Chapter Twenty: Embracing the Night

Jack fled the Pole on the back of the North Wind, a flight which quickly became a battle. Though the polar vortex and its Nightmare army had been expelled, the winds remained. They were bitter, nasty strangers full of ice shards and broken hail. They cut Jack off at every turn, forcing him to flip and roll as his old friend twisted to avoid attacking streams

Their struggle could only last so long. A sudden surge from behind snatched Jack from his friend's grasp and sent him tumbling through the winds until one spat him into a deep snowbank. Grounded, Jack stared up into the endless night of the northern winter, willing the adrenaline to remain and keep grim thoughts at bay.

No use. Images of the last hour crept into his sight, still pictures frozen in time and burned into his brain. The battle. The Nightmares. The ruined workshop. The starlight blaze of Sandman's last blow. Sandman's smile. Sandman's eyes.

Sandman, Sanderson, Sandy…

Sandy was gone.

Jack felt the first dry sob bubble up and covered his eyes with his arm. It hurt. Like losing a limb. Sandman had been so unfailingly kind. So quiet and gentle, understanding and warm. He had been good. Jack knew that, without a shred of doubt. And now he was gone.

It was too cold to cry, even for Jack, but he heaved a few dry sobs before reigning in the worst of his pain. He used the staff – his safe, familiar staff – to pull himself out of the snow. For the first time, he looked to see how far he had flown.

The night remained unending, but the human eye is made to find light and Jack's were hungrier than most. Through the frozen cliffs and icy crags he caught the distant flicker of candle-flame. The Pole. A few faint stars peeking through the parting clouds lit just enough of the way back to be followed.

Jack stood still and held his breath. He'd fled the Pole in a moment of panic. That proved he could keep going. He could leave this place, escape his prison at last, return to Burgess and Pitch's side.

Or he could go back.

He wanted to go back.

His stomach lurched.

At that moment, the darkness moved. The movement of shadows is a subtle thing, like the rustle of cloth too fine to be touched. Most creatures, even the Guardians, never learned to recognize the sound. Jack knew it as well as his own breath. He knew the presence that stepped from the night at his back. Gone one moment. Here the next.

He released his held air in a gasp. "Pitch."

Arms folded around him. Fingers like the bare twigs of winter tangled in his hair. Their partners slipped down his spine and around the waist until they found the wrist on the iron side. Pitch only breathed once they'd closed around its iron band.

"Jack," he whispered. "Welcome home."

Jack went stiff. The North Wind howled above them and his grip on the staff increased. For three hundred years, he'd horded the rare hugs of the Nightmare King, treasuring them in spite or because of how much time passed between each one. This embrace was exactly like all the others, yet it felt wrong. Were those arms around him or an iron cage? Could he escape if he wished? Did he wish?

No. Of course not. How could he?

He pushed away the thoughts of yetis and elves and of North tending his wounds and Tooth's hands on his face. Jack melted into his hug and returned it, one shaking he arm wrapping around Pitch's waist.

They held it longer than any hug Jack had ever earned. Then, Pitch moved his hands to Jack's shoulders and pulled away. He held the boy at arm's length and traced a frosted cheek with his thumb.

"Thank heaven you're safe," he said, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."

Despite his exhaustion and the emotional strain of the last few hours, Jack smile. Pitch had come for him after all. He hadn't been abandoned. "It's all right. I knew you'd come."

Pitch nodded proudly and patted Jack's cheek before his hands trailed down to check the cuffs. His fingers traced the familiar iron bans and, finding them secure, finally broke away.

"Come now." Pitch's hand alighted briefly on Jack's shoulder, turning the boy around as Pitch strode past with a sweep of his cloak. "No dawdling. I trust you'll want to see this."

"See what?" Jack turned to follow, but a pit of dread had opened in his gut. A trio of Nightmares, empowered but not eldritch, emerged from the night and fell into line at Pitch's side. Resolute and straight-backed, the Nightmare King was in route to the North Pole. "Where are you going?"

