Jack searched for days, crossing the world several times, noting that the weather grew colder as the seasons progressed. He couldn't find Pitch, but he did find that Phil had told the truth. Things were off, especially with the other spirits that Jack ran into. In every eye, there was that shadow when the boy asked about Pitch, but it wasn't just that. The air was hostile, and twice he passed spirits fighting, spirits that he knew were peaceful. As they days turned to weeks, Jack began to think that the entire world was going crazy.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he was sane. He knew he was because when he looked into a mirror at his own eyes and said Pitch's name, there was no shadow. Jack felt no hatred toward Pitch anymore. But there was a growing fear that stirred in his breast. Every spirit he met told him that children should be seen and not heard, or that children should stay out of adult business, or some other insult that drove home that he was a child, and because of this, the storm began to blow again.

He didn't celebrate Christmas with the Guardians, unwilling to see their faces while knowing what terrible veil lay over their hearts. Instead, he hunted day and night for Pitch as the storm built up inside of him, the winds howling louder than the four Winds that carried him all over the world.

After an exhausting Winter, Jack was looking forward to Spring. He sat in a bare tree as he rested, staring out over the wintry land and imagining greenery and birds. A rock hit him in the head, and he dropped several branches. Jack looked down to see Autumn, staring up at him with eyes the shade of a ruby. He tossed another rock in the air and caught it, the threat very real. With a sense of déjà vu, he dropped straight to the ground.

"Look, Sandy isn't giving you your nightmares," Jack said, leaning on his staff.

"I know. It's Pitch Black."

"No, it isn't," Jack said, pressing his lips together.

"Yes, it is. He's evil."

"Why does everybody think he's evil?" the boy huffed.

Autumn stared at him then grinned. "Because Shadow Man said so, that's why."

His heart seemed to freeze, and he slid into a defensive position. "Go away. Now."

"No. Shadow Man wants to talk with you."

"I don't think so."

"He's on his way."

Jack moved to call the Winds, any of them, to pick him up, but Autumn's next words gave him pause.

"He doesn't have much use for a boy, you know. Except at night."

Jack's eyes went wide, and he stepped back. "What?"

"You know what he did to the little prism boy. Over and over and over, and you're next. Slim, nice figure, pretty lips…"

Sickness welled inside of Jack, and he shook his head. He called for a Wind to pick him up, but about five feet off the ground, Autumn snagged his ankle and jerked him down. East Wind protested and pulled up, but Autumn refused to give up. Jack felt as if he were stretched to the limit, as if he were going to snap.

"East, stop!" he begged.

He slammed into the earth, the breath leaving his lungs. A hand snatched his staff, and Jack closed his eyes as it was snapped over Autumn's knee. A sense of wrongness filled him, and he shuddered. Autumn threw one leg over Jack and settled on his back. He leaned down and breathed on his ear. It was just like what Pitch had done when he had gotten sick, but this time there was no promise of being okay. Something wet curled across the shell of his ear and he opened his mouth and screamed.

"Get off me, sicko!" he shrieked, bucking against the man on top of him.

"I'm just warming you up for Shadow Man," Autumn purred, then licked his ear again, unfazed by the writhing boy.

Fear filled him, and he screamed for help, but 'help' wasn't the word that came out. "Pitch! Pitch, please! Help! He's going to hurt me! He's going to rape me!"

At that word the sky darkened, and Autumn froze against him, whimpering. In a moment of clarity, Autumn rolled off of Jack and stared at the boy, his eyes flashing from their usual orange to ruby red and back again.

"Run, Jack," he groaned. "He's going to make me do worse to you. Run. Run away!"

Jack gasped, snatching up the two halves of his staff as he pushed himself to his feet. He couldn't tell if the wind was outside or inside, but it was deafening. Fear and disgust stirred the storm inside of him, but the trees were waving in a frenzy of movement. Lost, unsure of where to go, Jack chose a direction and ran as if his life depended on it. Branches snapped beneath his bare feet, and his chest heaved. He was afraid because he could feel the darkness coming for him, and it was far darker than even Pitch Black.

He tripped and went sprawling, and before he could push himself up, he felt something colder than snow and ice settle in front of him. Terror kept him rooted to the spot, and he saw a pair of boots stop in front of him. He whimpered and hid his face, knowing that he couldn't do anything. He sensed the figure bend over him, and something cold and wet slid into his ear. A masculine grunt sounded out, and Jack let out a noise of disgust and fear.

"Get away from him," a smooth, low voice said.

The tongue left his ear, and Jack didn't move, didn't look up, but he sensed a grim smile. He also knew, however, that Pitch was unfazed. The boots moved away, and a sinking feeling in his stomach let him know that he was about to throw up. There was a softer step, that one from Pitch. They were facing off, but Jack couldn't look up.

"Prism," a whispery voice said, sharp and cold and terrifying. "My favorite little plaything."

"Get away from him, Obscurus. I won't let you hurt him."

"I've already tried, you know. Using that weak fool to slice him. But you just had to suck out the poison."

"It wouldn't have worked on him anyway," Pitch said softly. "He's young enough to see through the veil."

