Jack decided the definition of anticlimactic was falling with a soft thud into a cloud that cushioned, then held him. He'd moved through actual clouds before, he knew how wet and cold they could be, how hail swirled in their clutches, how water droplets hung waiting with promise. But this was different. He opened his eyes cautiously, only to see a golden, swirling platform of sand all around him.
Sandy.
He groaned, sitting up, feeling as shaky as if he had hit the ground. His mind was jumbled. He kept seeing Mora straining towards him. Mora. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself. In the distance, Sandy was flying towards him at speed, riding a glowing, dreamsand pterosaur.
But he didn't want the dreamsand for once. He didn't want the good dreams.
He would have done anything to make sure Mora was okay. He was going to tell everyone, he was ready to have nightmares every night, if necessary. He would have gotten Pitch to help him talk her into feeding off others. Maybe she could have even fed off Pitch. He would have done anything.
He couldn't face Sandy. His fingers dug hard into his ribs, pressing into bone and flesh. He had neglected her. He had neglected her the way he'd been neglected. He hadn't deserved her, and now she was gone.
I didn't visit Jamie enough, and now he's gone.
Jack gasped around the hard weight lodged in his body.
Sandy landed on the cloud, the pterosaur transforming and extending the floating platform on which they drifted. An eloquent worry marred his face, he wrung his hands.
Jack was too angry to deal with him, too angry to deal with himself, to be rational, to care. He hadn't felt like this in such a long time. The weight that had been pressing him had split open and he was drowning in it. It was like the old days, when no one could see him, when he had been driven mad by it. It pressed on his lungs and bowed his head under its pressure.
Jack felt a tiny hand on his shoulder and he looked up, weary.
Sandy offered a tentative smile, and spread his hands, creating a golden horse that looked very like Mora. But it wasn't Mora. He could tell. It had none of her feistiness; it was placid and good-natured and not sentient.
'I don't want a golden horse,' Jack said angrily. Pain twisted in him at the sight of the lustrous, healthy creature. 'I want Mora. Fear-causing, impatient, wind-riding Mora. You know, she liked having a personality. She liked being herself.'
Sandy let the golden horse dissolve back into the cloud. He sat down on the cloud and let his chin fall mournfully into his hands.
Jack figured that trying to escape by just walking off the edge of the sand cloud was out of the question. He hadn't expected anyone to follow him. And that it was Sandy? His last clear image of Sandy was of him raising his hands, eyes wide and frightened, as Jack threatened him with his staff.
Sandy flashed a question mark over his head several times. It flashed and dissolved. Flashed and dissolved. Jack had no idea what, exactly, he was asking. North had mastered the ability of reading Sandy, and Pitch seemed to be able to do it as well. But it was a fine art, and one that Jack struggled with. Nuanced conversation with Sandy was lost on him.
'I don't know what you're saying,' Jack said.
He realised his voice hadn't sounded so hoarse since the Nain Rouge had removed some of his life-force through his throat.
Sandy looked down at his hands, forehead wrinkling in thought. Then he looked up and flashed a picture of a horse, and then a question mark. He alternated the two symbols, and Jack thought he understood.
'Are you asking about Mora?' Jack said, wrapping his hands around the hollow inside of him.
Sandy nodded.
'I wasn't feeding her enough. I didn't know they needed to be fed. I mean, I knew she fed off my fear, but I didn't know they...I didn't know they could get... I didn't know that dreams and nightmares could starve and die. The only reason she came to North's Workshop in the first place was that she was hungry, she was so thin, oh, god.' Jack dug his fingernails harder into himself, hard enough that it started to hurt.
'I was going to tell you all. I was going to explain that she wasn't evil, or bad, or any of that. She was just...she just fed off fear. But she wouldn't take anyone else's. Only mine. I should have been with her more. She wasn't even feeding on kids anymore when she came to me. She...we...we started hanging out. I guess. She lived with me. I've always had a lot of nightmares, so it didn't seem like such a bad thing that she'd feed off them when I had them.'
Sandy sat up straighter when Jack mentioned his own nightmares and pursed his mouth in a frown.
He pointed at Jack and made the image of a person tossing and turning in a bed.
'I don't really want to talk about it with you,' Jack said, swallowing. 'I'm kind of angry at you right now. I don't want to have some big deep and meaningful about this. I want Mora back.'
Sandy nodded like he understood. But all the same, he pointed at Jack and repeated the image above his head. The figure tossed and turned repeatedly. Jack thought Sandy was being a bit like Pitch, in this. Persistent and annoying.
Probably everyone from space is a total shit.
'I've always had nightmares,' Jack bit out, staring down at the swirling mass of sand beneath him. 'They come and go. They're not a problem. Everyone has bad dreams. At least with Mora, they could feed her. She didn't have to hurt anyone else, and she wasn't hurting me. It seemed like a fair exchange. It was nice...to have someone to wake up to. She watched over me while I slept. For months.'
I'd never had that before. He winced. He didn't know if he'd ever have it again. He didn't know if he even deserved it. People needed care, consistent care, not his capricious, fickle attention. But he would have fed her if he'd known, wouldn't he? Why didn't he know? He pushed his face into his hands and tried to block the world out.
He felt dangerously close to tears. He managed to hold them back, breathing deep, forcing control into the minute shudders ripping through his body. He felt naked without his staff. He wondered if it had hit the ground already. If it had splintered into a thousand pieces.
He looked up when Sandy waved his arms to get his attention.
Sandy made the picture of a sad face, and then above it, a mask showing a happy face. He lowered the happy mask over the sad face, and then the sad face disappeared. Jack thought he understood that one well enough.
'The fun I have is real, Sandy,' Jack said, heavily. 'It's real, and it's there. And I don't think I'd be...I don't think I would have made it through some of the things I've made it through without it. But, you know, the people who create the most fun aren't usually the happiest. That's just the way it is. My centre isn't happiness.'
Boy howdy, is it not happiness.
