Skellington had wasted no time, apparently. Jack had flown straight to the North Pole for Guardian headquarters, and was greeted by a room full of his stone-silent coworkers. North sat slumped in his deskchair, rubbing at his forehead, looking distinctly pained.

"I come home from busiest night of year, wanting to relax," he said. "And I am delivered this by walking bathtub."

North held up an envelope with an elegant gray-and-black spider design, with the words "Sandy Claws" written in delicate calligraphy on the front.

"As you have no doubt just finished with what I pay you in copious amounts of food to do, I do not suppose you know the meaning of these letters – och! Out! Out!"

Jack's leg was being nudged by a walking bathtub. Huh. So that wasn't one of North's weird metaphors. At the bottom of the tub there was a letter identical to North's, with Jack's name written on it. Jack collected it and opened it curiously while the bathtub slowly lumbered out the door, not seeming to care about the two yetis it was dragging along behind as they futilely tried to wrangle it.

Mr. Jack Frost – You are cordially invited to Halloween Town's annual Three-Hundred-Days-Before-Halloween masquerade ball. This year, we celebrate the illustrious career of Mr. Pitch Black, the Nightmare King. Please attend in your most ghoulish attire. Fondest regards, Jack H. Skellington

Guilt weighed down Jack's gut. Skellington really had his hopes up for Pitch. A grunt came the corner of the room.

"Here's my vote. Why not have Frost go as our illustrious representative?" Bunny glowered at his boomerang as he polished it. "Skellington will have his weird little day made, and no one with any actual work to do has to risk being jammed into a sack again."

Jack knew that Skellington, North, and Bunny had something of a history. North and Bunny refused to discuss the issue, and Skellington quite fondly spoke of a vacation-turned-adventure that involved the two. Jack later received the version of the story that wasn't tainted by Skellington's incredibly loose grasp on reality from Sally. He could barely fly home that day, as he had to keep stopping on treetops to laugh himself sick. No matter how many times he snidely brought it up in conversation, he never could get a straight answer from North and Bunny as to how they were bested by three children and a burlap sack.

"…I'm guessing that means everyone got one?" asked Jack.

"A stunning conclusion," Bunny drawled. "Though search me how that blasted washtub got into me warren."

"I live in the sky," Tooth said, producing her invitation.

Sandy shrugged, and patted his breast pocket where his own invitation was tucked.

Jack grasped for words. He sighed explosively and scratched at the back of his head, frustrated. "Come on, guys, you can't spare a single night? Skellington's harmless. Weird, yeah, but harmless."

"To attend a party celebrating Pitch? 'fraid not, no pun intended," said Bunny. "Two and a half months 'til Easter."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, well, you always seem to be able to spare the time to attend Patrick's parties on March seventeenth. Remind me, who was the one who fell off the karaoke stage last year because he was crying too hard while signing 'Danny Boy'? Still didn't drop your whiskey bottle, I'll give you that much."

"That is because Pat's holiday is a celebration of punching snakes while hammered out of one's mind," Bunny growled. "Not a celebration of one's mortal enemy."

Jack rubbed his face. "Give me a break, it's not like Skellington actually approves of Pitch trying to off us all, he's just - "

"It's just a mutual admiration, I'm sure. Shared interests and all that. Stealing holidays, expressing themselves by scaring the willies out of others."

Bunny shoved his boomerang back in its holder, and looked over Jack frankly.

"What's with your sudden concern for Skellington's feelings? Can't say that I expect it out of you."

Because the first time Jack arrived with snow, Skellington had called him down from the lamppost where he'd perched to shake his hand and gush his praise over Jack's work. Because every time Jack came, he was always welcome to Skellington and Sally's home, welcome to conversation and friendship and pumpkin cider and cookies that he'd never had the courage to try. Because Skellington knew that North had to bribe Jack into doing this, and didn't care. Because of the damn staff cozy.

Jack leaned on his staff, looking up at the other Guardians from under his bangs.

"Look. Skellington is a decent guy. You all know that. Probably still feels bad about that incident with you two, North, Bunny. And you're repaying his invite by calling him a freak. Can't you let him show you a nice night out?"

The silence in the room was deafening. Bunny ground his teeth, mumbling to himself, and thumped one foot against the ground to be spirited away to his warren. Jack smiled. One confirmed guest. North shook his head.

"Myself, I have little choice in the matter," North sighed. "I should go to ensure that the fool is treating that poor Sally well. Astounding how a sensible girl such as her would fall so heels over head for him."

Two confirmed guests. Tooth and Sandy both shrugged.

"I think the fairies should be able to handle most of the early-night collections by themselves, so I can drop in for an hour or two," Tooth said. "Sandy, what about you?"

Sandy rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. A pair of sunglasses materialized on his face, and a golden disco ball appeared over his head. He did a little dance to illustrate his point, and Tooth laughed.

"Looks like the dream sand can be put on hold for an hour or two, too."

Four confirmed guests, plus a fifth; himself. And now, there loomed the issue of convincing the guest of honor...

"Tell me, Jack, is there any other part of the factory you are now to be demanding access to?" North asked. "I had thought that my own bedroom would be safe from your ridiculous contract."

"Settle down before I get my attorney on the horn," Jack said, setting down a trail of Sally's spider cookies from under the bed to a pile in the middle of the room. "Sandy's been itching to get VIP access to the employee spa."

Sally had been more than happy to give him an extra-large batch of the cookies when asked – even slipped in a few extra, for the road. The secret was in grinding up the legs with a bit of wheat flour, Sally had confided. Gives them extra protein and that lovely crispy texture. Jack grinned through his nausea and bade her adieu, keeping his mind on the mission.

