When he came too, there was only darkness. Not even shades to signify a light source anywhere, just a darkness that you would only find in the deepest part of the cave where no light shone, buried underneath the ground, or just in deep slumber.
But he was not asleep.
Pitch had opened his eyes, blinking them open with little difficulty as there was no offending light to strain his eyes.
He was just floating, as he had been the first time he ever awoke to this black abyss that he was becoming so familiar with.
He did not question where he was this time, subconsciously he knew. He did not fear when he moved and could get nowhere, did not fear the encroaching black ink when he felt it course through him.
He simply was.
With the black, consumed by it. Allowed it to reign. But although he was not a stranger to the dark, he could not remember what had happened.
With little difficulty he moved his body to what he felt was a standing position and marched. He didn't know to where, since he couldn't even see. He marched without a destination, hoping in the back of his mind that he can come to read the shadows better with a source of light.
And eventually the shadows bent and gave way to shades of grey and the faintest of light.
Faintly, he realizes it is his lair, but he stops moving once the edges soften up and his eyes adjust to the very minimal light that shone through a few feet away.
Pitch blinks owlishly and stares down to the ground and wonders how long he has been asleep. Faintly, he remembers the last time he woke up to this darkness and had power and smiles at the thought.
The smile disappears when he cannot remember what happened before he slipped into the darkness.
Last time… He had fought the darkness to wake up, this time it was the cause. It called out to him softly. Something was looking for him.
The Nightmare King walked onward towards the brightening light, unaware of someone else in his lair. He only supposed it was his ally, another creature of the dark, the one that kept him company.
As he walked, the light became closer and his surroundings ever that much clearer. Cages hung above him as he walked the main floor to a large brass globe, a lit with glowing dots that reminded him of fireflies.
He slowed in his brisk walk, eyes always ahead, and stopped by the globe to touch a part of Europe, gliding his fingers over the lights to see some of them flicker only slightly before he let his hand slide off the globe entirely.
"Pitch..?" A soft voice called, one he had known but didn't know from where. A sharp pain in his chest, this voice would bring about sad memories.
A feeling of loneliness came back for a second before he forgot it. He had the shadows.
He wandered his eyes to the left, surprised but not surprised to find a short, slender male standing but two yards away.
The crystalline blue eyes and soft snow-white hair seemed eerily familiar as he stared at the pale skin, blue hoodie, tan capris, and shoeless feet. He took a moment to himself, just blinking every half a minute and thinking if he knew him.
There was a name on the tip of his tongue.
"Jack Frost." He said more to himself than the person standing across from him. The boy clenched the staff he held as he eyed the man wearily. Pitch could gather no more information about the boy; the darkness had eaten the more harsh memories of his rejection, of the fight for the modern world.
After another moment of the two just staring at each other and gauging reactions, Pitch looked away first. His eyes traveled back to the globe. Pitch ran a finger over a part of Russia languidly, softly, around a blinking dot.
"What happened to you?" The smaller man said, venturing just a step closer. He seemed confused, almost afraid of the man in front of him.
As he should be, his subconscious told him. It also let him feel a spark of anger, at what Pitch couldn't say, because it quickly left as fast as it came. His eyes strayed from the globe once more to stare into the eyes of the purest blue.
How long had it been since he looked into those eyes? Seen them? He didn't know, couldn't even ask. He would did not keep time, that he knew without needing to be reminded. Time is not of the essence for an immortal spirit, it just dragged on.
"How long has it been?" He asked simply. He felt as though he was missing an emotion that was usually put into his voice, and it felt lacking when he questioned the spirit.
"Do you know who I am?" Jack asked instead, ignoring the question posed to him by his nemesis.
"Jack Frost." He said once more, simply. He did not elaborate as he felt something crawling around his feet. Black sand slithered like a snake around his foot and ankle.
"No. I mean do you know who I am?" He didn't want just a name, Pitch understood that, but his mind drew a blank whenever he even wanted to think about the pale boy. He kneeled down and held out his hand for the swirling sand and it sluggishly came to rest on his palm. Preoccupying him with how the sand moved and danced about as he stood back up and felt comfort at the sand's touch. It was familiar.
Pitch could only shake his head once, no remorse for forgetting the spirit, their exchanges however many days or even years prior. In a moment he brought his palm to lips mouth and blew the black sand onto the globe and watched as it sprinkled dynamically around. Swirling around few flickering lights before raising and falling to the floor, crawling away with a piece of inky blackness that seemed to roll around the floor like a slug.
He was so mesmerized by these creatures.
"Do you know who you are?" The boy tried again, a bit of urgency in his voice. He wanted the old him back, he supposed. Or something, something to make this exchange between them normal because Pitch had a hunch their small, soft talk was not the norm between them.
"I am Pitch Black." He said back, turning to Jack Frost with a blank expression that did not give way to any emotion besides neutrality. "The Nightmare King." Again, simply, truthfully. He walked a step and watched as the boy stiffened, maybe preparing for an attack.
