Author's Note:

Welcome new readers and followers, and welcome back to all the old ones too. I was gonna post this last night but, unfortunately, life happened so I'm posting it first thing this morning instead. :)

Now, I don't normally combine review responses since I like to answer each person's thoughts individually (it makes it more personal that way, in my mind) but since several of you had the same comments and questions, I figured it was okay to make an exception this time so I'm not repeating myself.

PaperGirlInAPaperTown, starthedetective, Momochan77: It's okay if you're a bit confused as to what being "picked" means, as I'm sure many others are as well. It may be frustrating or baffling for the topic to be so unclear right now, but I did write it this way on purpose. There were several clues offered in the chapter so you could figure it out if you paid close attention, but if you didn't get it that's okay. Starting from this chapter you'll get far more (and more obvious) hints as to what getting picked entails so you don't have to go back and cross-examine the last chapter if you don't want to. You'll also get a detailed discussion of what Mutatis Mutandis is pretty soon because, you know, somebody eventually has to tell Cassandra what's going on.

WinterCrystal1009: Yep, definitely going downhill fast. And it's going to get worse, so prepare yourself.

Scarletknight17: Hello! It's always wonderful to hear from someone new. :D I was also rather intrigued by your comment because it touches on several interesting factors. I have to say that when I first sat down to plot out this fic, I did seriously consider having a time skip so that Cassandra could age up to about 17, 18 ish. In the end, I decided not to do that and for several reasons: Primarily, I chose to keep her the age she is because a large portion of the plot hinges on the fact that she is a child. If she were 18 she wouldn't be a minor, so there wouldn't be any issues with her family as she could just leave home whenever she wanted to. This would not only make tracking her on the spirits' end more difficult, which was briefly mentioned after Bunny first found her in Burgess, it would completely eliminate any need for her dad or Carol or even Barb to be part of the story. There's also the fact that, because she is a child, the Guardians cannot hurt her even though she's technically (sorta kinda) on Pitch's side, nor can they just up and leave her to her own devices because they're sworn to protect children regardless of the circumstances. If she were 17 or 18, this wouldn't be the case and so it would've significantly reduced the effect Pitch's trick with the cloak had on the Guardians. They could've just said 'well, that was horrible of him and stupid of you, and kinda gross, but to each their own' and left it at that. You also mentioned her being naïve because she's so young, and that's the second reason why I chose to keep her the age she is. You're absolutely right in that an older, more experienced person wouldn't be that way, but her occasional youthful ignorance has had a tremendous effect on how things have progressed thus far and will continue to effect what happens to everyone involved. I can tell you that her youth is a point that gets discussed later on, but for the sake of WinterCrystal1009, who's been dying for answers, I won't say any more than that so I don't get accused of hypocrisy. ;)

Speaking of age…Cassandra's birthday is at the end of March and they celebrated Easter already in the story, which means she had her twelfth birthday and none of you noticed! :'( I know, I know, I didn't mention it in the story either, but that was sort of the point. She doesn't really care about it and nobody else does either (Barb doesn't know when her birthday is, so forgive her please), which just adds another layer to both her character and her complex family life…or lack thereof.

Finally, let me just apologize in advance to Momochan77. You've mentioned twice now that you love Bunny, and as soon as I read your comments I thought "well, poop, you're gonna hate me now". Please don't hurt me too much for what I'm about to do. *hides*

Anyway, please enjoy and I always love reading reviews so leave one if you can.

By the time he reached Burgess, Jack had managed to calm down a bit and reign in his magic. In the long, lonely fly across Canada, he'd had plenty of time to quiet his thoughts, though they still pained him considerably. There were no more storms now, no more blinding ice showers or deafening gusts of wind. Now he was in control, just as he needed to be. If he was going to do this, and do this right, he had to be completely logical.

So Bunny thought the choice was obvious… Tears pricked at his eyes, but Jack blinked them away. He'd started to think that maybe he and the Pooka were alike, that there was some deeper bond between them even if neither of them could or ever would acknowledge it, but it turned out he was completely wrong. How stupid and naïve of him to think that he could possibly measure up to the other Guardians. Him: the one who always messed everything up, who always caused trouble and made the simplest of tasks more difficult for everybody. So he'd helped stop Pitch once. Big deal. After all the problems he'd created in the past (not to mention all the ones he continued to cause) that one success was nothing. So he'd gotten Jamie to believe in the Guardians right when he was about to throw away his faith. Who cared? Whole lot of help that did anyone—Jamie was now tangled up in this mess just as terribly as the rest of them. And what was Bunny? Only the Guardian of Hope, hope being the one thing all humans and spirits needed to survive. Life would be incredibly boring without fun, but no one had ever died from boredom. The world had managed to keep on turning all those years he remained invisible, hadn't it?