They floated through falling snow, and Jack realised Sandy was heading back to North's Workshop. He didn't think he was ready for that. He didn't want to have another one of those painful conversations with Pitch. He didn't want to see that bewildered expression on North's face, how confused he'd looked he realised that Mora was a friend and not a foe. He didn't want bright, gaudy colour and loud, flashing lights. He didn't want noise and walls and closed windows.
Sandy was considering Jack, head tilted, a small frown on his face.
Finally, he flashed a picture of Mora, and a picture of a snowflake, and a picture of the smiley face. That, Jack understood.
Did she make you happy?
'Yeah,' Jack said, rubbing a hand over his forehead. 'Yeah, she did. She didn't fix my problems or anything, but she was... Pitch was right. She was really loyal. She had a sense of humour. She liked snow days, didn't mind the frost. And the more time we spent together, the more she seemed to find things she liked for herself. Like, she started to love sleeping in trees. Like some kind of horse-vulture.' Jack laughed, remembering.
'And she avoided you guys like the plague. She didn't want to be absorbed back into the dreamsand. She didn't want to be with the other Nightmares even. I don't know why she became like that, but she did.'
The constellations revolved around them. In the distance, he could see the half moon up in the sky, watching them. He shifted so that his back was facing the Man in the Moon. Some things were meant to be private.
'I didn't know that she needed the food, I didn't... I don't need to eat. I thought that it was just the same for her too. You should have seen her. She wouldn't even hate me for it. She was just happy to be there.'
Sandy suddenly jumped up. The cloud swirled with his excitement. A hundred symbols flashed up over his head. Jack didn't even have the energy to indicate that he didn't understand.
For the longest time, particularly in the first decades, he'd thought he was in some kind of purgatory. No one could see him. No one interacted with him. He'd thought there had been some sin, something he'd missed, and he was cast out into a world where only the moon offered him any succour; but a false succour that was never an explanation, a reason. The constant, haunting knowledge that there was something about him that deserved the loneliness had winnowed its way into his cells and stayed there, heavy and unrelenting.
He looked up when Sandy tugged on his sleeve.
Sandy sat down in front of him, so close that he could feel his presence; a shimmery warmth.
Sandy picked up a handful of his own dreamsand. With his other arm he reached forward and tugged one of Jack's hands away from its clawed grip around his ribcage. His mouth pursed again when he realised how hard Jack had been holding onto himself. He drew forward Jack's forearm and uncurled his fist, turning it palm upwards. And then he poured the sand into his palm.
Sandy stared at it intently. His little hands came up and moved through it, tickling Jack's palm. They moved through it for another few minutes. And then he discarded the sand by brushing it off Jack's skin, and picked up another handful and pouring that into Jack's hand as well. He carefully moved through the grains with his small fingers, and then pinched up a single grain of sand.
It floated up into the space between them. Jack looked at it, confused.
Sandy pointed at the grain of sand, and then made an image of Mora. It was unmistakeably Mora – a thin, svelte creature, tossing her head, pawing at the ground. There was even a wild mane, an expressive tail.
Sandy kept pointing between the grain of sand and the image of Mora.
And then, once more, he picked up a handful of sand and this time mimed searching through it for other, single grains of sand amongst the millions.
Jack sat up straighter, staring hard at the single grain of sand that was floating in mid-air. It was tiny and easy to miss. He couldn't look away.
'Are you saying...' Jack raised his hands and cupped the piece of sand between trembling fingers. 'You're saying that you can...find her? And make her again?'
Sandy nodded so much that his hair flopped back and forth.
'This is her?'
Sandy nodded again, and Jack stared at the sand like he could see her inside of it.
'Hey, girl,' he said, without thinking.
There was a tiny flash of light, and the sand turned from pale gold to a familiar black. Jack stared at the piece of sand for so long that his eyes started to hurt. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. It didn't seem possible. She was gone. That couldn't be her. Could it? Pitch had said it wasn't possible. But there it was, a tiny black piece of sand. It had responded to his voice.
Sandy tugged on his sleeve again, and Jack looked down, eyes so wide that they were starting to hurt.
Sandy showed an hourglass above his head. But instead of falling at a regular pace, the sand was falling very slowly, and the top half never seemed to empty. Jack squinted at it, thinking of what it might mean, and then looked at all of the sand around them, all of the sand trailing away from them in the streams reaching out to thousands of children. He swallowed around a lump in his throat, staring at the tiny piece of Mora floating up and separate, one grain of sand amongst more than could be counted.
'It will take time?' Jack said, hesitantly.
Sandy nodded.
'A long time,' Jack added. 'But you can do it?'
Sandy nodded slowly, as though he was less sure of this. He looked down at all of the sand around him, and visibly swallowed. He blew air out of his mouth, eyebrows rising at the task he had set himself. No wonder no one knew that Sandy could do this. No wonder Sandy had never mentioned that he could do it.
In that, Jack realised with a shock what a big deal it was. That the Sandman, who was already overworked and sleep deprived, who was stretched the thinnest out of all of the Guardians, would sort through countless of grains of sand to find a Nightmare. To reassemble her. To bring her back to life.
It could take years.
Jack's mouth dropped open. He blinked rapidly, as his whole world tilted on its side and didn't make sense anymore.
'You would do that for me?'
Sandy looked up at Jack with horror, eyes going wide in dismay. Jack didn't know what he'd said wrong.
Jack's hand closed around the single grain of dark sand instinctively as Sandy leapt up from the sand cloud and hovered in front of Jack's face. Sandy took his face between both of his tender hands and pressed his warm forehead to Jack's, sighing a gentle warmth against his skin.
It was an unmistakeable gesture of love, of affection.
Jack blinked, shocked, and then gasped at the responding swell of emotion that moved through him. His hand clenched around the tiny piece of Mora that he held in his hand. His chest heaved with a sob that he managed to keep down. These things, they were supposed to feel good weren't they? He didn't understand why the pain just kept flaring inside of him, growing larger and faster with every passing second.
