A/N – I don't own Rise of the Guardians or these characters, I'm just playing with them. I will be the first to tell you (Some might say 'warn' you) that I have not read any of the books upon which this movie was based. I know nothing of the mythos other than what they had in the movie. I have no clue how the adults in this universe never have to buy their kids Christmas gifts, put coins under their pillows for teeth and never have to paint up eggs, let alone hide them and yet they still somehow don't believe in Santa, the Tooth Fairy or the Easter bunny. I thought about reading the books, and I may, but not until I'm done with this at the very least. I much prefer to make up my own background stories and 'rules' and such, but I can't stand totally hosing canon... but if I don't KNOW what canon is I'm not breaking it, right? That's the theory I'm going with anyway. Those of you who have only seen the movie as well will hopefully enjoy this. If you're a big fan of the books I will apologize in advance, because the only canon I'm sticking to is the movie.
This story is yaoi (a.k.a. slash), pairing Jack and Pitch. It's rated M for a reason. If you don't like this type of story please hit the back button now. Also, if you have no patience hit the back button now. I don't do instant OOC lemons. Sorry. I know Pitch was shipping himself with Jack pretty hard all on his own in the movie, but a little coaxing should still be necessary, at least on Jack's part. Also, just wanted to point out to those of you who are going "But he's a kid! Ew!" that Jack has been around for over three hundred years. Another important note – I don't know what age Jack was in the books, but they have publicly stated that Jack was EIGHTEEN when he died in the movie. I know, I don't think he looks it either, but that's what they said. Check IMDB if you don't believe me. Not to mention they never would have picked Chris Pine as the voice actor if they were going to try to say he was any younger than that.
On a more personal note…if you have read my other stories you know it's been a long time since I posted. I'm trying to get back into it, but I can make no promises. Please try to bear with me.
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Jack soared through the air, eyes closed, trusting the wind to guide him. He was just enjoying the feel of the wind whistling around him as it bore him through the air, light and free as a snowflake. That was one joy that never got old. He was particularly grateful for that small pleasure right now.
He opened his eyes, not overly surprised to see a familiar mountain range coming into view. Sleep was a rare need for him during winter, but spring was coming on, and of course he'd just been through the most arduous experience of his existence, so he was understandably exhausted at the moment. He might be immortal, but he wasn't a God. Apparently even the wind could feel the deep weariness in him now. Though he hadn't even asked it to, the wind was carrying him home.
Well, it wasn't really his home. If anyplace had earned that distinction it was the little town of Burgess that had evolved near where he had grown up. The place where he had been born... and where he had died. Where the wind was taking him now was just the next best thing. His house after a fashion. It was just a small, long abandoned cabin high up on a mountain in the middle of nowhere. It was above the snow line, so it had at least a light snow cover pretty much year round. There wasn't even really any kind of trail to it anymore. It looked like a rock slide had long ago taken out the thin trail that was the only access he could find to it. Not even a mountain goat could get to it now. There also didn't appear to be much (if any) food to be found around it, and no water other than melted snow. There were no plants or even animals that he'd ever seen (other than the rare occasional bird), just rocks and snow really. Why someone would have built a cabin in such an inhospitable location for humans was a mystery to him, but he'd happily accepted the gift.
The little cabin came into view as he darted swiftly through the air. As he got close the wind let up suddenly and he dropped lightly down into the snow. He took a deep breath of the frigid air and sighed it out contentedly. As he walked towards the cabin the snow scrunched under his feet, pushing up pleasantly between his toes. If the Guardians thought they were ever going to get him to wear those ridiculous looking shoes, they were seriously mistaken!
He looked the cabin over as he approached it. It had been months since he'd been there, but it looked pretty much the same. The snow was drifted up a bit higher on the one side, which made him smile. When summer came to his favorite parts of the world he became weaker, and just being where it was warm was uncomfortable to say the least, but up here he never had to worry about that. There weren't even trees up this high, which is another thing that made him marvel at this little cabin. It was ancient for such a crude structure, but the constant freezing temperatures seemed to have protected it well from the rot and decay that would have normally reduced it to a crumbled ruin by now. He'd found it over two hundred years ago, and it hadn't been new even then. To have been built in that early time period every bit of timber that had gone into it would have had to be dragged all the way up there, most likely by sled dogs one by one. Someone had really been dedicated to getting a little privacy!
Yes, he could just nap in trees, but he could never seem to manage a good, deep sleep out in the open. Even though this cabin was ancient and had nothing more than a latch to keep the door shut there was something much more secure feeling about having walls around him.