Pitch looked to his side and outstretched his hand to the darkness. It engulfed his arm to his elbow before tendrils of ink black started to curl around and slither out of the dark shadows onto his arm. He looked back to Jack to see his face contorted into an emotion he could not name. He dropped his arm from the black, but some of the ink stayed and coiled around his arms and shimmied across his skin.
The creature was comforting, even held the slightest bit of warmth. Perhaps it was because it was familiar to him, it was home.
"Do you know what happened?"
"I do not feel obligated to answer." Pitch believed the simplicity of his answers were grating on the smaller man's nerves. He calmly walked by Jack, eyes forward and let his feet lead him to whatever other corridor. As he passed he felt the boy tense in his presence. He felt the coolness radiating from his skin.
That felt comforting too.
Pitch had not looked back to see if Jack had left or not, the light was beginning to irritate his eyes.
Had it been only months before he awoke from his slumber again? Maybe it had been a decade, or a century? A millennia, maybe?
He couldn't find it in himself to care that much. But he was finding that he very much liked it when the lights on the globe flickered. It made him feel happy, even. Or maybe something resembling power.
Over the course of however long, he didn't know since he didn't keep track, he finally ventured outside of his lair.
Carefully, he was lifted by his darkness out of the rabbit hole that lead to his residency, into the moonlit scenery.
It wasn't until a few steps had been taken that he stepped out of the way of an oncoming boomerang. He stepped out of the way a second time when he came back. The darkness that slithered at his feet hissed and made bigger movements. Pitch glanced down at his pets, as he had come to call them, then up and into the direction of the weapon.
"'Bout time you crawled out of that hole." He heard an irritated, ready for battle, voice talk. He looked at the giant rabbit with disinterest, much like he did his first encounter with someone other than darkness. His hands were lax at his sides and he continued to look around to the rabbit's left and right, finding three others gathered near him, weapons poised for a fight.
He blinked owlishly at them before he turned his attention back to where he was walking, ignoring the Guardians of Childhood in favor of his walk in the snow.
"Hey, hey! Where ya think you're going, mate?" The giant rabbit spoke again and the group decidedly surrounded him, one person to each direction. He stopped his languid walk to look over to the Easter Bunny.
Pitch said nothing and waited for them to make the first move, though he would rather not start a fight. He didn't feel much up to fight. But the darkness at his feet grew restless and some crawled up to his shoulder and nuzzled his neck. The four were still poised for battle, and he wondered why they would waste energy on such a pose when he had no intention of fighting back. He knew if a fight did break out, he could just fade down into his shadows and go elsewhere.
He had done so, so many times back in his domain he felt comfortable enough to do it outside.
Pitch saw the faery-like creature shudder when the tendrils caressed his open skin. He could feel her uncertainty at his unresponsive gestures and apathetic, but still somehow regal, slouch.
"Well?" The rabbit bit, "Aren't you gunna do anything?"
It took Pitch a moment to think up a response that would appease him. Something told him he and the rabbit were not on good terms, but then again, who did he have to be on good terms with? No one he knew, certainly, besides the darkness.
"You, obviously. Personally, I never knew kangaroos could fight."
The rabbit seethed, as he always does when he was called a kangaroo. But the other three were confused. There was no spite in Pitch's voice. Or, rather, it was empty and void of all emotions.
Just as the rabbit preparing itself to attack, a voice rung out clear and crisp.
"Stop!"
Pitch looked up and to the right to see Jack gliding towards them. He felt a slight pain in his chest again, and then that spark of anger. And another of jealousy. They ebbed away within seconds but he wondered which emotion was for whom.
"What is it, Jack?" The faery asked as he floated between Pitch and the rabbit.
"Don't attack! He's harmless." Maybe that wasn't the right term for it, Pitch thought, because he certainly could take on whoever posed a threat, but did he really want to deal with repercussions of not being "harmless"?
The golden man's sand shimmered and plenty of signs went off above his head, none of which Pitch really paid attention too. His eyes where currently on the frost spirit's back, which was to him and rather foolishly, in Pitch's expert opinion, open for an attack.
"He doesn't remember." He said with conviction as he turned back to face Pitch and the Nightmare King could only blink with disinterest. He wondered how long he had been asleep this time. The rest looked skeptically at the opposite pair, they thought Pitch was just really good at faking. And certainly, had he remembered what happened, he probably could pull something along this apathetic façade off.
"Do you remember who these people are?" Jack asked, motioning around to his acquired friends.
Pitch lifted his bored eyes to each of the Guardian's faces and wracked his memories.
"Sandman. Tooth Fairy. Easter Bunny. Santa Claussen." He said, voice not betraying any of the pangs of emotion that hit him.
"But do you know them?" Jack questioned, stressing the word like he did last time. Pitch's eyes left the newly made defensive positions of the strangers and looked back to Jack. It seemed he was the one who wanted to find out what was wrong with him the most though he couldn't fathom why.
Emotionlessly, Pitch replied. "They ruined my plans to take the earth."
