting of not being noticed. Of practically not existing. Even ghosts could be seen, couldn't they? That's when Pitch had told him a bit more about the Guardians.

"They are also known as the Big Four," Pitch had explained, a sneer fighting for control of his expression, "because they are the most believed in spirits in the world. Practically every child can see at least one of them. And what do they do? Do they tell the children of the other spirits that exist? Do they come down off their high horses and interact with their believers? No," the sneer had won out, "They sit in their lairs, or up in the sky, and do their jobs without letting themselves be seen. Throwing away what they've been given, the twats, without thinking of anyone else."

"You said they usually do this stuff, though?" Jack had interjected, "They take care of new spirits?"

Pitch had smirked, "You'll see what sort of care the Guardians have for you shortly."

He had.

Sandy had explained that he was a spirit, that he had to be believed in to be seen, and the rules of common courtesy he was expected to follow in regards to other spirits (which Pitch had, admittedly, left out). Then he'd left.

Pitch isn't exactly here with me either, though, Jack snorted, sliding down from the tree to land nimbly on the frosted ground, is he?

He'd have to figure out how to be believed in on his own.

-0-

This was easier said than done. While leaving his name everywhere did make people aware of the words, it seemed to have become something of a curse regarding the cold and the dangers of winter. Which was not altogether flattering. It had been maybe a decade of uselessness and snowball fights, and he hadn't seen another spirit since his inception. Lately, he'd found himself forgetting people couldn't see him- until they passed through him again. He'd wake, wander town as if he were normal, reply to greetings not meant for him, and generally jaunt about until someone walked right through him and he remembered who he was- and what he was.

"I think I'm going mad," he said aloud, a bubble of panic rising in his chest. Even snowball fights, the only time he felt truly a part of the real world, had begun to lose their charm. He'd circled the globe more than once, and only now ended up right where he'd started, spread eagle on the pond he'd died in.

The wind was picking up around him, snow and ice pelting the ground as Jack's thoughts grew more frantic. He could end up alone forever at this rate. Nothing he did made a difference. Nothing. No matter how unnatural, unearthly, or weird his creations may be, the explanation was the gods, or a fairy curse, or- or- anything but Jack Frost. "I think I'm going mad," he repeated, beginning to laugh, the sound lost in the howl of the storm that was brewing. It would be a relief to just lose his grip entirely. While his episodes of forgetfulness had, at first, frightened him, there was a peacefulness to the state. He wasn't himself, then. He wasn't Jack Frost, the boy who died and was forgotten. The whisper on the wind that no one would ever see. He wasn't-

"There you are," a voice he hadn't expected to hear again broke through his thoughts, just audible above the storm. Spindly fingers gripped him by the arms and pulled him to his feet, and Pitch looked vaguely cross when Jack's shocked gaze met his own, "Have you been trying to be impossible to find or are you just naturally talented at suppressing your own fears?" The Boogeyman looked around at the swirling, cutting sleet and snow mixed in the air and frowned, "Though this is rather like banging a gong when you could simply knock, so I suppose you weren't intentionally hiding." He fixed Jack with an appraising eye, "You do know you've terrified a good eighth of the country into submission, don't you?"

"What?"

"It's delicious," Pitch admitted, "but you're fairly close to the line between inciting fear and committing genocide. Those new cast iron stoves can only do so much against a cold like this."

"What?" Jack repeated, the wind picking up around them as the situation sank in. He took a deep breath, but the storm didn't get the memo, "How do I stop it?"

"How should I know?" Sighing at the panic on Jack's face, Pitch tightened his grip on the other spirit's shoulders and leaned in, eclipsing Jack's view of the clearing, and lowering his voice, "I hate that you're making me do this." Still, Pitch continued, taking one of Jack's hands and pressing it to the sprite's stomach before returning his own grip to Jack's shoulders, "Feel yourself breathe. In and out, slow it down. Listen to my voice. All you need to do right now is listen and breathe, breathe and listen. Nothing else matters."

"I could be killing people!" Jack interjected, and Pitch shook him slightly at the interruption.

"Shut up," he said, "That doesn't matter. That's not what's happening right here, is it? We are the only people here right now. You," Pitch squeezed Jack's shoulders, almost warningly, "and me. Nothing else matters. Now are you breathing?" Jack nodded mutely, but that didn't seem sufficient for Pitch, "Feel it. Feel your hand rise and fall with your breath. In," Pitch breathed with him, "and out," they exhaled together. Jack felt close to the state he'd been falling into lately, where he wasn't quite himself anymore, but he was still in control of his own mind, and tension he'd gotten used to ignoring uncoiled in his stomach as they continued to breathe.

"Pity," Pitch murmured, a confused look from the winter spirit prompting the other to explain, "Seems your storms are all or nothing." Indeed, the winds had died and the clouds remained distant and harmless. "Before you lost control of it, the fear was… Well." Pitch cleared his throat, and Jack decided not to point out that he'd never been in control of it as the Boogeyman released him and stepped back. Pitch straightened his robes and shook his hair free of icy particulates, coming back to himself, "You, Jack Frost, are a spirit of winter."

"Okay," Jack agreed with the non-sequitur, hoping to move the conversation along and still not having entirely come down from the daze he'd 'breathed and listened' himself into.

A twitch, and the Boogeyman continued, "It seems, due to North's influence, that winter has been associated with joy and all that fuzzy Guardian crap for long enough to affect a new spirit's powers. Winter is still, predominantly, a season of death and cold, so the effect is, thankfully, minimal, and likely only manifested in your hypnosis."

"You've been gone for ten years," Jack said slowly, "and this is what you tell me when we meet up again?"

"To be fair, the first thing I did was greet you with how impossible you are to find," Pitch glared, "Which is rather the reason for the ten years of searching I've gone through. I was more inclined to stick a scythe through your foot than make polite conversation, and here you are, unharmed." He spread his arms benevolently, though the glare stuck.

"Right," Jack felt the phantom blush sensation he'd grown accustomed to when he'd stuck his foot in it. "Why was I so hard to find?"

Pitch hummed, "Well, let me see," and began to count off on his fingers, "one, you are capable of flight; two, you refused to stay in one spot for more than a day; three, you were suppressing your fears; and four," here the Boogeyman's face grew increasingly sour, "you spent a good year flitting around North's territory, and then seemed drawn to areas with active Guardians meandering about."

"I never saw anyone," Jack protested, and Pitch shook his head.

"You wouldn't; their whole shtick is going unseen." The Boogeyman's face was a perfect example of the word disgruntled at this point, and Jack shuffled uneasily.

"Sorry," he offered, and Pitch seemed briefly surprised before he waved it off.

"It's not your fault you're an idiot," he grumbled and Jack raised an eyebrow, reaching down for a handful of snow and blowing on it meaningfully.

"Wanna revise that statement?"

Though he was uneasy at the reminder of Jack's mind-altering abilities, Pitch had actually wondered whether he was actually capable of being affected by the sprite's hypnosis, and for the sake of knowledge… "Oh, I'm sorry; it's not your fault that you act idiotically," Pitch wasn't even done with his sentence before he had a face full of snow.

What followed Pitch had made Jack vow to never, never reveal to another being, living or no.

"It seemed like you had fun, though," Jack snickered, lying on his back in the snow with Pitch similarly exhausted next to him.

"Want to be my drug dealer?" Pitch asked, half-seriously.

"That's disturbing on several levels," Jack pointed out, still unable to contain the stream of giggles, "Almost as bad as that weird-ass snow angel you made-"
"That was a message in an alien language," Pitch refuted, more of his lucidity returning to him, "though not one I would repeat in front of children."

"Really?" The laughter. It would never stop. "But wouldn't a swearing, alien-language-speaking creature terrify more children than politeness?"

"Manners can be horribly frightening for the uneducated masses," Pitch sniffed, and made to get up. Seconds into his attempt, he groaned and lay back down, "Scratch the drug dealer offer. I'm never doing that again."

Jack's dying trail of laughter gained momentary strength, and he clutched his side helplessly until they receded once more. Sighing happily, Jack wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, "I think I've laughed more in the past hour than I have in the last ten years."

"One of us should benefit," Pitch moaned, "I feel like I've been twisted and wrung dry."

Jack rolled onto his side and grinned at the other spirit, "You're out of practice at having fun."

In this exhausted, unfamiliarly contented state, Pitch gave that a bit more thought than he usually would, "Maybe I am."

A sympathetic hand touched his shoulder, and Pitch felt Jack's thumb move briefly in a consoling fashion before the contact was gone, and Jack was saying something about meeting up again to fix that, but Pitch was stuck on the feeling that had spread through him at Jack's touch- a long-forgotten pulse. Ignoring the lingering aches in his body, he pushed himself up and turned to sit at Jack's side, facing the winter sprite.

"Pitch?" Jack asked, but swallowed whatever he meant to say when Pitch's hand gingerly cupped his cheek. Pitch flicked his gaze up to Jack's wide eyes once before moving back to his own hand on Jack's skin. It was cool beneath his fingertips, but strangely soft. Pitch slid his hand down to Jack's neck, stroking lightly with his fingers before he reached Jack's chest and, ultimately, his heart, hand slipping beneath the spirit's cape so only the thin undershirt was between his fingers and the too-slow beat.

"Did you know a spirit's heartbeat is metaphorical?" Pitch murmured, fingers still as his hand stayed firmly pressed to that spot, "You can't take their pulse from their neck or their wrists, and many don't have one at all anymore."

"What does it mean?" Jack's voice was hushed, unthinkingly matching Pitch volume for volume.

"I don't usually have one, either," Pitch said, instead of giving a straight answer, taking Jack's other hand and bringing it to the Boogeyman's thin chest.

"You don't know what it means, do you?" Jack accused lightly, feeling the answering beat under his hand, "You can just say that."

"I know it means... something," Pitch evaded, scrutinizing the sprite still lying placidly before him with something akin to discomfort and wonder mixed in one, when his gaze tore from Jack and to the sky. "Ah," he breathed, vanishing into the shadow and leaving Jack's hand to fall back to the snowy ground, abruptly alone.

