Strength

By: Aviantei

Chapter Two: Discomfort


Pitch put a hand to his chest—as always, being passed through left him breathless. The only difference from this and fear, he realized, was the sensation of being absolutely frozen. The cold never bothered him otherwise. It was as if he was completely drained of everything, because it was an absolute reminder that he was not believed in.

It shouldn't have affected him as much as it was doing now. After all, it had happened to him so many times over the years. It had happened to him yesterday morning at that, and yet it hurt as much as the first time it had occurred, all those centuries ago.

He had gotten used to the new feeling. Not even a full day and he was taking Madeline's belief in him for granted. And it was so isolated out here that it kept both the Nightmares and common sense out. There wasn't anyone else present to remind him of the truth. It was a simple enough trick of the mind, and Pitch had fallen for it out of some desperate hope that everything was as he had imagined it to be in his fantasies.

As if one woman could ever be enough to change anything that important. As if she could actually be enough to satisfy his desire for belief. As if it would be that easy. Everything that had happened recently—the defeat, the betrayal, the fear, the false sense of security—had obviously shaken him, and being passed through only made it obvious. He should have known it wouldn't be that perfect. Hadn't he known that from the start of this game with the Man in the Moon and the Guardians?

So why had he ended up thinking otherwise?

"Pitch!" Madeline shouted. The basket she had been holding was on the ground, Klaudia sniffing at the apples that had spilled after its fall.

One single woman had made Pitch feel like everything was fine so maybe it was her fault nothing was. Not on purpose, of course; Madeline was too kind for that. But that kindness had been what lulled him into this false sense of security. She was a problem, she was a distraction, she was—

She was solid and she was warm.

Madeline looked absolutely distraught, and part of Pitch celebrated, because her panic was the only good thing about the situation. She was worried that maybe he wasn't (one little seed of doubt and it was all over), her hands keeping an iron grip on Pitch's own. They could still touch each other, and Pitch could feel some of the lingering cold that permeated his bones start to ebb away.

"Boss, you alright?" a voice asked. Pitch turned, one hand freeing itself from Madeline's grasp. The redheaded man stared at his boos, eyes passing through the Boogeyman same as the man's body had seconds ago. "You look panicked. What'd you just say?"

Madeline's green eyes flickered between the two men, and Pitch sighed at his questioning gaze. "Stay calm," he instructed before lifting his free hand. He hesitated (why are you even doing this?) and then willingly passed his own hand through the redhead's shoulder.

The feeling was less intense than before, contributed to the facts that it was only his hand, it had been willing, and Pitch had made himself as prepared as he was ever going to be before doing so. And while Madeline was shocked—her hand tightening its grip to signal what the Boogeyman's senses already knew—she kept herself from screaming.

"He is unable to detect my presence," Pitch explained further. He kept his words undetached, but it didn't make it hurt any less. "So don't look at me. More seriously, I would suggest not trying to talk to me either, unless you want him to think you're mentally ill." He wanted to tell Madeline to let go of his of his hand, but her grip only strengthened as he spoke.

She was afraid that if she let go, he would disappear. But the influence of Pitch's power stopped there, and he was a loss for the reason why.

"I'm fine, Jarrod," Madeline said, addressing her worker and staring into his eyes. She was trying too hard, and Pitch's senses latched onto the other man's worry. "I was just thinking we could take an early lunch break."

Jarrod looked confused by the words. "But it's only"—he fumbled to look at his watch—"ten thirty. And you said to start cleaning out the stalls and—"

"And now I'm saying to take an early lunch," Madeline countered. There was a commanding note in her voice that took Pitch by surprise. "You, me, Maria, Derek, Peter, all of us. I'll pick up the apples. You can get Derek then go inside and tell the others."

Jarrod frowned, but his dissatisfaction apparently wasn't enough to make him argue with his boss. "Alright," he agreed, not able to hide the reluctance in his tone. "Are you going to be joining us?"

