Ice pick gingerly picked at the skin on the back of Jack's neck, trying to coax him from his facedown position on the bed. He wasn't crying, oh no, but Jack had never before felt so empty and hopeless in his life. All the fun and happiness had been drained from his soul, leaving him a cold, hard shell. Ice picks attempts at comfort were ignored as Jack stared off into the distance, his blue eyes empty.

The little fairy had grown increasingly worried, to the point where she basically attacked him with her beak in order to get him to move, but even the sharp pinches of pain didn't work. So, she flopped down next to Jack's body on the bed, and burrowed herself into the crook of his neck, almost like she was hugging him. Only then did Jack respond to the sudden cold resting on his flesh, and he slowly sat up, cupping ice pick into his hands.

"You shouldn't be here," was all he said, "what's going to happen when Pitch gives me away? What will he do with you?"

Ice pick looked at him with her wide eyes, and crossed her wings indignantly. Jack sighed loudly.

"You can't come with me. Regardless of how I feel, Pitch would be a much better option than where I'm going."

Ice pick almost seemed to give Jack a judgmental look, ruffling her bright blue feathers stubbornly, before sticking her beak in the air, and flying out of Jack's hands. He managed a small, pained laugh.

"There's nothing I can say to convince you, is there?"

Ice pick flopped down on the bed with a tiny thump, as if to say she was here to stay. Jack swallowed hard, not even bothering to fight her. At least he had one friend here.

The reason Jack was so down on himself was that today was, unfortunately, the day. Careful calculations in his head told him that his three weeks were up, and no time would be wasted in moving him. Though, the time he had spent alone in Pitch's room made it feel much shorter than it actually was, what with the distracting knob of angst constantly twisting around in his stomach.

I need to figure out how to escape, he sometimes thought to himself, only to have his conscious counter the argument with you wouldn't get far, so what's the point? Besides, if you're gone, Pitch's daughter gets killed. Do you really want to be responsible for the death of the one thing he loves most?

He didn't want to make it harder for Pitch; really he didn't! Jack wanted Pitch to get his daughter back. He wanted Pitch to be happy, but Jack was selfish, and he wanted to be happy as well. What he really wanted was Pitch to be happy because of him; because he was the only thing Pitch needed in his life.

God, he wanted to stay.

The future was inevitable. In a few mere hours, Simon, or Edgar, or one of those two blundering guards would come for him, and if Jack fought, they would just chuck him over their shoulder like they always did. He could kick and scream and struggle all he wanted, but in the end, what was it worth? He couldn't fight this destiny that had been forced onto him. He should try for the sake of his dignity, but after what had happened with Pitch a few days ago, Jack had little dignity left anyways. What did it matter?

Sinking into that familiar cage of depression that he was so used to, Jack eased himself back into the sheets, trying to imagine a world where things might have gone differently. Pitch would show up at Jack's cotillion with the sole intention of marrying him, and even bring along his daughter, who was not captured, but traveling the world with her father and his army. Pitch would ask Jack to dance, and the two of them would walk out onto the floor. Pitch would snag Jack's waist and reel him in, just like he always did. Jack would snap at the man, only to have him snap back. Then, before they could dive further into the argument, Pitch would swoop in, and kiss the boy. Jack's tongue would burn with the fiery passion that flared between them, and his legs would go numb from the intensity of Pitch's lips.

Over the past few days in solitude, Jack had reached a revelation: marriage really wasn't as bad as he had made it out to be. He came to this conclusion because he had often thought about what it would be like to be married to Pitch, and decided that it wouldn't have been so bad. To be frank, Jack actually liked the idea more than he cared to admit.

Jack curled into a ball, clutching the small ice fairy to his chest, and easing away his pain with his fantasies. Maybe, if he wished hard enough, they would become a reality, and take him away from this dreadful world.

Jack had not been to the surface world since he assisted Pitch with his crime, and he was so happy to finally breathe fresh air again, the he didn't even care that it was raining. In fact, the piercing water droplets that stung his skin made him feel a little bit better. Edgar and Simon were both escorting him out, clutching Jack by his upper arms, but Jack wasn't struggling. He tilted his face upwards so as to feel the wetness that cooled his heated cheeks, and closed his eyes, figuring that this would be the last time he would be outside for a while.

