Gwyn ap Nudd had a presence that commanded attention. Jack found he couldn't look away from him, drawn to everything from the glints on his armour made from that creamy metal, his intimidating height and muscular breadth, even the way his curling hair caught the light. It was as though at any point, he was lit by the bright morning sun. Whether outside or inside, he was imbued with an almost-glow that was hypnotic and compelling.
His voice was battle-hardened, deep, and he sounded ready for combat, always commanding. He greeted Bunnymund like an old friend, one massive hand clapping him on the back with an easy force that sent Bunny staggering forwards. He embraced North like they were brothers. And he'd ruffled Jack's hair like he was a two year old. Jack wanted to feel affronted, except that there was something so charming about Gwyn's demeanour that he decided to let it go.
The bright warrior did not even seem bothered that Pitch was there. He grasped the man's hand in between both of his own and shook it with an enthusiasm that made Pitch's eyes widen.
Sandy came down to join them, yawning and then beaming happily. And Tooth came a short while later, streaming in with her Baby Teeth, joining them in North's large strategy room, taking her place at a round, roughly-hewn table. She beamed at Gwyn in a way that suggested her appreciation at seeing him was perhaps more than a little friendly. Her Baby Teeth had practically all fallen into a swoon on and around the table. If Gwyn noticed – and Jack suspected he didn't miss much – he didn't appear to mind.
It occurred to Jack that this being – powerful enough to send Bunnymund staggering with a hand on the shoulder – King of the Seelie Court, was still – even with whatever members made up his team – not powerful enough to bring down the Unseelie Court and the living shadows. It gave him pause, made him think of the wound at his throat, of the charming but sinister Each Uisge, the predatory Nain Rouge, and the others that he hadn't yet met but that he knew were out there.
The meeting started. North, Bunnymund, Toothiana and Gwyn dominated the conversation, talking about deaths, rumours of deaths, countries worst affected. Jack found himself drifting off into daydreams and his own thoughts. Strategy was boring. This was definitely not his wheelhouse. He was aware of the hypocrisy in not wanting to miss anything, and yet finding it impossible to concentrate on the numbers of people who had died, on the geography of it, on the seriousness of a war. If he didn't immediately have to defend someone, then what was the point?
He dared a glance at Pitch, who was sitting at the opposite side of the table, eyes flickering between each of the speakers soberly. He seemed disinclined to join in, but also followed everything that was being said with an intensity that made Jack think of what he must have been like as a Golden Warrior all that time ago. Jack wondered if his presence at the table was dictated by that old, inborn instinct to protect and defend, and he wondered how much of that Pitch resented, even right now.
He hadn't seemed upset walking back into North's Workshop, nor had he seemed to grudge meeting Gwyn ap Nudd, if anything he'd seemed somewhat eager. And he'd taken the wariness of Bunnymund and Toothiana in his stride. Sandy didn't seem threatened by him at all, though Jack caught him punching one fist into an open palm menacingly when Pitch looked his way.
He'd expected there to be more dissent when it came to allowing Pitch to join them. But Gwyn's easy acceptance of Pitch seemed to change everything. Was that Gwyn's fae glamour? Or had Pitch and the other Guardians come to an understanding the other day, when Jack had left early because he'd felt so weak?
He looked at Pitch again, and his toes curled under the table. Had they really just had the conversation they'd had out in the snow? About his daughter, about his wish to defeat the darkness and his success and then inevitable, catastrophic failure? And...had Pitch really just told Jack he'd take him up on his fear? It had sounded terrifying at first, until Pitch had clarified what fear he was speaking of. It made Jack hyperaware of himself, of his body, of how he'd felt when Pitch had comforted him.
Did Pitch actually want to touch him? Jack wasn't any stranger to sex (although he'd been a stranger to it for a few decades now), it could be fun, and he enjoyed all forms of having a good time, but a lot of spirits didn't take him seriously and aside from a few 'rolls in the hay,' he'd never been a candidate for a relationship. The few times he'd actually had sex, it hadn't exactly been filled with a great deal of overall touch. No cuddling, no after-play, constant complaints about how cold he was. He'd been told he was too playful, not committed enough, and he rolled with it, played up the reputation, hid from how much it all hurt.
What did Pitch want? Did he only want Jack's fear? That wasn't going to last long, Pitch was getting less and less scary by the day. He'd seemed as hungry for touch as Jack was, but still, he was a serious guy, wasn't he? He probably liked serious company best. He probably found Jack's attention a novelty simply because he hadn't had much of it. And Jack figured Pitch probably wouldn't be interested once he'd established some more friendships, especially now that he wasn't possessed, now that he could be visible to other serious warrior types. Jack scratched at his shoulder absently, worried, off-kilter.