Madeline shook her head. "No, I didn't sit down to prepare lunch this morning, so I need to go back to the house." Pitch wondered if that was because of him or if she had spent the time on something else. "But all of you feel free to take as much time as you like. If I'm not back to give orders when you're done, you can start cleaning up the stables of it bothers you that much."

"S-sure thing, Boss." For whatever reason, Jarrod was unnerved by Madeline's smile. He ran off into the field following his order to find Derek. Pitch noticed the redhead tossing a worried look in Madeline's direction, but not saying anything else.

The woman herself took a few breaths before letting go of Pitch's hand. She too kept her silence, only executing an abrupt about face and walking off. The remaining apples were returned to their basket, Madeline delivering a swift rap to Klaudia's nose for what the horse had eaten. From there, she headed back to the barn.

Pitch didn't particularly like the prospect of being passed through again when Jarrod returned, so he followed Madeline inside. Her silence was starting to wear at his nerves. What if she wasn't anything because, to her, there wasn't anyone left to say something to?

(Because one little seed of doubt was enough, it's why the children of Burgess forgot, why every other child forgot, and she's an adult so it would only make sense)

The door opened again, Jarrod entered, a brunette that Pitch assumed to be Derek following close behind. Neither of them paid the Boogeyman any notice before heading up a set of stairs by the entrance. A glance to Madeline showed she had placed the basket on a shelf and was now just standing there.

Pitch couldn't deny the apprehension he was feeling; his own powers simply wouldn't let him. Even if Madeline was a source of trouble, she was a believer. Losing that would only weaken him further. He wanted to touch her, to reassure himself that that illogical belief was still there.

But if she didn't, wouldn't that just make it easier to leave? Pitch had grown far too attached for his tastes, which was definitely a hindrance. She was the cause. He could deal with not being safe if it would get him away from this, this—madness.

Pitch turned to leave, but Madeline was quicker. Her hand reached out for him again, this time latching onto his wrist—still solid, still warm. The Boogeyman was stopped in his tracks. There was so much desperation in the action that Pitch paused further to revel in it. And all that desperation made it into one word.

"Don't."

It was a whisper, nothing like the commands Madeline had issued earlier, and probably the most she could muster. Her face was turned down, staring at the ground. Dirty blonde bangs blocked any view of her expression. For a moment it seemed as if she might cry, but Pitch had no intentions to comfort the woman if she did. That was not his job. Even if some inexplicable compulsion were to make him want to, there was the great possibility that he lacked such ability.

"'Don't'?" Pitch repeated, even if her fear was ringing to him, pure and powerful. Madeline swallowed, looking up to him. Her eyes were free of tears.

"Don't leave," she elaborated, voice stronger. "I have questions to ask you…" Here Madeline faltered, words not able to describe what was happening. At the very least she was finally caving into the curiosity Pitch was almost convinced she didn't have.

"I was under the impression that you were going to prepare lunch," he said. Madeline blinked. "Surely you haven't forgotten. I told you I would not interfere with your routine, even if I am the one being imposed on in this particular instance."

"I'm already deviating here." Madeline looked to the basket of apples as if to prove a point. She let out a small laugh, her grip disappearing from Pitch's wrist. "But if you insist, we can talk at the house."

Madeline headed towards the barn door, far more put together than she had been a second ago. It wasn't even a show—Pitch knew her worry was disappearing at an impressive rate. It was annoying, but his curiosity won out in the end. He followed the woman who was quickly recovering from discovering her houseguest probably wasn't even human.

It was a wonder she hadn't guessed already. After all, aside from structure he barely looked human. Pitch's eyes were a golden color not available in the human gene pool, and his skin a pale gray not even found on the sickest of people. And yet Madeline had let him in, not suspecting a thing. It was just another part of the list of questions she may only now be preparing to ask.

In consideration, his name could come under question; it was a valid option. On a human, "Pitch Black" could sound nothing more than made up. Madeline had to at least have held some suspicion about him from the moment he spoke the words. And yet she still let him into her home, infinitely trusting.