Bunnymund had to grit his teeth as Jack signaled him yet again to not attack.
"That doesn't answer my question and you know it, Pitch." Jack replied back, his patience seems to be ebbing but it might just have been his imagination.
"I feel no obligation to reply." The Nightmare King repeated his statement like last time. "Now, if you all will excuse me, my pets are growing restless." The black ink tendril slid down his lax arms at his side and met with a swirl of black sand that seemed to play together, as if happy they were leaving the unwanted company.
At once he moved, he once again needed to dodge the boomerang that was aimed at him. He stared at the offender when the weapon was caught.
"Is there something you need, Pooka?" The said animal growled in annoyance at the emotionless, bored tone Pitch gave out. This was the most he had spoken since he had awoken.
"Bunny, that's enough!" Jack insisted, standing between Pitch and the offender again. "He doesn't remember. He might remember names and such, but that doesn't give us the right to do this!"
"But Jack, we can't let him get powerful again." Toothiana protested, hummingbird like wings flapping a mile a minute.
As they bickered, Pitch looked around. He had no interest in what they spoke of. When he looked back they were still arguing. He gave a sigh, his walk had been cut short.
"I suppose I shall go on my walk some other day." He announced to no one in particular. That caught the other's attention and they lunged, thinking Pitch would just run away. He watched them as if in slow motion before a cruel smirk crossed his lips. The upturned muscles felt familiar before his smile dropped, and so did he. He fell into the black abyss pooling at his feet. He faintly heard Jack calling him, trying to come after him. But it was too late, he was already gone.
Days later, Pitch presumed, he used his shadows to come to the surface.
His memories have been slowly forming since his awakening. He knew why he felt those pangs of anger and jealousy. He refused to let them consume him again. He didn't feel alone anymore, he had his fearlings and nightmare men and the black creatures.
Or so he told himself.
This time his walk through the dying winter forest did not go interrupted, and he was serene once he came to rest by a frozen lake.
He leaned against a naked tree and stared at the frozen spectacle of wonder. The ice sparkled slightly under the waning moon and Pitch crossed his arms as he just observed the scenery.
Again, he felt a pang of melancholy. It wasn't just because it had been so long for him to enjoy this view. He was lonely. Alone.
He still didn't know how long he had been out. Perhaps those children to he had tried to snuff out their hope had long since grown up and had children of their own. Perhaps they have grown of old age and died and so had their great grandchildren.
"Pitch? What're you doing out here?" A familiar voice questioned from his right. He only stared ahead as he heard the crunch of snow beside him as Jack came closer.
They shared a moment of silence.
"What are you thinking?" Jack asked. It wasn't with suspicion. It was with genuine curiosity. If you saw the Nightmare King stare out serenely at a winter wonderland, you would wonder too why he wasn't out causing fear or trouble.
"How long it has been." It was meant almost as a question to the Winter Prince, but Pitch was unsure he had wanted to know how much time he spent in the black abyss, alone. It was easier to wonder and never search for the answer. His arms were crossed as he leaned left against the tree; the shadows around him seemed alive.
They came to wrap around his feet easily enough, seemingly on edge as if they had to protect him from oncoming danger he did not suspect.
Pitch felt like himself, yet not himself. And yet, those two sides of him were not at war, but at peace. And he questioned why they were not at fighting.
"It's been fifteen years…" Jack answered back softly after a moment of silence, coming to stand right next to the spirit of the dark.
Ahh. Fifteen years. That was how long he had slumbered. Compared to how long he had lived, those fifteen years would have flown by in a blink of his eye. This means those children he once wanted to give nightmares too were now adults. Probably, now, they did not believe in the Boogeyman or Santa Claussen.
Pitch knew, somehow and all too well, that the only other reason why the children could see these spirits besides believing was because they were innocent. Innocent, innocent children.
Adults were sullied, broken creatures. There was always some sort of darkness in their hearts. Their corruption disallows them to see the pure creatures Pitch was up against. Only the pure can see the pure, even if the impure believe.
"Pitch?" The frost spirit spoke hushed. "I'm sorry.."
Pitch did not glance at him. Briefly, he had allowed himself to ponder at the reason this boy is sorry. He had a hunch, and shrugged it off.
"There is no need for apologies, Frost."
As he added the last name, he felt himself grow a bit more distant from the being who was physically not one foot away from him. The use of surnames seemed to bring a touch of nostalgia of a past life.
Jack looked at him, that same emotion Pitch couldn't name. He chanced a glance back and caught Jack's brilliant blue eyes.
He hoped it would all end soon.
A/N: Well, I have decided to turn this into a multi-chap... I want to play around with some ideas in my head. Maybe mash a few, ya know? Let me know what you think and such and thanks for reading this random dribble.~
I wanted to write something in Pitch's perspective. To show more of his emotions and such. They'll be more I promise! Maybe a chappie in Jack's perspective. But I'm not entirely sure yet. But yeah, enjoy and all that good stuff.
**hearts