"'Look at everything he's done, take a real good look, then compare that to me. Between the two of us, it's obvious who deserves to get picked.'"

Jack felt his heart twist painfully inside his chest. Yes. The choice was obvious, wasn't it? Compared to Bunny and his accomplishments, young, foolish, mischievous Jack Frost was practically nothing.

Besides, he'd said it himself, hadn't he? Jack had said with his very own mouth that the powers that presented most strongly represented the spirits most likely to get picked. And which of Cassandra Fisher's powers were strongest? Which two magical gifts did she favor most?

Shadows and frost.

I can't believe it's down to me and Pitch…again…

It was so horribly ironic, Jack almost wanted to laugh. It was like the showdown from twenty years ago all over again, only this time it wasn't a direct standoff between the Nightmare King and the eternal white-haired teenager. This time it was a battle of wits, stubbornness and sheer dumb luck, and Jack knew from personal experience that, on his own, he was completely outmatched by the wicked and cunning Boogeyman.

And I can't even explain to Fisher what's going on in order to plead my case, he thought miserably, staring down at passing rooftops without really seeing them. The rules dictate only Issitoq is allowed to explain to the arbiter about the rite, otherwise there's a risk of passing on unintentional bias through the participant's choice of words, personal sentiments, body language…

Damn…this was so unbelievably complicated. Mutatis Mutandis was complicated, and he still didn't even know why. If only he knew why, maybe the truth would be easier to bear. Issitoq had said this was all about correcting a great tragedy, some terrible thing that had apparently been going on for quite some time and couldn't be solved any other way. Jack could think of a couple of scenarios that might make him okay with his present situation, like if it was for the good of the kids or something, but right now he didn't have a single clue as to what Issitoq's intentions were. That made coming to terms with his current position next to impossible.

He needed to talk to someone so badly, but right now Jack didn't have anybody. North and Jamie were his usual confidants, but neither of them could help this time. Jamie literally couldn't thanks to Issitoq's magic, and North… Well, the big man might be more understanding than the other Guardians since he was safe, but as he considered it Jack realized talking to the Russian would be pointless. It would only upset the both of them needlessly. North might hold a soft spot for Jack in a father-son sort of way, but the Guardian of Wonder had known Bunnymund much, much longer than he had the frost spirit and, therefore, would likely feel obligated to stand up for the Pooka at Jack's inevitable expense.

No…Jack was completely on his own in this.

And I know just what to do.

Setting his jaw with grim determination, Jack headed straight for Cassandra Fisher's house. The girl was in the living room, and Jack clambered through the window without prelude, causing her to jump.

"Dammit, Frost, what do you want?" she hissed.

"You alone?"

"So what if I am? I don't want to talk to you."

"Then don't talk. Just listen."

A frown touched the thin line of her mouth. Clearly she was both curious and confused as to why the frost spirit had shown up alone, looking rather the worse for wear and sounding far more sharp-tongued than his usual carefree self. She didn't look the least bit interested in what Jack had to say, yet she crossed her arms and stared hard at him, saying nothing. He took that as a silent invitation to continue and wasted no more time getting to the point.

"I want you to pick me."

"Huh?"

"Pretty soon, probably in the next couple of weeks, you're going to be asked to make a decision. A very big decision. I can't tell you what it is or why you have to do it, but you'll have to, and I want you to promise me that when the time comes, you'll pick me."

Fisher's usually well-guarded expression fell quite a bit as she tried to sort out what he was telling her. Her lips parted almost imperceptibly as her jaw slackened, so lost was she in her ruminations.

"Is this about what's going on between you Guardians and Pitch Black?" she inquired at last.

"Yes."

"I have to make a decision about you guys…"

"Yes."

"…which includes my picking one of you for something, but you can't tell me what it is or why I have to do it."

"Yes!" Jack was growing increasingly impatient. There was a pretty good chance Tooth or one of the others might be looking for him; he couldn't risk getting caught here in Fisher's house, or they'd guess what he was up to and move to put a stop to it, if only because their brief friendship caused them to feel some lingering dregs of pity for the frost spirit.