For a moment, something like betrayal rippled through Jack's thoughts, but a decidedly natural shadow loomed over him a minute later, and Jack craned his neck backwards to take in the giant rabbit which was casting said shadow.

"Who might you be, mate?"

It had an Australian accent.

"You're the Easter Bunny," Jack said, the clues all clicking, "Is it Easter, then?"

Bunnymund, who had been about to reiterate his previous question, felt his train of thought come screeching to a halt. "Is it Easter," he repeated incredulously, "Is it the most important holiday of the year?"

"Well, of course it's Easter, if you're here," Jack mused, more to himself than to Bunnymund, "But I thought Christmas was the most-"

"Don't say it," Bunnymund interjected, and hauled Jack to his feet, turning him about to see the eggs nestled amidst piles of snow, showing Bunnymund's trail away from the nearest village, "No matter what North may say, Easter is the most important holiday." A furry arm was around Jack's shoulder, and Bunnymund was steering him toward the village as he walked, "Easter is about hope, and life, and an end to winter- ah, you're freezing, how long were you lying there?"

Jack shrugged, ignoring the paw rubbing at his shoulder as if to somehow chase away the cold, "A while."

"Jeez," Bunnymund rubbed a little harder, "You're going to catch a cold, kid."

"I doubt it," Jack replied wryly, looking about for any signs that Pitch had lingered in the area, but not catching any more than a stray, malevolent shadow here and there that could be attributed to his own imagination.

"Anyway," and so Jack was regaled with the wonders of Easter, leaving a trail of frost over every egg behind them in his boredom and slight irritation. End of winter, indeed. When Bunnymund noticed what had been happening, he'd gaped over the icy eggs, and turned back to Jack, "Did you…?"

When his answer was a crackling laughter that reminded Bunnymund of ice breaking atop a pond before the other spirit jerked out of his grip and into the air, Bunnymund realized exactly what kind of spirit he'd been boasting of the wonders of spring to.

"That was Jack Frost," an unwelcome voice whispered unnecessarily, with no little amusement, and Bunnymund jerked around, boomerang at the ready, but met nothing but air and a parting, "Spirit of winter."

"Pitch?" Bunnymund murmured into the empty air. While it could have been a coincidence, he didn't know what to make of the Boogeyman's seeming interest in Bunnymund and Frost's interaction. Maybe he'd just enjoyed the irony of the situation? …He needed to talk to North. Looking around, he noticed the kids pulling futilely at frozen eggs and groaned. Or maybe not.

Bunnymund hopped off to the rescue; he'd have to double time the other towns left to go.

-0-

Jack regretted fleeing the area almost as he did so. He was pretty sure Pitch would again have trouble finding him, and he wasn't sure the other spirit would make the effort.

…But ten years was a long time to search for someone you didn't care to see again.

Of course, he doubted it was a single-minded pursuit. Probably the Boogeyman went about whatever Boogeymen did and kept an ear out for mention of him. Jack nodded; that made sense.

It seemed like Pitch was tracking him by his own fear – or maybe the fear he caused? Pitch had come when Jack had finally given into his fear, but in doing so, he'd apparently spread a lot of terror around.

Hanging upside down from a tree branch, Jack mused over the problem. Was it even a problem? Did he want to see Pitch again? He'd talked about a next time to the Boogeyman without even thinking about it. Still, that weirdness about heart beats at the end… Squirming a little, Jack rested a hand on his own heart, feeling the slow beat.

"I thought it was slow because I was frozen," he murmured to himself. Granted, he hadn't thought much about his heart besides noting that he no longer blushed or had to worry about blood rushing to his head. Like now.

Frowning, Jack dropped from the branch, catching the wind with his staff and pulling his own vanishing act.

-0-

"…I think you avoided me intentionally this time," Pitch said, as he approached Jack from behind, just a year later, settling on the rock beside the winter sprite. Jack shrugged and let the winds around him die down. They were sitting outside some recently horrified little hamlet, people peeking out of their homes timidly as the unearthly cold and screaming winds backed away.

"Some of the time," Jack finally agreed, after his noncommittal silence. He hadn't been able to decide if he wanted Pitch to find him or not.

They watched the townspeople emerge and return to their usual business for several tense moments. "You know, your control of those is getting exponentially tighter."

"Yep."

"You could leave it going," Pitch suggested, sliding a finger over Jack's on the rock between them, "No one was in any immediate danger." Jack looked down at their crossing pinky fingers and back up at Pitch, and said nothing. But the wind picked up again. "Ah," Pitch said leaning his shoulder against Jack's and settling in to watch the show, "brilliant."

"Only you," Jack snorted, waving at the villagers darting back into their homes and slamming shutters closed, "would qualify this as brilliant."

"If you could taste what I can right now," Pitch hummed, closing his eyes happily.

"What's it like?" Jack asked curiously, leaning further into the shoulder against his.

"Hmm," Pitch's eyes slid languidly open as he contemplated the question, "It's hard to describe. I barely noticed it during the Dark Ages," Jack had not heard of this and, thusly, ignored the reference, "But now it's like… Breaking the surface and taking your first breath, I'd imagine." Jack rolled his eyes at the tailored response.

"And how would you describe it to someone else?" He prodded.

"Why, Jack," Pitch put his free hand to his heart, feigning offense, "Are you implying I'm trying to manipulate you?"

"I know you are," he didn't move away, though, "I don't mind."

There was a beat of silence, and Pitch said, more quietly, "It is like a needed breath. Other emotions are like smog, but fear is a pocket of clean air." The Boogeyman kept his eyes fixed on the village below, "Sometimes it feels like I'm choking." Jack hummed acknowledgement, and the storm howled across the sky, only brushing enough against the people below to engender fear of it, rather than harm.

-0-

From then on, the two of them would meet and talk, or spend the time walking in silence, once every few months. Jack grew used to the regular meetings, felt the despair and loneliness ebb away as they repeated for years that turned into decades. Until the day Pitch didn't come.

Usually, Jack would seek out or create a concentration of fear, or Pitch would wander the pond in search of him, and somehow, the other would know to show up. Today, though the fighting Jack had found between faltering armies on the shores of the New World was ripe with fear, Pitch was missing.

Uneasily, he brushed it off. Pitch didn't show up at every little skirmish- there wasn't enough of him to go around. Maybe something was going down in France, again. Still, the incident niggled at him, and he figured he'd check some of the scarier places in the world for his rogue Boogeyman.

Each flight turned up less than nothing, however, and Jack began to turn his attention to other spirits. Were there any on better than antagonistic terms with Pitch? …Well, any that would help him out. Jack was aware the nastier spirits could care less about Pitch, but they'd care less about Jack looking for him, too.

"It's not as if we promised each other anything," Jack reminded himself aloud, complete with a scolding finger as he stalked back and forth along the rim of a recently abandoned trench in some of the ongoing fighting in the New World. He'd gone back to haunting battlefields when he actually started to worry that Pitch was avoiding him. "And I dodged him for a year on purpose," the winter spirit continued, finishing quietly, "Ten years on accident." Despite himself, his eyes darted over the winter-touched abandoned battlefield for a hint of movement, of a tall, thin figure, and saw nothing, as expected. "Come on, Jack," he admonished himself, tearing his eyes away from the area and fixing them on the sky, "Can't you give him a year to himself? At least that." Closing his eyes, as much to brace himself as to keep from the temptation to give the field one last work over, Jack leapt into the wind's clutches, "Take me home."

So Jack went back to his efforts alone. On his good days, he played tricks, made children laugh; on his not-so-good days, he'd forget what he was doing and conjure a blizzard instead of a frost, or forget where he was- bringing the arctic to the equator. On his bad days, he didn't know who he was. He'd walk among the humans as one of them, or imagine himself a ghost and indulge in hauntings, or scream into the emptiness of Antarctica- was it always Antarctica? Sometimes he wasn't sure he'd even made it there- as the wind howled in sympathy. At first, he had more good days than bad. Then, the bad began to catch up. He felt jittery, uncertain and afraid of himself on his lucid days, and it was both curse and blessing how he could sometimes find peace in the madness. When he thought he was human- or ghost- or something other than Jack Frost, he didn't feel so heart-stoppingly alone.

"If the ice reached out and grabbed you," Jack mused to a young boy skidding across his pond, "Would you see me then?" Likely not, with his luck. Only spirits ever saw him, and the ones that had come before him wanted nothing to do with him. At least, not that he could tell.

Noting that his heart felt as if it were pumping molasses, Jack sent a flurry of powder snow at the boy's face to take his mind off the realization and make the child react.

"I'm still here," he murmured, and the temperature dropped, sending the boy fleeing to the relative warmth of his home. Distant blue eyes tracked the boy's progress through the snow, turning away when he'd reached sanctuary, shutting out the cold and slamming the door in Jack Frost's face.

Sometimes, Jack hated stoves and hearthfires more than he hated being invisible.

"They don't even know I'm here, but they still ward me away," Jack rolled onto his back, staring up at a darkening sky as the first tendrils of dreamsand made their way into the night, "I think I'm offended." He raised a hand towards the out-of-reach golden sand, futilely, not bothering to sit up from his spread-eagle sprawl. By sheer coincidence, a fairy smacked into the hand abruptly appearing in her path, and fell to Jack's chest, shaking her feathered head and puffing her crest in annoyance and embarrassment.

The little tooth fairy made to push herself up and stand, but paused with her hands still on the frost patterns on Jack's cape. Slowly, her head raised to lock on Jack's mouth.

"Hey," Jack greeted bewilderedly, and the little fairy swooned, still looking at- at his teeth? She flittered up, hovering about Jack's face and chirping adoringly with gestures towards- yeah, Jack was pretty sure she was impressed with his teeth. The fairy had seemed to recognize his coldness and frost before catching sight of his teeth, though, and Jack supposed the Easter Bunny must have informed the larger version of his colleague of their encounter however many years ago.

Despite the usual frantic nature of the things whenever Jack had caught sight of their feathered bodies darting about like fat bullets, this fairy seemed perfectly content to hover about him uselessly.