Then, without warning, he was flung into some kind of carriage. Jack tripped and stumbled as the door was shut firmly behind him. He glared through the window at the two guards, and brushed his shirt off in a dignified manner, baring his teeth bitterly.

Only when he turned his head did Jack notice the tall shadowy figure sitting in the far left corner…

He bit his lip, unsure of which emotion to feel at that moment. Anger, perhaps? He wasn't really angry at Pitch anymore; so much as he was angry with himself. Maybe hurt? No, Jack scoffed, he didn't want to show Pitch how vulnerable he was. He would have to be stronger than that.

Jack settled on a cold, reserved exterior. He felt nothing. There was nothing to feel.

He moved his feet slowly, refusing to look at Pitch as he sat down at the opposite end of the vehicle, and it lurched to a start. Jack focused on gazing out the window at the droplets of water trickling down the glass like tears, and watched as the world rolled by.

The silence shared between them wasn't awkward or understanding, but laced with sorrows and bitter antipathies. Pitch didn't even recognize Jack's presence; as if he hadn't even entered the carriage at all, and if Jack hadn't felt so emotionless right then, he might have been royally pissed off. But, just as he'd said, he felt nothing. He clutched his knuckles in his lap, trying his best to act aloof.

Jack didn't know how much time it would take to reach this superiors palace, but he hoped it wouldn't be long.

He didn't know what he had expected… of course Pitch was going traveling them! He was the tradesman, after all. Jack just figured that maybe the man would have his own carriage. After all- as Pitch had reminded him many times- Jack was the prisoner… the merchandise, and Pitch was the capturer.

So, why would they travel together?

Perhaps Pitch didn't trust Jack, and thought he would try to escape. Jack actually allowed himself to smile at that thought. If he wasn't so down, he probably would pull a stunt like that, but lucky for Pitch Jack had all but given up on life. This superior would probably kill him eventually after he'd gotten whatever it was he wanted from Jack anyways. From the way Pitch had described him, he didn't expect anything less.

The harsh raindrops hitting the roof of the carriage was the only noise filling the void, and then, surprisingly, Pitch spoke.

"Once we arrive, do not speak unless you are spoken to. Do not look anyone in the eye, and try to appear as submissive as possible. The more obedient you are, the more likely it is you'll live another day," he said, and Jack tried to make it seem like he didn't care, but he found that Pitch's deep, soothing voice was breaking through his wall of apathy. "When we get inside, I will do all the talking. You have a tendency to be rash, and foolish, so I must implore you to try and not to do anything stupid."

Jack wanted to laugh and scream at the same time. He couldn't respond… he wouldn't…

"Jack…" Pitch started gently, "I'm counting on you not to divulge to my superior what happened between us."

Slowly but surely, the tantalizing nature of Pitch's requests broke through Jack's depression, and reared up his prideful defenses. Biting his tongue and grinding his teeth did no good; the anger he felt was like a sitting duck inside of him, brewing anticipatingly.

"If that's all you're worried about, Pitch," he said indifferently, his tone laced with offense, "then, fine. I won't say a word."

He could see from the corner of his eye Pitch's body relax back into the cushions of the seat, clearly much less worried now. So that was all he cared about? His superior finding out about what they did?

Jack tried to understand; Pitch had to get rid of any compromising evidence so as to better his daughter's chances of survival. That was all this was about: his daughter.

As Jack had said, he wanted Pitch to be happy, and if his daughter was going to be the thing that made him happiest, than why couldn't Jack just accept that?

"Thank you," the grey man said. Jack gave a curt nod in his direction, but still refused to look his way. He was trying his hardest to maintain this silent treatment, but since Jack had never been one to enjoy silence, it was rather difficult.

Somehow, he managed, because for the rest of the carriage ride, there were no more exchanged words.

Jack wanted to yell at Pitch for being so insensitive.

But he also wanted to say he understood.

He itched to hurt Pitch in some way.

But he also wanted to kiss him.

These were disturbing bipolar feelings that Jack was getting frustrated with, and he was surprised that he hadn't done anything rash yet.

Finally, just when Jack was considering saying something, the carriage staggered to a sudden halt, mimicking the movements of his heart.

Pitch was graceful as he pushed the door open, and got out as silently as possible. Jack watched him leave, though he wasn't sure whether or not Pitch saw him looking. Instead of following, Jack remained where he was, buying himself more time as he waited for someone to open the door for him.