The door had no knob. There used to be a bit of wood that you could catch hold of to close the door, but it had long since fallen off, leaving nothing but the hole in the door with a knotted bit of rope dangling from it. He gently pulled on the rope that lifted the old latch on the other side of the door, taking care not to break it. The wood latch that held the door shut was still relatively stout, but the bit of rope that made it move and release was looking rather frail and worn, even though he'd replaced it at least half a dozen times over the years. The door opened without incident and he slipped in, latching it behind him.
He looked the place over. There wasn't much to it, really. A thin bed made of branches, hay and a bit of rotten cloth, a small, half collapsed table, a fireplace of course, some shelves that held a few ancient crock-like jars that were sealed shut with what looked like waxed corks, undoubtedly filled with some kind of pickled or salted produce of some kind, and a couple of other containers that may have once held some other kinds of food items, though those had long since crumbled and disintegrated to the point of being completely unrecognizable. There was a trunk at the foot of the bed that held some personal items... some half disintegrated clothing, very worn leather boots, half a dozen hand dipped candles and a little wooden box that appeared to contain more personal items. He hadn't more than glanced in it. For some reason he found he didn't want to know much more about the person who'd built this place. Even though whoever it was had undoubtedly died long before he even found the place, he felt it would seem like he was intruding if that person were more real to him.
As he gazed around he realized for the first time why the cabin had always seemed to set him more at ease. It reminded him of the cabin he'd grown up in. Even when his memories were gone he'd still gravitated towards the familiar. He gazed at the fieldstone fireplace against the back wall. He gathered wood from the forest far below and brought it along every now and then. Sometimes he'd light a small fire with the steel and flint that lay on the hearth. The heat had always made him uncomfortable, and yet he would still find himself going through all the trouble. Now he knew why. It was for that smell. The smell of burning wood in the fireplace filled his newly returned memories of his childhood home. He'd spent many a fall day gathering and chopping up wood so his family wouldn't be cold in winter.
He couldn't help but wonder how his family had fared without him. He'd been the eldest, the one who had done all of the heavy chores. He wished he could have remembered his past from the beginning so he could have gone and checked on them, made sure they were alright... but he hadn't known who they were. He'd never once revisited his old home, so now he'd never know. He'd probably stacked away more than enough wood for them to get through that winter, but what had happened to them the next? And what if he'd unknowingly made things worse on them, his frequent visits to the pond that was a mere stone's throw from the cabin making it even colder for them? He quickly pushed the thought away. It was ridiculous to torture himself with such thoughts. It was the past. Quite literally ancient history now. There probably weren't even records around from that era anymore. There was no point tormenting himself with 'what if's.
Jack took a deep breath, smelling the last ghostly hints of the fire he'd lit the last time he was there, letting it fill him with a sense of the familiar he'd never been allowed before. A breeze flitted in through the small open window and the smell vanished. He looked over, noting the decent sized drift of fresh snow that was piled up beneath the window and smiled. He went over, pulling the window shut and barring it to keep it closed. There was no glass, just the shutter. It seemed more for a way to watch the path that had once led to this place than a way to let in light and fresh air.
He didn't really need the light since his night vision was quite amazing really, but he always left the window open while he was gone so he always had a nice fresh pile of snow when he returned. Why sleep on scratchy, rotten hay when there was snow available? And of course the open window allowed him to enter even when the rope latch on the door failed. He just preferred entering through the door. It made him feel more 'normal'.
He rested his staff against the wall, then dropped himself happily down into the drift. Oh yes, there was a wonderfully soft layer of fresh powder over slightly firmer, denser snow. He shifted around and nestled in, the fine powder fluffing and settling until it covered him like a down blanket as the snow beneath conformed to the shape of his body and cradled him like the softest mattress.
He closed his eyes, relaxing into the comforting depths of his bed. It was quite pleasant... but after a few minutes something started bothering him. He struggled against noticing it for a moment, but then gave up, trying to figure out what was bothering him.
The air was shifting around him. It wasn't quite wind exactly, but the air in the cabin was usually quite still when the window was shut. He'd sealed all of the cracks that let in drafts long ago to keep his bed from shifting while he slept. With a sigh of resignation he opened his eyes, looking for the source.
Jack blinked, sitting abruptly upright. He was in a forest! He looked around, confused and a touch frightened. How had he left the cabin? And where was his staff? It was nowhere to be seen. He scrambled up, unconsciously dusting the snow off his clothes. He furrowed his brow as he looked down at his clothes. There was something odd about them, but he couldn't quite put his finger on just what was odd. It was the same old brown cloak he'd always worn in winter... so why did it feel oddly bulky and heavy? He shifted it more closed as the night wind whipped through the trees.