"Don't you have a job to do?" Jack asked and on receiving a string of chirping nonsense, shrugged, "Do what you want." He tried to keep the action nonchalant, to keep a lid on the senseless emotions rising in him, but when the fairy trailed him as he got up and began to walk away, he couldn't hold the grin at bay. His heart didn't feel so sluggish, anymore.

For a few weeks, the fairy was his constant companion. The feathered little lady followed him everywhere, only parting from him to occasionally grab a tooth and slip a quarter beneath a pillow in cases Jack liked to think were more difficult than the average toothy snatch-and-flee. He found himself growing fond of the fairy, and imagined her to be superior to her sisters by virtue of his affection, alone. Knowing it was ridiculous didn't stop his warm imaginings. Jack didn't understand a word she said, and sometimes she seemed to scold his wilder actions, but with her persistent presence, she kept the bad days back, much like a dam placed between him and the madness. He knew it was temporary- that she'd fly off someday and never come back.

He didn't anticipate meeting her source.

"Oh, you're the one that has the girls all aflutter," the strange woman gushed, swooping in without warning and opening Jack's mouth to look inside, "They really do sparkle like freshly fallen snow!" With this dubious compliment, she hummed and nodded over Jack's teeth for a good half a minute before the frost began to creep up her fingers and she jumped back with almost buzzing wings and a startled, "Oh!"

"Sorry," Jack was saying before he realized the words had made it past his lips. What was that? Had he just apologized to the person who'd stuck her fingers in his mouth without so much as a how-do-you-do?

"It's fine," she soothed, but her fingers still worked at one another, breaking the thin layer of ice off and rubbing warmth back into the skin.

"So…" Jack looked up at the sky, down at the ground, accidentally met the little fairy's eyes, and pulled his gaze away only to be snatched up again by the Tooth Fairy's.

Taking the unintentional eye contact as cue to explain herself, the Tooth Fairy jumped, bringing herself out of whatever thought process she'd fallen into. "Right. I couldn't believe it when the girls told me about those teeth of yours, and I've been wanting to see for myself- oh, but that's not why I'm here." She motioned at the little fairy, "Someone was up for a promotion before they went dark for a month."

The fairy's eyes went wide, and Jack could see her tense, as if to flit over to her mother right that second, but she glanced uneasily at Jack, who wouldn't meet her gaze again. A chirp, one meant to get his attention, and Jack turned his head to face her. He'd known this was coming, after all.

A laugh forced out into the open air like a terrified child pushed onto a stage, "You know you're supposed to go on vacation after telling your boss, right?" She kept her disproportionately large eyes on Jack, and he leaned on his staff nonchalantly, "I'll see you around, Baby Tooth."

There was a light pressure on his cheek, before the fairy flitted back to her mother, who seemed amused by the little one's "new friend," and they were gone.

It wasn't until later that Jack realized it'd been a kiss good bye.

The city hadn't seen so much snow as fell that night in a long while, and they wouldn't again.

-0-

"Gas lamps are bad enough," a familiar voice broke in, "but electric lights?" Jack turned slowly, ready to blast- or maybe slug, he felt the contact would make it that much more personal, more satisfying – the speaker, but his hand fell when he got a good look. Pitch looked half-dead as he waved a hand at the nearby mansion, newly installed with electrics, "Will horrors never cease?"

"Pitch?" Jack whispered, and when the Boogeyman stumbled, he was there in an instant. Holding him up turned into something like a one-armed embrace, and then they were clinging to one another desperately, and Jack was repeating, "Where were you?" in a voice that ran the spectrum from sorrow to anger to horror to… It didn't matter.

"I picked a fight I didn't win," Pitch finally responded, fingers digging into Jack's back and leaning on the sprite heavily, "Obviously."

"You're here now," Jack answered, and Pitch's grip on him tightened, neither sure which of them the reassurance was meant for.

"Obviously," Pitch repeated.

"You've been gone five years, this time," Jack said, as if one of them needed reminding, "And creepily, I think I like you more for every year you vanish."

"Every year you vanish." Voice wry, Pitch disentangled from Jack and cleared his throat, but their fingers remained laced together, "Don't blame them all on me."

"We'll share it, then," Jack quipped and got his fingers squeezed briefly as Pitch rolled his eyes in response.

-0-

"Do you like Christmas?"

It wasn't Jack who asked, and the winter sprite looked over at Pitch curiously. Jack was lying in the snow with Pitch looming above him, staring off into the emptiness of Antarctica. When Pitch had first arrived, Jack had been a little busy screaming, and he'd waited silently until the younger spirit had exhausted himself before springing this nonsensical question on him.

"…I don't know," Jack replied, slowly, "I don't really think about it."

"Half the time you're around in the Northern hemisphere, everything's…" Pitch waved a hand, "Christmassy. How could you not form an opinion?"

"There are other winter holidays that are big deals and I don't have much of an opinion on them," Jack pointed out dryly, lifting himself up on his elbows to see Pitch more easily, "What are you on about?"

"…I don't know," Pitch echoed, falling to his knees unceremoniously and sitting beside Jack in the snow.

At the change in proximity, Jack automatically reached out for him, unsurprised to find Pitch's hand meeting his halfway, and tangled their fingers together. "Well, when you figure it out, give me a ring."

Now that was a look he lived for. Pitch's mouth opened with familiar disdain, teeth visible, "What nonsense are you on about now? A ring?"

"On the telephone," a smug grin crept across the winter spirit's face, "They've made a way to speak to people over long distances- with your voice alone. You can hear someone in Cambodia while sitting in England- well," Jack's smugness faded to light chagrin, "Eventually, anyway. Once they've strung the world with wires."

"Really?" Pitch's brows rose and he huffed, "It seems like every day they're chipping away at some new way to waste time."

"I think you're just sore I heard of it first," Jack refuted, leaning back into the snow again and moving his thumb idly against Pitch's hand, "Proves you're falling behind the times, old man."

Pitch murmured an obligatory, "Upstart."

Neither of them mentioned what Jack had been doing when Pitch found him.

-0-

Unfortunately, it couldn't be ignored forever.

In between intended visits, Pitch ran across Jack quite by accident, a flash of white and blue around a corner in the night, and Pitch paused, one hand hovering above a dreaming child, inches from it finally working, if he could just figure out how-

He needed a break, anyway.

Out the window and onto the street, he turned the corner and was calling Jack's name when a chill swept over him.

"…Jack?" He repeated cautiously, but the younger spirit didn't turn, still walking down the street with a somehow absent-minded determination. Pitch moved through the shadows to grip Jack's shoulder and turn him about, and was met with a sort of vague surprise.

"Oh, hello," Jack said, voice distant and empty like a cold, clear bell. When Pitch didn't say anything in response, there was a brief flicker of lucidity, "I know you, don't I?" Lacking the means to whatever constituted an appropriate response to this situation, Pitch nodded. Face brightening, Jack's eyes remained unfocused, "I knew it. Most of my friends don't greet me, though." He leaned around Pitch to wave at a passing nighttime pedestrian before seemingly becoming distracted by the seam between vest and shadow on Pitch's shoulder.

"Do you recognize me?" Pitch pressed, deciding this was the best course of action for now- aside from being what he most wanted to know, of course, "Do you know who I am?"

"Don't you?" Jack turned the question on him with one of those vague smiles, but at Pitch's continued solemnity, the smile faded, "I… think I know you. We," he paused, trying to collect his thoughts, and slid his hand into Pitch's. Looking upward, he made near-direct eye contact, "We're a 'we,' aren't we?"

There was a part of Pitch that reveled in the fact that of all the things Jack could retain, it was this. Still, Jack had told him he sometimes… didn't feel like himself. If this was what he'd spoken of, that was an understatement. Hopefully, this would pass. Jack was still waiting on an answer, though, and Pitch was pleased enough with the ambiguous definition to greenlight it for Jack's tumultuous mind with a firm, "Yes."

The winter spirit nodded to himself, and made an abrupt about-face, walking down the block with Pitch in tow.

"Where are we going?" Pitch ventured, and Jack didn't glance back as he made his reply.

"Where people go."

Predicting a similar response for the question and what will we be doing there, Pitch kept his mouth shut as Jack led them down strangely quiet darkened roads, the dim streetlamps glowing stubbornly in little pockets of light that painted them briefly in shades of harsh yellow as they passed beneath on Jack's self-appointed mission.

The silence did not entirely wipe Pitch's presence from Jack's state of delusion, however, and Jack began to babble as he walked. Little things about the people living here. Things he'd know if they were his own neighbors. Gossip he might have picked up during the day. Pitch wasn't entirely sure Jack knew half the names he was throwing around, but they were quite fleshed out, if that were the case.

"Darla's planning on another child," he was saying, with a roll of his eyes that didn't seem sardonic so much as a copied response he'd seen another making to this bit of news.

"Well, who wouldn't want more children in the world to traumatize?"

"Pitch," Jack laughed, and just as the sound left him, stopped dead in his tracks. He whirled about, eyes bright and sharp, and put a tense hand to Pitch's chest, standing in silence for a moment before he pushed out a relieved breath, "This is real." Before Pitch could decide whether to be disturbed or pleased that Jack could identify him by the way his heart beat around the winter sprite, Jack was on him, pressing their foreheads together, then their noses, then their cheeks. Positively nuzzling, if such a positive word could be used for so frantic an action, "I didn't know who I was. I didn't know who you were. Sorry."

"Is this what you meant by… forgetting?" Pitch asked delicately, face released as Jack's nose now pressed almost uncomfortably into his skin and the younger spirit seemed to breathe him in.

"Mm hm," Jack hummed affirmatively, "It comes and goes. No biggie."

"If you're sure," Pitch said, smoothing a hand up Jack's back and turning the lingering closeness into a loose embrace, "Are you sure?"

"Sure enough," Jack shrugged, pulling back, debating whether to share this tidbit of information by scrutinizing Pitch's face for signs of freaking out. He seemed… sort of okay with the whole forgetting thing now that he knew that's what had happened, and Jack elaborated, "It happens less when I get company for a while."

