Burning Sage.
Ch.1
A/N~ Well would you look at that, Sumi FINALLY got around to revising and editing this fic. And it only took like…a year? SHIT.
Anyways, I apologize for the delay folks. Some of you may know, but for the past week or so I have been ill – ill enough that I was not able to even turn on my computer for over four days. On a happier note though, I started college the previous Monday! I'll be taking a full class load, at least two classes a day, five days a week. Though thankfully Fridays and Tuesdays/Thursdays are single classes, but I will likely take extra time for tutoring and other activities. But this is actually a good thing! I write a lot more when I have a living routine to go by, so even with homework and assignments, all of it will blend together with my writing.
That said, please read this BIG NOTICE!
This fic was originally a prompt I adopted from the RoTG DreamWidth forum. It was actually because of that prompt and this fic that my beloved (and quite popular) OC, Hal, was born. But as time wore on, and his character developed, it soon occurred to me that the assigned plot won't completely and totally fit his backstory. About 90% of it will though! So not too many changes will be made, but the backstory is going to go through a serious overhaul, and include past history that involves my other OC, Samhain, and Pitch Black. So while the back-plot will change, the general plot from the prompt will mostly stay the same. So no worries!
As of now, all chapters have been revised and edited. You can find little notices in each chapter for any heads-ups or things you should know, or notify you of any drastic changes. I hope to have a new chapter up eventually, but again, with my new schedule, it will be a bit on the fence depending on how much homework I get.
So please enjoy folks! Much love to you!
WARNING! For MAJOR OC interactions and OC major role casting. Don't like OCs, don't read.
Enjoy!
Rating: T (for swearing)
Genre: Humor, friendship, romance, hurt/comfort, angst.
Characters: Guardians (all), Pitch, Hal (OC, major), other OCs (minor).
AU: Any origins or character plots are not complacent with other story plots (not SaD complacent).
So…
Shall we start now?
~S~
~s~s~S~s~s~
Do not fall asleep.
This was Pitch's number one rule as of now. It was all he had to live by, his only real means of survival. There was very little else he could do that would guarantee his survival these days.
One would think his methods were overly dramatic, if not exaggerated. But this was not the case with the exhausted Boogeyman. That, and to withhold his fear so he would not be targeted. A mantra had long since planted itself in his head, a desperate and maddening chant that buzzed in his skull.
'Don't feel, don't feel, don't let them know you're afraid…'
Don't fall asleep, don't feel, and don't let them know you're afraid. This was his only means of staying alive and free of physical and mental pain. It has so far kept him alive, and the sources of those hellish pale yellow eyes away from him. He could not show fear, otherwise they would sense it. And they would hurt him.
But it could not be contained for long. His energy was waning, and their whispers slowly chipped and whittle at his walls. These cracks kept those dozens of burning amber eyes trained on him, hungry and taunting.
'I'm being stalked like a mouse in my own home…' the thought caused a tired, mirthless chuckle to leave Pitch's lips. Oh how the mighty have fallen…
The Boogeyman was practically a literal shadow of his former self. His energy had been sapped by not only his defeat, but by the ravenous Nightmares prowling his abyssal caverns. His cloak was in tatters, and the bottom half was fading into the floor – he looked like a fading ghost. And at any other time and circumstance, he would have taken a moment to appreciate how eerie the look was. But as it stands, the appearance was not something to croon over; it was something to be frightened of.
His anxieties only seemed to increase the Nightmare's agitation. But they thankfully (or unthankfully) could not do anything until Pitch was asleep. And he had stayed awake ever since his defeat against the Guardians…
Five years ago.
By nature, Pitch – and various other spirits – did not necessarily require sleep. However, should a spirit be significantly weakened or injured, sleep was the best method to recharge the batteries and help the healing process speed up. The longest a spirit can go without rest when injured is around two to three years. Pitch will be pushing on six in a couple months. And like with humans, lack of sleep can be dangerous and hazardous. Pitch was already a bit of an insomniac, but he chalked that up to his own stresses and stubbornness to forsake something 'trivial'.
He certainly lost any desire to sleep after he woke up being eaten by his Nightmares. After they had dragged him back into his lair kicking and screaming, he had been leeched to the point of passing out. And when he regained consciousness, the Nightmares backed off, but still fed off of the fear he radiated like filter-feeding bottom dwellers. They generally left him alone, but whenever he showed even the scantest bit of weakness, they'd swarm him with stomping hooves and gnashing teeth.
Pitch learned to keep his guard up and to never relax from then on. He couldn't escape either – the hole to his lair was sealed with a thick layer of dirt and Nightmare residue, and he was too weak to use the shadows to teleport.
But it was all starting to catch up to him. The Boogeyman was exhausted. His knees were stiff, yet they felt like overcooked noodles. Everything ached, and his bones would grind and creak with each move he made. Even his own skin and organs felt like deadweight! He had long since lost his ability to walk, and he had been confined to his throne for the better part of a month. Normally he'd be congratulating himself on surviving and making it this long, but right now, he was even too tired to gloat.