The bait was set. At the stroke of ten, North was in bed, pretending to read a book. He was actually scowling at Jack, who was perched atop his dresser, waiting for sight of his prey.

"…you are trying my patience, my friend. Snow every year for at least three populous major cities, is all I ask - "

There it was. Jack hissed at North to be quiet, slowly creeping down from his hunter's lookout. A black muzzle peeked out from under the bed, snuffling at one of the spider cookies. It let out a low, interested whinny, and slurped up the cookie with its tongue. Carefully, cautiously, it crept a little further from the shadows, the next cookie in its sights.

Soon, the Nightmare was happily occupied with the cookie pile at the room's center. Jack approached it slowly, shaking the other bag of cookies that Sally had supplied.

"Good horsie. Pretty horsie. Pretty horsie with your…pretty black mane, and your horrible hellfire eyes."

The Nightmare eyeballed him, clearly on guard, but holding its ground. It whickered, and crunched the cookie in its mouth deliberately.

"Yeah, that's right, good, huh? Full of protein and insect legs."

"Arachnid," North corrected, lazily paging through his book and looking altogether too calm at the sight of a demon horse in his room. Granted, Jack remembered, he did have pistols hidden underneath his pillows.

"Here's the deal, horsie. You get all these cookies, plus the ones I've got, and all you've gotta do is let me chat with your master."

The Nightmare reached out a tendril of black sand to try and grab the bag from Jack, but Jack gave it a zap with his staff.

"Nope, not until I get an audience with the horsie king himself." Jack shook the bag again, grinning. "We have a deal?"

Loyalty was not a concept unknown to Nightmares, but it seemed that it evaporated when there were cookies on the line. Jack followed the horse under the bed, trailing a rope securely tied to North's bedpost for his escape route. North seemed singularly unconcerned, but called after him with a casual "if you do not return, I will be sure to avenge your death!"; which was ironically the same phrase he'd used when sending Jack on that first snow-bringing errand that started this whole thing.

The horse led him through a maze of winding tunnels and impossible criss-crossed stairways, until they reached an open cavern lined with cages that Jack remembered uncomfortably well.

The Nightmare seized the cookie bag with a stealthy tendril, and trotted off with its tail held high. Jack shrugged; a deal was a deal. Now, what should he break first to get Pitch to show his face –

"Ah. What a pleasant surprise. Forgive me, I haven't got tea on."

And Jack was really looking forward to denting some of those gaudy birdcages. He supposed it was better to start on a friendly note, anyway. He balanced his staff on his shoulders, draping his arms over it, and shifted his weight lazily from foot to foot.

"Sorry to drop in on such short notice. Just on a little errand to make sure your invite got delivered today."

Pitch hmphed through his nose. "Yes, yes, the walking washtub was very insistent. I unfortunately cannot say that I am terribly interested in a celebration of my career that involves you and yours."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Give me a break; we're not the ones throwing this thing. I'm sure you've gotten fanmail from this guy at some point, seen him rooting around in your garbage for locks of hair, maybe - "

Pitch cut him off with a laugh, his hand moving to tap thoughtfully at his temple. "Oh, tell me, what do you suppose the curtain-opener would be? A detailed exploration of my decline in power since the middle ages? Certainly the act two finisher would be you rejecting my sincere offer of camaraderie, and the grand finale – forgotten by all, and shoved down a hole."

Jack stared at Pitch evenly, saying nothing. He'd learned over the years that it was sometimes best to just let people monologue their feelings out. Fortunately, it seemed as though Pitch was wrapping it up.

Pitch pressed his hands together and gave a mocking bow. "The theatrical event of the season, I'm sure, but I'm afraid I just can't make it. Busy schedule, you know: licking my wounds, watching as the memory of my existence inexorably fades from the world. But please do give Mr. Skeleton my regards."

Jack stalked up to Pitch, the clutch of his hand on his staff betraying how deeply Pitch's words hit. To Jack's surprise, Pitch didn't simply melt back into the shadows to appear elsewhere in the lair, and returned Jack's glare measure for measure.

"Skellington. His name's Skellington, you insufferable self-absorbed prick. Big fan of yours – though hell if I can understand why, having actually met you – so you could at least be a decent enough person to remember his name."

Though Pitch would not break his gaze, Jack saw his jaw tighten.

"…what is your point here, Jack Frost? Why do you – you, and Skellington, and all of your little friends – continue to disturb me in the only sanctum I have left?"

His eyes finally flickered away to focus on one of the nearby cages. His fingers absently traced the bars.

"…can you not simply let me fade away in peace?"

"No," Jack said, shrugging. "I didn't fade away after three hundred years of no one believing in me, so who knows how long you'd take."

Jack saw Pitch's mouth twitch. He supposed Pitch was welcome to take the backhanded compliment as he willed.

"Look. You can either sit down here for the rest of forever wallowing in your own self-pity, or you can go get wasted on pumpkin cider at a party thrown by someone who worships you like an idol. Think he could even teach you a thing or two about using your very unique talents in ways that make people happy, and don't involve world domination plots."

…probably, Jack added silently, carefully thinking over the North-and-Bunny incident.

A long moment passed, and the ghost of a smile flickered over Pitch's face.

"…now, Jack, are you trying to take all of my fun away?" he asked, quietly. "Whatever will I do with my time if I'm not stalking through the streets of Amsterdam?"

…and that maybe, possibly made six confirmed guests. Jack grinned and yanked his hood up.

"Drag yourself out of the Netherlands by eight sharp or else I'm coming back to beat the shit out of your stupid cages. I memorized the way in."

Jack pointed at his own eyes with his index and pinky fingers, and then pointed at Pitch. He turned to make his way out of the caverns by the cord tied securely around his waist; only narrowly missing being trampled by a stampede of Nightmares battling each other for the last of the cookies.