Pitch nodded contemplatively, before a thought struck him, stretching a grin across his face, "So you and I are a 'we,' are we?"

A beat passed and Jack flushed, "Well, you certainly said so."

"You brought it up first," Pitch pointed out, grin widening.

A smile tugged at Jack's lips, "I wasn't in my right mind."

Hand to his heart, Pitch deadpanned, "I am wounded. Mortally so. I fear I shan't see daylight."

"You wouldn't want to," Jack needled him, pulling him back down the street again with the sudden non-sequitur, "Do you still want to go?"

"Where people go?" Pitch smirked, expecting Jack to be flustered once more, but the winter sprite just looked at him with steady, expectant eyes, and against his own expectations, his voice came out softly, "Alright, then."

Jack grinned, echoing, "Alright."

-0-

"I'll get in, just you wait!" Jack said, brushing the snow off his trousers from where he'd fallen after Phil the yeti had kicked him out. Brandishing a playful fist at the workshop, Jack shouted, "You can't keep me out forever!"

"He's yet to keep me out at all."

Jumping at the unexpected voice, Jack turned and yep, there was Pitch, lounging just behind a glacial bluff, which he swung around at Jack's notice with no little dramatic flair. Eyes were rolled, sighs were heaved, and Jack disguised a smile with a scowl, "Well, you don't sneak in fair and square, do you? Just popping up out of shadows like that. Not very good sportsmanship."

Pitch ran his hand over Jack's shoulders as he circled him, "Someone's jealous."

"Just pointing out your unfair advantage," Jack corrected, sniffing pseudo-haughtily and snagging Pitch's hand before he could complete his circle, sending them walking off through the snow together instead.

"Oh, come now, Jack; you're the one who said we were a team," Pitch leaned into the winter sprite and Jack felt lips brush his cheek, "Our unfair advantage, isn't it?"

Jack blushed and muttered, but he was grinning, and Pitch was just as quiet following his spike of courage, so it was okay.

From the window, Phil had watched the two pinprick figures interacting, unable to quite discern the identity of the darker one. It wasn't like black was an uncommon coloration for spirits. The two figures were close, but he didn't think they were fighting. Something like a smile touched his face; no matter how annoying that snow-mad character was, no one deserved to be alone. He turned back to the plush rabbit he was working on just in time to hear North's newest criticism.

"Not bunnies! Too Easter-y. Make reindeer, instead," and jolly old Santa Claus was gone, leaving Phil to stare from the half completed rabbit plush in his hand to the pile beside him on the worktable.

Throwing the rabbit down with more force than necessary, he long-sufferingly pulled out his thread picking tools.

-0-

"I am not present," Jack snickered to himself, dazedly exiting the sack dear old Bunnymund had shoved him into, marvelling at his own pun. When he regained control of his limbs, he blinked around North's workshop, taking in the assembled Guardians with a more focused expression as the dizziness wore off. Eyes narrowing, his grin stayed as he waved his staff across the line up of suspects, "What's with the sack?"

"You like?" North chuckled proudly, "That was my idea!"

"I don't know how to respond to that so I'm just going to ignore it," Jack declared after a beat of silence, leaning on his staff and spreading a hand in front of him expressively as he continued, "So what'd I do to get the attention of the full Big Four, huh?" He gasped in mock fear, clutching his staff to him and standing up straight, "Am I on the naughty list?"

"On naughty list," North echoed, laughing before he abruptly sobered, "You are top of naughty list for many years running. But no matter," he brushed at his tattoos meaningfully, "We are wiping clean the slate."

Jack really, really hated to ask the obvious question, but, "Why?"

"Because you, Jack," North had clearly been waiting for this, and gestured with one massive hand. Elves began playing music and one wandered up with a box, "are going to be Guardian!"

Jack distractedly pushed the box – it was containing a pair of shoes for some reason - away as the music hit a crescendo and confetti and flowers joined the fun, "What? Are you having me on?" North was saying something about the Man in the Moon and why he wasn't joking, but the noise was just increasing, and Jack was feeling a little claustrophobic, and everyone was looking at him. The cacophony felt louder and louder, and everything was so warm and bright and- "Enough!" He slammed his staff down, and the temperature dropped as the floor iced over, cold wind billowing for a moment and sliding everyone back- away from Jack. Frost splintered over those the wind had hit and Jack glared at them all in frustration. "Who says I even want to join your weirdo club?"

"Don't be silly, Jack," North was saying, though something about the youth's word choice reminded him uncomfortably of someone, "Of course you do. Music!"

"No music!" Jack snapped, calming slightly in spite of himself when the elves obeyed, "I'm not the one you want for this. You guys are all about hard work and deadlines- and I'm, well, not."

"Jack," the Tooth Fairy flittered forward, "I don't think you understand what it is we do." She explained to him that a Guardian's main duty was to protect children who believed, keep them safe and happy, and North started in on some spiel along the same lines, but…

"Look, what made you pick me, anyway?" Jack interjected when it started getting a little too dramatic for his tastes- he had Drama Incarnate slipping in and out of his life in a curl of shadow already, thank you very much. Pitch more than met his daily requirements.

Sandman tried to explain, but Bunny cut in, "Wasn't our idea; the Man in the Moon told us you were the one we needed." He looked ready to follow that up with an argument on the validity of his own statement, but Jack didn't give him the chance.

"Oh that's right; he only talks to his favorites. Couldn't be bothered to tell me himself," Jack turned away from them, "Because it's not like he's had a million chances! If he thinks he can just waltz back into my life after three hundred years of silence, he's got another think coming! I'm not chaining myself to some boring, obsessive guard detail for the rest of my existence just because he says so!" Remembering his audience, he turned back to the Guardians, adding quickly, "No offense."

"What- how- how is that not offensive?" Bunny asked, hopping forward, "But you know what? Never mind that, there's a thousand better choices than you, anyway. I mean, what do you know about bringing joy to children?"

"Uh," Jack pretended to think for a moment, "Ever heard of a snow day? I know it's no hardboiled egg, but kids like what I do." He paused, and conceded, "Most of the time."

"Do you hear this kid?" Bunnymund gestured at him disbelievingly, now addressing his fellow Guardians, "He is nothing close to Guardian material."

"Bunny," Tooth began admonishingly but Jack cut in with a raised hand.

"No, the kangaroo's right," he agreed, and Bunnymund's eyes narrowed, leaning in toward the winter sprite.

"What did you call me?"

"Alright, that is enough talking," North decided, hands going over either antagonistic spirit's face and pushing them gently apart. He leaned down, and put his hands on Jack's shoulders, "Jack, there is more to this than Man in Moon's decision. There is a great threat to the children coming, and we need your help to fight it."

"I'm not your guy," Jack repeated, but he sounded more defeated than angry, "Trust me, I'm no good at protecting people."

"Wouldn't you like to try?" North asked softly, and Jack raised indecisive eyes to his.

"I-"

"Oh no," and suddenly Tooth was frantic, wings beating fast enough to raise a small flurry, "Oh no; he's taking them!" She looked at North urgently, "He's at the Tooth Palace!" Before anyone could reply, she was gone.

In a flurry of activity, everyone, Jack included, was bustled towards what Jack assumed would be the sleigh. He expected some rickety, old death trap, falling apart under the wear and tear of centuries, but the polished red gorgeousness before him tore away that illusion without even trying. North caught his gaze with a knowing gleam in his eyes, and Jack rolled his in response, "Yeah, ok, I'll help you guys out this once for a ride in this beauty."

He hopped into the sleigh, Bunnymund being dumped in after him by North, who leaped into the driver's seat, followed by an almost enthusiastic Sandman, settled on Bunny's other side in the back.

Jack meant to ask where they were going and what they were meant to do when they got there, but the obvious fear in Bunny's eyes as he plastered himself to the insides of the sleigh (at the very center of the seat, even) was too good to pass up.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you?" He needled, grinning, and Bunny shot him a glare.

"My tunnels are just better. No need for all these," he waved a paw, before clutching the walls once more, "Unnecessary add ons."

Eyes sparkling with the perceived weakness, Jack hopped up on the back of the sleigh, "Oh, come on, Bunny, it's not all bad. Just look at the view from up- whoa!"

"North!" Bunny shouted, "North, he's gone over-" Finally peeking over the edge, he caught sight of Jack lounging safely below.

"Aw," Jack tilted his head playfully, "You do care."

"Rack off, you bloody show pony," Bunny withdrew to the safety of the sleigh and, seeing no more fun to be had at Bunnymund's expense, Jack hopped back into the carriage.

Returning to his previous train of thought, Jack piped up, "So… Where are we headed, again?"

North chuckled, pulling out a snow globe, "I say, Tooth Palace."

Another portal, another dizzying sensation, another sudden brightness in a new and unfamiliar place.

There was, in fact, a palace, looking almost like someone had scooped a bit of India and Russia and bashed their architecture into one whimsical design, but the Guardians and Jack were a little distracted by the strange, dark horses whizzing by the carriage.

"What are they?" North murmured, but Jack noted something a little more pressing.

"Baby Tooth!" He exclaimed, spotting the fairy that had kept him company running from the horses' gaping mouths with a few of her sisters. He shot out of the sleigh, snatching her from the disgruntled creature's jaws and landing back in his seat as North steered the sleigh expertly into a thin opening of the building.

"They're stealing the fairies!" Bunnymund said, just catching on and informing his compatriots.

"You okay?" Jack asked the little fairy he'd rescued, keeping his palms steady as she uncurled from her defensive position.

She nodded, getting to her feet and clinging to his thumb with a grateful chirrup.

Finally the sleigh descended, and as Baby Tooth caught sight of Toothiana, she darted from Jack's hands to her mother with a desperate glee.

"Oh!" Toothiana exclaimed, holding the fairy gently, "At least, one of you is safe."

