The last of the leaves fell from the mighty oaks and maples in Burgess as November neared its end. Pitch busied himself with his stories, both for Sophie and the bookstore. They were the only things that kept his bleak, haunting thoughts at bay. He told himself that these stories would prove useful when he was once again the Boogeyman and spreading fear across the globe. He repeatedly stamped down the nagging worry that he wouldn't get that opportunity for a long while.
He had more conversations with Sandman, both at the Bennett house and during frequent trips to the tea shop. Their debates on fears and dreams were heated and antagonistic, but Pitch enjoyed them, even if he couldn't get that obstinate little starman to concede to anything.
Mrs. Bennett and her children visited some family out-of-state for Thanksgiving weekend, so Pitch and Sandman had the house to themselves. Sandman suggested they take advantage of the empty house and watch some movies.
"Not a bad idea," Pitch mused. "I'd been meaning to see The Human Centipede for some time now."
Sandman made a face like he might be sick. Pitch laughed at his reaction. "I'm joking. I heard it's over-rated, anyway. What film did you have in mind?"
The blond popped The Nightmare Before Christmas into the DVD player and they settled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. The animation was a little cutesy for Pitch's taste, but it was a children's movie, after all, and still had plenty of disturbing imagery. He made a mental note to watch more films by this Burton fellow for further inspiration.
Sandman asked him what he thought of the movie and Pitch shrugged tepidly. "The plot was quite promising until that bone-headed moron rescued Santa Claus from my namesake."
The smaller man smirked, then cringed when Pitch leaned in suddenly, a predatory smile on his face. "Now then, I believe it's my turn to choose a movie."
He selected The Ring. He had seen it before, but he wanted to give the old man a good scare. It was one of his favorites – nobody did creepy horror quite like the Japanese. It wasn't too long before Sandman had clutched a decorative pillow to himself for dear life, burying his face into it whenever he thought something terrible was about to pop onto the television screen. It was amusing at first, but Pitch knew that Sandman wouldn't be able to follow the plot if he kept hiding his face like that.
"Stop cowering, there are baby animals who find this less scary than you." Pitch yanked the pillow away and Sandman scrambled to cover his eyes. "Nothing is even happening right now. It's safe to look."
Sandman peeked through his fingers. It wasn't safe to look. He silently shrieked and looked like he might try to crawl underneath the couch cushions. Pitch cackled like mad. "Oh ho ho! Your face, old man! I can't believe you fell for that."
His laughter was cut short when Sandman suddenly buried his head in Pitch's shoulder, using it as the next best thing to a pillow to keep from seeing the television screen.
"What are you doing?" Pitch demanded, but Sandman wouldn't budge. "Pathetic," he sighed, but didn't bother pushing Sandman off his shoulder. Eventually the smaller man worked up the nerve to pull away and watch the rest of the movie with his eyes uncovered.
The credits rolled. "Nicely done," Pitch commented aloud. "Too bad they had to ruin it with a sequel." He looked over at his roommate, who was blotting his eyes with a tissue. "What's gotten you so upset?" he asked, surprised by the sad expression on the other man's face.
Sandman drew something on his notepad and Pitch balked. "You feel sorry for the little girl? You're not supposed to feel sorry for her. She's evil."
Sandman drew some more and Pitch sighed. "Yes, she's all alone. Because she's evil." The smaller man drew something else and Pitch snapped, "Well, if her father didn't want her to turn into a vengeful ghost then maybe he shouldn't have dumped her in a well!"
He sat back and sulked. Sandman balled up the tissue in his hands, a small, guilty frown on his face. Pitch's pout softened slightly and he offered him the remote. "One more movie before bed? You choose."
They watched Inception. It wasn't the least bit scary, but it kept Pitch's interest, even when Sandy went off on an annoyed drawing spree about how that's not how the subconscious works, dreams weren't like that at all.
By the end, Pitch had a bit of a headache. "So, did he escape his subconscious or didn't he? Ah, I suppose it doesn't matter, his silly little wish came true. I do like the idea of a dream within a dream… ever try something like that, old man?"
He turned toward Sandman, but the blond was fast asleep, curled up on his side of the couch like a cat.
"Hey, wake up." Pitch nudged him with the remote. "I'm not carrying you upstairs, old man. Get up." The smaller man didn't move.
Pitch grumbled something about deep sleepers and stood up. "Suit yourself, you'll be sore in the morning. Goodnight."
He was almost to the stairs when he remembered the tossed pillow on the floor. He returned and picked it up, then looked over at Sandman again. "You cannot possibly be comfortable like that," he muttered. Carefully, so as not to wake him, he tucked the pillow under the sleeping man's head, then pulled a throw blanket off a nearby chair and laid it on top of him for good measure. "Sweet dreams," he murmured, before heading upstairs. He meant for it to sound sinister, but the dark undertones never quite reached his words.
Sandman nuzzled into the pillow and sighed peacefully.