Or maybe, he mused, she simply wasn't all that bright.

Pitch dismissed the train of thought as they reentered the kitchen. If Madeline was going to be asking questions then he best be prepared to provide some answers. The woman seemed distracted at best, having reverted to pacing the kitchen floor. Pitch took a seat in the chair that was almost becoming a regular spot. He watched the woman from there, amused.

Madeline stopped muttering to herself. Forgetting her consent to make lunch while talking—that had been the agreement, correct?—she sat across from her houseguest, leaning on the table to speak.

"You are real, right?"

The words felt more like a punch in the gut than a simple question. It was that seed of doubt that could change whatever questionable thread of belief it was the woman held. Pitch was so wrapped up in the feeling that he couldn't even enjoy Madeline's desperation for answers properly. He paused to compose himself before clicking his tongue. "Why ever wouldn't I be?"

(Because you're a legend, a fairy tale, and you shouldn't even exist to her)

"Be… because!" Madeline exclaimed. It appeared she still couldn't find a reasonable way to describe what was happening. "No one else even sees you! No offense, Pitch, but your clothes are enough to make you stick out. And you were right there beside me, and Jarrod didn't say a word. I hadn't even mentioned I had a guest yet. He should have at least thought you were a client, a visitor, something!"

Pitch frowned. He had been there; he didn't need a play-by-play recap of the situation. But Madeline was drawing ever closer to hysteria, so he let it slide. Her concerns were normal, and the panic was refreshing.

"Just because others don't see me doesn't make me any less real," he said. That much was true. Even if nobody believed in him, he would still be there. "It's just that others don't have what it takes to recognize my presence."

There he was, making it sound like it was a good thing to see him, a superpower even, when to humans it wasn't. It was almost a rite of passage to stop believing in the spirits. That was even more so for the Boogeyman. Parents wanted their children to stop begging to have their closets and spaces under the bed checked before they slept. Unlike some of the others, believing in Pitch was a nuisance to humans.

Madeline swallowed. "What are you?" she asked. Her hands were on the table, giving a clear view of her clenched fists trying to stop her fingers from shaking. Fear of the unknown, one of the most basic instincts, rolled off her in waves. "Other people pass right through you. But I…" Suddenly her hand was hovering by Pitch's face. "But I can touch you. What's the difference?"

"Because you believe," Pitch answered. It was difficult to keep a straight face when Madeline established contact again. She needed constant reassurance that she still could. As long as it kept her focused on him, Pitch supposed he could deal with it for a short amount of time.

"Because I believe," Madeline said, a skeptic tone entering her voice. The warmth disappeared from Pitch's cheek. "I don't understand what you mean. Believe in what?"

The Boogeyman hesitated. If anything would be enough to break Madeline's shell of innocent trust she had, the truth could be it. A poor explanation would probably make her believe he was insane, locked in some delusion. Maybe even to the point he needed to be locked up somewhere. Not that he could be subjected to that, but it would allow for a forced exit.

But if she was going to ask at last, he might as well try to make it understandable. "There are certain things in this world that are known by people, although not necessarily everywhere," Pitch started. "The stuff of legends, if you will. An idea that there is something with power, even if it isn't seen. In most cultures, I suppose you could say they are spirits, gods, or even mere fairytales. Do you understand so far?"

Madeline nodded.

"Whether or not they are revered as fact or fiction is irrelevant. All fantasies have a starting point in the truth. More often than not, these 'spirits' we're discussing here do exist. As do thousands of others that humans don't even recognize."

Like him.

(Like you)

[Like me.]

"What they do with their time is highly self-motivated. Some are given powers, and others have a purpose handed to them based of their talents. Sometimes they give to humans, and sometimes they take. Most either do both or neither. Immortals can be just as diverse in the personality department as anything else that lives."