"To finish what I started." Pitch chuckled, his laughter playing Jack's nerves like a xylophone. As Jack scrambled to keep up, they crossed the crest of a ridge and peered down at the broken burning workshop. "I'm going to burn that entire gaudy city to the ground and end the Guardians for good and all."

Sheer terror sent Jack's heart plummeting through the hole in his gut. Before he could stop it, a cry tumbled out of him, "No!"

Pitch stopped. The wind died in an instant and the night fell deathly quiet. The Nightmares froze at their monster's side, rigid as statues. Jack heard his own heart pounding in his ears.

"What did you just say?" hissed Pitch without turning around. The warmth of their reunion was gone, leaving his voice cold, harsh, and unforgiving.

Jack's throat tried to freeze solid as he scrambled to recoup. He'd never refused Pitch anything before. But he couldn't just let him leave and tear into the Guardians when they didn't stand a chance. It wasn't…Wasn't…

"You d-don't have to do that. Please. The entire operation's already crippled. The workshop's in ruin, the presents are destroyed, I've seen it. And the Sandman –"

"I know about the Sandman."

Somewhere in the bottomless pit of his stomach, Jack's heart finally shattered. The wound of Sandy's loss was still too raw. He could only imagine how it felt for the Guardians, who'd known him longer and held him more dear.

Pitch turned, his entourage falling to dust as though they too feared the wrath of their King. He loomed over Jack, his silver eyes cold as frozen steel.

"The question is not what has happened," he said. "The question, Jack, is why do you care?"

Jack tried to swallow but found his throat too stiff. He couldn't answer, because he didn't truly know.

Pitch searched his expression in silence. His lip curled into a disgusted sneer. "You don't believe in me anymore."

"N-No…"

"They've turned you against me."

"No! They haven't. I swear I'm not –"

"You betrayed me!"

Pitch's arm snapped out fast as a striking snake. It caught Jack right on the jaw and sent him flying. The wind tried to catch him before he hit the ground. But Jack was in no state to ride. He slid off instantly and hit solid ice, his left wrist taking most of the blow.

He gasped at the twin spears of pain and pulled himself up with his arms. Pitch advanced on him, fury resounding in every step. In a burst of panic, Jack swiped with his right arm, producing shards of sharp ice. They raked Pitch's cheek like a claw.

Slowly, Pitch turned his head from the attack and lay his fingers against the wound. They came away stained with black blood. His expression softened, hurt and betrayed. "Jack…"

Fear sank into Jack's bones. What had he done?"

"You dare lift you hand to me?"

With both arms, Pitch summoned the Nightmare sand from its piles. It swept over Jack like a wave and wrenched the staff from his hand. It became a wall to slam him against and a hand on his throat, pounding his hand again and again.

"You ungrateful, wretched traitor!" Pitch roared. Beneath it, Jack imagined that he heard someone calling his name, but it was only wishful thinking. "After everything I've done for you, all I've sacrificed, this is how you repay me?"

The sand at his throat held too tight for Jack to apologize. He managed a weak groan with the last of his breath. His lungs screamed and spots danced around his head. He couldn't feel his arms or legs. He couldn't have moved them if he wanted to.

His vision flickered with another blow to his chest. When it returned, Pitch filled his line of sight.

"I should have left you in that cell to rot." He raised his fist over Jack's head and…

Bright as the sun, a golden blade slashed through the black sand. It would have taken Pitch's hand at the wrist if he hadn't leapt away at the last minute, leaving Jack to fall.

Jack dropped to the ground and lay still, the solid mountain heaving under him like a ship in a storm. His vision went in and out, in and out, never clearing, always broken and fuzzy. Finally, it realigned. His entire body felt like one giant bruise.

Nicholas St. North stood before him with golden blade in hand. His fur coat billowed to the ground, forming a wall of red and black between Jack and Pitch. When the great man spoke, his voice dripped with more poison than Jack ever dreamed it could hold.

"You," he said, "will never lay a hand on Jack Frost again."

"Tooth. Oy, Toothy. C'mon shield, open yer eyes."