Jack stared fixedly at North and tried to concentrate, but his awareness of Pitch was like a prickling weight that wouldn't let up.
He dared a glance at Pitch again, and then froze. Pitch was staring straight at him with a knowing look in his eyes.
Well, shit.
Jack let his eyes drift away and pretended nonchalance, and he watched Toothiana like everything she was saying was the most interesting thing he'd ever heard. A minute passed and he chanced a sidelong glance at Pitch.
Pitch was still watching him, and after a few seconds of direct eye contact, Pitch smirked and then looked away again.
Hell. My life was so much easier when he was just some evil Nightmare King and I was just about snow days all the time. A lot easier.
'Is that where she got you?' Jack startled as Gwyn turned his full attention towards him, pointing at the marks on his neck. Jack nodded, feeling the weight of Gwyn's focus like a burst of sunlight. It was ridiculous. He didn't even sound charming, with his direct way of speaking. Jack didn't even find most of the things he said interesting, he was so business-like. Even Bunnymund had a greater sense of fun and humour than Gwyn seemed to.
'Yeah. It's healing though,' Jack said.
'It is, that's good. And you rescued him?' Gwyn turned to Pitch, tilting his head. 'How did you do that again? The Nain Rouge is formidable. Tell me.'
Pitch looked like he was contemplating what might be the best answer and then finally he pointed at the hilt of the sword which was visible over his shoulder.
'It is forged from a rare metal.'
'Let me see it. I'm familiar with most rare metals.'
Despite Gwyn's brusque demeanour, Pitch didn't seem perturbed as he drew the long, heavy sword out of its scabbard and then placed it down on the wood in front of the warrior. Gwyn studied it without touching it, and then he raised a hand as though he'd like very much to turn it in his hands. He looked first at Pitch as though asking permission, and when Pitch nodded once, he picked it up and examined it closely.
'I might know about rare metals, but I haven't ever seen the likes of this before. What's this, an alphabet? What does it say?'
'It's the Lunar alphabet,' Pitch said, focused entirely on Gwyn and ignoring the fascinated stares that the other Guardians were giving both him and the sword. 'They are warrior's sayings, all of our weapons have them.'
'It is not the writing that gives the metal its ability to drive off the darkness? It's the metal itself?'
'Correct.'
'It's got a nice heft to it. Interesting design. Don't see many two-handed ones like this, these days. People find the smaller, one-handed swords easier.'
'I don't need a sword to be easy, I need it to do its job,' Pitch said with a matter-of-factness that made Gwyn laugh in appreciation.
'True! As I was saying before,' Gwyn said, holding the sword in his hands and addressing everyone. 'I was elected to lead those willing amongst the Seelie fae against the coming darkness, some time ago. You have to understand, I prefer to helm the Wild Hunt, this is not my usual way of doing things. But you know how it goes,' he said to North, who nodded in agreement.
'I asked a diviner, one who tells the future, what she would recommend. And she told me that this darkness does not come from this great land of ours, and that it originates from beyond the stars.'
Pitch shifted, uncomfortable, and Gwyn noticed. Then he nodded at Pitch directly.
'She also told me that we would have need of something or someone we would not normally find on this living land that we call our home. Pitch,' Gwyn addressed Pitch directly, 'my diviner has said you were once a great warrior. The greatest of warriors against this scourge. Is that true?'
Jack wondered what kind of diviner she was, if she knew all of that; fae diviners were clearly of a different calibre. Even though Jack knew that what she had divined was true, Pitch didn't seem to know how to reply to the question.
'Mate, he was once upon a time, but you know as well as I do that he hasn't been a warrior for donkey's years,' Bunnymund said harshly.
'You think I don't know about the Nightmare King and his reputation? I wasn't born in a cabbage patch, Pooka. I'm asking him if my diviner was right. I don't believe I was addressing you, was I? Pitch, it's a simple question, were you once the greatest of warriors against this scourge?'
Silence settled at the table. Bunnymund shifted uncomfortably, and North was staring at Pitch. Toothiana still couldn't peel her eyes off Gwyn. Jack noticed that even when he was direct, there was an uncanny charm about him. Jack didn't know if the fae had centres, but he was willing to bet that Gwyn's centre was light, if he had one.
'I'm not sure if it's relevant if thousands of years have passed,' Pitch said dryly.
