Okay people, this is un-Beta'd (Since I lack a Beta reader!) But it is edited and prettied up to the best of my abilities. Expect a few errors, and please leave feedback! It is wholly appreciated, and I will be updating once a certain quota of reviews has been met for each entry!

Warning: This story will contain male x male love and the occasional…w ell, sex. If you don't like fan pairings, boy love, or whatever, don't read it! Plain and simple. Otherwise, I love you, and please enjoy the story!

There wasn't much to him really that could be considered good. Nor was there much that could be considered evil.

In a world where you fade into nonexistence if your powers aren't utilized, who could blame him? Who could really say that the boogeyman was truly bad?

Some could argue that he was born as the incarnation of evil itself. That none could hide in the shadows as he does, emerging to instill dread and terror and not be dubbed evil.

Who really has the right to condemn a soul, be it one that shifts the darkness of the world or be it one who casts light upon the gloom?

Pitch's Lament

He screamed.

He shrieked out shaking sobs as the nightmares dragged him deep into his lair, scratching at the ground and walls of the tunnel and searching for a handhold; something that could allow passage for escape. Just as he was able to snatch a handful of dirt and roots, a shower of splintered wood rained down on him, breaking his support and forcing him to submit to the will of the wicked mares.

He smashed into solid ground, his head crunching sickeningly against the stone floor as the mares swirled menacingly around him. He could barely see through a haze of confusion as he forced himself off the ground, swiping helplessly at the fearlings. His mind reeled, the circular motion of the black sand around him dizzying him further, and he pitched forward, smacking into the ground once again.

The fear was sapped from him as he accepted his fate. Death. Death would be upon him soon enough when the mares decided to rip him to shreds. He closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against the cold concrete, needing to feel something before the imminent closure of his long, tedious life.

Death never came. The mares still swirled around him, snorting occasionally and thudding their hooves against the ground.

"Do it already you useless louts!" Pitch yelled, snapping his eyes open and glaring up at the cloud of sand. They regained form, transforming back into a group of dark mares. They still encircled him, but seemed uncertain about attacking, glancing at each other and then back at pitch. One whinnied, and then trotted off, dissipating into particles and vanishing into the shadows. One by one each of the mares followed, leaving pitch alone in the dark of his lair.

He rolled onto his back and sat up, glaring into the dark. How humiliating. This was the day he had been defeated by the guardians, who couldn't see fit to finish him off themselves, and now the very nightmares who had turned against him had decided against ending his dreadful life. Why delay the inevitable? He would fade into nonexistence soon enough.

Realization dawned on him though as he sat there grimacing into the dark. The nightmares could no longer sense the fear that he had held moments before because of his acceptance of fate.

He wasn't sure if he was lucky or not. Life or death didn't matter anymore in his eyes; he had been defeated, cast back into the shadows of children's memory, hidden away behind their wretched hope, wonder, dreams and fun. Such idle things… And yet they thwarted him so easily.

He righted himself, brushing traces of dirt off of his arms. Wretched guardians. How dare they steal his place in the world? How dare they shove him back into shadows, humiliating him and forgetting him? He could feel an ache welling up in his chest at the thought. He was to be forgotten again. The boogeyman, lost in time and memory.

He brought a hand up, covering his mouth and forcing the sob back down his throat. He would not cry over such a matter. He would take his place again. He would be remembered.

Pitch walked into a wall, through a shadow, and emerged in the main chamber of his lair, just in front of the model globe that spun with those sickening lights indicating the beliefs and joy of the children. He curled one hand into a fist, glaring at the horrid lights. "Damn guardians…" He muttered, pulling his fist back.

"Damn GUARDIANS!" his fist swung forward and smacked loudly into the globe, sending an echo bouncing off the numerous walls and staircases.

A lance of pain shot up his arm, and tears welled up in his golden eyes, threatening to spill over. "No…" He whispered, his voice breaking.

