Disclaimer: The Plucker and all characters are soley theproperty of Brom. No profit or gain was achieved through this piece of fanfiction.

Darkness

The pain of knowing that they were frightened, even terrified, of him was almost unbearable.

Jack had realized that they did only a few days after the war he had waged, and only minutes after he had been able to regain a sense of coherence from the fuzzy instability that had clouded his mind while his seams were sewn together, tirelessly, by Thomas' mother.

There were a few that weren't frightened. The Baron, born of Thomas' love for the noble and strong, had lived through a thousand imagined battles. He knew what it was that coursed through Jack, and did not fear it. The Monkey simply seemed not to care, for whatever reason.

And the Angel, of course, didn't even her allow herself the thought that she should care. She was Jack's saving grace, quite literally. He had saved her life and, in return, she did him the favor of not allowing Jack to succumb to the dark essence that throbbed unceasingly through him.

The essence that left the other toys still staring at him with unearthly horror, a fear of the wild unknown.

For a while, it had only hurt. Jack felt betrayed. After all, he had saved them and the child that gave them life in the first place. It didn't seem fair that they should be frightened of him.

Gradually, insistently, the hurt had faded. Leaving anger in its place. And a darkness that Jack had hoped to never again feel. Anger, rage, and hatred. There was nothing to combat it and slowly Jack felt it consuming him. It grew, each time they pretended not to see him as they busied about their tasks, or when they avoided his attempts to engage them in conversation. It was nearly as bad as being back in the Underbed, where it had all started so horribly.

Jack hadn't realized there was worse than the avoidance, though. Until now. Grovelling was, by far, the worst. The little doll was practically shivering before him, almost cowering. Jack, attempting to alleviate the poor, pitiful creatures fear, turned to one of the many things that bound them together as Toys. A loose seam in his shoulder, where the Mother had missed a stitch. He attempted to comment on it, and turned back to the little figure.

It was staring up at him, and suddenly turned, pulling at a loose thread in its leg. For a moment, Jack was stunned. Poleaxed into being unable to move. Trying to fathom why the doll would be attempting to destroy itself. It was muttering, small words, and Jack suddenly realized what it was doing. It was trying to fix him.

It was trying to use a piece of its own body to repair him.

Red spilled before Jack's vision. This creature had not that right. How could it think that such a horrifying deed would possibly aid him? There was no reason why something such as that should be done for his sake. He tried to speak, but no words came, so instead he raised his hand. Intent on forcing the doll to stop. Determined to destroy the dear, or possibly send the creature away. And, once again, it cowered. Falling to its knees before him. Jack hissed, and the red turned to black, the need to stop it merging with his desire to teach it. Perhaps pain would make it stop. Make the doll learn that he was not what was to be feared.

Around him, Jack felt the other dolls pressing in, watching. Waiting. A few gasped in shock as he raised his hand higher, and more than a few murmured knowingly. Jack tried to curb his rage. Tried to stop himself. His hand reached it's highest point and he choked, not wanting whatever blow he intended to fall.

Then She spoke. Her voice, tremulously and repeatedly calling his name, breaking through the Red, and the black. Her petite hand fell on his shoulder, no fear in her movements. Jack gasped for air, and his hand fell, but only weakly and too his side. Jack felt the world whir, and his knees bent, unwilling to hold his weight any longer.

She caught him as he fell, lowering them both to the ground, and stroking his hair as she spoke quietly, the words gradually becoming a gentle song as Jack trembled in her arms, finding himself clinging to her in a most undignified manner. She said nothing, and the song faded into humming as her face pressed against his hair, while she periodically delivered kisses to his brow. Each gesture was deliberate and purposeful, but full of gentleness. Completely understanding.

And why wouldn't she understand, Jack thought. She was the essence of goodness. Gentle and kind and possessing a strength all of her own, born of the light within her. At her end of the spectrum, it was easy for her to understand the completeness that had become Jack, to comprehend all that he had become.

For it was Jack's very nature, however unnatural and alien it was, that left the other toys as they were. Frightened and grovelling. His nature, born of magic and necessity, was one of hate and anger and strife. The Heart still beat in his chest, and the burden of Mabel's gift weighed him down each minute he existed. It only strengthened if he tried to fight it, feeding on his frustration with the perpetual mechanics that were known to most as hate.

Jack himself was Darkness.

The Angel to which he now clung desperately was both his foil and savior. She was filled with Goodness, and with the essence of both gentleness and love.

Jack, who had replaced the ancient Plucker as the terror of Thomas' room, was fueled by anger and hatred.

He bit his lip, turning his head into the shoulder of the Angel. How could they not fear him? Jack realized that they were correct to avoid him. How could they not fear him when each day they saw, reflected in him, the look of all things they believed to be evil.

The Angel continued to hum, unceasingly, and Jack realized that this was the price he was to pay. The price for saving the other toys, and for saving Thomas, was that Jack himself had learned, and was to live each day with the knowledge that even a toy could comprehend the nature and temptations of Evil.