"No thanks to you," came a familiar voice, and Jack glanced up even as the Guardians jumped to fighting stances. "The Big Four, I'm honored." Aaand he was monologuing. Jack groaned a little, under his breath. "…Got you all together, didn't it?" Pitch was saying smugly, mouth open to deliver some scathing remark or hint at the majesty and undefeatable nature of his plans, when his eye caught on one of those standing below, tone changing to something utterly unfamiliar to the Guardians, "…Jack? What are you doing here?"

Contrary to accepted societal norm for spirits most everywhere, Jack relaxed further at the direct address from the Boogeyman, "They offered me a sleigh ride if I helped them out with some issue."

Completely familiar with Jack's train of thought, Pitch squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, stepping over the edge of the pillar he was on and back up the side of Jack's ledge in an instant, closing the distance between them by habit, "You do realize now what they were asking you to do, don't you?"

"It's coming to me," Jack told him seriously, and Pitch groaned at the shit-eating grin that broke Jack's poker face.

"You're going to ruin everything for fun, aren't you?" he muttered, trying not to advertise this possibility to the Guardians, "Please don't make this-"

"Why don't we make it a game?" Jack interjected, eyes sparkling and wilfully going against Pitch's heartfelt plea.

"I hate you," Pitch deadpanned, one hand stroking down the side of Jack's face in direct defiance of the sentiment before he dropped back over the edge and vanished. Reappearing above the Guardians, he said, succinctly and somewhat curtly, "Well, I did have a brilliant speech planned but now that you have that handicap on your side, I'm sure you don't need any further demoralizing."

"Aw, come on, you love rambling on about things," Jack prodded, and Pitch shot him a glare.

"No." Without further ado, he whistled up one of the dark horses from earlier and leaped to its back agitatedly, mentally adding in details to his plan solely to give Jack the same feeling of frustration he had now.

"But how will we pick apart your plan if you don't tell it to us?" Jack called after his retreating back, only receiving a single middle finger raised without a look back. He turned to the Guardians, grin widening, "Guess who's really just got to help you out, now?"

No one had time to answer the question. Bunnymund had Jack pinned to a pillar, one paw fisted and aimed at his face, but not moving, as he demanded, "How do you know Pitch?"

"Why do you care?" He asked, "I'm going to helpyour side."

"Is important to understand what ties teammates have to enemy," North stepped forward, face grave and gaze steady, "When saving the world."

"Saving the world?" Jack echoed, taking a beat to process. Laughter burst from the winter sprite, and he repeated, "Saving the world!"

"He might be planning to bring back the Dark Ages!" Bunnymund growled, but Jack just laughed harder.

"What does that have to do with saving the world?" He gasped out, unable to completely stop the near-hysterical giggling, "It's not like humanity hasn't lived through it before."

"Yeah, 'cause we put a stop to it!" Bunnymund pressed harder against Jack's chest, the spirit's feet dangling above the ground as Bunny held him to the pillar with the front of his shirt clenched threateningly in one fist.

"No, no, no," Jack breathed, laughter trailing off, "Because humanity's still in it. They're still scared. They're still violent. They're still fragile and sickly and dead at a moment's notice."

"Jack," Toothiana cut in, shocked, "There's so much more to humanity than that."

"There's layers to anything, but this particular layer seems pretty prominent to me," Jack shrugged, his earliest memory of cold; dark; dead echoing in his bones and solidifying his opinion, "Not that I can recall any different, of course."

"Surely there were good times in your childhood," Toothiana argued, looking a little frustrated as she glanced instinctively at a different, empty section of her palace. "If only I had your teeth…"

"What do you mean?"

"I could show you your childhood memories if we could just get those teeth back from Pitch," she explained, feathers ruffled with upset, "But they're all gone, now." Her gaze turned outward and her words grew heavier, "They're all gone."

"Huh," Jack said, digesting this little tidbit no one had ever thought to inform him of before. Pitch was aware of his inability to remember anything before Jack Frost- well, mostly aware. Probably aware. Umm, actually, now that he was thinking of it, did Pitch know about it? Jack could almost remember talking about it in China one year, but the memory was fuzzy, and he wasn't entirely sure it had really come to pass.

The paint peeling beneath his fingers brought him back to the here and now.

"What's happening?" Jack asked, Bunnymund's slackening grip allowing him to slip down to the ground and take in the sudden decay of the Tooth Palace.

"They don't believe in me, anymore," Toothiana breathed, and for one, sick second, Jack felt a frisson of glee shiver in his chest at the idea of the ever-vaunted Guardians brought down to his level. He shook it off.

"But why…?" He raised a hand, sweeping it towards the damage, and at the reminder of Jack's mobility, Bunnymund seemed to snap out of the horror-filled daze the Guardians had fallen into.

"What is your relationship to Pitch?" He growled, intent on ferreting an answer out of the winter sprite this time, "We're not going to just hand our weaknesses over to the enemy."

"I have this strange feeling Pitch already knows this particular weakness," Jack replied wryly, but the full-Guardian glares that snapped his direction had him bringing his hands up defensively, "Okay, okay. I guess we're friends?"

Ignoring Bunny's, "Looked a little closer than friends from where I was standing," North stepped forward, face grim,

"Why would you fight with us against your friend?"

"Pitch asked me not to make it a game," Jack answered mostly honestly, "and I couldn't just not make it a game after that."

"This isn't a game," Bunnymund began, but North waved him silent.

"I was hoping for different answer," the bearded spirit said slowly, "But, for now, it will do."

Jack shrugged, he wasn't sure what other answer there was to give. At least, not one they'd accept. He had his reasoning, but it wasn't anything they'd want to hear. Maybe, "I guess, maybe, it would be bad for you guys to not be believed in? It's not a fun experience," he glanced at Toothiana, "I wouldn't want anyone to deal with it." Not really, anyway, even if he had felt a little vindictively pleased earlier, that didn't mean he didn't also feel bad about it.

As if someone hit a switch, North softened a little, even as Bunnymund inwardly snarled at the unreliable delivery of that particular motivation, but North had very clearly moved on as he began brainstorming a solution to Toothiana's situation.

"…We will be fairies!" He was exclaiming, swords thrown about excitedly, and Bunnymund ducked an errant swing.

"Count me in," Jack said, smiling at Baby Tooth's sudden excitement. She'd be doing her job with her friend, her mother, her uncles… The only better outcome would be if her sisters were here. She squealed and darted about Jack's head, chattering, and Jack poked the fairy's belly, leaving a harmless and nonsensical dusting of frost, "You know I still don't understand a word you say."

Some of Bunny's anger drained at the playful interaction between Baby Tooth and Jack. He could remember Jack had actually picked this fairy out of a crowd of her sisters when they arrived, somehow distinguishing this little one from the others and ensuring her safety before the Guardians could even blink.

…But he was still friendly with Pitch.

Even Bunnymund didn't know what kind of warped mind could find companionship in the presence of the Boogeyman. Whether Jack liked Baby Tooth or not, Bunnymund just knew he couldn't be trusted.

Soon enough the tooth-fairy-substitutes were on their way, darting from house to house and snatching teeth from beneath children's pillows. After a little mix up regarding, uh, forgotten compensation, the Guardians and Jack were tooth fairying like old pros, competitive natures turning the task into a tournament, and even Bunnymund found himself laughing at times at the ridiculous lengths each of them went to in order to best the others.

North had the clear advantage, when all was over and done with; his sack of teeth was nearly the size of his usual present-filled version. Sure, he was a little singed from Bunnymund's underhanded fireplace gambit, but everyone else was slightly more frosted over than he, so North figured Jack had balanced the game in his favor, in the end.

"Still smoking there, Kris Kringle?" Jack teased, a knowing glint in his eye, and North wondered whether that balance had been intentional. "You guys are almost as fun as Pitch on- ah, I promised never to discuss that, didn't I? I've never had anyone to discuss it with, before, though…" The winter sprite trailed off and shrugged, redirecting his focus easily, "How're you feeling, Tooth?"

The mention of Pitch had taken a little of the wind from the Guardians' sails, but Toothiana still managed a smile, "I feel believed in."

Jack's crooked, answering grin was slow, like ice forming across a pond, but the bitterness was minimal, "Good."

"You know, I'm just not seeing it," Bunnymund blurted, on a near non-sequitur, but still close to the thought going through each Guardians' head, "You're not all that bad, Frost. What could you ever see in Pitch?"

"Maybe Pitch isn't all that bad, either," Jack grinned, but the be-serious stares he got in return made the smile falter. "You really want to know?" The answer was clear in their faces and Jack nodded, "…Right, then. Story time, I guess." He sat smoothly into a cross-legged perch on the corner of the roof they occupied and raised a warning finger, "I'm telling you now that this is going to be rambling, so… Beware and all that." Settling his staff across his knees, he began, "Pitch and I have known each other for a… really long time. Like, not as long as you all have been alive, but more than other spirits hang around each other. I used to have more trouble controlling my powers and Pitch would pop up and calm me down, even if he hated every second of it," a flicker of a grin, "Yeah, he was definitely trying to manipulate me at first, but I grew on him. I'd get him talking about things he couldn't twist into a recruitment speech, or going somewhere just to have fun instead of however he spends his time- I suspect brooding and plotting. Anyway… Eventually electric lights and heating happened and suddenly we'd spend days at a time whining about it together. We've actually got a lot in common, if you think about it. We just- we hang out. We go exploring, we figure things out together. I like him and he likes me, you know? What else is there to friendship?" Of course, he wasn't quite willing to explain any of the more private connections the two had made that did, in fact, make up a bit more of their friendship, but he was certain that in the Guardians' understandings, that was all there was to it.

"Pitch has a friend," Bunnymund realized aloud, as if the speech had finally made that concept sink in for him, "You two are actually friends."

Sandy seemed a little in awe and North was just looking at him calculatingly.

"Well," Toothiana stood from where she'd been mirroring Jack's perch, "Our work isn't done, boys. I think we've got a certain holiday coming up that could turn this all around, after we visit our last house."

Bunnymund's eyes sparkled, and he whipped toward North with a smirk, "Looks like even you can't deny Easter's greatness this year."

North opened and closed his mouth, before shaking his head with a laugh, "Just this once."