He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He moved forward, scanning around for anything familiar in the near complete darkness. A little breath of relief escaped him as he spotted a familiar gnarled tree leaning heavily against a boulder. Well, that was a relief! He was only a short stretch from home! He hurried along, trying to think up an excuse to use when his mother would undoubtedly chastise him for being out past dark. For the life of him he couldn't come up with a single decent defense. He really had no idea why he was out there at night. That was odd, but he didn't dwell on it. He was almost home. Once he broke through the tree line he found himself running. The cozy little cabin that had been his home his whole life was right there, promising him warmth and safety. There was the warm glow of candlelight shining through the windows, delicate tendrils of smoke rising from the chimney.
As he got closer he could smell the fire in the hearth. An intense longing filled him and he sprinted the last few hundred yards. He skidded to a stop, his worn boots skidding a bit on the thin, crunchy layer of snow that covered the ground. He opened the door, feeling a split second jolt of oddness when the door opened right up. His mother always bolted it at sundown, and he'd usually have to knock if he was late. He brushed it off, hurrying in.
It was empty.
Jack looked around, confused. There was a fire guttering in the fireplace and a single lit candle that was little more than a nub on the table... but no one was there. There wasn't really much to the cabin other than the main room, but he went over, opening the door to the small room in the back. The room was cold and dark, the bed empty, no sign of his mother. He hurried over to the ladder and went up it, looking into the loft that had served as the children's room, but it too was empty. He came slowly back down the ladder, a feeling of dread filling him.
Where were they? Surely they wouldn't have left the house at night! That was his mother's strictest rule! He went over to the nearest window and looked out, hoping to spot someone. There was no one.
He was just about to turn away when he saw something. The pale light of the full moon above was shining down, illuminating a roughly carved stone up on the hill. Horror filled him as he realized what it was. A grave marker. His grave marker. He was dead. He didn't know how he knew that, but he did. The grave was overgrown, dead weeds poking through the thin snow cover. How long had he been dead? Had his family left?
He turned, slowly scanning his eyes around the room. The furniture was there, but there was little in the way of personal belongings. The vase that had belonged to his grandmother was gone. His mother's prized polished silver mirror no longer hung on the wall. The shelves in the kitchen area that had always held their stock of food were all but empty, only a couple of empty food containers, a few old plates and a single cracked cup remaining. As he looked he noted the wood of the shelves looked more worn. As his gaze continued to search he noted the dust, dirt and cobwebs that his mother never would have allowed. The place now had a feel of disuse, as if it had been abandoned long ago. But how could that be? There was a fire still burning.
As his eyes darted over to confirm the existence of the fire, his heart froze in his chest. There was something lying on the hearth that hadn't been there before. At first glance it just looked like a little pile of cloth... but it was a distinctly body shaped pile. He hurried over, then lowered himself down onto his knees beside it. Hesitantly he reached out, gently taking hold of the edge of the cloth and lifting it to reveal what lay beneath. Anguish assailed him as he gazed down at his little sister. She looked frail, her cheeks sunken and her body emaciated, but it was undeniably her. Her eyes gazed up unseeingly, the light that had always been behind them gone forever.
He let out a little sob and gathered her into his arms. She was so light it was like holding a ragdoll. He held her to him as he rocked back and forth, sobbing.
There was a deep sigh behind him. "Bo-ring" a familiar voice drawled contemptuously.
Jack's head whipped around towards the voice. Pitch was sitting casually in one of the kitchen chairs, his elbow on the table propping up his head as he watched Jack. "Wha... what?" Jack sputtered, trying to comprehend the strange confusion in his head. He knew this person. Didn't he? The familiarity was strong, but his mind wasn't putting the pieces together for some reason.
"This is why you should let a professional handle these things. This..." He said, gesturing around vaguely, then in the direction of the little girl in Jack's arms, "Is pathetic. Anguish is dark and terrible and so on and so forth," He said in a dismissive tone, "But what does it really accomplish? Nothing, that's what. Enough of amateur hour. Ditch the doll. I'll show you a real nightmare."
God this was confusing! Jack felt anger flaring in him, but his mind wanted to ignore this irritating intruder. "This is my sister, not a doll!" He hissed.
"Is it?" Pitch asked lightly.
"Of course it..." Jack trailed off, looking down at his sister... but all he held was a ragdoll in a blanket. "But... it was my sister. She was dead." He said in confusion.
