Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or realities (unless otherwise stated). I do not make money off of this.

The prompt for this came from an anonymous rotg-kink dreamwidth post.

(A/N) And here you are, Crossover Junkie. The reason for all things Pitch that you need to know at the moment.

This is not betaed. If you see any mistakes, I would love for you to kindly point them out.

Jack met Pitch every other year on his travels, often on the poles, where day and night was a mesh of confusion and harmony. When they were together, they talked about things, random things, anything. But sometimes, they didn't. Sometimes they just sat there, watching snow fall or rage or settle, watching the aftereffects of the wind as it spun around them like a ballerina. And those days seemed the most peaceful. The ones where Jack felt more… human. More kind, gracious. More than just a simple demon.

Pitch would sit next to him, or in front of him whenever they were together, pulling his bony knees up to his chest and tugging on Jack's snow to settle around his shoulders, not bothering (or caring) about the cold, but seemingly relishing in the light and brightness the snow offered. Jack became used to making the snow settle on Pitch's shoulders, hair and back, almost rinsing all of it of its soot and pale grey and darkness.

Jack had reasoned (long ago) that Pitch was also a demon, but also one who didn't want to be a demon. He was also a demon whose own face had changed, turning it black and bleak and nightmarish. They never talked about being demons, though, and Jack was okay with that. Pitch was also probably ashamed at being a demon, having to cause pain to the children, to the creatures of the earth. Jack also made it a habit to give Pitch a hug every other decade, uncaring for the soot that occasionally sprinkled on his frost-covered clothes, because it brushed off easily, settling into the snow (though it was ominous in the way that it turned the snow to ice within a few hours).

There was only one day that was momentous in their friendship, and it was only because Jack wanted to see his friend some more, to talk to him, to learn some more about him other than the few tidbits (Jack knew that Pitch remembered bits of his past, but it made him sad and they never talked about it; he also knew that Pitch had a sweet tooth, but the last time he tried to take just one sweet from a confectionary store, they closed down soon after because of the rumors of bandits in the next town - fear). It didn't go well.

"Why don't you visit me more often? You know where I am almost all the time."

"It's not a good idea to see me when I'm not like this." Pitch huddled unnoticeably underneath the snow as it were a warm blanket, protecting him from the harsh outdoors.

"Why not?"

"I… I'm not myself. It's just not a good idea."

"Well, if you're sad or angry we could just talk."

At this, Pitch inexplicably stood up. "It's just not a good idea, alright?!" And then stormed off into the shadows of the cave they settled in that time.

Jack had spent the rest of the year wondering what had gone wrong, and why it was a bad idea to Pitch, his friend when they weren't on the poles, covering themselves in snow as if it would cleanse them of their sins. He didn't go travelling as often as he did (Just to see the children. He didn't want to cause them harm) and when he did, he stole candy and hid it in a small cavern, sealed with ice so that nobody could reach it.

When Pitch came back the next year, he caught Jack off guard, who was expecting Pitch to arrive in another year… or five because of the way Jack had pushed him to attempt to get a selfish answer.

"I'm so sorry Pitch! I didn't mean to hurt you." Here Jack gave Pitch a plate of some of his favorite candy along with some others, just in case. "Can you forgive me?" Maybe if Pitch didn't then he would at least come back for the chocolate. They didn't have to talk, but Jack had gotten used to being seen every other year, and it would be hard to lose something so big like that again.

Pitch blinked at the offering given to him, grasping it in his gray-tinted slender hands. "I'm sorry for bursting out at you. I didn't mean for my temper to get out of hand. Can you forgive me?" He looked sad, and tired and weary. It wasn't a good look for a friend to have, especially addressing another friend.

"If you can forgive me."

"Of course."

They never talked about it again, and Jack decided not to worry about it. He did have other things on his mind as well, beyond the fights he had with his friend. He had learned several other interesting facts, never brought up them talking more and thought about a name.

After all, he still didn't have a name that fit, didn't he?

And it was about time to choose a name, now that he had a real friend to share it with.