Pitch stopped there, realizing he was derailing from what the conversation was supposed to be about. Madeline's posture was now more relaxed, leaning back in her chair with eyes closed. She probably needed a few minutes to process the information.

"So you mean that legends are real," she said once she sat up straight again. Madeline's gaze focused on Pitch. "So something like nature spirits or… I don't know, the Easter Bunny. They exist."

Pitch grimaced at the mention of one of his foes. It was a valid example considering the time of year, but that didn't make him feel any better. Madeline didn't retract her question, concerns too focused on an answer to notice the man's discomfort. "Yes," he answered.

"I'm sorry, this is just a lot to take in," Madeline said, rubbing a temple with her hand. "So these things exist. I guess I've never really taken a stand on whether or not they were real, which is why I've never thought too much about it. Not that it matters right now."

"Of course it matters," Pitch retorted. Madeline flinched at his unintentional fierceness added to the words. "Obviously you have taken a stand, even if you're not conscious of it. If you hadn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. If you ask me, it's rather obvious that you haven't grown out of it."

Madeline's eyes narrowed. Pitch didn't blame her; it did sound like an insult. "Grown out of what?" If she was angry, her voice didn't show it.

"Usually only children believe in these things, and stop when they reach a certain age. That is putting other variables aside. But if they are not believed in, that does not make a spirit go away. They are no longer seen by that person but they are still there."

Pitch wasn't certain why he was bothering with this much information, but at the very least he was being listened to. Madeline was back to contemplating his words with a mix of childlike wonder and adult skepticism. However, she would need to come to an understanding soon unless he wanted questions on every little Spirit she knew rumors of. The last thing he wanted was to be in a discussion on the Guardians.

"…So that's why Jarrod didn't see you, he doesn't believe in you," Madeline concluded. Pitch gave a nod. It was an obvious answer, but it still hurt. "And apparently people can't touch the spirits they don't believe in." The woman looked at her hand. "So I must believe in you. Then who are you? I've never heard of the name 'Pitch Black' until I met you. Unless you lied about your name."

"It is my name, but I have others," Pitch said. Of course, the rational concern of whether or not his name was false occurred in the presence of the unnatural. Regardless, it was enough. "Are you afraid of the Boogeyman?"

The sudden question made Madeline's eyebrows furrow in concentration. Instead of making the obvious conclusion, she instead took the theoretical question seriously.

"Of course not," she answered. Pitch was confused. Fear was the basis for believing in him, but Madeline claimed she did not such thing. How could this woman possibly see him then? "Even if he is real, which I'm assuming he is, I don't see why I should be afraid. He hasn't done anything to hurt me." Madeline smiled.

This woman was baffling. Wasn't it a given that people were afraid of things like him? Any monster was scary. But Madeline was looking him straight in the eyes without a care. Surely he would have remembered tormenting a child like that—it couldn't have been long enough ago to have forgotten already. And if she still believed even now, not much change could have taken place to her personality.

"I suppose I haven't," Pitch admitted. The words were a murmur, but Madeline still picked up on them.

Her eyes widened. "You haven't, meaning…" She spoke through a hand covering her mouth. "You're the Boogeyman… How is any of this even possible? It can't be real…"

"Think for a second, will you?" Pitch snapped. Explaining would be a waste if it made Madeline stop believing. That wasn't what he wanted. Not when she was right in front of him. "It's possible because that's the way it is. It's always been this way.

"And how can you deny what you've seen? Do you have any other reason for why your workers haven't noticed me? Why the redhead passed through me? Just try and explain it, Madeline."

Madeline stared at him. "I can't," she said, voice trembling. "I can't explain it other than what you just said, unless I want to consider myself crazy. It's just… If I believe, then why didn't I know?"

The question pulled them both into silence. There was no good way to answer it. Belief was usually an active thing, something that a person was aware of. If you were to ask a normal question if they believed in a spirit, they would be able to answer. If Madeline had been asked the question if she believed in any of the spirits, even Pitch, he had the feeling she would have answered "no," even if the current situation proved otherwise.