No one did; at least, not right away. Jack heard some mumbles coming from the other side of the carriage that buzzed through the thin walls. No doubt discussing the plan, Jack moved his eyes from the window and down into his lap, where he fiddled his fingers, and waited.

Finally, the carriage door swung open, but instead of Edgar or Simon, Pitch was the one holding out a hand for Jack to take. Bewildered, he took it carefully, and stepped out of the carriage, and into the rain. Jack allowed himself to forget about the whole situation for a moment as he took in his new surroundings.

Unlike Pitch's palace, this superior lived above ground in a very stunning castle hidden by forest. He noticed that they weren't anywhere near a road anymore, but in the middle of nowhere, where this magnificent palace seemed to be the only inkling of civilization for miles. The architecture was dark, but elegant, and evidently the home of someone powerful.

Jack was scared, but he knew he had to get a grip. He wasn't a child, and no one was going to hold his hand as he went in. He had to be brave.

The boy exhaled loudly, and straightened his spine, raising his chin proudly. His arms were by his sides and his blue eyes fierce and fighting. It was now pouring, so his white hair stuck to the sides of his face. He hoped that he looked much more confident than he felt, but for what it was worth, he felt like he had regained a bit of his fight.

Once Pitch and his daughter are safe, feel free to give this superior hell, he thought to himself, the corners of his lips flickering up into a nuance of a smile.

Jack knew Pitch was watching him (probably in case he decided to make a run for it), but Jack didn't care. What had happened with Pitch was over, and Jack was just going to have to move on. There was no point in clinging to what could never be, and after this, he would probably never see the man again anyways. The thought hurt, but Jack tried to remind himself that now was not really the time to feel sentimental.

He waited for Pitch to signal him to go, but the signal never came, so Jack turned his brave eyes to his right.

What he saw almost melted his newly constructed composure away; those eyes looked so broken and sad, that Jack only wanted to retreat into those long, protective arms, and never leave.

"Shall we?" Jack initiated, and Pitch licked his lips.

With a final concerning look, Pitch extended a hand to indicate Jack should begin walking. He did so without breaking his composure, looking away from Pitch before he could lose whatever little confidence he had.

The door to this estate was constructed of moldy, chipping wood that only added to the rickety effect of age. It was daunting and dark, and Jack tried not to look at just how large it was as Pitch raised the knocker.

The echo was eerie, and ricocheted through the wood like the single ring of a gong. Jack suppressed a shiver at the sound just as the hinges creaked open, and through the small crack, a pair of blue eyes popped out.

"Who goes?" They whispered, their voice barely audible, but Pitch seemed to have no problem hearing them.

"I come bearing gifts for the realm of fear." He said, his tone assured. The blue eyes flickered to jack for a moment, then back to pitch, before the crack widened and the door opened completely.

The man was about as short as sandy, but he lacked that same comforting aura, and golden hair. In fact, this man was quite bald, and he had two protruding front teeth jutting through his lips that made him look like a rabbit.

Oddly enough, in that moment, he was reminded vaguely of Bunnymund, and for the first time in a long time, Jack felt nostalgic for home.

"Please come in," he said, his small, shifty eyes assessing the situation quickly, and side-stepping so Jack and Pitch could enter. Pitch gave a gracious nod of appreciation, and entered the home as if he had done so many times before. Jack took his casual entrance as a sign that he should follow. He couldn't help noticing that Pitch had now moved to stand in front of the boy; to protect him perhaps?

Jack's heartbeat skipped nervously.

He only walked a few paces past the small, shady man before Jack was engulfed in utter darkness, and he abruptly became quite frightened. He couldn't see where he was going, so he held out his hands to make sure he didn't run into anything.

Then, a warm, guiding hand slipped into Jack's and any nerve-wracking notions he had were gone. The grasp was gentle, and said things that words never could. Jack took the hand, secretly relieved, and followed Pitch further into the abyss, letting the knowledge of the older man direct him. After a while though, Jack's vision began to adjust, and he had an easier time putting one foot in front of the other, but he still didn't let go.

"Here," Pitch said out loud, and Jack stopped, but as he looked around, he didn't see anything significant. They were in the middle of a dusty, dark hallway. The floor creaked underneath their feet, and the old boards threatening to give way to their weight. Jack turned back to Pitch, clearly confused.

"Where's here?" he dared ask. Pitch only responded by letting go of Jack's hand, to which Jack responded with a kind of startled cough.