"Mm, but I like them young. I find it sad that you've grown up so tall. I remember when I could force you to kneel and offer you a little treat."

There was the sound of Pitch spitting. Jack knew it was a subconscious action from remembering a foul taste. Just what that foul taste was, Jack prayed that he would never find out. A grating chuckle came from the Shadow Man; he was enjoying himself. He was the only one, though. Pitch's determination to protect Jack swathed him in a bubble, and a voice whispered into his head.

"Don't look up, Jack. Not yet. You're not ready."

Jack pressed his hands over his face, hiding his eyes. The Shadow Man laughed, and there was the feeling of a twang, as if their mind connection had been picked like a guitar string.

"Still trying to keep up with your diminishing powers, eh?"

"You haven't broken me completely, Obscurus."

"I look forward to the day I do."

Jack felt sweat beading on his forehead, and he sensed the two men look at him. The Shadow Man laughed again, and it seemed to caress Jack's body, making him feel filthy. He retched and just barely kept it down. A crack sounded out, and the heavy boots stumbled back.

"Don't you do that. Or I'll do worse next time," Pitch hissed.

"Poor little thing can't even control his powers."

"He's fine."

"Don't lie, Prism," Shadow Man snorted. "You know he's afraid of the storm that lies inside. Honestly, I don't see why the little wretch you call your friend picked such a volatile creature to morph a human into. He has nobody to teach him about his very being."

Jack moaned, covering his ears. "N-not."

"Not what?" the Shadow Man asked, shifting closer. Pitch snarled, and the creature stopped. "Not a child? But you are a child, Jackson Overland Frost. And you always will be. I could help to make you more of a man, though. Just one night with me, and you'll be a man like Prism here."

"Shut up." Pitch's voice cracked with stress, humiliation, and fear.

"I still get to you, little Prism. And I'll take you again, right after him. You know of my voracious appetite."

Pitch began to waver, and Jack could feel the protective bubble shiver, as if it were being poked and prodded. The storm inside of Jack threatened to break free, and the boot stepped forward, crunching into the snow beside his head. A cry of rage left Pitch's mouth, and he surged forward. For one moment there was a scuffle before a muffled sob reached Jack's ears. He could stand it no longer.

He looked up through his fingers.

Pitch was caught in a lock, his arms immobile as a terrible creature smirked at him with full lips. A long, thin tongue snaked out and laved up Pitch's cheek. He shuddered, his eyes wild as he gritted his teeth. Jack stared at the two men, wondering how anything so disgusting could look so humanoid. But he looked remarkably like Pitch Black. Tall, thin, shadowy, but so much more horrible.

"You'll always be mine, Prism. I'll put out your light soon, and then the Man in the Moon is mine. I've already taken care of his little Nightlight."

Pitch was flushed with shadows, his face darkening. Jack felt so helpless. What could he do to help? The storm was so close to the surface, and he could hardly hold it back anymore. He needed Pitch to settle the storm again, to speak soothing words before it ripped out of him. Pitch's silvery-gold eyes met his blue ones, fear and tears of shame gleaming in them.

"I'm sorry, Frost," Pitch whispered through his mind.

Jack made his decision and struggled to his feet, his chest heaving. He could hardly hold himself up, but he glared at the creature, who turned to look at him.

"You don't like this?" Shadow Man said, drawing a thin finger over Pitch's hip before trailing inward. Pitch let out a wail, trying to get away, his face burning.

"Hey, what things go best together?" Jack asked, his body vibrating with the force of the storm.

"Me and Prism," Shadow Man said, then tilted Pitch's face toward him and pressed forward to capture Pitch's lips.

Fear and shame were so sharp on Pitch's face, and Jack ground his teeth together. "No," he croaked.

Shadow Man pulled back, licking the Nightmare King's trembling lips, as if making a horrible promise for later. He turned to Jack. "What then, little nuisance?"

"What goes best with darkness?"

What came out of Shadow Man's mouth was so lewd and so beyond foul that Jack grimaced, but he pushed on.

"No. Cold does. Nothing goes better together than cold and dark."

With that, Jack let the storm explode out of him. The force was so great that it sent him flying back. The mild winter day turned into a howling blizzard in a split second. Shadow Man screeched in agony and fled, cursing and promising lewd things. But his voice was cut off by the wind and snow. Jack lay on the ground, feeling as if he were turned inside out. The cold was numbing, and he was so tired.

A strong hand hoisted his head up, and Jack saw Pitch hover over him, his mouth moving. A long, thin black line went down Pitch's cheek, following the exact line that Shadow Man's tongue had made. Pitch also looked as if he were wearing black lipstick, more evidence of Shadow Man's defilement.

Pitch dug into his pocket, his mouth still moving. He scooped out something blue and then rubbed it into Jack's face. Jack's brain immediately went blank, and he watched as Pitch placed a bag into his pocket. Pitch turned around, knelt down, and pulled Jack over his shoulders in a fireman's carry.

Jack wanted to know where they were going, what was going to happen, but he knew if Pitch Black was there, he was going to be okay. There was more warmth and comfort in Pitch Black than he'd ever seen in any of the Guardians. So he closed his eyes and went limp, not asleep, but not entirely conscious, to wait for the end of the storm.