Oh man so this was actually a fun one to write. To keep the reactions accurate, for any scene like this where both the twits were in a chapter at once, I wrote what Pitch was doing while Kalael, while in the word doc, wrote Jack's reactions at the same time, which I then incorporated into this.

So we pretty much had writer's sex and it was actually pretty intense. Good times.

Pitch lost track of Jack for almost two months.

And honestly, he hadn't even realized it at first. He would have noticed Jack's trick earlier, but he pulled so far into his lair that he didn't register anything outside of himself.

He had needed to think. Jack was doing this wrong, he wasn't supposed to be so afraid wasn't supposed to be running away. A little fear was alright, that was what went so well with the cold but this fleeing and racing was just too much, Jack's pure terror was too much.

So he curled into the darkest, smallest space he could find, pulling shadows in on himself until he couldn't tell where he ended and the dark began. All the while the Nightmares circled him, unable to resist his turmoil. Unable to resist pulling up the screaming in his head.

You you you you did this this is your fault stupid foolish old man couldn't stop you ruined everything EVERYTHING he'll only look at you like that now you fool you FOOL. That's all you'll have, all you'll have of him. You really thought you had found someone? That you wouldn't be alone again? You'll always be alone always always always and you did it you did it.

He clutches his head, hisses and tries to drown them out. No, no that was wrong it had to be wrong Jack just didn't understand. Jack had been tricked by the Guardians! Otherwise he'd know what was right he'd know where he belonged!

He'll never be yours never never never you'll have nothing of his but that face and that luxurious fear but that's all. He'll always be one of them they got him they infected him and he'll never belong to you he isn't yours he'll never be yours and it's all your fault just stop just stop stop stop!

"No..." He says, voice strained and soft and breaking as he hitches in a breath.

He wanted Jack for his own, felt like something had been broken that night and he couldn't stop it now. Pitch never did things by halves and he couldn't stop now that the floodgates had been opened.

No...no he is mine. He was always mine. I just hadn't realized before but I always knew, why else would I want to kill him when he wouldn't be mine? I knew then...even then I knew what he was.

Jack had made a mistake, long ago, but mistakes could be forgiven, things could start over.

But he didn't want Jack running, it would ruin everything to have to drag him by force. That wasn't them, it wasn't what they were MEANT for. And he can't stop replaying it in his head, how much Jack feared the feel of hands on him the HORROR at hands on him and no no no that was wrong that was WRONG how could Jack get everything wrong AGAIN.

Why couldn't Jack ever see what Pitch was doing FOR him? It was too much like when he had shown Jack what the Guardians really thought of him, showed him how quickly they would throw him away. And Jack had SEEN that he was right, Pitch knew it then, still knows it, he had seen it in Jack's eyes. But he turned his back then, and now he was outright fleeing from it. Fleeing from what they were.

If I had found him first...if I had gotten him before the Guardians and their lies...then he would know he wouldn't try to run from the truth he would see what we are what we are made for would see how he fits so perfectly against me. But he's been lied to been forced into a box that doesn't fit him I need to pull him out need to make him see make him see what he was meant for.

Cold and dark and fear and loneliness but they came together into something uniquely them. And it had been perfect then, when it all finally fit together that night, when it all became clear. Pitch can't believe it had taken him that long to realize it.

Jack hadn't been made for the Guardians, despite what that old fool in the moon may think, he was made for Pitch. He was MEANT to belong to Pitch. Everything about slotted perfectly into the jagged edges that made Pitch up and now Jack just had to understand it.

Pitch had to MAKE him understand it.

He finally pulled himself from the shadows with a new purpose. He couldn't wait quietly while Jack continued to block him out. Not anymore.

But couldn't find the boy anywhere. Jack hadn't been back to Burgess since that night and couldn't be found wandering on power lines and rooftops like usual. It wasn't a concern at first, Jack travelled constantly and Pitch was still disoriented enough to not worry about not finding the thread of Jacks fear.

Two weeks passed, two weeks without a sign of Jack anywhere, and Pitch began to feel the slow, creeping roiling inside of him. His skin was too tight and he couldn't stop moving couldn't keep all the energy inside of him. Jack had run. Jack had finally found a place where Pitch couldn't track him.