He wasn't going to be able to hold it in.
His whole body shuddered around the first sob that shook its way out of him. Sandy's hands tightened and then softened on his face, stroking his cheeks with tenderness. Jack shook his head. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't a reprieve he'd done anything to warrant. A world where Mora was gone made far more sense than one where a friend would offer such a huge amount of energy to help him, and he didn't know if he could stand it.
He jack-knifed into himself, and Sandy had to let go. Though he didn't let go for long. As Jack curled into the cloud, knees up by his chest, fist clenched around a tiny grain of sand, Sandy settled by his shoulders, resting his hands on them, patting him with a silent understanding.
It was coming too fast, he couldn't hold back.
The floodgates broke, and the dam of emotions that he had been shoving back came spilling forth in tears and horrible, grief-stricken noises that tore their way out of him. He pressed his hands to his face, one fisted and one flat, trying to hide himself from the world, embarrassed. But his body wouldn't stop shuddering with the force of his sobs, he couldn't make himself stop.
There had been too much, too fast. Jamie. Mora. His memories. His sister. The Nain Rouge. Augus, and the rest of the Unseelie Court.
He didn't know how much time passed. His tears seeped down and froze the sand beneath him. His hand ached where it was locked around the grain of sand that was the promise of Mora. And Sandy didn't tell him to stop, didn't try to interrupt him, wouldn't tell him to be quiet with symbols or actions, stayed as a silent witness.
Jack half-wished that Pitch was there, and was almost glad that he wasn't. He felt fragile at the seams, as though any well-placed sentence would break him apart and he'd never recover. Sandy's hands on his shoulders were steady and grounding, a reminder that even floating high up in the sky, the earth could find him and remind him there was stability, that it could be okay to break down.
When he was done, he felt numb and washed out. His body was still shaking, but in the hitched shivers of a child who had cried itself out. Sandy began to rub his back. It felt good, and Jack sighed. His unclenched hand wiped at his face, the back of his hand smeared wetness away.
He rolled onto his back and Sandy looked down at him, his face only a few inches away. It was easy to forget sometimes, how small Sandy was. His presence was so large.
'I miss her,' Jack said, weakly. He laughed at his own admission; if Sandy didn't know that by now, him saying it wasn't going to help. 'And Jamie. Did you know he has two daughters? And a husband? Wesley. I kept meaning to visit more often, but time passes so differently after a while and you get caught up in...it's no excuse.'
He rolled onto his side and then sat up, facing Sandy. The Sandman watched him quietly, without judgement, a look of acceptance and shared empathy on his face.
'You came after me,' Jack said, and Sandy nodded.
'And you're taking me back?' Jack asked, and Sandy showed a clock over his head. He let the hour hand move about four and a half hours, and Jack realised how far he'd fled and how quickly. But they weren't exactly rushing back, either.
'Why aren't we going faster?' Jack asked.
Sandy showed a lightbulb over his head. And then he pointed to Jack, and showed a person sleeping in a bed, a smiley face, a good dream circling above a sleeping face.
'You...wanted me to sleep?'
And have good dreams?
Jack laughed under his breath. Passed a hand over his face.
'I can't remember the last time I had a good dream, Sandy.'
A moment later, Sandy was standing with hands on his hips and a furious look on his face. He pointed hard at Jack and then pointed at himself, and then threw his hands up in the air exasperated.
'You're busy enough,' Jack said to Sandy's stubborn, reproving face. 'You are already so busy, don't tell me you're not. I wasn't going to ask.'
Sandy raised a pointed finger and looked like he was going to launch into a lecture, and then he deflated, his shoulders slumping. He sat down and faced Jack, looked apologetic and tired.
Jack scooted over to him and grunted as he unlocked the fingers of his clenched fist. His knuckles hurt. He hadn't realised he'd been making a fist that tight for so long. He offered Sandy the grain that was Mora, and Sandy took it with a speculative expression.
'Is there anything I can do to help?'
Sandy shook his head, and then offered a small, weak smile.
A tendril of dreamsand stretched over the cloud and dropped Jack's staff right into his lap. He laughed in shock.
'You had it the whole time?'
Sandy nodded.
'I didn't even notice,' Jack murmured.
Sandy closed his eyes and then showed a person falling, face down, above his head.
'Yeah, I guess my eyes were closed,' Jack acknowledged, painfully. He still didn't feel entirely himself. He felt bruised and banged up, even though he'd never made impact. And his hands weren't ready to settle on the staff yet. He looked at it on his lap and didn't like what it represented.
When he looked up, he was startled to see a picture of Pitch above Sandy's head. Sandy pointed between Pitch and Jack, head tilted.
'Well, yeah. I guess. We've been...we get along? It's weird, right?'
Sandy shook his head, as though it didn't surprise him. The Pitch above his head transformed into a man wearing a combination of robes and armour, a huge feathered collar flaring out from the back of his neck, a two-handed sword at his side. Jack realised he was seeing Kozmotis as he would have appeared, all that time ago.
Sandy pointed at Jack and then pointed at Kozmotis and shrugged. It was almost as if he was saying, I think you would have gotten along.
'He's really wounded,' Jack said, looking down at his hands. 'We don't talk about it much. He doesn't bring it up and I...forget to bring it up. But it's there. At first I thought I was just sticking around because I was curious and because it seemed like he needed someone. But lately...'
Jack wiped at his eyes. They were still wet. His eyes were slowly leaking tears even though he no longer felt like crying. It was as though his body still had a great deal to say, even though his mind had moved on.
Sandy poked his knee.
Lately? He seemed to ask.
Jack looked around them to gather his thoughts and found himself smiling in shock. At some point, perhaps while he had been curled on his side, Sandy had made a menagerie of creatures around them. Pterosaurs and pterodactyls, brontosaurs who walked on air, huge cuttlefish and giant squid chasing each other around the sky. Jack saw opabinia and nautilus, even an immense horseshoe crab, sailing happily on the winds.