Toothiana did as the familiar voice bade, though it was not without a fight. Her eyelids felt like lead lined with sandpaper. Her head pounded like she'd flown into a tree. To wake up feeling this awful, she must have been stirred in the middle of a dream.

Dream…

With a gasp, she jerked full awake. "Sandy! What were you thinking?"

"Easy," said Bunny, pinning her with one paw. "Let's get you check over first."

He had her cradled in one arm, strong muscles and soft fur supporting her head. Around them, the guest room was black as tar in spite of having one wall partially collapsed. The only light came from the torch that a worried yeti held over Bunnymund's head.

Toothiana realized that the battle must be over. Bunny wouldn't be here if it wasn't and he certainly wouldn't be calm or still. Indignation ruffled Tooth's feathers. Sandy had made her miss the fight! Like some…damsel!

As the pooka scented her for injuries, Tooth turned her ears to the Pole. She heard the yeti's many heavy footsteps and the clang of their repair-work, but no hooves and no swords, confirming her suspicions. She also heard no shifting sands and, stranger still, no orders from North.

Bunny straightened with a sigh of relief, rising from his haunches and setting Toothiana up-right. "You seem right as rain. Your head okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

It was only then, with some distance between them, that Tooth noticed the strange ruff of black fur around Bunnymund's neck. A blink to clear her vision revealed that he was wearing one of North's coats. It was older, from back when North had been lean not wide, so it fit him better than it might have otherwise. But it still seemed so strange.

"Bunny, what are you –"

Before Toothiana could finish the question a cold wind tickled her nose. She sneezed.

Bunnymund chuckled. "Cold, ain't it? Here."

He gestured to the yeti, who passed him a fur-tripped cloak cut to fit a woman. He wrapped it around Tooth, who sank gratefully into the warmth. During the battle, she'd been so buzzed on adrenaline that she hadn't even notice the bitter cold. Now it sank into her bones and made her fingers numb. The fur granted welcome relief.

She thank Bunny, then hurried around him to take in the damage of war. Emerging on the mezzanine brought her up short. It was awful. Every surface in the workshop was covered in ice or glass or shredded toys. Not one of North's inventions survived the slaughter, their burning carcasses still leeching thin smoke. The massive globe hung dark and ominous overhead, as though the world had stopped turning the moment Christmas fell.

As Tooth took it all in, a horrid realization dawned: she couldn't feel her fairies. Not one. She closed her eyes and reached for them. Far, far away, she felt a tickle of their connection. They were alive, but trapped. Captured. Prisoners of war.

Bunny had joined her when she opened her eyes again. He quirked an ear sympathetically. "Anything?"

Tooth shook her head. "Pitch has them. All of them. Everything's gone."

She felt tears rise and blinked them away, he long eyelashes catching the drops before they could fall. No crying, no self-pity. She's spent too long doing that as a child and it was not becoming for a Queen. She sniffed, hid her emotions in a shudder of cold, and pulled the cloak more tightly around her. "We need to find Sandy."

Bunny's ears drooped. "Tooth…"

"He's hurt. I saw it." The memory of that putrid hole made her already-wounded heart ache with concern. "It was old and awful. He, he must have been hiding it. He's always been so stubborn…"

A paw fell on her shoulder, cutting off the rambling thoughts. She looked up at Bunny, whose green eyes suddenly looked old, tired, and sad. "We don't have to worry about Sandy anymore."

His soft tone made the true meaning clear.

Tooth covered her mouth with her hands. She trembled, trying out the old, strained connection of heart that bound the Guardians as one. This time, the tears fell. "No."

She grasped Bunny's paw and hid her eyes in his chest. Bunny gripped her hand as though it were his only lifeline in a storm. Both of them were used to this pain. They'd loved and lost before. They would survive. But first, they needed this moment to mourn.

Tooth broke away first, wiping her eyes to maintain some sense of dignity. There were more pressing matters to address than grief. "What about North? What about Christmas?"

Bunny sighed. For all his grumbling about Christmas overshadowing his Easter, Tooth knew that he would never wish such horrid destruction on their friend's treasured home. "Dunno. The Nightmares overran everything. Smashed every package, burned every tree…" He winced. One paw cradled the back of his skull. "And knocked me around a fair bit to boot."