He winds through twilight in some godforsaken Siberian town, thinking perhaps the ice and snow would attract Jack here. But the night is almost over and there hasn't been a whisper on the howling wind, not a trace of Jack's constant fear (wrong fear it was wrong wrong wrong Pitch had to make it go away had to wipe it away it didn't matter how gorgeous perfect sweet clear perfect it was he needed it to LEAVE).

He hisses softly as the night recedes, he's ready to follow it as it moves on but then he feels it.

The soft, silky feel of that fear in the air, caressing him like a lover returned after a long wait. His breath shudders out of him, his eyes flutter and he had forgotten how that fear felt, how he both despised and longed for it.

It's weaker than it was before, which is a relief, but still hums through the air and washes over him and it's so distinct and so entirely Jack.

There's a gust, the wind is constant here but Pitch can feel the difference can feel the shift in the air.

It's an unusually clear day and the sun steadily grows brighter, lighting the sky up sharp and blue and the snow makes everything blinding. He should leave, should sink into the night. Pitch sucks in a breath between his teeth as he flinches back into the dark shadows between two buildings. There's too much light too much sun too much brilliance everywhere.

But there's a flash as Jack flies overhead and the soft padding of bare feet on the roof. Pitch grits his teeth, braces himself and follows the shadows up the wall to where Jack is.

"What a desolate place, huh? I guess I should take it as a challenge. Let's see if I can make these people laugh at snow."

Pitch freezes on the spot before he realizes that Jack was talking to himself. Jack had his back to him and was looking out over the small village, completely unaware of Pitch plastering himself within the shadow of the nearby chimney (with that damn hood up still and Pitch can't see anything but dark blue material when he wants to know what the inches of vulnerable skin on the back of Jack's neck looks like...).

It makes sense, for Jack to talk to the wind (all that time alone...Pitch would often find himself talking to the shadows.)

But for a second, Pitch can imagine that Jack was talking to him. That this was normal for them, they came here together and he would give these people Nightmares while Jack made a game of seeing if he could make them laugh at the same time.

Not going to happen never going to happen no no it would he would have it he just needed to convince Jack needed to grab him shake him rip his eyes open make him SEE.

"Eh, I think I could pull it off before sunset! I just have a timer going on me now."

Sunset?

Jack had never cared about day or night before, he worked in both. The boy never took any care for time or light. So why...?

Pitch snarls silently, steps out from the shadow and makes himself bear the sun. He can feel his shadows roiling in the light but it doesn't matter because Jack is trying the last of his patience.

He can't tell where the rage ends and something else entirely begins as he stalks towards Jack. He finally comes up close behind him, not sure what he plans on but as he draws near the rage slowly dwindles and dies. Jack is right there, barely a foot away from him and this is the closest Pitch has been to Jack since that night. This is the first time he's been close enough to hear every soft breath and see the way Jack's muscles shift under the sweatshirt as he prepares a snowball to throw at some unsuspecting victim.

Pitch stops, stands there and closes his eyes and feels it all. He can feel the cold radiating from Jack, feel the way the air vibrates between them and around them. Just being this close to Jack is like a touch, like something physical that wraps around him and sinks into his skin

How could Jack keep denying this? How could he keep running from this perfection?

He lifts a hand, feels his heart pound as he slowly, carefully lays it on the back of Jack's neck through the (damned rough cloth against his hand wrong wrong he needs to get rid of that) hood.

"What game are you playing at, Jack?" he asks sadly.

The sudden burst of terror (and the sharp gasp of air like Jack is drowning it's a broken inhale that shocks through both of them) is like a punch to Pitch's gut, a slap to his head that sends his senses reeling and he clenches his hand, grounds himself on the feel of Jack under his hand (where he belongs.)

But after that shock Jack doesn't move, goes still as stone and Pitch needs to see him, more of him. He circles around to Jacks front though he keeps his hand where it is (can't take it away, can't make himself let go.) Jack's eyes are wide and blank staring at nothing and everything is shaking, trembling, quaking like a rabbit in the eyes of a snake.