'Just stay awake, just a bit longer…' he thought wearily, 'The seal will weaken over time, and then you can escape, feed on fear, and then tame those wretched beasts.'
Shuddering, Pitch's heavy head dropped into his folded arms, of which were resting on one of the armrests of his stone chair. He felt like a newborn deer, and was likely just as powerful as one. He was cold and tired, he only wanted to sleep. But he couldn't. Never again, he didn't want to have dark dreams like the ones his Nightmares brought him. Never again!
No, never again. Those dreams of inky darkness and silence, touches and voices just out of reach. And if he did reach out to those vague silhouettes, they would only scorn him. Memories and nightmares went hand in hand, and his memories were certainly their own form of reality turned nightmare.
Weak!
Ugly.
No one wants you!
You're the Boogeyman! Why would I want to be anywhere near you?
Go on back to your hellhole.
You disgust me!
Hateful.
Wretched.
Unwanted.
Loveless.
Heartless.
Hate.
Hate. Hate. Hate. HATE. HATE. HATE!
Liquid fear cascaded down gaunt, hollow cheeks from tightly shut eyes. Sharp teeth gritted and ground into his tongue until it bled that same inky essence. But still, not even the physical pain could draw his mind out of his waking-nightmare. The Nightmares reveled in the anxiety and insecurities. The sand spirits and lowly Fearlings drank up his tears like parched prodigals in a desert. The well may run dry soon, but that didn't matter – as long as they got their fill, not even they would miss Pitch Black.
Not even your own creations like you.
Poor, poor Pitch. So alone, so neglected, so delicious…!
Not even that upstart frost sprite would hear your pleas!
Hahaha! The Boogeyman! Begging for companionship! How lowly you are.
Never seen, never touched, never loved.
You are loveless! There is only hate offered up to you.
It's no wonder he left you. You scorned him like the wretched creature you are, and he left you!
The King of Hatred and Loathing!
All hail the king!
All hail the king!
All hail the-
The Boogeyman's hearing was suddenly assaulted by loud shrieks. He was too distressed, too tired, and too disoriented to figure out where it was coming from and why he was hearing it. His hearing has questionable as it faded and heightened with his lack of sleep and healing. He was probably imagining things again, or the Nightmares had made him fall asleep again. He didn't care anymore. It hurt too much to care…
His blurry vision was covered in darkness as his eyelids slid shut. But the muffled screaming continued. What was that? Why was there screaming? Were the dream apparitions screaming in his presence? No, that would have been a good dream. He couldn't see anything either. And…there was a smell now…
That smell…like crisp fall air, and carrying the scent of dried leaves. He could smell pumpkin spice and cinnamon, as well as burning wood. It was dry and smoky, yet spicy and warm. Like a walk out in an autumn cloaked forest, or a bonfire of a fall feast. The smell was stronger now, and the cries were becoming fewer and fewer. And there was…a light?
Dull gold eyes barely withheld the strength to open just the slightest bit, but not even a moment before snapping shut again. Light…it was orange, yellow, and red. It was warm and blazing. Like fire. Fire…
'There's a fire in my lair…' he thought impassively. Well, that's a shame, but at least it was warm. Maybe it could burn away his loneliness and heartache. Maybe it could burn away those memories. Yes, that would be nice…
The dull orange glow suddenly vanished from the other side of his eyelids. It was silent as death now. No Nightmares, no Fearlings whispering his deepest insecurities and fears, no screaming, no crackling of fire, nothing.
Pitch felt the slow press of isolation starting to creep over him. It was so cold now, there was literally no one with him now. The Nightmares and Fearlings may have tortured him, but they were at least there – they at least acknowledged him! But they were gone now, they're not here, he couldn't feel them. He was completely alone now…!
'No…no, I don't want to be trapped here like this…!' he thought, his entire body shaking with cold and fright.
But suddenly, a patch of warmth. A large, slow heat was pressed against his cheek, almost engulfing the side of his head. It was so warm, yet dense like leather. Leather…yes, it felt like leather – a hand.
A slightly weaker heat washed over him, like sunlight peeking in through a window. He felt himself being shifted and moved from his cold, stone throne, and his eyelids fluttered weakly.
Cat-like eyes of orange, yellow, and white greeted his teetering vision. The slits contorted in the dark, the owner of the eyes cloaked in the blackness. They were the first colors he's seen in over five years, and they seemed to glow like gentle candle flames. They seemed familiar though, eerily so…
He was hauled up and into a burning hot embrace. Arms were around his body, and the heat of the stranger's very core soaked into his bones. Those eyes flashed in his mind as he teetered over the edge of consciousness. Even as he once again fell into the forsaken darkness of unconsciousness, a part of him thought of a name…
'Samhain…?'
There were no nightmares.
To be continued…
~s~s~S~s~s~
A/N~ First chapter of the revamp! Tell me what you all think!
~S~