Her frown became more pronounced. "Why aren't you asking me to pick Pitch? He's your enemy."

"If it came down to me and Pitch, would you pick him over me?"

"I don't even know what the hell I'm picking you for!"

"Anything!" Jack was growing more and more desperate as the seconds ticked by. He had to get out of here, fast, but only if she promised. Changing tactics a bit, he offered, "Look, between Pitch and me, who do you like more? Who can you tolerate?"

"At the moment both of you are getting on my damned nerves."

"Just tell me!"

Fisher quirked a brow at his snappish tone. Jack didn't know if she could sense his underlying fear and anxiety—that was one of Pitch's gifts, after all, not to mention the girl had remarkable perception when it came to reading people—but sincerely hoped she couldn't. That would only lead to a whole series of incredibly difficult and uncomfortable questions.

"I don't hold either one of you in particularly high regard," she said, choosing her words carefully, "but if it came down to necessity, yes, I suppose I'd prefer him to you. He irritates me and is incredibly self-serving, but I can at least tolerate being in his presence."

Jack drew a breath, let it out sharply. Struggling not to show his tears, he told her as tonelessly as he could manage, "Then pick me."

"So getting picked is a bad thing."

"I can't tell you about that. Just promise you'll pick me, okay?"

"I'm not making any promises until I know for sure what I'm supposed to do!" Her cheeks were tinged the slightest shade of pink, signaling her growing irritation and frustration. "I hate that everyone else knows what's going on but I don't!"

"Issitoq will explain in time. But please, Cassandra, when the time comes for your answer I want you to pick me. I need you to pick me."

He didn't realize what he just said until her gaze shifted, carefully considering every last detail of his expression and bearing. It was a moment before she spoke.

"If it's so bad, why do you want to get picked?" she asked, quiet and suspicious.

"I—"

Jack struggled for words, but found none that would prove sufficient and still keep within the strict boundaries of Mutatis Mutandis code. Issitoq was the only one who could explain, the only one…

He sighed, his head dropping until it hung limply from his neck. He stared at the floor, clutching his staff tight for strength and support.

"Believe me, I have my reasons," he said quietly. "I can't tell you why, but I think you'll understand once Issitoq explains."

"Who's Issitoq?"

"The Great Adjudicating Eye. The spirit of justice and law."

For a heartbeat of time, there was silence. Then: "So this is really serious."

"Yes."

"And you want me to pick you, no matter what?"

"Yes." His head lifted again so he could meet those intelligent brown eyes. "Don't worry. I'm fairly certain you'll be okay with the decision once you know what's going on."

Fisher let out a breath in a short huff. Running her fingers through her hair, she mumbled, "I'm not making any promises, Frost, especially not to you. But I'm not saying I won't do it, either. I won't be called a liar if circumstances happen to fall that way."

"So you'll consider it?"

"I suppose."

A sickening mixture of relief and despair coursed through him, burning his stomach and throat. But Jack pushed through the painful emotions and smiled brightly. "Thanks kid."

"Just shut up and go away. My dad's gonna be home soon."

Satisfied that he'd done everything he could to protect his friends, Jack climbed back out the window and soared off, hoping to find some peace and comfort in the solitude of his favorite mountaintop.

He had no idea Bunny arrived soon after his departure.

Bunnymund was exhausted, but he stubbornly refused to slow down or rest. It had been nearly two hours since his conversation with Tooth, and he hadn't stopped running in all that time. His aching feet carried him along the tunnel network, making quick work of his journey to Burgess. Upon realizing that Jack had fled the Pole, the Pooka wasted precious time scouring every place he could think of where the nomadic frost spirit liked to hide. He'd opened nearly a dozen holes and searched numerous caves and towns before he finally realized the error of his thinking.

He ain't gonna go someplace to hide; he already tried that back at North's. Nah, he's gonna try and fix the problem, one way or another.

The name hit him like a crack of a whip. Burgess. Jack had gone to Burgess to talk to Fisher, and only Moon knew if he bumped into trouble along the way. It would be just like Pitch to slink out of the shadows right when everyone was feeling vulnerable. He'd already done that once with Jack, hadn't he, back in Antarctica more than twenty years ago. Alone and in his current state of mind, the frost spirit would be helpless if he happened upon the wretched little shadow-skulker.

Great! Just great!