'Perhaps,' Gwyn agreed. 'I don't know how we'll need you, but the diviner seems to think that we will. I'm not giving up any avenue to defeat this darkness or the current Unseelie reign, do you understand? Is there any more of this metal? How does it work?'
'It is mined from certain meteorites. To my knowledge, none have fallen here on this planet. It has an ability to repel all forms of living darkness, and will vanquish Nightmare Men and Fearlings. Removed from its scabbard, its presence is enough to turn the living shadows back. They cannot grasp nor touch the metal, and they are repelled by it.'
'I would like to get my hands on one of these,' Gwyn said, but he handed the sword back all the same, and Pitch sheathed it with a smooth movement. 'Perhaps you all should take his ability to touch that sword as a sign that he's no longer possessed, by the way. I know you're worried. There is no way he'd be able to handle that beautiful thing if he was.'
Pitch's eyes widened, and Toothiana looked at him as though she hadn't considered that before. Just as Bunnymund leaned forwards to disagree, Pitch cleared his throat.
'With all due respect, Your Majesty, a person is perfectly capable of being sullied by the dark without ever having been possessed by it. Just because the living shadows are gone, does not mean I should be trusted.'
'What he said,' Bunnymund said, though he looked a bit bewildered to find himself agreeing with Pitch.
'Tell me something I don't know,' Gwyn said with a broad grin. 'Do you think my life has been all light and sunshine? I'm not throwing any tool out of the toolbox. Do you want to see a world ruled by Augus Each Uisge? Don't even get me started on the Nain Rouge. I'm going to be honest, I don't know if we can do it. My diviner sees many different pathways. She'd tell me if she thought we were going to win.'
And with that he delved back into strategy, actively including Pitch more and more in the conversation; asking him direct questions when it became obvious that he wouldn't volunteer information himself. After about ten minutes, Pitch was intently participating, using eloquent hand gestures to explain his thoughts, and interacting with the other Guardians like it was something they did all the time.
Jack felt like the odd one out. He hated strategy and studying and research and formal learning. If he couldn't pick it up organically, or it wasn't something he was specifically interested in, it went in one ear and out the other.
He settled in his chair, placed both of his feet on the table and then rocked backwards so that the chair was only balancing on two legs. He closed his eyes and leaned his staff against his own torso, settling his hands in his lap.
If they were just going to keep on with their incessant talking, he was going to get some sleep. It wouldn't be the first time. During group meetings over the last three decades, Jack had developed a reputation for falling asleep halfway through, unable to maintain his concentration during reviews, or figuring out a bad guy, or...whatever they talked about.
Bunnymund grumbled something and North laughed.
'What else do you expect? He is being a spirit of fun, let him sleep. We will decorate him like a Christmas tree later, if he's still not paying attention.'
'I expect there to be tinsel,' Jack yawned, and Gwyn chuckled along with North, and then their voices went all serious again and Jack rolled his eyes even though they were closed.
No lullaby better than people talking about serious business.
And he was right, he drifted off not more than five minutes later.
The world was falling.
Jack woke up to gravity seizing him as his chair fell backwards. He hit the floor as the chair clattered behind him.
'Wha- Hey!'
He pushed himself up on his hands only to see Pitch standing over him with a mischievous look on his face. It was obvious he'd tipped the chair backwards.
'No. No,' Jack said, pointing a stern finger at him, 'that wasn't as funny as you thought it was.'
'Sleep well?' Pitch asked sweetly, and then raised his hands innocently when Jack stood up, staff at the ready.
'Jack, come now, I didn't do anything you wouldn't do, did I?'
Jack shook his head in exasperation and then looked around the room.
'Where is everyone?'
'They went to see Gwyn out, I do believe your bird of paradise has what you might call an impressive crush on him.'
'He is kinda handsome,' Jack said, 'until he starts talking. And then he's all business, isn't he?'
Jack picked the chair up and it back into the table.
'Anything I should know?'
'I'm being sent on reconnaissance. My ability to teleport through shadows puts me at an advantage, as it always has. And for whatever reason that hasn't yet been explained to me adequately, Gwyn trusts me to actually report back to him.'
Jack laughed, he couldn't help it. He swooped through the room and left snow falling behind him.
'Look at you, all goody two shoes now.' As Pitch glared up at him, brushing snow off his head, Jack started to chant: 'One of us, one of us.'
'I would rather eat glass,' Pitch said, and then inhaled through clenched teeth. 'I woke you to tell you that I shall be heading off immediately. You are welcome – and please don't give me cause to regret this – to travel back to Kostroma and stay there. Mora is waiting for you, and the home should keep you out of harm's w-'
'Are you serious? I'm not going back to twiddle my thumbs in some house. I'm coming with you,' Jack said.