-o-

Hours earlier, when the Guardians' plan to be one with their inner tooth fairies was but a twinkle in North's eyes, Pitch was trying to figure out what he felt he'd forgotten. "Holy shit," he breathed from where he'd been pacing above the stacks of teeth, stock still with the realization that had just come to him, "I've got Jack's memories, don't I?" He glanced at the shimmering piles of golden tubes with a wince, "…Somewhere." He could just tell Jack he had the younger spirit's memories and let Jack take care of it… But… The idea of the winter spirit's slow grin as Pitch handed over the keys to Jack's past played in his mind. Metaphorically rolling up his sleeves, Pitch resigned himself to the most annoying game of I Spy he'd ever play.

-o-

Everyone was unconscious. Well, not everyone. Jack had a hand clutched desperately over his mouth as he watched the Guardians and Jamie slumped over furniture and rugs alike after a chase scene of epic proportions in the Bennet house involving a greyhound and maybe a little of Jack's meddling. Sandy was awake and eyeing Jack with a little, reluctant smile as he tried to be disapproving of the winter sprite's glee.

"Oh, come on, that was funny," Jack prodded and the Sandman rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Nightmares whinnied past outside before Sandy could sign a response, and Jack jumped at the challenge, "Whoa, did you see that? That was definitely a 'come and play,' or I don't know creepy like I think I do."

Sandy was reluctant to take off when his friends were all still sleeping, but Jack was out the window and Sandy couldn't let him go alone.

When he caught up to the winter sprite, Jack was grinning at a scowling Boogeyman and said Boogeyman's herd of Nightmares. The nearest of the horse-like beings was nuzzling Jack's cheek and the others looked as if they really wanted to push the nearest aside and take over the nuzzling duties for themselves.

"You like me; you really like me," Jack giggled, arms going around the nearest Nightmare's neck, "How's it feel to be betrayed by your own emotions?"

"I hate you more and more each day," Pitch growled, but if Sandy could still read the Boogeyman's face after all these years, there was an expression not unlike that of the other jealous Nightmares milling about in the herd under the scowl.

Sharp yellow eyes cut to Sandy's entrance, and at Jack's cheerful greeting, Pitch visibly hesitated. The tension grew thick enough that Sandy was certain it would smother the streetlamps, if allowed to go on.

"What a wash," Pitch grumbled, looking almost hungrily at Sandy, before pulling his gaze away as if it physically pained him to do so. He frowned once more at the uncooperative Nightmares before meeting Sandy's eye with a more civilized expression, "You got lucky this time, Sandman." Jack won't always be here to save you, Sandy read in Pitch's tone, and he couldn't help but wonder morbidly what Pitch had had planned for him to invoke that certainty, that clear belief in his coming victory.

Instead of giving into the morbid meanderings of his mind, Sandy grinned, signing, We don't need luck. We've got Jack.

Rather than deepening the scowl as Sandy'd expected, a smirk slid across Pitch's face, "For now."

The awkward, unspoken truce couldn't last, though, and as the awakened Guardians stumbled blearily onto the scene, Pitch and his overly-affectionate Nightmares fled, leaving Jack to stumble at the sudden lack of nuzzling that the herd had previously joined in on.

An education, Sandy answered his team's questions on what had gone on during their enforced slumber, eyes flicking once to meet Jack's, who returned his gaze with a tinge of mischief that seemed ever-so-slightly out of place, and a warning.

-o-

"I JUST NEED ONE OF THESE LIGHT FORSAKEN TUBES."

Deep in Pitch's lair, the captured tooth fairies giggled at the only entertainment they had left.

-o-

In the present time, however, the Guardians were hard at work dashing about Bunnymund's warren (excepting North who had his head between his knees as he breathed his way through the tunnel-induced nausea) and bringing brilliant colors and designs to life on the fragile eggs Bunnymund had at hand.

Well, sort of.

"I hate to be the one to tell you," Toothiana stifled her inappropriate case of the giggles as she looked over the monstrosity of egg design Jack had created in an attempt to deviate from the strange tendency his usual designs had to end up one specific pattern, "But I think you should stick with what you know." Sandy nodded emphatically, and Bunny actually winced at the glance he got of it.

Jack groaned and stomped back over to the blue paints, leaving his multi-colored nightmare in Tooth's hands and returning to the only design he could make with any consistency. Yes, a steady stream of snowflake-themed eggs came from Jack's workstation, and he did not try to waver from the path again.

It was nice, working with the Guardians on little things like this. Being part of a group that joked around and still got things done. He'd never experienced anything like this before, to his reckoning, and it was all almost warm, in the way he could dimly recall warmth being from before he died. Something good and uplifting rather than what warded him off.

Somehow, though, in comparison to Pitch… No, it didn't compare at all. It was like trying to hold up a candle to the sun and- and he'd never realized how intense the feelings he had for Pitch had become until he'd had this experience to compare them to. After all, it wasn't like there were any other relationships in his life to act as a control group.

Jack held up his last egg to the light, and wondered if Pitch could be convinced to paint with him sometime. Maybe the Boogeyman would have Jack's difficulties and be unable to produce anything other than dark, shadowy patterns. He was more inclined to think Pitch would be a perfectionist rather than an instinctual painter, and he could almost see the older spirit hunched over an egg, brows furrowed slightly as he traced a line of red tulips painstakingly around the center of the egg.

…Probably, he'd rather they not paint eggs, though.

The Guardians began chasing out the little, two-legged eggs into tunnels Bunnymund proudly exclaimed would take them all over the world, saving Easter and hope and the planet and blah, blah, blah…

"Don't make me frost your eggs again," Jack threatened idly, finally bringing Bunnymund's rambling to a stop and floating away a bit to get some space before it inevitably started back up again. Rolling his eyes when he heard the distinct Bunnymund Easter Pride Parade begin once more, Jack flew off into the nearby hills and mountains, making sure to stay within shouting distance, but far enough away to keep from getting infected with Easter Pride.

"Finally, you're away from those weirdos," a voice slid from the dark, and a hand turned him by the shoulder to face Pitch's exasperated expression, "We need to talk."

"Kay," Jack chirped, letting Pitch lead him further into the shadows between the boulders and hills.

In the half-dark, Pitch met Jack's eyes, searching for something and visibly building up steam as he didn't find it, "You do realize you are ruining years of my labor?"

"You do realize you shouldn't have challenged me to a game, right?"

"Jack, be serious for half a second and listen to me," Pitch had Jack's shoulders in his hands now, hunched over to speak eye-to-eye with the winter spirit, his tone changing to the soft one he used when Jack was forgetting something, "Losing this… game… will have some serious consequences for me."

"I know that," Jack interjected, the tone grating on his nerves as his smile vanished, "Don't act like I'm an idiot. Did you think that maybe I connected your five year disappearing act with an attack on the Guardians? That maybe I realized I could do something about it?"

Surprise and the inklings of hope chased each other about Pitch's face, and his head tilted inquisitively, carefully, "Did you?"

"If you win, you'll think everything's fine," Jack explained, calming now that Pitch was taking his words into consideration and placing a palm against Pitch's chest to feel the beat he'd grown accustomed to, "If you lose, I'll make everything fine. I don't want you to get all torn up again, and to be honest, I don't want you attacking the Guardians again, but there's a limited number of ways to stop you."

"Jack," Pitch's arm came around his waist, drawing him closer to the Boogeyman even as Pitch's other hand tilted Jack's chin up to better see his face, "You don't have to do this. Wouldn't you rather be with me? I can take care of myself, you know."

"The Guardians won't give up just because you beat them down," Jack said, shaking his head, "They just bounce back, and they'll keep trying to hurt you and contain you if you keep needling them. If I work with them, and they like me enough, they might be easier on you when they do."

Eyes steady and voice solemn, Pitch traced a nervous pattern across Jack's jaw, "I'd rather lose with you than against you."

Jack's heart was beating. It was loud and strong and he didn't know why it beat so much more forcefully around Pitch, but he could feel the answering pulse of Pitch's heart under his hand. "Why don't we just leave the Guardians alone? They've got enough on their hands recovering that if we give back the fairies and the teeth and keep to ourselves, maybe they'll leave us be. You haven't done anything too bad to them yet; they might just let us go out of relief."

"…They might not," Pitch replied, but Jack could see that, despite himself, the Boogeyman was reluctantly considering the idea.

"And all those years of planning would be ready for them if they didn't," Jack pointed out, pressing closer to Pitch as if the line of his body firm against the other's would convince him if Jack's words could not.

"I… I have to make a lasting impression," Pitch said, voice firming as his decision stabilized in a direction Jack was not approving of, "I need to show the Guardians I won't be pushed around anymore, or this will never end."

"Pitch," Jack tried, but the other spirit pulled away, shaking his head.

"I'm not happy with your choice and you're not happy with mine," Pitch summarized, dismissing the argument never to be resolved and tipping his head up towards the warren in the distance, "Besides, the weirdo brigade will be looking for you soon." His lips pulled upward into a smirk, "Oh, that's precious."

Jack glanced back the way he'd come, then narrowed his eyes at Pitch, "…What did you do?"

"Ah, well," Pitch waved his hand mildly, "We never set up any rules for your game."

Jack was already in the air, but he spared a moment for Pitch's education to shout back, "Parley is a universal standard!"

"You need to specify these things beforehand!" Pitch called back, smirk widening.

-0-

"What happened?" Jack demanded, "We were all ready to go!" Eggs lay broken, debris strewn about the ground like so many lifeless dolls.

"Pitch happened," North summed up gravely, Toothiana picking up the thread to explain,

"His Nightmares attacked soon after you left… Where were you?"

"Off not distracting Pitch as much as I thought I was, apparently," Jack scowled, crouching over some broken eggshells with an uncharacteristically grim expression, "It's not often he can outmaneuver me like that."

"Distracting him, huh?" Bunnymund croaked, breaking his silence and turning wary eyes on Jack, "Is that what they call it nowadays?"