He became more relaxed, watching all the animals move around, coasting or flying with purpose, circling the cloud or following each other. When two squid entangled tentacles, they merged into a whale the size of a cumulus cloud, and breached in the sky.
'Lately,' Jack said, resting his fingers cautiously on his staff, 'I've been thinking maybe it's more than curiosity and...whatever.'
It was as close as Jack was willing to get to admitting that he liked Pitch, that he wanted to spend time with him. When he turned back to Sandy, he was surprised to see Sandy smiling at him like he was happy to hear it. That was unexpected. Jack decided to change the subject.
'Pitch said you were from the sky.'
Sandy's smile broadened and he pointed upwards, where the stars hung.
'You know, Pitch's light that he makes? It kind of reminds me of the way your sand glows.'
Sandy nodded so vigorously that his hair flopped again. Jack looked down at the golden sand and ran his hand through it. It moved around his fingers, glittering as it caught the light.
'They're the same thing?'
Sandy smiled in what looked like approval. He ran his own hands through the golden sand.
'Does that mean your sand can defeat the shadows too?'
Sandy's lips thinned and he shook his head. Then he held up his thumb and index finger and brought them closer and closer together, until only a tiny gap was between them.
'Oh, okay. Only a really small amount then?'
Sandy nodded.
And then he put both of his hands together and raised them to his cheek, closing his eyes and feigning a yawn. Jack yawned instinctively, without even thinking about it. It didn't seem to matter how much he slept these days, he could always sleep again. And besides, the past few hours had been rough.
'I am tired,' Jack said, weakly. 'I need to rest so much now, since the Nain Rouge. It's weird, I just-'
Sandy interrupted him by pointing forcefully at the cloud. Then he actually came over and pulled Jack down until he was lying down.
'You are deceptively strong,' Jack said, giggling when small fingers poked mischievously into his ribs. 'Okay! Okay, I get it. I'm down aren't I? I'm sleeping.'
Sandy wasn't finished though. He marched around the cloud, creating sand pillows, fluffing them enthusiastically and piling them around Jack until he was in a huge, floating sand nest. The pillows were soft, as though air had gotten trapped between the sand and made them fluffy.
When Sandy was done, he came and lay alongside Jack, facing him with a content expression on his face.
'We should hang out more,' Jack yawned, and Sandy beamed at him.
The next thing he knew, a swirl of golden dust had wrapped around him. He drifted into a hazy, happy dream; where a solitary, wild Nightmare came and danced around him, healthy and in high spirits. She drew him up into the sky where the snow and wind were looking forward to his presence, and his powers had been restored.
He awoke, later, into the strangest dream. In it, he was floating on a cloud of sand back in North's Workshop. He felt rested, even though he'd slept for hardly any time at all. His limbs were lax and sprawled, and he didn't ever want to move.
In the dream, Pitch and North were talking amongst each other like they'd always been friends. At one point, they even started talking about their favourite Russian composers, and Pitch firmly maintained that even though Rachmaninov could be a little melodramatic, he was certainly superior to Shostakovich. Instead of arguing, North simply laughed and a moment later, Pitch joined him with his repressed, closed-mouth chuckle.
He could tell they were close by. He could feel them both as satellites of warmth. They weren't so close as to be on his cloud, but they were close. One was casting a shadow over him.
'You can still read the fears of others, yes?' North said.
'You know that I can,' Pitch replied. Jack thought that was a little presumptuous, but maybe Pitch was just like that in his dreams as well.
'And what of Jack's fears? How much more is there than is meeting the eye?'
'That...' The silence stretched for so long that Jack thought maybe he was slipping back into a deeper sleep. 'That is not for me to share.'
'He doesn't talk with us,' North said, sadly. Jack's heart thrummed. No, you don't understand. I can't talk with you. You'd change your mind about me. It's for the best. 'I worry. A great deal.'
'Yes, well, if what Sandy said was correct, the way he found Jack is probably a cause for worry,' Pitch said. And then: 'Did you know that he was entirely alone, for...at least a decade, before another spirit saw him?'
Silence. Jack had thought he was having a good dream, but he was starting to feel uncomfortable now. Maybe it wasn't a good dream. Unconsciously, he snuggled deeper into the cloud, and buried his hands into the sand.
'North?' Pitch again. 'Are you alright?'
'Why wouldn't Man in Moon tell us?' North said.
'Have you ever asked him?'
'I cannot imagine an answer that Manny could give that would be good enough, so I have not,' North said, voice grim. And then, in a completely different tone of voice, one with his characteristic wonder: 'This world is amazing, that you can be standing here, asking me these questions, and I do not feel like I should be running you through with a sword.'
'I find that hard to believe, given your fears. I can tell, you know. I know, for example, that you suspect there is more going on between Jack and I than meets the eye.'
A long pause.
'That is not an answer,' North said.
'I didn't hear a question,' Pitch replied.
'Humour me, pretend it was a question,' North said. Jack could hear the stubbornness in both their voices.
'Is there more between Jack and I than meets the eye? Is there any safe way of answering that? You were not born yesterday, North. What do you want me to say?' Pitch sounded exhausted.
'It is the strangest thing. He spends time with you. He appears to like it. So you read my fears too, yes? Maybe you can't help it. I want to hate you for everything you've done. I am all about children, I know how you've hurt them. I know it in a way that the others do not. And yet – there – I see it in your eyes, you know too, don't you? I do not need some supernatural ability to read fears. It haunts you.'
Jack started to realise that maybe he wasn't dreaming. He kept his eyes closed, which was easy to do. He was still under the sway of Sandy's dream dust. Still washed over with lassitude.
'But you saved my life. You saved Jack's. You-'
'I do not want to talk about this,' Pitch said. Jack's heart leapt. Now you know how I feel all the time, you pushy, relentless bastard.
'You protect each other,' North continued, changing tack. 'Through Jack, you have come to join us. Not officially. I know that. But Jack never officially joined us either. He said the words. He is Guardian. But you know as much as I do, how separate he is, how much he is holding himself back.'
