A Note from me: I'd like to thank the eight people who'd stepped out of their day to say a few words for me, and perhaps my story as well; your little or many words gave me the motivation to grind through this chapter (as you may have seen, it took me much longer to update this, than two days), and make it something beautiful.

Hopefully more of you considerate people will continue to motivate me in the future.

For all who've kept up, this chapter is presented thusly to you

by the author, with love,

WM7

Chapter 3

Pitch should have known his powerful ranting would bring forth attention. Especially considering their lair is made entirely of ice, and ice reverberates noise. Thankfully for him, his only real shout was in saying something that Jack already knew: that he was abandoned by the Man in the Moon for centuries – created, and then forgotten immediately thereafter – and that Pitch saved him from himself. At least, besides his roar that could reveal that Jack was a Guardian, but the thought didn't really cross his mind, as he'd checked previously to see if Jack would appear, which he did not.

Jack had freshly entered into the room as Pitch closed the blinds, awaiting the man clad in shadows to acknowledge him and bid him entrance. As Pitch did so, Jack quietly said, "I came when I heard you shouting."

Pitch nodded at this, tried not think much of it. "How much did you hear?"

"Only the shout, Pitch; you yelled at someone about 'five hundred years,' then I heard you murmuring when I was getting closer, but I couldn't make out much. Only that you were talking to the Man in the Moon." And it was the truth.

"Oh, don't we all, Jack? He's responsible for every spirit and sprite's existence in this world. He's responsible for making us shunned, others known."

Jack crossed the ice-and-dark room, settling on the purple couch set into the room. "So you were talking about me."

"Yes,"

"And what did you say?"

"I was angry at him, just as you were for all your life. I was presenting your situation to him, from my point of view."

Jack chuckled wryly at this. "Well then, you're wasting your breath; I've been trying to talk to him for, like you said, all my life, and he still hasn't answered me."

"Well, although I did mention the negatives, as there were many, many negatives, I also brought up a point to him. I thanked him." He smiled at the boy, who was confused as to this statement. "For without him, Jack, we never would have found each-other in this barren wasteland. And even if we did, we'd be at opposite ends. You'd see me like how they did; because, if you were noticed – if he would have given you what you'd wanted all those years ago – you would've looked at me like an inferiority, not as a connection, not as a light at the end of the tunnel (and how ironic that I be a light to anyone?). I would never be seen as an equal to you, Jack, never as someone else forgotten. So I had to thank him for that." He sat down beside the winter sprite, placed a gray-pale hand on his shoulder. "We never would have been together without him." He enunciated softly, his free hand perking up Jack's chin with a finger, allowing those crystal blue eyes to meet his dark amber. Their eyes locked, Jack's softening with understanding. A moment of silence passed between them, until the younger male sighed. Pitch's forehead pressed against Jack's. "And now, we're going to use this blessing-in-disguise to show him to never try to punish us unfairly again, as we've proven now that suppressing us will only make us stronger!" He rose from his seat, spread his arms out wide towards the uninhabited end of the room. "Only make us prove ourselves more."

Jack sighed. "I guess," He replied weakly.

Pitch's lips drew together, formed a thin line as he turned back around to see Jack's low expression. He sat back down. "Oh, come, come, darling; I thought we were in this together!"

"We are! We are… it's just that… I don't want to do this for revenge; I just want to do this for recognition."

"And that's what you'll get – it's exactly what you'll get. And with it, you're telling the Man in the Moon that you won't be suppressed by him." He took both of the younger sprite's white hands in his, rubbed the palms with his thumbs. "Jack… don't let yourself be discouraged; you're doing so well already! I doubt you've ever been so happy."

"It's not that, Pitch," Jack murmured, his cold breath ghosting along the black sprite's hands. "I'm happy, just being here with you. Isn't that enough?"

"Jack!" He hissed disapprovingly, "We have to make these people pay for what they've done!"

"But I don't want anyone to suffer… I just want to – I just don't want to be alone, and I'm not anymore, thanks to you, Pitch."

Pitch Black grimaced. "When I took you into my care, you said you would help me – you promised me you'd help me. You're just going to go back on that word now? After I came into your life and promised you that I'd never leave your side? I was certainly going to keep my promise! We're supposed to be partners in this, Jack! Don't tell me you're going to back away like a coward!" The younger sprite flinched at this accusation, at the harsh tone his partner was taking on. But, just as Pitch was, his voice softened upon seeing Jack's withdrawal. He moved a hand to comb through some frosty hair. "Oh my… I am sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry."