There was a short, shocked silence before Jack stood. He met Bunny's gaze squarely, an icy sort of calculation in his expression, "Look, I'm on your side until one of us wins," however that may come about, "and you've gotta trust I'm working to help no matter what Pitch and I feel for each other. This is a setback, but it's not the endgame, not until the last light on that globe of yours goes out. I get you're not happy with the fact that Pitch and I actually enjoy spending time together when he's not hatching a mad scheme. Honestly, though? I'm getting a little sick of the lack of focus- and that's coming from me. Now, are we gonna keep your globe bright and happy or sit around whining about what we can't change?"

Jack looked around the Guardians' stony faces and nodded sharply to himself, "Alrighty, you're going with sit around and whine. I can tell where I'm not wanted. It's not as if I lack practice."

-0-

"Okay, change of plan," Jack said bluntly when he felt Pitch's presence behind him, "You go cuddle up to the Guardians and I'll try to take over the world."

"…Who's taking over the world now?" Pitch asked, stepping up beside Jack on one of the scenic white bluffs in the white landscape of white snow and watched a white polar bear meander through the white- Anyway, they were surrounded by snow, if that's not clear. "Despite what the Almighty Weirdoes may be telling you I can promise that's not my intent. Taking down the Guardians is not likely to land me a ruling position among the suddenly unleashed minor spirits they had been keeping suppressed."

"Ha, ha, not the point." Jack mussed up his own hair in frustration, "I don't think I can get back on the Guardians' good side, no thanks to you."

"Jack," Pitch took the winter sprite's wrists, looking at him with golden eyes brimming with the manic triumph of a war nearly won, "I'm winning; I'm really, truly winning this time. You don't need a backup plan."

"But," Jack didn't want to admit to whining, but he could describe it any other way, "the game." "Oh, honestly," Pitch rolled his eyes, "Would you feel better about it if I had an adequate bargaining chip to, shall we say, change your colors?" At Jack's reluctant nod, he rifled about and produced a golden tube from somewhere on his person with a smug little grin, "Will this do?"

"Yes," Jack grabbed the tube from his hands and returned Pitch's grin twice as widely, "How did you find it?"

"Painfully," Pitch sniffed, "With more effort expended than I wanted or intended. You owe me at the least a turncoat, Benedict Arnold style."

Glee was still strong in Jack's expression, but a hesitance wriggled in amongst the joy. Not enough to overpower it, but enough to lean it a different direction. Clearly Jack was second guessing something. Pitch meant to elaborate a little further on how much better winning would be if Jack wasn't actively sabotaging it, but the younger spirit cut him off before he could speak a word. With a kiss.

It was over nearly as soon as it began, and then they were left with a vaguely awkward silence as the untamed wind of the Antarctic rushed through the space between them and Pitch worked his jaw in a silent attempt at some sort of response.

"Sorry," Jack began to babble at Pitch's dumbstruck expression, "I just sort of thought we were there, you know? I mean, obviously you didn't know, with that look on your mug, but I mean, I just- Sorry. I must have read it wrong." This time the rest of Jack's apologies would never meet open air as Pitch silenced him with a kiss of his own, lasting just a breath longer than the first one. Jack could feel that phantom blush sensation creeping up his cheeks, though he knew there'd be no change to his appearance to give it away, and he looked up at the Boogeyman with wide eyes, "Oh." For his part, Pitch was finally out of monologues and a slow smile crept across his face as Jack stared up at him in slowly returning glee. Like any stage in their relationship, this was yet another they wouldn't be talking about out loud, but their lips met once more before Jack dragged himself away with a hand between them to act as a shield. "Okay, I really want to know what my life was like before all this so put a hold on that, won't you?"

A snort from behind the shielding hand and Pitch pushed down said appendage before pulling up the other, still holding Jack's tube of teeth, "Go ahead."

Another bright grin flashed the Boogeyman's direction, and then Jack was glassy eyed and gone in a way eerily unlike his usual episodes as memories of his previous life flashed through his mind. He awoke with a gasp and a reaching hand that clutched at Pitch's arm without thought, eyes shuttered and smile gone. "Pitch," he started warily, "I might be a Guardian."

"You're a winter spirit," Pitch denied, but his own voice seemed uncertain. What had Jack seen? "How can blizzards and slippery ice protect children?"

"I don't know," Jack snapped, but his eyes were on the golden tube, haunted by whatever it was that he had seen, "But I… I died saving my sister," his eyes finally dragged themselves from the tube only to hook on his shepherd's staff, "with that."

"Well, that explains that particular phobia," Pitch muttered, but kept his gaze on the spirit on the edge of panic before him. "Jack," he said, taking Jack's chin in hand and pushing Jack to face him fully, "Whatever just happened- that was a lifetime ago- more, really. You can't seriously-" When the winter sprite looked more fearfully indecisive than persuaded, Pitch's grip tightened on the other spirit's chin and his voice grew strained, "You're not a Guardian, Jack, and you know it. You're not a protector!"

"Sometimes, I've wanted to be," Jack said in a small voice, "We've talked about it…"

"You've killed before, Jack!" Desperately, Pitch searched Jack's eyes, "You don't belong with the Guardians- not like this! Not like you belong with me!"

"…How much of that is because of you?"

Pitch dropped his hands from Jack as if he'd been bitten, "I haven't… You were so happy, just minutes ago, with me. You chose this, too. You could have walked away at any moment. I didn't…" Hesitantly, he took up Jack's hand again, and continued after the lack of protest, "You could still walk away now. Couldn't you? The Guardians didn't exactly chase you off. Would you choose them over me? Because it is your choice. No waffling or double agents or politics, this time either. Would you leave… Would you leave me for them?"

"I think making each other happy makes us worse people," Jack said, slowly, not answering the question directly, but the direction he was implying made the heartbeat Pitch still wasn't quite used to feeling falter in his chest. "I hurt people learning how to make my storms scarier. You manipulated people into staying outside in the cold just that little bit longer because I was lonely. This…"

"What…" An incredulous, uncertain laugh, "What is this? Bleeding heart day? What did that stupid tube do to you?"

"Opened my eyes, I think," Jack answered quietly and the fear and pain and uncertainty Pitch had been feeling collapsed down into anger.

"Closed them, more like," he spat, closing the distance between them in a distinctly predatory manner, "Where were the Guardians when you were trying to stop your first blizzard? Where were the people you want to protect when you needed protection? What sort of help were those missing memories when you were scared and feeling hopeless? I know they weren't there for you, because I was! Me! Not the Guardians! Not the humans! Not the thrice forsaken Man in the Moon!"

"Pitch, I'm not saying I want to fight you- I just-" Frustration stole his words and Jack's upraised hand fell weakly to his side, "I am a Guardian."

"Oh, so confident, now!" Pitch raised his own hands mockingly, "Why don't you just go join your buddies now in their upcoming crushing defeat? Go toddle off and protect them, won't you? Well?" He raised one eyebrow, simmering at the very idea, "You're a Guardian, now, why aren't you-"

"Because I love you, you complete bastard!" Jack's hand was fisted by his side and the other rose up to ineffectually shove at Pitch's chest, resulting in a slight stumble from the taller spirit, "God, I've been trying to tell you: I'm a Guardian and I love you, and I haven't wanted to fight you and I don't want you to fight and you're not exactly helping the situation!" He glared at Pitch, almost daring him to mock him again, but the elder spirit was silent, "You're a horrible influence on me, and I'm not the best on you. You're rude, and arrogant, and an absolute drama queen of the highest order, and I love you, but I am a Guardian and you're going to have to decide what to do about that!"

Now that thought had finally returned to the realm of the Nightmare King, Pitch replied eloquently, "…What?"

"Look, I've said it three times and you're not hearing it again for another century if you keep up this-" But whatever Jack meant to say would never reach air, as Pitch had pulled Jack in and sealed their lips together in a much deeper kiss than they'd shared so far, an edge of desperation lingering in the clutching fingertips against the small of Jack's back.

"You hate the Guardians," Jack managed to gasp between kisses, "And I know I'm meant to be one. That I can protect people."

"But you won't leave me," Pitch breathed, migrating to Jack's jawline and mouthing along its edge.

"But you'll end up hating me," Jack protested.

"Never," Pitch promised, "so long as you stay by my side you can try to keep children safe to your hearts' content." He inhaled deeply at the crook of Jack's neck, "You don't need to be friendly with the weirdo brigade to be a protector, if you really must."

"It's my purpose; I can't just give it up now that I know," he hesitated, "but… We'll fight."

"Oh, come now," Pitch purred, nuzzling against Jack's neck, "A little Dark Age never hurt anyone. They've lived through it before."

"Not that," Jack pushed the Boogeyman away, trying to meet his eyes instead of feeling every word exhaled across his skin, "Well, a little bit that. You said I can't have it both ways."

"You can't," Pitch trailed a finger down his cheek, "It all comes down to your ultimate loyalty, doesn't it? You could run off to the Guardians and fight the one you love to preserve their petty ideals, or… You could finally forget them, and stay with me and make your own ideals a reality. Jack Frost and Pitch Black; oh, we'd fight, but over our decisions, not for the sake of someone else. After all, what goes better together than cold and dark?"

"And alone," Jack murmured unthinkingly, the pulse of cold-dark-alone that had never really left him rising to the forefront of his mind.

"Who else would we need?" Pitch replied, almost cheerfully, but the nature of the silence that followed had his eyes narrowing as his suspicions returned.

"You never said it back," Jack said pensively, and Pitch startled.

"What do you mean?"

Eyes rising to meet Pitch's once more, Jack repeated, more firmly, "You never said it back. Do you love me?" For a moment, Pitch scrambled for a response, but the wide-eyed look he gave Jack was more than enough answer for the winter sprite. "You don't, do you? Is it just loneliness, then? You didn't want to be completely alone once you'd finished thrashing the Guardians- and maybe the other minor spirits, too? Or do they just not count? Whatever happened to just- just proving you won't be pushed around anymore? Was it ever the truth?" Pitch opened his mouth, but Jack steamrolled right over him, "I am a Guardian, and I love you. That's my truth, now." Not cold, dark, and alone. Not anymore. "Can you even lie to say it back?" That stupid tube of teeth. This time the silence stretched, and Jack took a step back, then another, "I wish you'd never started this fight." With a blast of cold air and a flurry of snow, he was gone, and Pitch stared at the spot he'd been standing for longer than he should have.