'I think, given his history, it's understandable. Don't you?'
'You must think we're fools,' North's voice was heavy. It was sad.
'Yes,' Pitch said coldly. 'I do. That is one assessment that hasn't changed, whether I am the Nightmare King or not.'
North cleared his throat, there was the sound of shifting.
'We didn't know-'
'Defending yourself? Really? Haven't we been through this already? I don't want to have this conversation with you again. You understood me perfectly earlier. Do you want some succour? I'm not here to provide it to you. I'm not even here to provide it to him. I'm tired of these shadows. My whole life has been about them, my whole life. You may think it's tiresome to have to face them again, but I am facing them for the thousandth time. And that is not hyperbole.'
'And if we defeat them? Once and for all?'
'Once and for all? Do you think you live in a fairytale?'
'Anything can be defeated,' North maintained.
'Anything?' Pitch laughed, it was a sound that scourged. 'No, North, they can only be controlled. They can be diminished. And then – if you're lucky ten, maybe a hundred, maybe a thousand years will go by before they need to be confronted once more.'
A long silence again. Jack wanted to reach out, he wanted to take Pitch's hand in his own. There was a terrible desolation in everything he was saying. He didn't know if North could spot it, but he certainly could.
'Kozmotis,' North said, as though he was turning the word over in his mouth, tasting it, 'is that what you want to be called? You are no longer Pitch Black.'
'I'm no longer Kozmotis Pitchiner. Pitch will suffice.'
Another silence. It went on so long that Jack began to drift off back towards sleep. He wondered where Sandy was. He wondered how long it would take to make Mora. His hands ached to touch her and feel her warm and real under his skin.
'That scar at his neck,' North said suddenly. 'Tell me how he has been, really. Not his fears, I know you can't tell me those.'
'How he has been really? I thought we covered that earlier also,' Pitch said, sighing. 'He's not well. What the Nain Rouge took from him...And she will take the rest, given the opportunity. He needs to sleep a lot. More than he knows, I suspect. In point of fact, it has affected him in ways that I'm not sure you've noticed.'
Jack's brows furrowed against a sand pillow as he listened.
'What are you saying?' North said.
'She removed his frost, yes. Some of it. But she also took some of that...essence, that you and the other Guardians bang on about all the time. His sense of fun has been diminished. You haven't seen it? Felt it? His resilience has been lessened. And you haven't noticed the Nain Rouge? Laughing more? More gleeful in her approach to evil?'
Jack's heart was thumping painfully in his chest. He hadn't made any of those connections. How long had Pitch known that? Why hadn't he told him? It explained so much. These days, it felt like he was just always so much further away from feeling anything good. He had to fight so hard to find a level of joie de vivre which had always been so present before. He knew some of that was down to the loss of Jamie, but not all of it.
'The Nain Rouge doesn't just skim supernatural powers from someone, she feeds off their soul.'
'Then why are you still alive?' North said.
'Augus Each Uisge thought it would be amusing to leave me down there. I believe, in his ideal world, a few thousand years trapped because of a compulsion at the bottom of the earth, where he could visit as his leisure, probably seemed like an ideal form of torture. He only let the Nain Rouge take the living shadows. He made her leave the soul. What little of it is left.'
Jack wondered when Pitch became so comfortable being so open with North.
'It wasn't just the frost that was taken,' Pitch continued. 'And I am not sure what sort of long-term effects there will be for him. The Nain Rouge doesn't exactly make it a habit to leave anyone she feeds off alive.'
'So his reaction to...Mora? That was more extreme because-'
'Oh no, I'm afraid you don't get off that easy,' Jack could hear the dark smile.
'I am not trying to get off easy, I am trying to understand.'
'If you want to understand him, then talk to him. Honestly, it's not rocket science. That all of you could miss the signs and signals of a damaged spirit whose expressions pass across his face like-'
'You forget yourself, Pitch. You have been very stern, tonight. Understandable, yes? And I admit, I have missed signs and signals. But I have not missed everything. My approach was may be wrong. And I have done Jack a wrong, and I will address that. But you are still guest in my house.'
Jack expected Pitch to retaliate for being taken to task like that. But, instead, there was more silence. The shadow over his body shifted, and he realised it was Pitch who was standing so close to him.
'Pitch,' North said, quietly, tone completely different. 'You are worried about someone. This is good thing.'
More silence. Jack wanted to turn and crack his eyes open. He wanted to see Pitch's expression. But he didn't dare.
'He is back, and safe,' North continued, in that persuasive tone of voice that Jack had experienced himself. It was a voice which soothed. Which softened the edges of internal brittleness. 'And he is strong.'
The urge to open his eyes and watch, to see what was happening in the silences, was becoming overwhelming.
'And what are we going to do about these shadows, when they come?' North said, suddenly.
'Die horribly, I suppose?'
'Pitch,' North laughed, 'Pitch, haven't you realised? Everything works differently here, on Earth. How long did those shadows jump around, from planet to planet, conquering everything until you came here and realised that it all worked differently? Is the Earth conquered? No. Are people quaking in their boots? Not everyone! Not even me! Have a little faith, my friend.'
'Friend?' Pitch said, voice thin. 'That is not a word you should bandy about like it is worth nothing.'
'I know what the word is worth. I say what I mean, Pitch. If you don't like it, you are welcome to leave Workshop, no?'
'I could have been under orders from Augus to infiltrate the Workshop. It could have been the only reason I saved your life,' Pitch said, and North laughed.
'Now who is being a fool? What do the tattoos say on my arms, Pitch? You see I know. I know if you've been naughty or nice. That is not just something I do for the children. I can't help it. I know.'
Silence again.
'Ah, now look who's uncomfortable? Turning about is fair play, yes?'
'I think he's waking up,' Pitch said, avoiding the subject.
'Then you should take him up to his room. It has been a long night. For all of us. I have much to think about. If you need me, I shall be with the reindeer.'