Pitch frowns, wants that to stop wants Jack to stop being this frozen, tiny animal in front of him. He pulls his hand off, just enough to slide his hand up and back, gliding over hair and pushing the hood down until he rests his hand back where it was.

And then it's all right again. There's cold skin under his hands and the texture is just slightly different from how Jack's throat had felt that night, the skin thicker somehow but softer and more plush. It's like a benediction, feeling that skin again, it's a rebirth, it's coming back to where they're supposed to be.

Except Jack is staring up at him with wide,flat eyes like he can barely see Pitch at all.

"Why are you running from this?" He asks softly, "Why do you keep fighting?"

Jack jolts under his hand, his whole body spasms and Pitch clenches his grip, grabbing onto the back of Jack's neck, keeping him there, making him LISTEN.

Pitch brings his other hand up, lays it along Jacks face just to feel the way muscles twitch and to slide his thumb along the edge of Jack's cheekbone. Everything is so much more this way. With Jack facing him with him he can see everything; the way Jack's eyelids twitch wider and the way his lips fall open with a ragged gasp.

Pitch tilts his head, watches each facial tic and only tightens the grip on Jacks nape with every flinch that wrenches through the boys body. He sighs and brushes his fingers over Jack's face like it's something he could read, like its a wonderful mystery left for him to unravel.

"You're still trying to deny it. Trying to deny this. This is what you are meant for Jack. And it hurts, doesn't it, trying to fight this? You don't need to fight your fear Jack." His voice softens, lowers to something impossibly tender and hurt as he traces the way Jack's lips twitch with one finger. "You don't need to fight me."

Jack twitches back again, shifts like he was going to run but stops, shuddering and the soft sound he makes is like an animal dying. But it's so quiet that Pitch almost misses it, even though every bit of him is listening. He lowers the hand on Jack's neck, slides it down to wrap his arm around his back and he's so small, so impossibly small as Pitch pulls him in, cups his cheek with one hand and presses his face to that hair.

"You know this is where you belong Jack. You know it." He grits his teeth when he feels Jack practically turn into a block of ice in his arms. He still isn't listening, even after everything he won't LISTEN.

"Why why WHY are you fighting me!? Stop blocking me out, stop running! Even now, even now I know you want to run. You know you're meant for me! You and I are the same, we're EXACTLY the same Jack. Even as you fight it you know, you KNOW. Just like you did then."

He holds Jack close, cradles his slight form against his chest and runs his hand over Jacks face, waiting for something for some reaction. Waiting for an end to this stony, frozen terror that has Jack in it's grip.

"They couldn't tell, could they? Your little Guardian friends. They couldn't tell how afraid you were even though you were right there." He buries his face against that hair, lowers his voice. "I did Jack. I know you. I know that even when you're with them, you're alone. Alone in a way you never are with me. Did you tremble, like you did them, when they touched you? Did your body react to every move they make? Like it did then," He runs his hand over Jack's face, down his neck and back up, feeling skin jump and feeling Jack's sharp intake of breath making his lungs expand, "like it is now?"

He nearly jolts when he feels wet icy cold on his hand and he pulls back just enough to see the silent tears running down from Jack's wide, shocked eyes. Pitch stares, smears his thumb over the tracks and marvels at the cold. They're colder than ice colder than the air around them but still perfectly crystal clear liquid against the pad of his finger.

Jack's breaths come in sharp, sudden gasps. It's like he's drowning on air like he can't fill his lungs and the panic is a constant high shrieking in Pitch's skull. He rubs a hand soothingly over Jack's back, wipes at the tears with his thumb.

"SSshhhhh. Jack...sshhhh. It will stop hurting when you stop fighting your fear. Don't you see? This is what you are. Cold and fear and dark and ice that is US. Embrace it, your body already knows, already reacted to my touch." He presses his lips to Jack's forehead, reminds him, in a soft, quiet whisper.

"You came to me Jack. Came for me"

"No..."

It's said so quiet and shaky that Pitch almost misses it. Almost.

"No?" He repeats, voice still soft, but dangerous now.

Jack shakes violently in his arms, lifts his own hands slightly, hands balled into fists even as he gasps brokenly through tears.