Pitch looked at him as though he'd grown a second head.
'You are most certainly not coming with me.'
'Look-' Jack began, but Pitch cut him off with a withering look.
'Perhaps I didn't explain myself clearly enough, because I thought you possessed more than one or two brain cells. I'll try again. I am being sent on reconnaissance. That means that I shall be going directly to the Unseelie Hall to see what I can pick up. I shall do what I've always done rather well, and that's eavesdrop on others and pick up their fears. And if that doesn't work, I shall track down the Nain Rouge. We remember the Nain Rouge, don't we?' Pitch said, deeply condescending.
'No way are you doing this on your own. She took some of my life force. I want it back, and I'm coming with you. It's like you've forgotten that around thirty years ago I gave you a pretty big hammering with just some ice crystals and a wooden staff. I can hold my own, Pitch.'
'Only three days ago, the mere act of moving through darkness with me made you collapse like a Victorian maiden in full swoon,' Pitch said.
'And then I slept. A lot. I'm feeling a lot better, and you'd know if I was lying right? Because I'd be...frightened of being found out or something, I don't know. It's important to me. I want to go.'
'I prefer to work alone,' Pitch said, and Jack snorted.
'Firstly, so do I. Secondly, I don't believe that for a second. You tried to recruit me, remember? Don't think I've forgotten. That's not something anyone would forget in a hurry.'
Pitch bared his teeth in frustration and then Jack realised that he looked stressed. For someone who was almost always composed, he looked like a trapped animal.
'Is this all because I want to come with you? Because...I don't think it is. What's going on?' Jack said, gentling his voice, wondering what he'd missed in the meeting. Reading between the lines was never one of his strengths.
Pitch didn't respond, though he did force his face into its usual impassive mask, as though realising exactly how much he had on display.
And then Pitch walked away from him as though making a snap decision.
'You're not coming with me, and that's final.'
Pitch walked towards the shadows of the room, ready to leave, and Jack launched after him. He launched himself at the tall man, and latched his arms around Pitch's back – the sheathe of the sword digging into him – before Pitch could say or do anything.
The world dissolved into darkness. He held on for dear life, feeling far less secure than when Pitch was holding onto him.
Just as quickly, they tumbled out onto the other side of...wherever they were. They seemed to be in a basement of some kind, it was musty and smelled like rat urine, it was as disused and empty a place as any could possibly be. It made Jack feel claustrophobic, but he tried to push that down.
He had to do this. The others wouldn't understand. He might not be able to follow strategy, but he was still powerful, he could still help. And more than that, he wanted the rest of his powers back.
'What is wrong with you?' Pitch hissed, rounding on him as Jack let go.
'Look, I'm fine,' Jack whispered. 'See? I feel fine.'
'I should take you back right now. Except that you'd probably attach yourself to me like a limpet again, wouldn't you? Do you know what would happen to you if the shadows had torn you off?'
'Something...unfun?' Jack said and then looked around curiously. 'Where are we, anyway?'
'Close to the Unseelie Hall, in an abandoned human establishment nearby. I wanted to get my bearings first. What if I had gone straight there, hm? What if you had landed loudly, and they had known?'
Jack felt like a five year old being scolded. His fingers flexed on his staff and blue lightning shot out briefly at the top of it, reflecting his mood and flashing a pale blue light around the room.
'Just because I'm not good at strategy doesn't mean I'm some child. Don't take whatever you're feeling out on me. Are you acting like this because you don't want to be doing it but feel obligated to? I mean, if-'
Pitch exhaled heavily in the darkness of the basement. It was such a shaky sound that Jack stopped talking, took a step closer, tried to see what he could read from those pale, golden eyes.
There was silence, the kind that came from being under the earth in a small room; almost complete and filled only with the sounds of clothing shifting, of uneven breaths and shifts in posture.
'I find that I am afraid,' Pitch said, each word pushing out of his throat like he hated every one. He turned so that Jack couldn't see his face. 'It seems a trifling thing, but it was not an...easy experience for me, when they came down into the dark and took the shadows away. I had almost forgotten, you see, that I had been possessed in the first place. I was so rarely allowed to think about my past that it was as though I didn't have one.'