"Me too."

A cloud's shadow passed over the spot and the whisper of sound was gone along with its originator.

-0-

"Yeah, yeah, don't look so pleased to see me," Jack grumbled as he landed amidst the shell-shocked Guardians outside Jamie's house.

"We thought you had gone to Pitch," North said before Sandy elbowed him in the ribs.

"I'm not very happy with him right now, so I'll continue to help you beat him down," Jack informed them, leaning on his iced-over staff, "But I won't let you do anything… permanent to him."

"We're not trying to kill him," Toothiana retorted, and a snort came from the sleigh.

"Not that it'd be any great loss should the bugger perish," came Bunnymund's voice from the depths of the vehicle.

"What Bunnymund means to say," North coughed to hide a glare at the tiny rabbit within his sleigh, "is that we are glad for your help."

"You're welcome," Jack replied automatically, his voice distant and his eyes far away before he snapped back to reality, "So what are we waiting for? Let's get this show on the road."

-0-

He actually left, Pitch's thoughts kept coming back to Jack's exodus no matter how firmly he directed them elsewhere. Trying to convince himself, he shook his head, He loves me; he can't be serious. But Jack had certainly seemed serious. It wasn't a game, anymore. Pitch wasn't even sure Jack was willing to hear him out. How had so much been changed with a simple, stupid memory of protecting some insignificant little child? How could that one moment, that singular event that Jack hadn't even remembered up until now outweighed centuries at Pitch's side?

It wasn't just the memory, a snide voice whispered to him, you know what truly broke his resolve.

So what if Pitch hadn't… If he'd not quite said… If he wasn't entirely certain that…

"He sprung it on me!" The Boogeyman growled, spooking the Nightmares near him into a larger diameter as he made his way towards the last Believer, "I didn't have time to think about it!"

You were certainly willing to take advantage of it.

"I didn't want him to leave," Pitch replied, uncaring that he was essentially having a half-spoken argument with himself, "I just want..." He wanted to win. To see the Guardians fear him and be crushed beneath his onslaught. To have Jack smile at him with pride and- No, he thought, that's not right- but the images kept coming. Walking over a battlefield and looking up to meet Jack's gaze as he lit down on the edge of the destruction. Complaining about the latest leap in warding off the cold and dark together. Laughing over the most idiotic things. Nonchalantly dodging snowballs and catching glimpses of the frustration on the winter sprite's face before he could think of a solution and that smirk would come over it instead. Jack's hand slipping in his. Jack's lips curved in a smile. Jack's incessant obsession with games. Jack's laugh. His open face. His eyes. Jack.

Pitch's heart beating in his ears.

"Fuck." He hadn't realized he was standing still until he made up his mind where to go, and the Nightmare King charged off down the road with a goal in mind entirely different from when he'd started.

-0-

"So, this is how the world ends," Bunnymund murmured as the tsunami waves of Nightmares engulfed buildings and streets in a wash of shimmering black sand with an unending roar of motion.

If anyone's world is ending, it's mine, Jack thought, but said tensely aloud, "Don't start up that again."

"Shut up, Jack," Bunnymund shot back, "You could at least acknowledge that we've got a lot to lose if your boyfriend takes us down."

"I don't know if he's even my friend right now," Jack muttered more to himself than to the small rabbit on North's shoulders that had once been a mighty Pooka. Said rabbit eyed him strangely for a moment before returning to his alert surveillance of the street.

They didn't have to wait much longer as a wave of Nightmares bulged and burst with the speedy arrival of the Boogeyman. He skidded to a halt and opened his mouth before taking in the Guardians and Jamie all looking towards him warily and shutting said mouth with a snap. He cleared his throat, eyes flickering towards Jack, and spread his arms wide, "No hope left, is there?" Pointing at Bunnymund, he wagged a finger, "Almost literally."

"We'll go down fighting for what's right," Toothiana declared, stepping forward ever so slightly and sinking back into a fighting stance.

"Ah, yes, of course, you would," Pitch nodded agreeably, "But you don't have to."

"If you think we're just gonna roll over for you, you've got another think coming," Bunnymund growled, hopping forward on North's shoulder.

"Well, it would be very sensible of you with all of… this," he waved at the veritable onslaught of Nightmares and clasped his hands behind his back, "But you'd never accept that. However, I do hold all the cards, right now, don't I?" His laugh was strange, and a tremor of nerve entered his voice, "I could call it all off." The Guardians startled at the very idea and Bunnymund looked ready to shout something offensive, but Pitch wasn't looking at anyone but Jack anymore, rushing through his words as if to finish before the Guardians could interrupt, "I could let you go with a simple promise. A treaty, if you will. Practically a handshake and a good bye and you'd be back in the wonder-making, joy-spreading business."

Bunnymund may not have trusted a word out of the Boogeyman's mouth, but in this situation… He eyed the walls of Nightmares, glanced at the singular Believer left on the planet, and nodded when North caught his eye. Similar signals came from the other Guardians, as Jack tightened his grip on his staff.

"What kind of treaty?" North asked, and a little of Pitch's nervousness settled.

"Firstly, I let you live free of attack," Pitch began, almost as smoothly as his usual snake oil, "and you return the favor. Meaning, you can spread your wonder, and your hope, and the belief in little fairies that come in the night- you just can't snuff out the belief in me." He held his palms before him, entreatingly, "Simple, isn't it? Coexistence. The stuff of fairy tales."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Toothiana spoke up, "You're not exactly known for your honesty."

"Well, I mean, I could just crush you now and be done with it," Pitch replied with a hint of bite to his tone, before he smoothed his hair back and took a breath, "but I'm not." When their gazes stayed suspicious, and Jack's unreadable, his hand dropped to the side, "Oh, come on; what's the hold up?"

"What's in it for you? You'd never make such an equal deal," Bunnymund demanded and Pitch crossed his arms over his chest.

"Fine," his arms tightened over his own chest, "The deal can always be weighted in my favor, if you prefer. I'll also need your oaths not to interfere with my relationship with Jack."

"And what relationship is that?"

Pitch's eyes cut to Jack as he finally made a foray into the conversation, "Welcome to the debate, Jack. So glad you could make it."

Jack continued as if he hadn't spoken, moving to the front of the small group of spirits, "Because last time we spoke, I didn't know if we even had a relationship anymore. Do we?" He laughed, and it wasn't the clear sound Pitch wanted to hear, "What are you doing? Are you that scared of being alone? You know you'll only resent me and grow tired of me faster if you go through with this."

"Oy! Watch your step," Bunnymund put in, but Jack ignored him.

There was the slightest hint of desperation on Jack's face that sparked a corresponding flicker of hope in Pitch's chest, as the winter spirit asked, "Why are you doing this?"

He was close enough now in his stalk forward that Pitch could reach out and snatch his hand, bringing it to the Boogeyman's chest and the beating therein, "Because of this. Because it's only you. Because it took the threat of losing you to realize…" He trailed off, frustrated with himself that he still couldn't say it, and turned to the Guardians in undignified desperation, "Will someone please educate him on the blasted metaphor that is a spirit's heartbeat!"

"Um, a Guardian's heart is always beating," Toothiana began slowly, to the disbelief of her fellow Guardians, "Because of their bond with children, but it's slow. A spirit's heart only- um, it beats normally when they're…"

"A beating heart means love," North said softly, translating Sandy's frustrated interruption of Toothiana's belabored explanation.

Pitch turned beseeching eyes back to Jack, and the winter sprite shook his head incredulously, eyes wide, "I can't believe you're such an idiot."

Despite himself, Pitch had time for one trickle of offended indignation before Jack was clutching him close and continuing a semi-muffled rant on Pitch's utter idiocy in all he was and did.

"I didn't know Jack Frost was real until just now," Jamie murmured, sliding into the sleigh and leaning back, "But he's my favorite."

No one paid that any mind.

The waves of Nightmares were subsiding, almost as if they were draining away, as the Nightmares lost interest without Pitch's focus keeping them on task, and Jamie, for one, looked very relieved. "Should we ask about treaty later?" North whispered to Sandy, who rolled his eyes just as a thought occurred to Bunnymund.

"Bugger off," Pitch called over, stealing a kiss from Jack as punctuation, "Or we will never get around to talking about that treaty."

"You will," Jack retorted, and Pitch kissed him again, but the winter sprite just repeated less firmly, "You will. You're never getting beat up again."

"I was winning," Pitch reminded him, but pulled away to address the lingering concerns of the peanut gallery. Even if he didn't get to crush the Guardians physically, at least their pride would be destroyed to be equals with the Boogeyman.

"Hey, wait, Pitch has a heart!" Bunnymund exclaimed, half in awe and half in disgust, "We've got proof!"

Pitch and the other Guardians exchanged a short, incredulous look, and the Boogeyman shook his head as if to rid it of the memory, "Let's get this over with."

-0-

It wasn't smooth sailing. The whole idea was weird and they stepped on each others' toes more than once in the initial implementation, and for his part, Jack wasn't exactly perfect at turning his powers solely to protection and fun. Sometimes, the Guardians would think that it'd be better if they didn't have to allow belief in the Boogeyman to linger in children's minds, if they'd fought Pitch to the end, but remembering the sheer walls of Nightmares crashing over the town of Burgess usually stopped that line of thought right quick. Even if Bunnymund continued to grumble about it long past the point of the others' acceptance. And maybe sometimes, Pitch gritted his teeth when dream sand flitted past him in the night, or felt his shoulders tense as a fairy darted just within reach, and wondered if he shouldn't have just wiped the Guardians from the face of the earth and been done with it. Then a hand would slip into his. Or cold arms would wrap around his waist.

It was worth it.

The future had its fair share of cold and dark, but for the first time Pitch and Jack knew very clearly that they'd never be alone.