'How much of that did you hear?' Pitch said, lifting Jack from the sand cloud easily and placing him on his bed. Jack opened his eyes, glad that he didn't have to pretend anymore. Though it was strange to have Pitch be so familiar with the act of just lifting him up. He couldn't tell if he liked it or not. Was it weird to like being carried by someone? He looked up at Pitch, shrugging in answer.
'You couldn't tell when I woke up?'
'No,' Pitch said. 'I suspected, but I wasn't sure. A person's fear can rise and fall in the period before waking, so it's not a trustworthy measure.'
'I heard you say that the Nain Rouge took some of my sense of fun? Why the hell didn't you tell me that, Pitch?'
Pitch's mouth dropped open.
'Do you mean to tell me you didn't know?'
They stared at each other. Pitch seemed genuinely bewildered that Jack hadn't figured it out, and Jack's anger was diminishing quickly. Pitch hadn't been trying to hide it from him. He lay down abruptly, letting his head hit the pillows. It was no sand pillow, but it would do.
'You gave everyone quite the scare,' Pitch said, sitting on Jack's bed. He looked down at the floor. It was an odd, closed expression. Something that didn't quite invite Jack in, and yet expressed some inner tumult.
Jack remembered how Pitch had looked when he'd burst into the room. How wild. He'd looked just as panicked as Jack felt. He hadn't recalled ever seeing him like that before. He frowned, turning something over in his mind.
'You felt it, huh? When I lost Mora?'
Pitch shifted on the bed. He did not look away from Jack, and Jack found that he couldn't look away either. He wasn't even scared of Pitch doing the eye-trick anymore. At some point, Pitch had become far less scary.
'It's different to other qualities of fear,' Pitch said, finally. 'Losing someone.'
Losing someone.
Jack's eyes widened.
Oh no.
'Pitch,' Jack said, pushing himself upright.
'I assure you, I'm quite-'
'Don't lie,' Jack said, kneeling beside Pitch on the mattress. He reached out hesitantly with his hand, worried that Pitch would jerk away. But Pitch stayed still, reserved, wary. Jack rested his fingers against the side of his face. Pitch's skin was warm, it was warmer even than most people's.
'You have enough to worry about,' Pitch said. Jack tugged on Pitch's hair, reprovingly.
'You know, I might be damaged by what the Nain Rouge did. And...have issues. But I'm not weak. I'm not some, I'm not...you only get a really two-dimensional perspective, reading people's fears like that. So when you felt me lose Mora like that, you can tell me that it reminded you of...her. Of what you lost. You can say that you didn't like it.'
'I didn't like it,' Pitch whispered.
Jack breathed past the pain in his heart. Pitch would have been tired from training, from trying to make the golden light. He would probably have been reading again, researching, strategising, whatever he did. As far as Jack knew, Pitch could actually feel other people's fears. Pitch had been mildly panicked the night that Jack had panicked due to Mora's nightmare. He'd probably felt the terror of loss all over again. Because Jack knew it must have been like a death to have his personality possessed like by those shadows all that time ago, to know – in his final moments – it was the last time he was ever going to see Seraphina alive.
'Probably a good thing you weren't there when Jamie died,' Jack said, and Pitch turned into Jack's hand. He closed his eyes.
'Well, I didn't like you then, so I doubt it would have affected me as much.'
'What does like have to do with it?' Jack said, curling his fingers over Pitch's face. He wondered if it would be inappropriate to lean in and kiss him. He felt a tingle move through his torso.
'It makes me more sensitive. It combines my...dislike of you feeling fear like that, with my own dislike of feeling fear of that quality. It amplifies.'
'I thought you liked it when I felt fear,' Jack whispered, leaning forwards and daring to press his lips, closed-mouthed against the side of Pitch's face. Pitch took a quick, shallow breath, and Jack did it again, lingering.
'I don't like it when you feel fear like that.'
'This fear thing is complicated, isn't it? Just like you. You should be the King of Complicated, instead of the Nightmare King. Maybe that can be your new title. Knowing you, you'd probably love a new title.'
'If I'm the King of Complicated, what does that make you?'
Jack laughed softly against the side of Pitch's face, making sure that some of his cold breath gusted into Pitch's ear. Pitch squirmed, and Jack nosed his ear lobe.
'Didn't you know? I'm Jack Frost, the Guardian of Fun. Haven't we met? I thought we'd met.'
'Oh,' Pitch breathed, turning his face towards Jack's slowly, 'we've met.'
Jack hummed with want as their lips met. He brought his hands up and touched Pitch's jaw with his fingertips, licking into his mouth. And Pitch, surprisingly, seemed happy to let him. Jack groaned when Pitch's tongue curled around his, one of his hands braced himself on Pitch's shoulder and he withdrew, pressing closed lips into the corner of Pitch's mouth and leaving them there.
'Is this okay?' Jack asked, low. 'Do you want a distraction?'
He threw Pitch's words back at him, knowing that Pitch would know exactly what he meant.
'You have a surprisingly steep learning curve,' Pitch said, smiling against Jack's lips.
'That's not an answer.'
'Is this?' Pitch's hands came up and anchored Jack's face, his mouth opened and Jack threaded his hands through Pitch's hair, kissing back. It was warm and slower than before, made lazy from an exhausting night.
He pulled gently on Pitch's hair until Pitch seemed to realise what Jack wanted, and lay back down on the bed. Jack straddled him, feeling like that much warmth between his legs should not feel as good as it did. He braced his arms around the side of Pitch's head, he tasted cinnamon and that faint bitterness, and he wondered what he tasted like. Probably just cold.
'The door is unlocked,' Pitch said, looking over, and Jack followed his gaze.
'Ha, can you imagine the look on North's face if he caught us?' Jack said as he reluctantly rose up from his position and floated over to the door. He locked it and flew back quickly, accidentally hitting Pitch's torso with his knee as he straddled him again.