Jack swallowed hard, he knew exactly what forgetting your past felt like. He felt stupid too, it hadn't occurred to him that Pitch would be afraid of the Unseelie Court. That, just because he had one of the best methods of safely and illicitly travelling beyond enemy lines, didn't mean that he felt safe doing it, or that he was okay with it. After all, hadn't Pitch spent almost all of his time down there in the dark after the Unseelie Court came to him? Hadn't the Each Uisge told him to stay put, and hadn't he done just that? If they caught him spying on them...
'What was it like? When they...came?' Jack said, and Pitch walked over to some empty crates and sat down. He still managed to look fully in possession of himself, but Jack could tell it was a front.
'I honestly would very much like not to think about it,' Pitch said, and he closed his eyes, shutting the light in them away from Jack, so that he could hardly see Pitch at all. 'It is a shameful thing, as either Nightmare King or warrior, to be brought so low. And to realise in the same moment that you did have a past, a history, and that you have been brought so low before, by the very shadows and Nightmare Men and Fearlings I had become attached to.' Pitch laughed, but it was a scathing, cutting sound.
Jack walked closer to Pitch and wished he felt easy enough in his presence to reach a hand out, to offer something.
'But I find that is not the core of my fear. Augus Each Uisge has an ability, a...power. Along with his penchant for drowning, flaying, tearing the living apart, he enjoys having people do what he says. Except that it lives at his core as a power to sway and dominate. The Nightmare King could have resisted it, but I – weakened – could not. Augus told me to stay put in the darkness, until they had need of me. And the strangest thing happened. For years afterwards, I sometimes thought about leaving, but more often, I felt a compulsion to stay.'
'That's...not a good power.'
'It is probably the only thing keeping the Nain Rouge under his sway,' Pitch said, looking up at Jack and shrugging. 'She is immensely powerful. She doesn't like to work in a group, and he has probably told her to, and put some force into it. Since disobeying Augus and leaving that lair, I have felt my refusal to follow his order as a chafing that never ceases. I had not thought it could get much worse. But working against him like this, deliberately, has awakened a response that I am finding difficult to control.'
'Then maybe it's good that I'm here,' Jack said, 'Right? Because I really can look after myself, and you shouldn't have to go through this alone.'
'Yes, you are suitably distracting,' Pitch said, a wry amusement in his voice. 'I find I do not have much stomach for my own weakness. I am an anathema to myself, in more than one way, I find.'
'Weakness?' Jack said, 'Are you serious?'
'The sooner we get this over and done with the better. I will need you to be quiet.' Pitch stood up swiftly and walked over to Jack, grasping him by the shoulders. Jack tensed under the sudden contact.
'Ready?' Pitch asked, and just as Jack started to respond, they whisked off through the dark.
They landed smoothly, and Jack didn't let his feet touch the floor so he could minimise any sound. He hovered just a little above and then came down slow and silent.
They were in a huge underground hall, lit with strange, unearthly torches that flickered first green, then blue, then green again. The floor was packed earth, years and years of debris and detritus squashed into it until it was a black, shiny surface. The walls, which were easily seventy or eighty feet apart from each other, were formed from gigantic, twisting roots that coiled thickly around one another, giving the impression of clotted, wooden walls. It smelled richly of decay, loam and a sweet musk.
It was also empty of everything except a long, wooden table along with grand, wooden chairs of different sizes and shapes. Jack didn't know whether to be happy or disappointed.
Pitch held up a hand, cautioning Jack to stay put, as he walked warily forwards.
Jack watched, breathless. He couldn't stop thinking that any moment, someone would turn up, realise that they were there, and all hell would break loose. But the minutes ticked past and no one came, so Jack hesitantly drifted forwards to where Pitch was leafing through some parchment by the head chair at the table.
'I can't read it,' Pitch said, very quietly. 'Can you?'
'Uh,' Jack took a quick look and the words resolved themselves easily. 'Yeah, that's Welsh.'
Jack began to pick up one of the documents, but he was so nervous that the corner immediately edged in frost and he dropped it, not wanting to leave a trace of their presence behind. Pitch helpfully held it up for him with one hand so that he could scan it quickly.
His hopes that the Each Uisge would be arrogant enough to leave all the details of his grand master plan lying around on a table were dashed. Jack looked at each page in turn before frowning.
'I think he wants to control the waterways. You know, people's access to fresh water. Everywhere. It's mostly just a list of names – dams, lakes, rivers, even underground bores and aquifers. I'm not familiar with all of them, it's not like I get down to Australia that often, but, see there?' Jack pointed to where horizontal lines in black ink scratched out the scrawled writing, 'They're the ones he's got hold of already.'
'It makes sense,' Pitch said, putting the parchment down and taking Jack back to the shadows they'd entered from.