In his haste to reach his friend, Bunnymund accidentally opened the tunnel exit in Burgess' town park. He didn't even realize the error until he sprung from the hole only to find himself surrounded by trees. Snarling out a curse, he dropped to all fours and sprinted as fast as he could, keeping a sharp nose out for Jack's scent along the way. If he was lucky, he could catch the young Guardian either on his way to or from the ankle biter's place.

Then I can explain everything and talk some sense into that thick head of his before he goes and does something stupid!

It was just a few more blocks to the kid's duplex when a Nightmare appeared screaming from the shadows.

Skidding to a halt, Bunnymund snatched up his boomerangs and made to let fly…but stopped himself just in time. All around him dozens upon dozens of Nightmares were emerging, circling the Guardian but strangely not attacking. He turned in tight circles, not wanting to miss a single thing and hating that, at any given point, he had to present his back to at least some of them. It was impossible to face down so many when he was alone.

A voice, silky and dark and aggravatingly familiar, sounded from the dark.

"My, my, what have we here?" Pitch chuckled as he came into view. Sitting astride Onyx, he stared down at the Pooka with eyes that positively glowed with mirth. A wicked smile spread wide across his mouth, revealing pointed teeth. "One little Guardian, all alone…"

"Rack off Pitch!" Bunnymund snapped. "I ain't got time for games!"

"Ah, yes. Little Jack."

Bunny twitched at the sound of the frost spirit's name.

"Poor little Jack," Pitch cooed. That horrible smile spread wider still. "Rushing to the child all by himself…why, he was practically beside himself with despair." There was hardly any gold visible now, for that grin had grown to such menacing proportions the Boogeyman's eyes were reduced to the thinnest of slits. "One can only imagine what he was upset about."

Bunny was loath to take his eyes off the Nightmare King, but there was far too much going on around him for his attention to remain singularly focused. Nightmares stamped and snorted restlessly, several of them pacing in an effort to calm their bloodlust, and as the Boogeyman spoke one of them snapped ruthlessly at its neighbor, threatening to start a fight. Emerald eyes flicked to the side, distracted, as the agitated Nightmares' heads lowered and they screamed at each other, but a sharp gesture from Pitch instantly dispelled the impending violence.

Seems he's got them back under control, Bunnymund mused. Great…

His minions chastised, Pitch's attention returned to the Guardian once more. "So what was your plan, rabbit? Were you going to rush over there and talk Jack out of it? Were you going to beg the girl not to choose him?"

"It ain't up to me who she picks," Bunnymund retorted. "But I ain't gonna let Jack sell himself off for us! It ain't right!"

"No?" Pitch shifted, one arm crossing across his body so his elbow rested against Onyx's neck as he leaned towards the Guardian. In a very soft, smooth voice, as if offering to disclose some terrible secret, he whispered, "You want to know something interesting?"

Bunny's response was sharp and honest. "No."

But Pitch answered him anyway. "Jack's fear has changed quite a bit since he became a Guardian. Before he was scared that no one would ever believe in him, that he would forever remain an invisible spirit. But now…"

He chuckled darkly. The sound echoed all around Bunnymund, filling his sensitive ears until it felt as if that terrible voice was inside his very head, mocking him and, yes, scaring him just a little bit.

"Now," Pitch continued in a contented purr, "poor Jack's biggest fear is that he won't measure up to the rest of you. That somewhere, sometime, you four will come to regret making him one of you and throw him away."

"That's ridiculous!" Bunny shouted defiantly. He gestured threateningly with his boomerangs, which were still held aloft, poised to strike. "We ain't gonna get sick of him, you hear me? Never!"

"You sound so convincing." The words were spoken as if compelled by purest honesty, but Bunnymund knew otherwise. The spirit of fear and shadow was mocking him. "Too bad poor Jack doesn't know that. Perhaps you should have saved that conviction for him."

"Get out of the way and I'll give him every ounce of conviction I've got!"

"No. No I don't think I will. I'm not through with you yet."

Bunnymund's fur instantly stood on end. Something about those words, that tone, that gleaming look in those golden eyes, told him something very, very sinister was up the Boogeyman's sleeve.

Bring it, you ratbag! I can take it!

"Such bravado," Pitch acknowledged with an amused chuckle. "Too bad I can sense your fear."

"What do you want?!" Bunnymund snapped, desperate to get this game over with so he could get to Jack.