"I can answer that," Pitch said. "You seem to be an unusual case, and I'm not an expert in phenomenon like that. I can only assume that you forgot you believed, without ever making the decision to stop believing."

It was a shoddy explanation at best, but Madeline nodded as if it made perfect sense. She was new to the idea, after all, and Pitch was the only source of information she had. If she was to doubt one thing he said, she would have to doubt the rest. If she wanted to take his word as gospel, who was Pitch to complain?

"So then do you have powers?" Madeline asked. She faltered a bit, like she was afraid of offending him. "I mean, you are technically a supernatural being, right? I may be wrong, but I feel as if you should have some sort of ability to frighten as many children that are afraid of the Boogeyman on your own."

"I do."

"Could I um… I'm not trying to be rude, but would it be alright if you could show me? I'm interested to see what it's like…" It only made sense, considering this was her first encounter with a spirit of any kind. It was pure curiosity driving her question.

Even though he was better than the previous day, Pitch wasn't completely recovered from his defeat yet. He was still weak (powerless), his powers not completely under his command. He could summon some of his old strength, but it was only a fraction of what he had enjoyed at his height. Even so, we was willing to try to muster as much as he could.

She was asking for him to scare her after all.

Giving a glance around the room—Madeline's eyes never leaving him the whole time [so eager]—he realized there wasn't much to work with. He slipped into the shadows under the table where they sat, hyper-aware of every patch of darkness and what could be observed from it. He spread his power out, and the room was engulfed in darkness, no light source coming in from anywhere, and suddenly he was everywhere.

He focused his presence behind Madeline, her shock at the darkness making her easy enough to find. She was still sitting down, and Pitch leaned down without a sound, his head even with hers. Not wanting to overdo it, he said, "Boo," his voice echoing around the room as if it was coming from everywhere at once.

Pitch could have continued on any other time, but he already felt weak enough, so he broke the illusion, the kitchen coming back into clarity in the sunlight. Madeline had jumped at the sound of his voice, and her heartbeat was racing as she turned around in her chair to see him. Her condition was satisfying, and Pitch walked back to the other side of the table, letting her fear rejuvenate him as he sat back down.

Madeline continued to stare at him, mouth and eyes filled with shock. She stared for a moment, considered saying something, and was only able to produce a whispered "Wow." Pitch felt a sense of pride in his handiwork until he realized her fear was ebbing away to relief. Oddly enough, he realized that he was feeling the same thing.

She was glad that there was some form of proof for everything that had happened, that she wasn't crazy for letting the stranger in her home convince her that he was the Boogeyman. Where it had been missing before, there was the line of connection letting Pitch know that Madeline believed in him without a trace of doubt. That was the most relieving thing of all.

However, where that gave him strength, he was still missing the usual boost he would get from someone that believed in him. She wasn't afraid of him, which diminished the increase of power he could get from her. Practicality aside, it also was a matter of pride that he had yet to scare her, an action that should have been as simple as breathing for him.

Madeline Thorburn had looked him in the eye and said she wasn't afraid of him. Pitch didn't doubt that she could still say the same thing now—he could feel it as clearly as ever. Her reasons were based in a simple logic, primitive at best. She had said that she wasn't afraid of the Boogeyman because he had never done anything wrong to her.

[Well how about I change that?]


To Be Continued


Man, I need to work on this story a lot more. Seriously. I promise it's on my to do list for this month.

A big thank you to animedancin13, Haley Jo, ChinaDang, SamanthaSamma, ObsidianLove, and yori neko for your respective reviews, favorites, and follows of this story. I will never get over the amount of support this story always seems to get~.

Hopefully I can push out some new content for this story soon thanks to NaNoWriMo. If anyone else is participating, feel free to look me up by the same username as here!

Next time, Pitch formulates some plots and acts on them (in theory). Please look forward to it!

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