But only a moment later, Pitch reeled the boy in by the waist, pressing him to his hard chest firmly. Jack coughed again, only louder this time.

"The place we're going to teleport from," he said softly, and moved his nose to rest in Jack's bright white hair that glowed neon in the darkness. Jack sighed. He was trying so very hard to stay focused, but Pitch was making it very… very difficult.

"Pitch…" he started, but he couldn't bear to finish his sentence. The words just sort of died away on his tongue, and, despite his stubborn pride, he allowed himself to be fondled sweetly. Was this the grey man's way of saying he was sorry for everything that had happened? For everything that would happen?

If it was, then Jack accepted the apology graciously. He returned the gesture by timidly wrapping his own slender arms around Pitch's waist, and rested his head there.

"Prepare yourself," Pitch warned. Jack snorted.

"You'd think I'd be used to it by now." He retorted. He felt Pitch smile against his skull, before the two of them were sucked through the shadowy vortex, still tucked into each other's arms.

When they landed, Jack found that he had no trouble standing upright, but that might've been because Pitch was still holding him. He probably did that on purpose, Jack thought, not that he minded.

"How much traveling is this guy going to make us do?" he asked jokingly. At the words, Pitch immediately released Jack, and readjusted his shirt professionally.

"You don't honestly think the king of crime is going to just reveal his hideout to you, do you?" he asked with a scoff, shifting his posture so he stood to his full height, "Oh Jack, have you learned nothing from your three weeks as a criminal?"

"You mean my one day as your distraction?" Jack rebutled. Though, on the inside, he was feeling pretty stupid. Of course this guy was going to be as evasive, and indirect as possible. Like Pitch had said, he was the best of the best.

Once Pitch was done primping, the two just stood like that, side by side, apparently waiting for something. Jack clasped and unclasped his hands impatiently behind his back, his fear only building as the inactivity drew on… and on…

"How long do we wait?" Jack asked.

"As long as we are required to," Pitch replied simply, staring straight ahead. Jack supposed he should be following his example, but he couldn't help but think how pompous and rude it was to keep guests waiting.

Then, Pitch cleared his throat, signaling to Jack that now was the time. Jack took the opportunity to block out any thoughts he had at that moment, and just try and appear as self-assured as possible. Though, he did make a single promise to himself: he wouldn't utter a single word until Pitch was out of harm's way; he would have to make sure of that.

The two took slow footsteps that fell in sync as they approached a small flickering light at the end of this tunnel of shadows. It was dim, but was quite welcoming when compared to their current settings. Then, Jack's eyes began to make out the room as they reared closer; it was grand and well-built, just as Pitch had said.

A throne room, no doubt. There were no guards that he could see, but Jack figured that they were probably hiding somewhere in a corner. The design was circular, and tunnels were cut out of the walls on all sides. The openings of these tunnels were shrouded in shadows, preventing you from seeing past the first few inches. The room itself was completely constructed out of a kind of dark cobblestone, which reminded Jack of the box from his dream…

In the center was a single, intricately built throne, made with a twisted black metal that bent and curved up and around the armrests and the back of the chair like hundreds of ominous, shadowy snakes.

But none of this was the worst part. What Pitch had failed to mention about this room was that, woven through the silence like threads, were whispers that hissed and tickled at his eardrums. He could not pinpoint where they were coming from, but they were there. The words weren't those that Jack could understand. They wafted up and around his person like revolting scents, murmuring promises of death. Jack couldn't help but shake a little as he listened. It gave him the impression that he was surrounded by ghosts, or demons…

"Rise, Kozmotis Pitchiner," said a voice so commanding and ill-omened that Jack momentarily forgot all about the whispers. He suddenly looked down, and found that Pitch was kneeling on the floor, his head bowed towards the stone. This was a very unsuitable look for the dominating, and controlling Pitch that Jack knew during their time together.

He reluctantly turned his gaze towards the demonic sound.

The voice suited the figure almost too well, although, there was no way that this… thing could've been a man. He was shadows. There was no other description for him. Shadows and darkness molded together into a single, palpable figure with penetrating gold eyes… like Pitch's eyes, but about 1000 times more scrutinizing. He wore a basic grey suit that didn't suit his terrifying appearance at all. When he smiled down at Jack, he revealed two rows of sharp teeth.

"Jackson Frost," he addressed, "so nice to finally meet you."