Straightening up, Pitch swung his leg over Onyx's shoulder and slid effortlessly off the Nightmare's back. Bunnymund stiffened warily, but the Boogeyman kept his distance. Hands clasped leisurely behind his back, the Nightmare King slowly circled the cornered Pooka, never taking those golden eyes off him. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, he spoke again, the words calm, easy, as if the two spirits were taking part in a casual conversation rather than an incredibly intense standoff.

"I just wanted you to know something: I don't want you to find Jack Frost. I want him to have all the time he needs."

"Why's that? Why would you want Fisher to pick him, you know damn well if any one of us goes the rest will do their damnedest to make you pay!"

"Promises of vengeance from a Guardian? How shocking."

He didn't sound shocked at all. In fact, he sounded highly amused and immensely self-satisfied. Thrilled, even. Bunnymund struggled to piece together what was going on as Pitch continued to slowly pace the circle of Nightmares.

"Of all the Guardians," he continued, "it would please me most to see Jack Frost succumb to the rite. I asked him to join me once, you know. He turned me down flat, and that has never ceased to irk me. Cold and dark is by far the best combination available on this earth. Together, it is truly unstoppable."

Understanding began to dawn upon Bunnymund. His eyes grew wide. "You planned for this," he gasped. "You want Jack to get picked!"

"Do I?" Pitch cast a glance over his shoulder, just long enough for Bunnymund to glimpse his barely contained mirth. "Why ever would I want that?"

"For revenge! You get back at Jack for siding with us instead of you, and—" His stomach lurched painfully. In the wake of that sensation, his boomerangs quivered.

"And what, little rabbit?" Pitch breathed, coaxing the Guardian to finish his thought.

"And with Fisher in our group," he rasped, throat painfully tight, "you'll have an insider. A spy. A saboteur. You fostered her hate and our suspicions knowing we'd come to detest each other, guaranteeing her alliance with you."

"And it all came tumbling down," Pitch murmured wistfully. His face was turned towards the sky as he eyed the rising moon. "Wonderful, is it not, old friend?" Clearly he wasn't addressing the Pooka anymore. "Issitoq intended to help but I intend to ruin everything!"

"He won't stand for that," Bunny uttered, meaning the Adjudicating Eye. "The world needs us Pitch! You can't expect humans to survive without light or hope or dreams. Without that…without us…they'll have no reason to keep living. They'll kill each other. They'll kill themselves!"

"And fear will reign uninhibited. What a spectacular thought."

"Issitoq will stop you!"

"He hasn't stopped me yet," Pitch gleefully pointed out. "What makes you think he ever will?"

"This ain't right…" In his shock and growing horror, Bunnymund failed to realize that he'd lowered his boomerangs. Arms hanging limply by his sides, ears and nose quivering, he insisted, "This ain't right! Issitoq said he was doing this to solve a problem!"

"Did you not think, perhaps, that the problem is you?"

Bunnymund hadn't heard Pitch approach and had to force himself not to flinch as the Boogeyman's voice suddenly sounded right in his ear. Hot breath brushed against his fur as Pitch smirked.

"You Guardians are so arrogant. You always believe that everyone else is at fault, that it is always someone else who causes the problem. Well, let me tell you something, little rabbit." Pitch's voice dropped to a whisper. "You Guardians create far more problems than you solve. You commit far more crimes than those you swear to defeat. You wonder why you were selected as participants in the rite? I can tell you why: the Guardians are the biggest failures of all recorded time."

Throat dry, chest heaving with sharp breaths as he struggled to stay calm, Bunnymund said nothing as Pitch Black continued to whisper horrible words into his ear.

"Frost has caused so many problems…it is clear why he was selected. Toothiana already lost her teeth and fairies to me once—who's to say something like that won't happen again? She clearly lacks the ability to protect the children, she can't even protect herself. Sandman was defeated by my own hand, and quite easily I must say. As the oldest and most powerful of the Guardians, one would think he'd be more capable than that. As for you…" Pitch's golden gaze flicked over Bunnymund's trembling form. "What are you? One lonely Pooka, a spirit who can't even get a couple of eggs up a tunnel without help. Because of you, because of your inability to complete one simple task, Easter was lost and you were forgotten. Children lost their hope, and you know how much they need their hope. You said so yourself: without hope, they have no reason to keep on living.

"And then—"

Bunnymund flinched as that sinister whisper pierced the quiet of the night, seeped into his mind and settled like a blanket of purest evil over his heart.