He would not cry. The king and lord of all darkness and fear would not be made weak and helpless. "No…"

He sunk to his knees, his injured hand dropping to his side. "No…" His voice was barely audible as the tears came, trickling over his gray cheeks and down his chin. He curled up right there, still on his knees, and sobbed. His whole body shook as he wept, the feeling of defeat and humiliation surging up inside him. Nonexistence. It would claim him soon.

The guardian awakes

The light of the morning filtered through the open window, tinting the back of my eyelids a strange pink. I let out a groan as consciousness crept upon me. Sleep was a wonderful thing, and I never wanted to awake, but the warmth of the sun upon my skin forced my eyes open.

Ah, yes. I had forgotten I was here.

My eyes shifted around the room and I sat up, stretching as I went. The night before, North had offered me a room at the pole. It was hidden away down a hallway that I had never seen before, and it was beautiful. The ceiling rose high above me, giving the whole room a towering feeling. The bed I'd been given sat against one wall, backed up against a wide stained glass window. The room was unfurnished, but I liked it. It had a light, thick white carpet and basic white walls; plain, and in my opinion, perfect.

I hopped out of bed, grabbing my favorite hoodie off the foot of it, and slipped it on. I snatched up my staff, twirled it once, and rested it comfortably on my shoulders, draping my hands over it. What did guardians do on off days? I mean, the other guardians and I had just saved the world; Easter was over; the holiday season was gone; and spring was coming.

A smile played on my lips. Being the prince of winter, I relished the cold and the snow, but springtime held a beauty all its own. I figured I'd go back to burgess, the place I once called home, and take some time to watch the world transform as the season changed.

I kicked off the ground, floating into the air, and blasted the door open. A little excessive, but I was in a damn good mood.

I flew out, twirling as I went, and burst into the massive workshop room. I could see North amongst a group of yetis, each of them babbling something incoherent at him. The work could never end for Santa, I guess. I slipped away, flying out through an open window grinning as the cold air hit my face. I had never been so proud to be Jack Frost. After yesterday's victory against the king of darkness, I was feeling pretty good.

I flew out over the ice caps and glaciers, calling on the wind to push me as far and fast as I could go, a grin plastered to my face. It was beautiful out here. The sun reflected off the ice in a smattering of crystalline color, and watched it all flash by as I whizzed high above it. I broke the cloud barrier, zooming high into the air where the atmosphere was thinnest. I loved this feeling.

It didn't take long for me to reach Burgess, and when I did, I dove straight into the middle of town, flipping right side up before landing on the head of the statue of the town founder. The snow was still sticking around, but only just. I could see it dripping off the trees and soaking into some parts of the ground. Ah well, winter couldn't last forever, no matter how much I wanted it to.

I floated down to the ground, shouldering my staff and walking straight into the road. I hopped from car to car, heading to the outskirts of town and straight for the lake. My lake. The lake that I had first woken up in and been chosen to be Jack Frost.

I rode the breeze the rest of the way and landed just on the edge of the still-frozen shore. Of course, the water in the middle of the lake was beginning to melt over, but I would soon fix that. I ran out to the middle, sliding my staff across the surface of the water. Lances of ice danced across it, freezing it over beautifully.

I stood back, grinning approvingly at my work when a strange sound hit my ears. It sounded like… crying. I glanced around for a moment, trying to locate the source of the sobbing. It sounded so distant, as if it were underground or in a cave…

Something dawned on me. Pitch.

The entrance to his lair was located somewhere around here, wasn't it? I kicked off the ice, flying into the air and scouring the ground with my eyes until I found it, tucked away behind a bush. It no longer had the broken looking bedframe over it, but it was definitely pitch's home. I could hear the rolling sobs now louder than ever, and I landed with my toes hanging over the edge of the hole.

I felt a sudden ache for him; almost like pity, but it was deeper than that. It was empathy. I knew how he felt, being invisible. As I stared down into the darkness, an internal conflict raged inside me. He was the enemy; the evil that the guardians had sworn to protect the children from… Although, I couldn't help feeling that I should somehow… try and comfort him.

I clenched my eyes shut, biting my lower lip, and then stepped over the edge, dropping into the seemingly endless darkness.