'Watch it. And yes, I can. I don't know why you look so happy about it. I'm almost certain I wouldn't survive the experience.'
'Shut up. I'm meant to be distracting you.'
'So distract me. Until I feel sufficiently distracted, maybe I'll just wax lyrical about the-'
Pitch gasped when Jack pressed a bold hand between his legs, over the fabric of the robe. Pitch was already half-hard, and Jack resisted the urge to moan, because this was heady and wonderful. Because he was supposed to be providing the distraction, not the one being distracted. He flexed his fingers, then shifted so that he had a better angle.
'Don't look so pleased with yourself,' Pitch muttered, voice already deeper. 'Maybe I'm only allowing this because you've had a bad night.'
'Ha, really? Maybe I'm only doing this because you've had a bad night.' Jack felt a flash of mirth. Fears of Pitch leaving, of the world doing terrible things to hurt him felt so far away that it was as though they had no hooks in him at all. He knew they were still there, somewhere, but there was something dizzying about being on top of Pitch, in having the weight of him in his hand, even if it was through fabric. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva, hungrily. He had an idea, but he was so out of practice.
Jack shuffled down Pitch's body until he was kneeling between his legs. Pitch raised himself on both elbows to watch him, as Jack pushed his robe to the side.
Pitch was wearing another of his black undershirts made out of that thin, almost see-through material. The pants matched, drawn together by a single, simple drawstring. He supposed the loose, light material made it easier to step through all of those graceful sword drills.
He took a deep breath. He was nervous. It had been a really long time.
'Jack,' Pitch said, 'you don't have-'
'Will you shut up?' Jack said, shaking his head. 'Let me figure this out for myself.'
'Fine,' Pitch said, like Jack wasn't about to give him a blow job.
Jack would have thumped him, except that he really did want to offer something to Pitch. A distraction. A sign that he wasn't in this alone. He figured Pitch was the kind of person who fell into a protective role without really thinking about it, which was something he would never have considered several months ago. But now, he could see how easily it would happen. And sure, he didn't mind that. He liked it even. But he wasn't going about to let it spin out of control, either.
Jack undid the drawstring, disconcerted that Pitch was still raised up like that, still watching him. But he focused on what he was doing. Once he had the drawstring undone, he made no move to remove Pitch's pants, but instead splayed his fingers underneath Pitch's undershirt. The heat there was searing, and he inhaled through his nose, feeling his palms warm. When he trailed his hands down Pitch's torso and met the hem of his pants, Pitch finally dropped back onto the pillow, leaving his hands by his side.
Jack's spine bowed as he pressed the side of his face against Pitch's upper thigh. Everything was heat around him, even with the light material between them. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself, could smell something astringent, a scent of some woody spice, and a muskiness which was clearly just Pitch. Jack swallowed another mouthful of saliva and edged forwards. He opened his mouth and mouthed Pitch through the cotton. Licking up with his tongue, feeling like he was overheating already. He must have felt terribly cold.
Pitch shifted minutely underneath him. The sound of sheets being gripped in a fist made Jack smile as he continued, finding his way through what he was doing, scratching his nails lightly over Pitch's belly.
When Jack sucked him through the fabric, Pitch made a small, aborted sound. His legs spread slightly, his hips lifted.
There, he thought, liked that, didn't you?
He tongued the fabric into the sensitive skin. Stretched his mouth over the head and laved it, getting used to the taste. Jack was already hard, his arms were shaking where he braced himself.
Pitch lifted his hips helpfully when Jack pulled his pants down, and before he'd even had a chance to settle again, Jack's mouth was on him. Pitch groaned, one leg bending up and knocking gently against Jack's body, acknowledging him. Jack closed his eyes. There was warmth everywhere. His mouth was warming up already, his palms were heating, it made him feel dizzy.
There was no way that Jack could take Pitch all the way down, so he used his hand to help, wrapping it around hot skin. He kept waiting for Pitch to protest, to say it was too cold, but he didn't.
His jaw was starting to ache already, he was definitely out of practice. But he didn't want to stop. He liked the taste, he even liked the bitterness; years spent outside around pine and fir trees had changed his tastebuds. He lowered his head further, lips meeting his fingers where they wrapped around Pitch. And then he began to move his head up and down, sucking on the upstroke, curling his tongue around the head.
Pitch groaned, and Jack made a responding sound in his throat, pleased that he was affecting him. It made him harder, and he pressed himself into the mattress, willing himself to stay focused.
Easy, Jack reminded himself, See? Doesn't matter how much time has passed.
But as time passed, Jack realised that he needed something more, some kind of contact. It was different, with Pitch. It was sometimes hard to know if he was doing the right thing, he worried that he wasn't doing a good job. And he wanted desperately to do a good job, he wanted to please. He didn't feel as anchored, like this. He realised he was spinning out of his depth, that without some kind of connection, it would remind him of other things, other times.
'Hair,' Jack said, rising up, swallowing hard.
'Pardon?' Pitch replied, hoarse.
'Put your hands in my hair.'
'I suspect I may pull.'
'Oh, for god's sake, will you just put your hands in my hair, please?' Jack said, and Pitch rose up again, staring at him.
'What?' Jack said, belligerent.
'Come up here,' Pitch said, pulling on his arm. 'Come here.'
Jack resisted for a moment, because he didn't want to stop either. But Pitch was already reaching for him, and Jack moved up his body.
The kiss was visceral. Jack braced himself against Pitch's chest, moaning brokenly when Pitch slowly fucked his tongue into Jack's mouth. There was a firm hand in his hair, and another scraping fingernails up his ribs. When the tip of Pitch's tongue touched the roof of his mouth, he gasped away, blinking to try and concentrate, to try and remind himself that he had something he wanted to do.
Pitch pulled him back, biting at the side of his neck, trailing his lips along Jack's jaw until he reached his chin, and then moving back up to claim his mouth again. He made a hungry sound as his lips sealed over Jack's, and Jack felt weak from it. He was definitely way out of his depth. What had started as a distraction for Pitch, had turned into something that was turning him boneless with want. He pulled his mouth away, dropped his forehead down to Pitch's chest as he gathered unnecessary air into his lungs, as he reminded himself what he was doing.