'It does?'
'I'll explain later, I don't like this place. The Unseelie Hall has never been pleasant, but it's also – to my knowledge – never been so empty.'
'You think it's a trap?' Jack whispered, and Pitch paused, looked around the vaulted hall and then shook his head.
They moved back silently until they were surrounded by the dark. Jack wondered how many years Pitch had spent observing people like this. Snooping around other people's domains was second nature to Jack, it didn't feel wrong, it didn't feel rude, it felt like a necessity. Other people ate food to survive, Jack knew what it was like to have to watch someone else's life to get the same sort of nourishment. Though they were both cautious being in the environment of their enemy, there was no discomfort around the ethics of the act itself.
'The Nain Rouge is next. I have never been to her lair before, so there is considerable risk. Are you ready?' Pitch asked.
Jack's hand drifted up briefly to his neck and then fell down by his side again. He wanted to understand what had happened to him so he could reverse it. If she could suck his power into herself, then maybe – somehow – he could have it returned to him. But her heartlessness, her emptiness terrified him like very little else ever had. He looked at Pitch's eyes, dim torch lights in the darkness, and he nodded hesitantly.
Pitch raised his hands slowly and placed them on the outside of Jack's arms, one finger after the other pressing gently down until he was being firmly gripped. The deliberateness of the action made him shiver, and he looked at the fingers of one of the hands curling around his arm. He could feel each individual finger through his hoodie, feel the heat against his cold skin. Would he ever get used to the fact that other beings could touch or interact with him? The fact that it was Pitch left a breathless feeling somewhere in his lungs, turned his throat dry.
He had no chance to respond before the fingers abruptly tightened, and they were off again.
This time he felt the strain of moving through the darkness, and he fought to keep himself together and silent, because it was imperative that they land silen-
Jack jerked when they landed in the shadows of a dim, abandoned, underground carpark.
The Nain Rouge was right there. Only just far enough away that she hadn't noticed them, talking with an older woman with greenish hair and sickly pale skin. They were close, too close.
Jack wanted to turn around, to run, to get out of there, and he started to move without realising it. One of Pitch's arms wrapped around his torso, preventing him from moving, and a large, heavy hand pressed itself against his mouth, stopping any accidental sounds from coming out. He wanted to be bothered by it, but he knew that Pitch was trying to make sure he was quiet. Jack was starting to get a sense of how organically Pitch responded to the fear of others, and he felt oddly secure, even if he did just want to get the hell out of there.
The palm was hot against his skin and he swallowed hard, reminded viscerally of the place on his neck where the Nain Rouge had sucked out his life-force. He stared at her, convinced that any moment she would turn and see them, even though they were in the shadows, partially hidden behind one of the many concrete struts supporting the huge structure.
There was graffiti everywhere. On the concrete floor were broken bottles, bits of glass catching the dim light, used needles and other debris, along with copious amounts of uncured, putrid rat, cat and fox skins. Graffiti covered the walls, and it looked like before the Nain Rouge had made it her home, it had been a residence for rough sleepers; those who did not have the privilege of a consistent residence. Jack suddenly felt like he knew what the Nain Rouge had done with all the homeless, and his fear skyrocketed.
Pitch shifted minutely behind him, fingers flexed just enough on Jack's cheek to remind him that he was there. Jack tried to focus on the points of contact, but it was hard. He hadn't been prepared for such a strong reaction to seeing her again. It didn't matter that she couldn't see him.
'Seriously,' the Nain Rouge said, as Jack's fear ebbed enough that he could focus on what she was saying, 'It's his way, Jenny. He's not going to give you your blasted lakes and rivers back. He's got 'em, and he's power hungry! I did tell you, but no, you had to go listen to the stupid, charming waterhorse. Now look at you? Stuck talking to me, huh? You don't even fucking like me.'
Jenny Greenteeth bared sharp, jagged teeth at the Nain Rouge in frustration and then turned away. From where Jack was standing, he could see living shadows pooled around Jenny like an oily black puddle. The Nain Rouge's shadows were active and unsettled, and he could sense that she had a great number of them. Perhaps the most out of any of the Unseelie Court he'd met so far. Jack could even see Nightmare Men prowling the car park, detached but still connected to her. His eyes darted around, looking to see if there were any close by. It didn't look like it, but the fact that they were wandering around menacingly didn't help him feel any safer.
