Chapter 10: Love and Hate

Pitch glided into the prison, gazing over the occupants in his cells. It was dark and damp and cold, the cells dirty and the sound of fearlings growling constantly and the drip of moisture sounded in the Guardians' ears. The cells were a curved row of bars, facing inwards so that one could stand in the centre and be able to view all the cells' occupants and the room containing them from a central position. Azazel, nuzzled and nudged Pitch's hand affectionately as he followed his master's footsteps, examining his loot.

Each Guardian had a cell to him/herself, with nothing in it but stone walls, dirt and filthy straw twigs to comfort them. Sandy had it worst; with iron clamping his hands, and black sand binding his arms and legs. The chains were long enough so he could sit up, but otherwise restricted his movements. The constant shifting of the dark tendrils of sand writhed and tightened constantly around his wrists and ankles, its darkness and aura emanating cold death seemed to affect him, sapping his strength. Pitch would not have this Guardian strong enough to overpower his black sand. All of them were weak and injured, and defenceless, just the way he wanted. But first, he needed something from the Sandman

'Sanderson.' Pitch called. The Guardians looked up and tried to look over at Sandy's cell. The silent golden man looked up at Pitch, anger in his eyes. Pitch gazed back coolly and stepped through the bars, like a shadow passing over them

'I need your sand.'

'What?' Bunny said, his voice echoing off the walls. 'What kind of question is that? What're you going to do with it?'

'That is none of your concern isn't it rabbit?' Pitch said; his tone grating with raw irritation. The fearlings responded by slamming Bunny back against the walls, snarling at him fiercely, forcing him further back into his cell.

Pitch bent down and held one of Sandy's manacled fists, and looked him in the eyes. 'Unless you don't want me ripping the sand directly from your body, you will give some of it to me now.' Pitch said. His voice was a whisper of malice.

Sandy glared at Pitch, his eyes defiant, until the largest fearling, Azazel snarled and with a massive swipe, slashed at Sandy. Sandy's eyes widened and winced in pain, not crying out, and dipped his head weakly, sand from his body scattering over the floor, decorating the rough stones with golden grains.

'Sandy!' North called, having seen the attack, and started banging on the bars. 'Pitch you stop that now!' Several fearlings approached him and swiped him backwards against the wall. They growled and snarled at the Russian, saliva dripping of their teeth as they bared their fangs at the Guardians. The beast-like sentries closed in, guttural warnings reverberating in their dark throats, scaring them away from the bars of their cells.

'North!' Tooth called, but she dared not speak more, for she could see that Pitch was very annoyed by them. The distinct hate that he had always had was somehow greater than before. She could see him wear it on his face with some restraint, but this hatred was different. If looks could kill, Pitch's topaz eyes would sear into their souls. But his anger stretching thin as it is, was kept at bay by something. Something he needed? Or something he lacked? What was Pitch's goal? And the sand? She did not want more harm to come to her friends. But Tooth worried; for Sandy's immediate threat, for Jack – who was missing – Pitch's apparent hidden agenda.

Pitch reached down and pulled Sandy's chin up to tilt his head to look at him. Sandy was weakened, but looked back at him steadily. A moment of silent understanding passed between the two spirits, dark and gold, one; sleepless nights, the other a balm in sleep. Resigned, Sandy let out a stream of golden shimmering dream sand. It seeped down out of the manacles and into a small jar which was plain and empty, which Pitch held in his hand

The jar slowly began to fill up and glow with golden shine. When it was full, Pitch fastened the lid and stood up, turning to leave. Sandy suddenly used his manacled fists and grasped unto Pitch's leg with such strength Pitch was surprised the Sandman still possessed in his pathetic state. His golden glow was diffused and his sand matted. But his gaze piercing; he wanted to know what Pitch had done with Jack. He was the last to see him, the last to see him alive. He feared the worst, knowing that Jack was no match for the entire force of fearlings on his own. Pitch looked at the small man lazily as Azazel snarled and backhanded Sandy.

'Stop it! He already gave you what you wanted!' Tooth cried, mindful of her fearling handlers who were watching her closely. Her eyes clamped shut, as she blinked back tears. She couldn't bear it, how cruel Pitch was to Sandy. Her cheeks stained with the trails of dried tears she had already shed, she held onto the bars with all her might as she willed Sandy to be alright.

