Pitch stops telling Frost to leave every time he arrives for a visit. No, instead, he practically demands that he visit, though it is not really that. He makes it perfectly clear. He is no kinder to Frost than he was before. If anything, he is just slightly more vicious. When the boy tries to start a casual conversation, Pitch snaps something so cruel that the whitish mouth shuts with an audible click. When he tries to pester the shade with questions, he is promptly stolen away by shadows and deposited elsewhere in the lair, or sometimes on another continent.

Frost never brings up why Pitch ran away that night, and that is the only thing he is grateful for. After getting a hold of himself, he had returned to his lair and sat there until the other came by with an apologetic smile and some handheld game system as an apology. The toy was in the same state as the others had been: worn, used, and well-loved, with just a little more life left in it. He had presented it to Pitch, who had looked it over, deaf to the explanation tumbling from pale lips, and then had snapped it in half without a second thought.

He was quite sure he had broken Frost's spirit as he had gathered up the pieces and disappeared, but no. He returned later, face suspiciously shiny, well-cleaned, and had started up his useless babble.

Pitch does not know why the brat insists with those stupid items if he knows they'll just be destroyed. In any case, the real reason he keeps Frost around (read: does not try to chase him out as often) is because he wants to be shown where his believers are.

He roams about at night with Frost because Pitch's head feels empty without his tastes of fear. Usually, he would be jumping at the chance to somehow use the winter spirit against the Guardians, but when he flies through the air with the boy at his side, he feels calm because the pressures of his own habits are not knocking about in his skull. He focuses on those who can see him instead, because they are his priority now. Fear takes precedent over revenge, because fear is something he can definitely have.

But sometimes Frost can be distracting without meaning to be (Pitch thinks).

There are moments when they stand on a sidewalk together, watching the crowds rush by, that their arms will brush and Pitch feels something curl in his chest. This fear he has been sipping from his few believers is usually the only thing which moves him, but this does to, and he does not like that. He is quite sure he does not like that. He shifts away when something like this happens, and if Frost notices, he does not comment or try to resume contact. Honestly, it is probably just an accident.

He focuses on the humans.

One day, at the end of August, Frost says he has somewhere to be. He has come for a quick visit in the early morning, but he cannot stay long.

Pitch does not ask why. He does not care. But Frost asks if he wants to come along, and he replies, "I don't exactly have anything better to do, do I?"

So he finds himself on the doorstep of a pretty little house in Burgess. Jack pinches his sleeve and drags him through the wall, calling, "Jamie!"

There is an excited set of squeals, and Pitch dully recalls the name – a young boy, decades ago, the last light on the globe, staring with terror-filled eyes, then later walking right through him – as two young children come dashing down the stairs.

Neither of them are this "Jamie" person, but they see Frost and immediately dash in for a hug. He ruffles their heads warmly and calls for his friend again.

"Hold your horses, I'm coming!" a voice replies from upstairs, while the children stare long and hard at Pitch.

"Is that him?" the little boy asks softly, a slight lisp marring his speech.

"Yup," Frost says proudly. "Pretty cool, yeah?"

The little girl asks, "Are you really going to come to our Halloween party?"

"You bet he is," Frost answers for him, just as Jamie Bennett comes downstairs. No longer a boy, he glances at the two spirits with more warmth than Pitch thinks he wants to see, and presses quick kisses to his children's foreheads.

"Go on, now, and make sure you wash your hands before you eat lunch!" He shoos them to the door, and Pitch sees a bright yellow bus coming up the road. Bennett remains at the door to wave for a few more seconds, seeing his children safely on the bus, then turns to greet his guests. "Jack. Honestly, Pippa said she found snowballs in the freezer again. It's summer. Don't you know when to take a vacation?"

"I have been!" Frost says, following him into the living room and dropping himself onto the couch like he lives there. Pitch remains where he is by the door. "But you can't expect me to just go into hibernation like a bear. I can't exactly sleep through summer. It's boring!"

"Yeah, I can't see that happening," Bennett agrees, settling into an armchair that he looks like he belongs in. His face is weathered and the age lines are visible. He has grey hairs, but not as many as Pitch thought he might have. His eyes are still as bright as they were in his youth, and they sparkle with childlike energy as he dives into a conversation with the spirit.

Pitch takes a moment to observe where he is. A fairly nice home, nothing too showy, so a reasonable salary. Pictures lining some bookshelves and the top of the piano pushed by a window in the living room. The pictures are of Bennett, his wife, his children, and sometimes Jack. Pitch wonders what visitors see in the photos with Jack. Does the camera actually capture a spirit's image, or does it capture an essence that is only visible to believers?

The bookshelves are filled with reading material, but Pitch notices that the top shelf is lined with books stamped with Bennett's name. An author, then. A writer. He wonders why he is not surprised, and chalks it up to the fact that he does not feel much these days, and therefore cannot bring himself to care. Not that he would want to. But the man must have travelled the world, because he can see foreign translations of some of the books too. So. He's done well.

Pitch wonders if Bennett has kept in touch with all of the Guardians, and this thought leads him down the path he had originally forgotten: the Guardians. Where were they? He had not heard or seen an inkling of them since his awakening. They were certainly still around and going strong, because that globe he had set up still gleamed with their holier-than-thou light. But Frost was here. And they were…where?

Did they know that he still had followers? Ah, but that led to another thought path: how had he gotten followers? They would never willingly try to keep fear alive in the world, other than what was necessary to keep children from waltzing into the middle of the highway. Frost, it seemed, had had some part in it, and he had said "we". So did the Guardians aid him?

"Have a seat."

Pitch starts. The other two are looking at him from the living room. Bennett's bright eyes are warm and welcoming, and that just does not sit right him. He puts a hand on the doorknob, but Frost frowns. "C'mon, Pitch. You know you have nothing better to do."

A snarl bubbles in the back of the shade's throat. "I have no time for domesticity." He glances at the human. "And I find it unnerving that you should greet me as an old friend."

Bennett shrugs. "So you dished out a few nightmares some years ago. To be honest, my kids could use a couple now. They're having trouble understanding the concept of actually cleaning their rooms instead of shoving everything under the bed. Maybe you could—"

"No."

Frost is by his side in a flash, gripping his arm faster than he can open the door. "Please?" he says in a low voice. "Why not stay a bit?"

And that hand drifts down to touch his fingers, to hook their index fingers around each other. The other touches might have been an accident, but this is certainly not one. It is hidden from the human's sight, but the finger becomes several, then a whole hand. Pitch is too surprised to protest, because there is a warm chill, if such a thing can exist, which spreads through his skin, and it feels good.

Pitch lets go.

Frost stares.

Pitch looks down at him and feels nothing (he has to tell himself this now), but allows himself to be drawn into the living room by a gentle hand on the corner of his elbow. He sits on the edge of the couch, leaving a good foot of space between himself and the frost spirit. Jamie Bennett leans back comfortably and asks, "So, what have you been up to?"

Jack Frost is the first person to introduce Pitch to a human who accepts him for who and what he is.

And once again, Pitch forgets to ask the questions that need asking.


Author's Note: Haha, it's already 1 in the morning, so it's over, but Happy Halloween! Have a sketch:

tobiasbotte. tumblr image/65670485972

You know the drill. Remove the spaces. Thank you, and good night!