"We are the same, you and I." Pitch begins.

"We are?" Jack echoes.

"Oh, yes. Mortals can't see me either. At least, not as much as they used to."

"You're invisible too?"

"And intangible."

"Why is that?"

"Well, you see, we spirits require belief in order to be seen, to be heard, to be..." Pitch floats up to Jack's perch. He reaches out and the boy flinches. Isn't that just a delight? He brushes a knuckle against that white-washed skin. "...touched."

Jack presses himself against the tree, warily watching this strange creature before him. He swallows. "Belief?"

Pitch smirks. "Yes. They must know your name, your power. They must acknowledge you exist. If they don't..."

He lets the sentence hang, allowing the young sprite to finish it himself. And finish it, he does. Pitch can see the boy relive every single moment he had been ignored, unheard, and passed through. His breath comes in shorter gasps, agitation bleeding into his delicious fear.

"Does that mean - Does that mean I just have to make them believe in me? And then, they'll see me?"

"And you will be lonely no longer."

Jack stiffens. "Wha - How did you know?"

"Apart from the obvious? You said it yourself, Jack. You've never met a fellow spirit. Who else would you talk to? The wind?'

Jack shifts uneasily. "...yes."

Pitch sighs rather dramatically. "You are a poorer soul than I first thought. But yes, apart from the obvious, I can see your greatest fears. It's the one thing I always know. I am the Boogieman, after all."

If it was possible to sound self-deprecating and proud at the same time, Pitch managed it. At Jack's baffled silence, he presses on.

"I saw what you did in the village. You terrified those townsfolk. They kept muttering about vengeful spirits and feared their own shadows. It was magnificent."

Jack's eyes widen. He bows his head, clutching his staff in a white-knuckled grip. "I did that?"

"And how!"

"I just wanted to be seen... to be heard."

"I dare say, you're on the right track. "

Jack snaps his head up. "I never meant to scare them!"

Pitch blinks, quirking a curious brow. "Is that so?"

Jack purses his lips. "That's... That's not what I wanted."

"Why not? If they fear you, they'll believe in you."

"Look." Jack cuts in, shaking his head. "I'm not like you. I don't thrive on fear or terror. That's not for me."

Pitch is struck silent, shock taints his expression before he recovers. A scowl scars his lips as he floats back down.

"Pity. And here I was, thinking I finally found an ally. But then, hopeful wishing was never my area of expertise."

Jack starts, crouching on the balls of his feet. "Wait! Are you leaving?"

Pitch sends him a curious look. "There's nothing for me here. Is there?"

"But you can't just leave! We just met! We just started talking! You can't just leave me all by myself!"

Fear is rolling off the boy in waves. Pitch is almost tempted to stay and revel in it. But no. That would ruin it.

"Watch me." He sneers, relishing that last rush of terror. He draws the shadows around him and prepares to sink into the familiar abyss. But a cold, bony weight slams into him at the very last second.

There's a busy moment as Pitch tries to untangle himself from the winter sprite. The shadows, heedless of his struggles, swallow them both and together, they arrive at Pitch's home. They land in a messy heap on the floor, with Jack somehow straddling the older spirit.

The boy has the gall to grin at Pitch. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Don't you?"

Pitch clocks him in the face.