"—then, my wretched little Pooka, you had the nerve to blame Jack for your failure. You thrust all your shortcomings onto that poor, invisible frost spirit's shoulders, as if it were his fault that you cannot succeed at the simple task Moon set for you."

His chuckle was as deep and black as the darkest pit of hell. "I can assure you, rabbit, that it is exceedingly obvious why it has come down to you and Jack. Out of the five of you, you two are by far the worst Guardians I have ever seen."

Somewhere in the back of his buzzing, petrified mind, Bunnymund found the strength to mutter one final rebuttal. "At least we're not evil."

Pitch made a dismissive sound between his lips, like he was spitting upon the Pooka's words. "You call me evil, you call me wretched, but that is what fear is. And fear is just as necessary as hope and dreams. If it were not, do you honestly believe I would still exist after everything you passel of pathetic pets have done to me? You've thrown me down, you've isolated me, you've made it impossible for anyone to believe in me!" His voice rose to a shout before dropping back into a sharp hiss. "No more. I will stand for it no more! Cassandra Fisher will not pick me, I have ensured it. There is nothing you spirits can do to stop me because Issitoq himself has not seen fit to punish me!"

He laughed heartily, right in Bunnymund's sensitive ear. "You are doomed, little rabbit." Then he shrugged, eliciting a soft sigh of relief from the Guardian as he stepped smoothly away. "Your only salvation is that you won't get picked."

Sensing something ominous underlying those words, Bunnymund turned his head to catch Pitch's gaze. His tone was raspy, as his throat was still constricted and mouth inconceivably dry. "What do you mean?"

"That girl hates Easter. She sees no point to it at all, so you can rest assured she'll never pick you." Pitch took another step back, smirking openly. "You should be pleased. As you so aptly put it, hope is necessary for humanity's survival. I do not recall you mentioning fun, though. Do you know why that is? In your own mind, hope is necessary, dreams are necessary, but fun is not. How deliciously judgmental."

He laughed mercilessly. Two more backward steps, and Pitch was once again along the edge of the Nightmare circle. With a subtle gesture, the mares parted, leaving ample space for Bunnymund to flee.

And that was precisely what the Pooka did.

"Run, run, little rabbit," Pitch murmured mockingly as he watched the Guardian bound away. Onyx approached her master, and he ran his hand idly down her neck. His attention still fixed upon that bolting Pooka, he sighed contentedly to himself, "It's just too easy."

Yes. Almost too easy. After his last attempt to overthrow the Guardians, it had become exceedingly apparent to Pitch that a direct approach simply would not work. No matter how powerful he became, they were five and he was one, and they had every brat in the world on their side. As that wretched Jamie Bennett had demonstrated, even a single believer was enough to tip the balance in the Guardians' favor. It wasn't fair, and far beyond aggravating, but that was the way things were and so he had little choice but to begrudgingly accept it.

Such being the circumstances, most spirits would've simply rolled over and given up, but Pitch was nothing if not determined. It had taken more than five hundred years for him to reemerge after the Dark Ages; he knew it was only a matter of time before another opportunity presented itself. Patient, devious, and exceptionally cunning, rather than forsake his plans entirely he chose instead to find a way around that singularly exasperating obstacle. Hidden, but not gone, silent, but not afraid, the Nightmare King waited and watched, quietly regathering his power in the process.

And, slowly, over the course of many years, a new plan began to take shape inside his mind.

Pitch had been absolutely ecstatic when he discovered Cassandra Fisher. Issitoq's initiation of the rite of Mutatis Mutandis set the perfect stage for his plans to unfold. Why, it was as if the Adjudicating Eye had handed him Moon's pets on a silver platter! They were so foolish, those spirits, so arrogant and ignorant and, under the surface, so very, very sensitive. Pitch knew. Pitch always knew. Their deepest fears and darkest secrets were always his to abuse and be amused by, but oh how easy they were making it for him! He hadn't needed to lift a finger for Frost, arguably the most powerful of the lot, to succumb to the darkness within his own mind. And as for the Pooka…Pitch nearly laughed at the recollection of what had just transpired. He'd been fully prepared to brush the rabbit's head with Nightmare sand, just to give him an extra push if need be (to hell with whether or not it was against the rules, he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity like this!), but it hadn't been needed in the slightest. A menacing backdrop and few well-chosen words were all it took for the pathetic rabbit to wither before him.