'He's limited to the water, and so are you, but I'm not. He may have his kelpies and his brother the Glashtyn, but I've made a lot of friends here in the Americas, and I'm tired of travelling to Europe every time there's a stupid fucking meeting. Like, that's just not how we roll, you know? Besides, I have more of these awesome shadows than any of us. He won't fucking take them. Coward. You know I'd be willing to share more, Jenny. We can create a lot more, you know. I know how to make more.'
Pitch's breath caught behind Jack's back, and his hands spasmed.
'I like carnage,' the Nain Rouge said, matter-of-fact, 'I like going off book. Don't you?'
'I just want my lakes back,' Jenny said. 'If you can get me my lakes, then-'
'No one gives two shits about your fucking lakes, but if that's all you care about, then fine. I'm not a bullshitter and I don't care about poisoning the waterways to control the moronic humans. They're all just a bunch of monkeys anyway.'
The Nain Rouge whimsically created a swirl of supernatural, green fire. It left a trail of green smoke. A moment later she laughed in childlike delight as she sent a blast of shadow and frost at one of the concrete struts, leaving it wrapped with huge, jagged, broad icicles.
Liquid rage that bubbled up through Jack so that he lost all focus. That was his, the Man in the Moon gave it to him, it was the only thing keeping him alive.
'That's nifty,' Jenny said, examining the icicles closely. 'It's strong too. Not like normal ice.'
'I'm gonna get me the rest of that,' the Nain Rouge, and grinned at the structure she'd made. 'Think what I could do if I had all of it? That boy isn't going to know what hit him.'
Jack's mind blanked. He hadn't expected a threat like that, he hadn't realised how much the Nain Rouge wanted the rest of his power, and she made it sound so easy to take the rest. The animal fear that pulsed through him when he'd had the nightmare returned with a vengeance. He needed to wake up, he needed to get out of there, to-
'Jack.'
The word that pushed itself into Jack's ear was barely even a whisper. And yet realising that Pitch was behind him, that his face was right there by his head, his fear spiralled down to something less mindless. It allowed him to think again, though he didn't like what he was thinking about, and he didn't like seeing icicles caused by a section of his own life-force wrapped around the concrete strut like that. None of that was okay.
He sagged weakly against Pitch, who adjusted his own grip in response. The hand against his mouth gentled, the one that had previously been holding him put loosened. Jack could have gotten away if he'd really wanted to.
There was a clatter of noise nearby, from an upper storey of the carpark. The Nain Rouge and Jenny both turned towards it, and then a moment later all of the roaming Nightmare Men swarmed to the Nain Rouge as she and Jenny walked away from where they'd been chatting, towards the source of the sound.
Pitch let a minute go pass, then another, and then he slowly removed his hand from Jack's mouth. Jack didn't know if he missed the searing heat of that palm against his cold skin, and didn't want to think about it too much.
Pitch's head was still bowed by Jack's, so close that his black hair could easily brush against Jack's if he just turned a certain way. And to his surprise, he wanted to. He wanted to know what it felt like to have his hair brush Pitch's hair. He licked at his dry lips, because this was ridiculous and he wanted to leave and he didn't know why Pitch hadn't just telepo-
He froze when Pitch suddenly pressed his nose into the back of Jack's neck and inhaled deeply. The action sucked the ambient air away from his skin, cooling it, sending a thrill of sensation through him.
'Uh,' Jack whispered, his voice sounding so loud in the stillness, that he paused for a long moment, worried that someone had heard them. But no one responded, and Pitch had inhaled again, and Jack couldn't let that go. 'Are you smelling me?'
'Your fear,' Pitch whispered back in a kind of wonder from behind him, dark voice curling up into his ear and making him aware, too aware of how he was pressed back against Pitch, held by Pitch, surrounded by him, and they were there in the dark and Pitch was warm. Despite what others may assume, he liked warmth. Summer wasn't his preferred season, but a burst of sunlight on his skin reminded him of what it was to be touched. And his body responded to the body heat of another, it warmed in response to warmth. Already he felt shivery, absorbing the heat from Pitch, his own body temperature adjusting.
He took a shaky, slow breath as Pitch's other hand came up and splayed itself over his ribcage. He remembered, too clearly, Pitch saying: I like the taste of your fear. If you keep offering it up to me so freely, I will take you up on it. But here? And now?
'It really is delicious, Jack,' Pitch said in a drawn out croon, slowly trailing his cheek over to Jack's ear again, but lightly, so lightly that the contact was a whisper itself. 'All vulnerable, and...raw.'