Jack whimpered softly, trying not to show too much upset, but in reality, every raise-of-the-voice – every accusatory word, every quiet grimace, every deep sigh – made Jack fear for the worst: that this man, to whom he'd now associated with happiness, with familiarity, with love, would leave him behind, make him alone again. So he bore the words said, endured the small touches of abuse, just to make sure Pitch would stay. "It's okay, Pitch; I'm okay… I… I'll do what you want…" And this was commonly how negotiations between dark and ice sprites would go. Jack would have no say.

And secretly, Pitch enjoyed this paranoia, this fear; he fed upon it, leeched from Jack's broken confidence, and it kept him strong. And he knew Jack could never really leave him; after all, they were in love. His gray-pale hands laced into the back of Jack's white hair, hushed him softly, drew close, and pressed a small kiss on the Guardian's pale, frigid lips. "Thank you, Jack. Truly." Another small kiss. "You know how much I care about you, don't you? I've taken you in, given you a place to stay. Now it's only fair you'll return the favor." He laced both arms around the winter sprite, pressing his chin into Jack's shoulders.

Jack worried the lower end of his lips against his teeth, white like freshly-fallen snow. "I'm scared, though… just… to begin the transition… I'm scared that, when we start, we won't be able to go back, because I know we won't."

"And that will be the best thing, starting. Come now; we're going to make that first… announcement – transition, as you'd put it, but I do believe 'announcement' has the better connotation in this case."

"Announcement," Jack repeated quietly after a pause, almost to himself, fear lacing every note of his voice.

"We're finally going to work, Jack; we're going to get our hands dirty, show the world, finally, that we will not back down." Pitch was grinning devilishly, his golden eyes glistening with purpose, excitement, aimed directly towards the shaded window. "Come now; let's make our first mark."

The night was quiet as the two sprites patrolled the grounds. There was hardly a noise to be made, just the light padding of bare, frigid feet against the pavement. The winter sprite's crook was held tightly at hand, body hunched and fearful, following closely behind the darkling spirit, whose boots were tapping against the ground as he walked, hands folded behind his back. "Isn't it grand, Jack? So quiet; just you and I here together, with hundreds of children around us."

Jack sighed lowly, knowingly, and his eyebrows knit, yet he did not say a word. His cold heart feared inside of what Pitch was to plan, but it also feared what would become of him should he resist. So he did not.

"Oh Jack, come now." Pitch's smile faded upon seeing the winter sprite. "Would you like me to start this?"

"What are we even going to do? How will we… will we get the Man in the Moon's attention to begin with?"

The black spirit chuckled darkly. "Oh that? That will be easy, Jack. Observe." And with that note, the shadow under Pitch's spectral body swelled and darkened, pieces detached like droplets from a leaf, grew upright into black forms, yellow eyes glowing wildly, maliciously; the Fearlings, still anchored to the patches of darkness projected from light, escaped from shadow to shadow, entering into the windows, doors, cracks, and walls of sleeping homes. Each housed an innocent child or more, dreaming brightly of dreams and hopes far beyond reality, sweetly projected by the golden sand threads that only those of the spirit world could see. It made every child in the neighborhood's mouths quirk a bit upward, snuggle a bit more into their sheets, content as they were able to imagine the small, pleasant thoughts, and have their wishes fulfilled for the night.

However, the horror-terror creatures twisted around lamplight, shines of the moon, twinkles of the stars, and stood beside the rays of golden sand, placing a dark-entwined finger into the stream of wonder, and infecting its child's dream, making him or her toss and turn, groan uncomfortably, and filled their mind with the ebbing of a pleasant projection into dark, horrible thoughts. It was as if every child's mind was working against them, punishing them for the invisible wrong they'd done, for participating in a battle between Guardian and renegade spirit, on a different plane of existence. Each dream succumbed to a nightmare leeched their pain into the darkling sprite, who stood gazing up at the moon with a crooked smile placed on his gray lips.

Pitch sighed contentedly, his body flowing with newfound energy. "Make it hail, Jack." He commanded, voice still flush with content.

Jack's eyebrows furrowed in horror. "But I –"

"I asked you to make it hail, Jack."

"I didn't want you to hurt them, Pitch! Stop, please!"

The ebony-locked male froze still, then turned darkly towards his wintry partner. "Jack…" He began grimly, his voice filled with malice, "We've spoken repeatedly about necessary sacrifices. This is war." He growled harshly, his golden eyes hard with anger, "What about that can't you understand? We have to make a statement somehow, and this is the only way how; don't you understand that?! You think that running along to the Guardians and asking them to accept us is going to help? You think that asking the Man in the Moon is going to help? Hm? Did they ever help you before? No; so we have to do it ourselves! And how am I supposed to do it without you? How are you supposed to do this if you keep growing a conscience?! How are we?! This is what must be done, Jack! Not just for us, not just for all the discarded sprites now, but for all sprites in generations to come! So let's make that first step, Jack! Do as I say, and make it hail."