For just like Frost, who feared rejection on the basis of his inability to do…well, anything right, E. Aster Bunnymund's greatest fear was that he would never, ever be good enough.

How utterly amusing.

What was that ridiculous human saying? Great pride comes before a fall, or something of that nature. Well, the Guardians were certainly proud, the Pooka most of all. Knowing that, and knowing the rabbit's greatest fear, it had been all too easy for Pitch to set this part of the plan in motion. All it had taken was one…little…push…

And now, he will fall.

Cassandra was pondering over Frost's strange request and even stranger behavior when the Easter Bunny suddenly leapt through the open window. After her initial shock, she snapped at him, "Is this gonna become a habit with you people?"

"Where's Jack?"

Her eyes narrowed as she studied the rabbit. Like Frost, this particular Guardian wasn't his usual self. He was breathless and flustered, and his expression was completely unreadable, eyes as impervious as stone.

This guy usually wears his emotions on his sleeve. What the hell is going on now?

"No idea."

"I know he was here. I can smell him. Where is he?"

Like his eyes, his voice was hard. To cover her growing unease, her response was exceptionally cool. "I. Don't. Know."

"What did he say? What did he ask you to do?"

"What does it matter what he wanted? Just go ask him yourself!"

"He asked you to pick him, didn't he?"

In spite of the immense tension in the room, Cassandra's interest peaked a little. The faintest trace of hope crept into her voice. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"No," he replied sharply, earning himself a scowl. Ignoring the expression, he commanded, "No matter what he said to you, no matter what you promised him, you are not to pick him. Understand?"

Never one to appreciate being told what to do (especially recently, when everyone seemed intent on telling her what to do), Cassandra bristled. "Why? Want me to pick you instead?"

His response was blunt. "Yes."

When she heard that, a really strange sound escaped her mouth. It sounded like a laugh, but it was far too short and bitter for it to be a proper laugh. Still, it made the rabbit tense, blue-gray hackles rising. No doubt the almost-laugh sounded unspeakably cruel to him considering the present circumstances.

"I can't believe this," Cassandra said with a shake of her head. "Are the rest of you idiots going to parade through here asking me to pick them too? Frost told me it's a bad thing to be picked, but I'm starting to wonder if that's really true."

"Oh, believe me, kid, it's absolutely the truth. And you will pick me."

She pierced him with a glare. "No."

In the face of her defiance, green eyes narrowed. "No?"

"No," she repeated stubbornly. Arms crossed firmly over her chest.

"Why not?" The question was posed very, very quietly, in a tone that was almost completely devoid of emotion.

Staring fixedly at him, Cassandra let the annoying, arrogant, accented rabbit spirit see in her eyes the sheer depth of contempt she felt for him. In a voice that positively dripped with frustration and vehemence, she declared, "I don't give a damn whether it's bad or not, the very last creature on this entire planet I would ever pick for anything is you."

Silence. Instead of answering her, the rabbit spirit closed his eyes. Pulling a deep breath in through his nose, he drew up to his full, intimidating height, until even his ears stood ramrod straight atop his skull. He remained that way, stiff and immobile, for several moments. Then those eyes snapped open again, and what Cassandra saw in them made her blood run cold.

She'd seen this spirit angry before. She'd seen him frustrated, surprised, confused, belligerent, countless emotions… Never this. Those eyes, normally bright green and shimmering with unspoken pride, were now very dark. Some indiscernible emotion—one which rode the finest line between fury and torment—flickered in their depths, accentuating the harsh, almost callous expression that had settled upon his furry face. As she stared in mute shock, his lips pulled back to reveal very large, incredibly daunting teeth.

A silent snarl, a predator's warning.

What the fuck?!

In an attempt to reign in her growing anxiety, Cassandra assured herself, I'm a kid, he can't hurt me. But then something Pitch had said the other night appeared unbidden at the forefront of her thoughts:

"'If I were to ever make an exception, it would be for you.'"

He'd been talking about killing her at the time, and right now, that was the only description Cassandra could come up with that came even close to describing the look on the rabbit spirit's face.

Murderous intent.

"If you won't pick me—"

He uttered the words in a voice pitched so deep and so low, they rumbled in his chest like the growl of a wild beast. Cassandra took a step back, then another, the backs of her legs bumping into the couch as he finished the sentence with that acrimonious gaze still locked upon enormous brown eyes.

"—then I'll make you."