"No!" Jack is louder this time, more forced. "No, I'm not like you, I'm not! I'm nothing like you and you're wrong!"

Pitch growls, grabs Jacks jaw and forces him to look up, forces him to look at Pitch. "Am I?! You're mine, Jack! That's what you were created for that's what you were MADE for! You were made to belong to me and you know it!"

Jack's breaths are coming up short again, he opens and closes his mouth in shock a few times before his eyes flash. ""No! I wasn't made for you, I wasn't made for anyone!"

This isn't a nightmare, isn't Pitch's world and the wind nearly knocks him off of Jack completely, but he grabs his arms, grabs Jack and digs his fingers in hard enough to bruise and he wants to dig them in further wants to feel them sink into muscle.

"Is your memory faulty, perhaps!?" Pitch snarls at him, shaking him slightly and baring his teeth. "Maybe you don't remember, Jack, how you called me there! It was YOUR mind! YOUR nightmare! You brought me there!"

"No no no! You made it you got into my head! You did it!"

"I don't make the nightmares you little fool! I can only watch! You let me in there! YOU had the nightmare you WANTED me there!"

Jack's voice cracks and the anger gutters and dies under the growing horror. "No I didn't, I don't want you anywhere near me!"

The wind picks up around them, plucks at Pitch with sharp cold fingers and he only grips tighter, snarls and pulls Jack back in towards him and refuses to be moved. Jack struggles for a second, tenses against him then all but collapses, going limp with a soft broken sound and Pitch barely manages to catch him.

Jack is a small, frozen doll in his arms and he pulls him in close, all but supports his entire slight weight and holds Jack against his chest. The wind sputters around them and Pitch feels the rage die with it.

Jack is such a weak thing, small and delicate and Pitch can feel hands on his chest, pushes weakly. He runs his fingers through the hair under his chin, sucks in a breath as frost laces over his skin. This is it. This is what they are, the sharp cold on his skin and the fear in the air as the ice burns into him. He wants to somehow pull Jack in closer, wants to keep drawing him in until Jack is buried in his chest and the ice will be there forever on his skin and inside his veins.

"You wanted me there." He repeats. "You wanted all of it."

"No."

Jack is limp but the word is sharp and harsh the ice against Pitch's skin even sharper and it's perfect, even as Jack keeps fighting him it's perfect.

"Don't you remember Jack?" He says softly, leaning down to Jack's ear, making him listen making him pay attention. "The way you cried out for me, the way you arched for me, how you pushed up into my touch even as you tried to say no? You went with my hand, your skin was flushed and you could barely breath because of me, because you knew what you wanted."

The ice suddenly grows harder and colder against his chest, breaks into shards as Jack screams and screams like he's being ripped apart. Pitch presses his lips to the sweat-damp temple. It's such a beautiful sound that he can hardly bear it.

"I wondered, so often since, what that sounded like." He says, voice reverent. "When you screamed for me as you came for me. You're mine, Jack. You are already mine. We both know it. I'm only waiting for you to admit it. To admit to what your body already knows."

Jack isn't even breathing now, every bit of him is still as stone and colder than ice and Pitch can wait. Jack knows, knows he's right. It will only be a matter of time before he admits it, and Pitch is patient.

He pulls back slightly, watches Jack's face, the way his eyes dart over Pitch's face and shine with tears, the way the red rimmed lids and flushed face go so beautifully with white skin and perfect blue. Jack's lips are parted as he tries to breathe and Pitch can't take his eyes from them.

"I know you're still fighting, you always fight. I'll wait for you Jack."

Jack's eyes harden for a second, determined and cold and that's it, that's his Jack. He can't resist then, can't help but lean down and press his lips softly, so softly, to that cool mouth. And it's another rebirth, it's like coming back up for air. Jack is still and not even shaking anymore. It's like kissing ice, soft and perfect ice and he wants more so desperately. Wants to pulls Jack back and take him and never let him back up, never let his mouth pull away never stop tasting him.

But he has to wait. Told himself he would wait for Jack.

He pulls away, lets go, and it feels like he's ripping off his own skin. He can feel the ice melting on him already, and his hands burn from the loss of cold. But he said he would wait. So he melts back into the shadows.

"But I won't wait forever."