The young spirit was nearly in tears, his mind torn between the love of his partner – with whom came acceptance by the spirit world – or the safety of the children – who, for five hundred years previously, had abandoned him and refused to believe. Still, a frosty tear trickled down the edge of his eyes, shed for the millions of children who'd left him to rot, and he did just as his lover demanded. His crook glowed with a winter-blue frost, and he thrust it into the ground, causing a large diameter of ice upon the road. The heavy, thick formations of pure ice were soon to follow, forming from dark clouds that were now circling the once-starry night sky. They fell in great sweeps, and began crunching into the pavement, the trees, the roofs of buildings.

"It's time to go; that's enough of a message for those fools." Pitch Black scowled towards the moon – who was being swallowed up by black clouds – then turned back to the winter spirit and smiled gently, taking him earnestly by the hand, noticing his upset. "Oh come, Jack; this is what had to be done." He gave the younger sprite a soft kiss. "I'm sorry you had to learn such a thing this way; but it had to be learned nonetheless."

Jack sighed, let a few more tears prick the corners of his eyes, his voice gasping and choppy with tears. "I never… I never wanted anyone to get hurt… and you hurt so many children tonight… you ruined their dreams, filled them with nightmares."

Pitch tsked. "It's all I really can do, Jack. I never wanted to be a manifestation of darkness, but so be it that, the Man in the Moon insisted. I was created to be an antagonist; I never had a say. I simply woke up one day from the life I'd freshly died from and I was made to harm. There's nothing I can do now but try to use that to my advantage. You should learn the same; for you are not darkness, my sweet, but you are simply misunderstood. And with your near-limitless energy, you could learn to do so many things besides snowballs and the occasional snow; you could create something far greater than anything those Guardians could ever imagine." He took Jack's hands in his, brushed over the palm gently. "And it would be these hands that would craft such greatness." He then took him by his shoulders and brought the winter sprite close to his chest, allowed the cold tears to soak into the darkness of his clothes.

"I know… I know; you keep saying that I'll be doing so much for so many, but at what cost…?" His voice was garbled with the tears in his throat, muffled by Pitch's chest.

"Whatever cost is necessary, Jack; I know that it hurts to say, and I know you don't want such a thing to be true, but, sometimes, there is no way to satisfy all, and that is when revolution begins."

Jack sighed, crystalline-blue eyes gazing up at liquid amber, and he sniffled, nodding at Pitch's words, and returning his head to the darkling spirit's chest. "It's what has to be done…" He conceded halfheartedly. "What has to be done…"

Toothiana's wings were beating very rapidly as her eyes filled in sorrow. Her feathered eyelashes drooped, her lips parting, yet refusing to make a sound. One of her smaller Tooth Fairies came by her aid, chirped a few words to her reassuringly. She finally spoke thereafter, "Something feels so wrong." Her hand rested on her fast-beating heart, her pink eyes cast out to an unknown location, but seemingly attuned to the direction of distress. All other Guardians were turned the same way.

"I feel it, too." Aster affirmed, dark eyebrows furrowed. "Just… a sudden drop. I feel it, and it feels so bad. But it doesn't feel like this's it…"

"Like this is only beginning." North finished, head shaking slightly.

The Pooka grimaced, shook his head, but then a pang ran through his chest, through his fingers, into his ears. His spring-green eyes rose to where Toothiana was gazing unto. He stepped a few paces closer, and his heart sank with a melancholy feeling, for the feeling itself was not his own. It was that of a child's. One who was losing hope.

It was ironic that he felt so; usually, the gray-furred Guardian could not feel such a large swell of lost hope manifested into a single being; usually he could only feel so when there was much lost hope in many children, all within close proximity. So why could he feel a single presence emanating so much hopelessness? Unless the presence itself was very powerful… His face changed from an expression of disappointment to one of sadness.

It was the same feeling – the same child he'd abandoned.

Post-Script: From the reviews I'd read, I find it now rather humorous that some of you are angry at MiM and the Guardians, due to Pitch's words; because, it is with the same logic he'd presented to Jack that's he's baiting my passionate viewers!

I understand where you all could think that what MiM has done is 'inconsiderate,' but what Pitch would never tell Jack (and, therefore, would never be presently thusly) is that MiM was, in fact, watching over him the whole time, just as he was for the rest of the spirit world. Pitch Black simply chooses to downplay all of the Guardian's and MiM's efforts, to persuade Jack onto his side, and to keep the sprite loyal to him.

So – and in efforts to keep my words brief – I simply ask that you keep an open mind, as we've only heard (with monologue upon monologue) Pitch's antagonistic side of the story, and not a very detailed account of the Guardian's view of the matter.