Tooth tried to check his wound, but Bunnymund turned to hide it from her. She huffed. Men! Or rather, males and their stupid pride. She'd deal with him yet.

"As for North..." Bunny jerked his head towards one of the blow-out windows and the dark ice range beyond. "He went after the kid."

"Jack?" Tooth's nervous heart skipped a beat and her feathers bristled. "What happened? Is he all right?"

"He flew the coop." Last week, those words would have dripped with Bunnymund's suspicions. Now he sounded only resigned. "Right after Sandy…I guess it was a shock for 'im. North went to get him back. Said it wasn't safe."

"Pitch could be out there." Tooth nodded. Her buzzing emotions calmed, settling on a course of action. "Then we should be out there too."

She shifted the cloak to free her wings and hopped onto the nearby bench for an extra boost. In the next step, she took to the air and…

Northing. She fell straight back to the floor and stumbled, her footing uncertain even on familiar, smooth wood.

She tried again, kicking off the ground, but her wings refused to lift her. They buzzed once, then immediately gave up, leaving her grounded.

Bunny's ears perked in alarm. "Tooth?"

"I…" Fear gripped the Tooth Fairy's heart. "I can't fly."

The great copper globe spoke up, groaning as it tried and failed to move. The moan of broken metal ached through the too-quiet ruins of the Pole like the death knell of a legendary beast. Tooth's fear turned to dread. As she looked to Bunnymund, she knew he felt the same.

North stood between Pitch and Jack, teeth bared and off-hand curled like the battle stance of a bear. His golden sword shown in the starlight, a blue-white ember gleaming at its hilt. Fury replaced the wonder in his ice blue eyes, which softened only when he turned his head ever so slightly to look at Jack.

"Can you stand?" he asked, keeping one eye always trained on the Nightmare King.

Jack nodded, struck dumb by the sudden rescue. His hands searched the ice until they found his staff and clung to it for security. His legs felt like gum, but he could stand on them if needed. He thought.

"Good," said North, raising his blade. "Stay behind me. The moment you see a chance to run, take it."

"North –"

Without waiting for Jack to finish, North charged. His battle roar echoed through the ice-stained crags. Metal on metal answered his call as Pitch drew his own sword to defend. No two blades in all the world clashed as did these foes. They were perfect opposites, one shining with the light of the Golden Age, the other swallowing all into the darkness of the Earth's core.

Pitch snarled as he leapt back and in again for a blow of his own. "Stay out of this, bandit!"

"Never!" The swords met again, North's anger no less than that of his opponent. "I am Guardian of Children."

"This child is not yours to guard."

Again and again the swords clashed, their owners leaping and weaving and darting in a violent dance. All the while Jack remained, hovering on the outskirts, unable to process the order he'd been given to run.

On the backswing of a mighty blow, Pitch lashed out with his off-hand, summoning the Nightmare sand. It caught North across the chest and forced him back.

"Your holiday is dead." Pitch struck again with the sand, lashing his opponent's shoulders. "Your greatest ally is fallen! The Guardians are finished, Nicholas!"

"Nyet." North leaned into the next blow and slashed through the whip. Its sand stained the ice black. "So long as I stand, Christmas stands."

He tore through the attacking sand and leapt to the other side. With an almighty swing, he flung the black blade from Pitch's hand. It spun away into the snow as the Nightmare King fell back.

North lifted his sword with both hands, readying for a final charge. "Now you return to the shadows, where you belong."

He charged. Jack felt his heart stop.

"No!"

Jack leapt off the ground and flung himself between North and Pitch, his staff raised in pitiful defense. As strong and large as North was and as fine his blade, it should have easily passed through Jack's staff and torn him in two. But it didn't. It stopped a full inch from making contact with the staff.

North gazed down at him, shoulders rising and falling with each controlled breath. His sword rang like a golden bell. "Jack. Move."