He started to slide down Pitch's body again, and Pitch let him, though he kept his hand in Jack's hair the entire time. Jack was absurdly grateful, even embarrassed, but it helped. He shivered when Pitch's other hand splayed around the side of his face and then also spread up through his hair.
He blew a cold breath around Pitch's cock, and Pitch's fingers twitched on his scalp.
'Tease,' Pitch said.
Jack's lips quirked in a smile, and then he began again. He licked his way down the shaft. When he finally took Pitch into his mouth properly, the hands in his hair tightened, and he felt minute shifts in Pitch's palms and fingers. They were repressed, but they were there nonetheless. They were – Jack realised – the instinctive movements of someone who wanted to dictate the pace, but was holding himself back.
I can work with that. He closed his eyes, concentrated on the heat and the warmth and the pressure. He let Pitch guide the rhythm, and focusing on that made him feel like he was where he was supposed to be, as though he was doing the right thing.
Pitch must have realised that Jack was responding to the pressure in his hands, and he began to guide Jack more obviously. His fingers dictated the speed. His palms pressed into Jack's head, almost holding him down when he wanted Jack to linger on a downstroke. Jack obliged. His mouth began to feel more warm than cold, his whole upper body was starting to overheat. He pressed himself harder into the mattress, his own hips responding. He liked it, being guided, being shown what Pitch liked. He even liked tilting into a world where it was almost too much, and he knew he was close. Closer than he thought he could get from this. Heat lanced from his head down his spine in a ripple, and he cried out as he continued moving. Damn it, he was close.
Pitch's thighs began to tremble, his hips were lifting, undulating in time with Jack's movements. When Jack sucked particularly hard on an upstroke, Pitch cried out, hoarse.
'Jack,' he gasped.
Jack hummed in acknowledgement.
Pitch's hands suddenly tugged on his hair, and Jack knew what was coming and was surprised. Surprised at how considerate Pitch was being in warning him, surprised at himself. He didn't need to pull off. He was doing just fine. He didn't want to be anywhere else.
He hummed again, cold flaring up from deep within his body and wrapping itself around Pitch's cock, freezing his own, warm mouth.
Pitch's hands flexed, and then suddenly pushed Jack down, holding him still as his hips thrust up. Jack held on, digging his fingers into Pitch's hips. He swallowed, over and over, as Pitch shuddered. His whole face felt like it was burning, and the warmth of Pitch slid down his throat, setting him on fire. His own hips were shaking. He was so hard. What a time to find out that he liked being directed like that, that he liked being held down. It made his head spin.
Pitch lifted one of his hands from Jack's head, and then the other. Jack looked up, Pitch slipping from his mouth.
'Good, huh?' Jack said, throat scratchy.
Pitch sat up, leaned forward and grabbed Jack by the sweatshirt.
'You,' Pitch said, his voice dark and intent.
'I'm fine,' Jack said, because it was true. He was fine. He could hold off. He didn't need to come right this second.
Pitch only laughed.
Jack found himself manhandled onto his back. A hand thrust into his pants and he was embarrassed, he didn't want Pitch to know how hard he was, how close. But as soon as Pitch wrapped a burning hand around him, Pitch groaned in approval.
'Yes,' he hissed, as though it was his victory, his triumph.
Jack's back arched, his mouth stretched open. Pitch was too hot, his grip was firmer than Jack normally used on himself, his pace was too fast, too exacting. There was nothing he could do except respond.
He came hard, hands fisting hard into the bed. He knew that his body temperature wasn't as hot as Pitch's, he knew that, because he could still feel the temperature difference between Pitch's hand and his skin, but he was burning. He was sure of it. Pitch's hand moved him through his orgasm, until he was too sensitive, until it was almost painful. His hips jerked, and he whined.
'Pitch,' he whimpered, 'I-'
'I am going to have so much fun with you,' Pitch said, letting go and biting Jack's collarbone hard. He licked at the tooth marks, and Jack sighed, blinking at the top of Pitch's head sleepily.
'Has anyone ever told you that you're really controlling?' Jack said, tugging Pitch up to his mouth, kissing him sleepily, slowly.
'Yes, actually. I'm quite good at being controlling,' Pitch said, and Jack could feel the smile, could hear it in his voice.
Pitch shifted so that he was lying alongside Jack, one long arm sprawled over his chest, and lips pressing insistently into his cheek and neck. It was sweet, Jack realised. He shifted until he was comfortable, it was taking a surprisingly long time for his body temperature to return to normal. Pitch really was warmer than average. Those he'd been with in the past tended to cool down, until they both ended up lukewarm. But Pitch produced a constant body heat no matter what the temperature was, no matter what he was exposed to.
'We're going to talk about it, tomorrow. About how Sandy found you.' Pitch said, and Jack refused to open his eyes. He ignored the twinge in his gut.
'I know,' Jack said.
'But not now,' Pitch promised.
'Not now,' Jack echoed, relieved.
Pitch pulled Jack closer unconsciously as he sighed into sleep. Jack wasn't as tired as he thought he'd be. He was comfortable though, and he didn't want to move. Pitch's face had taken on that simple, sleep-innocence. He didn't look like he'd just been reminded, unexpectedly, of the loss of Seraphina.
Jack lay, looking up at the ceiling, wondering what it meant that the Nain Rouge had taken some of his sense of fun and irreverence along with his frost. He wondered where his actual issues ended, and that lack began. How much of his current depression could be explained by that? He thought of her laughing in delight as she'd attacked the Workshop and it made him shiver with rage. That was his, all of it was his, and it was being twisted into something evil. It made him realise – more than ever – that he was going to get what she took from him back. The others could find a way to defeat the Unseelie Court.
He was going to find a way to defeat the Nain Rouge.