But what if that was all Pitch cared about? Jack's fear. As soon as it went away, would that be it? Would Pitch suddenly not want anything to do with him? No more of this strange and compelling contact? What if Pitch only wanted to use him, only wanted to-
His mouth dropped open on a silent gasp as a searing wet heat licked up the base of his neck to the curve of his jaw bone, before lips pressed open-mouthed to his skin. Pitch had licked him, actually licked him. It distracted him from his worries, made the hand that wasn't holding his staff come and clutch at Pitch's wrist. He tilted his head back, feeling hidden by the shadows, protected by them. Pitch licked at his jaw, brushed his lips over the skin. Jack's eyes closed.
What were they even doing? He wanted to go, to leave, to be whisked back to Kostroma. But what then? What then? Pitch had made explicit something that had been lurking at the edges of Jack's mind, something he hadn't wanted to even see. Explaining being good friends with a Nightmare to his fellow Guardians was one thing. Explaining the things he felt when Pitch touched him was quite another. His life was complicated enough.
Pitch exhaled slowly behind him, a hot, wet breath of air that marked the beginning of his withdrawal. He moved his head back, removed one of his hands, straightened. That was it, Pitch was done. He'd had his fill of Jack's fear and he was done. And Jack, in a moment of madness or desperation, he didn't know which, turned his head sideways towards Pitch, reached out with his free hand and clutched at the fingers of the withdrawing hand. He was scared, but there was a thrill in his closeness to Pitch that he didn't want to let go of.
Pitch interlaced his fingers with Jack's and bowed forwards again, pressed his lips to Jack's ear and left them there.
'Shouldn't we be going?' Pitch whispered directly into the shell of his ear, and the words were filled with knowing, with promise, and Jack shook his head because this was moving too fast.
'Why are you doing this?' Jack replied, flexing his fingers against Pitch's hand, feeling the contrast between the cool and warmth. Touch like this was overwhelming, made it hard to think. Pitch had been right, he feared and wanted it all at the same time. It made him acutely aware of all he hadn't had over the past centuries. It made him aware of quick dalliances with other spirits that were fuelled by a desperation just to be touched, damn it, even if it was only going to be for five or ten minutes, even if it would hurt so badly after it ended, even though it could make the loneliness worse.
'Yes,' Pitch said, as though Jack had asked an entirely different question, 'what are we doing?'
Jack began to respond when the Nain Rouge suddenly returned, chattering all the while, as Jenny followed behind her. Pitch and Jack stilled, and Jack's grip tightened on his staff.
'Y'know,' the Nain Rouge was saying, 'we can always find you some temporary digs, a river or a lake nearby. I know it's not the same, but if you wanna help me out, I'll help you out.'
'Augus told me not to trust you,' Jenny said, curling her greenish hair around a long, claw-like fingernail.
'Duh, Greenteeth, of course. Don't trust either of us. Were you born yesterday? I'm just saying... who gives a shit about water? Not me. So who's the most likely to give it back? Think about it, okay?'
Jack wondered what had caused the commotion on the level above them. Hopefully not any humans, since he doubted they'd escape from the Nain Rouge alive.
His eyes drifted around the darkness of the empty, littered carpark as the Nain Rouge and Jenny Greenteeth kept talking.
And that was when he saw them.
Two Nightmare Men, with their swirling black shadowy forms, their glowing eyes, were looking intently into the darkness where Jack and Pitch were hidden. They were walking forwards slowly, inexorably, approaching from the far left. It was not a normal walk, but an intent, unnatural one.
Jack – who had forgotten to let go of Pitch's hand – suddenly gripped it with icy force, and Pitch turned and saw exactly what Jack saw.
Whether the Nightmare Men had some invisible way of communicating with the Nain Rouge, or whether she just chose that moment to look at them and see what they were doing; she turned with certainty and looked at them both.
Her opaque red eyes widened and then a cruel smile crawled over her mouth, affecting first one side and then the other.
'Bitches, that'd be about the last thing you'll ever do. Don't mess with the wight from Detroit, I say.'
Jack didn't know what he was expecting as his fear ratcheted once more. For that surge of darkness that had overtaken him like before? Shadow tentacles? A hand around his throat? Magic, maybe? A sword?
Instead the Nain Rouge yanked a semiautomatic handgun out from underneath the uncured animal skin that she wore. Even as the shadows crested forward in a wave towards them, she was shooting at them like a professional. A bullet whizzed right past his head, then several more. The bangs of the gun reverberated amongst the concrete as she took shot after shot.
Jack reflexively hurled a protective wall of ice around them even as Pitch shouted out in pain, jolting hard against him, even as he was teleported back through the darkness.
