Pitch's lair was not really set up for guests, unless one included the cages hanging from the ceiling, and for a moment Pitch was sorely tempted to shove the Winter spirit in one and be done with it all, but again something within him nagged that that wasn't appropriate. Not if he wanted Jack Frost as an ally. No, the child needed something more suitable to his needs. After all he was planning to keep Jack for a very, very long time.

So, what did children need? First off a room of his own. That wasn't so hard in the end. The shadows moved them an empty chamber not far from his own and as he thought of what the chamber needed the black dreamsand began to take on the shapes of furniture. A bed was first and foremost, followed by a long table against one wall. They would do for now. He deposited Jack on the large bed and stepped back. Jack's pale skin and snowy white hair stood out against the blackness, such a contrast between light and dark. Satisfied that the boy would be fine and his injuries were not life threatening, Pitch left.

It would take time to bring Jack around to his way of thinking and there was no doubt in Pitch's mind that he would rebel at every given moment, but without the Guardians or MiM to interfere Pitch had all the time in the world. Patience? Well that was another story.

Jack awoke to blackness. For a moment he panicked, his mind filling with images of the Guardians, people he had almost allowed himself to believe were his friends, now dead and gone. He shook his head, banishing the nightmare from his mind as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The dark didn't bother him, he was quite used to dark winter nights where light was limited if not non-existent. The room he was in more of a large cavern than a real room and everything was black, pitch black. His stomach churned at the realization.

He scrambled out of bed and searched for a door. When none was found he pounded on the nearest wall. "Pitch! Let me out!" he yelled. No answer.
He kept pounding on the wall, his fists scrapping against the rock wall. "PITCH!"

The room felt stuffy, too warm. It was as if the walls were closing in on him. He began to panic. He wasn't used to being trapped indoors. He needed to get outside. He needed his staff. He needed the Guardians. North, Tooth, even Bunny. Anyone to just let him out. He pounded harder, screaming at the top of his lungs until he fell to his knees and curled in on himself. He didn't like confined spaces. "Please...let me out," he sobbed softly.

Pitch watched from the shadows as Jack stared longing at the wall, as if wishing for a door to suddenly open. There was defiance in the child's eyes as well as fear, something Pitch had become accustomed to seeing on his young face in the short time since they've met. It was unlike to disappear any time soon. Nonetheless, Pitch was not about to let Jack out just yet. He had other issues to deal with than one child taking a tantrum because he was locked in his room. That's where naughty children belonged. Moving through the shadows, Pitch left his lair to spread nightmares to the world's sleeping children.

Almost three days passed before Pitch returned. It was exhausting spreading fear to all the sleeping children. It had been centuries since the last time Pitch had accomplished such a task. He couldn't help but wonder how Sandy managed it for so long. But after the first few sweeps over the continents Pitch's Nightmares were able to continue his work without his supervision, his powers now strong enough to guide them as he let his focus return to his new ward. It really shouldn't have surprised him to find Jack hadn't moved far from where he had last spotted the youth. Knees pressed to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, only now his hood was hiding the shock of white hair. Only the pale glow of his hands and feet standing out against the darkness. Pitch wasn't certain if the youth was awake or sleeping and he didn't bother to check, only watch.

A small sniffle filled the air, almost startling Pitch. Jack wiped at his face with his sleeve. "I know you're out there," he said, his voice unusually small and childlike. He didn't look up, didn't look anywhere but his knees. "I know you can hear me. What do you want from me?"

Pitch had heard the child speak the same words to the moon the few times he had passed by Jack before the Guardians got involved. He should've paid better attention back then. Jack would have joined him had he only seen the potential Jack held.

"If you wanted me to join you so bad why leave me here like this?"

Pitch couldn't answer. Wouldn't answer.

"Please let me out."

He left before the child could say any more.

It was another day before it dawned on Pitch that Jack might be hungry. While the child never cried for food or drink it didn't mean that me might need it. Sure Jack was a spirit, a ghost really if Pitch stopped and thought about it. He had taken the time to look at Jack's memories when he found the box. And although spirits really didn't need to eat sometimes there was comfort to be found it such simple things.

Sadly, Jack took no comfort it any of it. He barely looked up when the food appeared on the table, just stared at it quietly as he huddled in his corner. Pitch chalked it up to the boy not needing such things after a few days, planning on waiting for Jack to relax a bit before going to him. But not a scrap of food or drink was touched.

More furniture appeared in the room as the days went by but Jack didn't acknowledge any of it. He no longer spoke, no longer pleaded for release, and Pitch found himself becoming concern. It was when he allowed light to finally enter the room that Jack looked up.

Surprise filled his youthful face and he blinked a number of times before his sight to adjusted. He didn't move from the spot he had taken residence but there was a small glimmer of hope now in his eyes.

"There's no need to hide in the corner," Pitch said gently, materializing from the shadow furthest Jack. Nonetheless, the boy jumped and automatically reached for his staff which he no longer had.

Jack's fists clenched and he went back to hugging his knees, looking away from Pitch.

Frowning the Nightmare King strolled to him, intent on yanking the boy to his feet and make him see reason. He stopped short when he got a better look at Jack's face. His skin was flushed, sweat beading on his forehead, having nothing to do with fear and his hoodie was sticking to his body. A small puddle of water sat under him. Immediately Pitch pushed Jack's hood back. Snowy white hair was plastered to his head. Jack stared up at him with dull blue eyes.

"What is wrong?" Pitch found himself asking before he could stop himself.

"It's hot in here," Jack whispered, looking away.

"Hot? It's not -" Pitch stopped himself. It wasn't hot in there to him but Jack, Jack was used to the cold. It was far to warm in there for him to stay for such a longer period of time. He sighed, summoning his Nightmares. "Bring me as much snow as you can carry," he ordered before picking Jack up.