Jack shook his head. He couldn't just stand back and let this happen. Pitch had come here to rescue him. He meant everything. Jack couldn't lose him, not over this.

North shifted the grip on his sword. His expression held so much sorrow that it made Jack hurt. "You must move. This must end."

"No." Jack shook his head again. His arms wavered, but he didn't lower his staff. "Please, just…stop." He looked up into that kindly face and felt a pang of regret. "You're too nice. I'm not worth it. I deserve it. Please."

"Jack…"

North freed his off hand and reached for the boy, not to fling him out of the way but to pull him close. Jack went rigid, keeping the staff between them as a barrier. Unlike Pitch, this half-hug of North's was protective, but not restraining. Strong, not captive. He could break away at any time he liked.

He was about to do so when a surge of power crackled through him. Jack heard sparks and saw white. His body rumbled like river at thaw. Something wet and hot dripped over his hands.

Jack looked down. From the center of his staff jutted a spear of ice, sharp as the glass that filled the Pole. It stuck deep into North's stomach, tearing through cloth and flesh alike. The cherry-red blood of the Guardian of Wonder stained his hands.

Jack jerked away in horror. Already, the blood began to freeze. "North…"

North said nothing. The blade was in too deep. It broke away from Jack's staff and stayed lodged deep in his belly. North's hands closed over it as though to pull it free, but thought better. A stream of red stained his long, white beard.

With a final groan, Nicholas St. North toppled backward and lay still.

It was the easiest thing in the world.

Pitch smirked as his old enemy collapsed into the snow, a pool of red spreading from his enormous girth. Foolish bandit. So trusting, so warm, so willing to let down his guard for the likes of Jack Frost. The ancient spell that bound Pitch to his ward could flow both ways, if he so wished. All he had to do was force the magic back into Jack and…voila.

Regal as ever, Pitch rose from the ice and beamed at Jack, lifting his palms to applaud. "Well done, Jack. You've done me proud."

Jack yanked his eyes from the freezing blood as though he'd only just remembered that Pitch was there. His fear told the whole story of his turbulent thoughts. Did he take credit for an act he found repulsive and earn Pitch's love? Or would he tell the truth and risk another wave of scorn?

"I…I didn't…" The poor boy was so shocked he could hardly string three words together, let alone a whole thought. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to do that."

Pitch shrugged. He gestured to the Nightmare sand, which slithered to return his sword from the center of the world. "Whether you meant to or not, you've done it. You should own your triumph. Be proud."

He re-sheathed his blade and strode to meet the fallen Guardian, keeping one eye on Jack the entire time. Of course, Tsar Lunar's old blade locked onto North's hand, as if Pitch would want to steal such a piece of trash. The ice blade jutted from that bloated gut like the last mast standing on a sinking ship.

Pitch placed his boat on the shard and force it deeper in, drawing more blood and a weak, wounded groan.

"You know, I once pierced this man in precisely the same place," he said, revealing in the old memory. "It almost killed him then. If I recall, he still has the scar. But my blade didn't drive nearly as deep as yours."

Jack winced as though every inch the ice moved tore into him as well. "Please. Stop."

Pitch hummed and lifted his foot from the dying man. This affection Jack held toward the Guardians would never do. He'd have to deal with it soon. But now was not the time for anger. One of the Guardians was dead, another dying, and the rest could do nothing but fear and fade into oblivion.

He drew Jack into his arms and made soothing noises, running a hand through the white hair. "My dear boy. You've had such a difficult time of things. I can't blame you for being frightened and confused."

With a flex of one hand, he sucked back the magic he'd returned to summon the blade. Jack's knees gave way and he fell limp against Pitch.

"And you've got a fever." Pitch lay one cheek against the boy's forehead, humming sympathetically even as the ice magic flooded his veins. "Poor thing."

He lifted the unresisting Jack into a full hold, cradling the smaller figure like a child. Pitch snapped his fingers to summon the last of the Nightmares and opened a portal through the night to his Realm.

"Don't worry," he said to Jack. "We'll be home before you know it."

With that, they stepped through the door of night and disappeared from the Pole.