'Oh I'm just putting him back in his place…' Pitch turned, his eyes expressionless and blank, as he examined and shook the jar of golden dream sand. It gave off a light golden glow of good dreams, shining particular brightly in the dark cavern which was the Guardians' prison.

'What are you going to do with that Pitch? What have you done with Jack?' Tooth asked, glaring at Pitch.

Pitch stopped, hearing Jack's name on her lips. He had planned to ignore his little trophies, but now he could not ignore her question. He turned and his face was rolling thunder, stunning Tooth. She had never seen such hate. His eyes – Tooth noticed, were burning like yellow flames. 'I'm not going to hurt Jack. Oh no… It is you, who should be worrying about yourselves. Jack is already swimming in fear; I can feel it even from here. And as of now, you should thank the moon to be so lucky that now I don't particularly feel very malicious. And you should thank Jack for his friendship and association with you, that you are even still alive…'

Finished, Pitch turned and vanished into shadow

/

Jack didn't want to wake up. He didn't want this reality. It was all wrong. He felt so alone. And he was afraid. He was afraid but not for himself, it was for his friends. The last he saw of Sandy was him being dragged away by the fangs of a fearling, disappearing into the pack like he was about to be devoured. His fear had increased, each time a Guardian was captured. His grief was palpable, and every passing second his fear for them rose, and his loneliness deepened.

He had been so angry at Pitch, when Pitch had come to see him in his cell. It was a small room, with bars cutting it in half, and Jack was being held there, smooth stone walls and it was filled with snow to keep the place cool and for him to be comfortable. But he had not wanted comfort. He wanted his friends

He had yelled and screamed at Pitch, who only tried to whisper to him, trying to calm him down. The soft voice of that wretched Pitch, fanned the flames of his hate even more. Jack felt like that soft voice could seep into his skin and break him from the inside out… He hated it. He had kicked and screamed for Sandy, Bunny, North and Tooth, and struggled against Pitch's massive grip. Somehow the Nightmare King was taller, his chest more muscular and his arms possessed greater strength than before. He kicked and punched, trying to rip free from Pitch's hold

'Let go of me…!' Jack gasped. 'LET ME GO!' Jack screamed, squirming in Pitch's massive grip, which only seemed to be getting tighter each time. The iron-like manacles of Pitch's hands were wrapped tightly around his wrists. The wall of flesh behind him, and the arms around his were too warm, too dark, it terrified him. It was closing him in, surrounding him, trapping him. Jack's terror escalated, and his breath came in gasps of pain. He tried wrenching his arms away, but it only pulled him closer to Pitch. He tried blasting all the ice he could around him, but it only built a blizzard that might as well have fanned Pitch's face with all the strength he was holding Jack.

Jack screamed in panic, as Pitch's thick arms - how could they have gotten bigger? - wrapped around his torso, crossing his hands in front of him and he could feel Pitch's breath on his neck. The heat was all around him.

'NOOO!' Jack yelled at the top of his lungs, feeling himself utterly powerless and trapped.

Pitch tried to calm him, but it only had served to panic the boy even more. He was kicking and hurting himself, and he only tried to stop that. He tried to soothe him, but he only struggled, flinching away from his touch, disgusted by it.

Jack had yelled and screamed until his voice was hoarse. His legs gave out, and he collapsed unto Pitch's lap, unable to even care that he was being held in the warm grasp of the Nightmare King. He had exhausted himself physically and mentally, utterly drained emotionally, he had shed tears in his rage and desperation. His fear had only made Pitch stronger, the longer his skin held Jack's arms, wrists, the stronger the fear, and the more potent the emotion flowed into Pitch.

Despite the strength he gained, Pitch felt emptier; every cry Jack had made, every blow he tried to give and every shout he made only weighed Pitch's heart. It saddened him that Jack was so afraid; he did not want Jack to be afraid, he did not want him to be afraid of anything, especially not him.

Pitch held the weeping and hiccupping boy in his arms, stroking his hair and soothing and quieting him as Jack finally felt himself passing out from exhaustion. His arms lost their resistance and his head sagged. 'Shh… It's all right now… You're safe here. Nothing will ever hurt you… I promise you.' Pitch had whispered. Jack was too far gone in misery and anguish to even care anymore.

Pitch finally had Jack with him now, finally, he had him.

Finally… He's mine.

He would never let anything happen to him. And he would never let him go….