Pitch let out a little snort, "Well of course she's dead. It's been over three hundred years! Don't be ridiculous!"
Three hundred years? Suddenly it started coming back to him. He was Jack Frost. He'd died and then become an immortal. The cabin shook around him as the realization that he was dreaming began to dawn on him.
"Oh, I don't think so." Pitch said, gesturing towards the door. A swirl of black sand shot out of his hand, flying over and spreading over the door, sealing it shut. The cabin stopped shaking and seemed to solidify. "You're not going anywhere, Jack."
Full realization of his situation was jarring to say the least. He got up, the forgotten doll evaporating as he quickly looked around, but his staff was nowhere to be seen.
"You won't find it." Pitch said, noting his searching gaze. "Your staff is your immortal object, but it doesn't follow you into the dream realm. If you did find something that looked like it here it would only be a useless dream figment. You're in my domain now..." He drawled, rising up from the chair.
Jack flexed his hands, but as he suspected his powers were gone. Well, he may be magically helpless, but that didn't mean Pitch had won! "I thought your Nightmares would have finished you off by now." He said, hoping to upset the man.
Pitch let out a little chuckle. "My Nightmares are my creations. They would never hurt me even if they could."
"They sure looked eager to try last I saw them."
"Yes, well looks can be deceiving. That was what is called a tactical retreat. I'm a practical man. I know when a ploy has failed. You got the upper hand that time. I'm not too proud to admit that. And with all of you there and my Nightmare herd a bit depleted the odds were no longer in my favor, so it was time to retreat and regroup."
"Oh please!" Jack sneered, "You were dragged away screaming!"
Pitch still had that little smile on his face as he gazed at him. "Tell me, Jack... If things hadn't ended the way they did, would you lot have just let me simply throw up my arms in defeat and walk away?" Jack furrowed his brow at the question, but Pitch didn't wait for an answer. "Of course you wouldn't have. I was leaving and you came after me. You had that whole 'let's teach him a lesson' air about you, so I simply let you think I would get that lesson without the need for you to pursue me further. I called my nightmares and they came. They carried me back to my lair and I destroyed the only entrance to it that you knew about, thus preventing further pursuit. That, dear Jack, is a tactical retreat. Of course you don't really have such an option at the moment." He said with a look of a cat stalking his prey as he began advancing once more.
"I'm not afraid of you, Pitch." Jack growled, standing his ground as the man moved closer, gazing down at him with those burning eyes.
"Are you sure about that, Jack?" Pitch asked lightly as the blackness started swirling around him and Nightmares started emerging from the shadows.
"Absolutely sure." Jack said, and he felt his insides calm. "You can't do anything to me. This is just a dream. Dreams can try to scare you, but they can't hurt you. Now that you let me realize I'm dreaming you're powerless." He said confidently.
A flicker of irritation crossed Pitch's face, but then he hid it. He took a deep breath and sighed it out as the Nightmares puffed away like smoke. "Oh well. Thank you for the note for future reference, though. I'll be sure you don't realize that next time. Still, as fun as it would be to terrify you, I really just wanted to talk to you somewhere I knew your little chums wouldn't be popping through the door at any moment."
"I don't really have anything to say to you." Jack replied, folding his arms across his chest and returning Pitch's gaze evenly.
"Oh, very well." Pitch said with a shrug, "If you don't want to talk I suppose I have better things I should be doing anyway. I have all of those huge piles of black sand from all the Nightmares you and your little friends destroyed to go through. As long as it wasn't changed back to golden dream sand it all returns to my lair, you know. It doesn't take too terribly much effort to reform it into Nightmares, but it is a bit time consuming. I should really get back to that so the children don't have to wait so long to see them again. I'll just leave you to your silly little night 'dramas'... because even you have to agree that in no way qualified as a proper nightmare. Yes, I really should be going. There are so very many children in desperate need of a good nightmare. Wouldn't it be a shame if they got a good night's sleep tonight?"
Jack let out an angry sigh. As much as he didn't want to have anything to do with this man, he'd end up feeling guilty if he left. He didn't know if he truly could rebuild the Nightmares, but even if that was a lie it wasn't the only way Pitch had to terrorize children. He'd been doing it for centuries before he even had the sand, and knowing Pitch, he probably would be off terrorizing innocent children in their sleep if Jack left, one way or another. "Fine. You have me here. So talk."
"I'm just curious about a few things." Pitch said, gazing at him intently, "First thing of course being why you follow the orders of the man in the moon?" He saw Jack's brow furrow and elaborated, "I mean it's not like you owe him anything. If anything, you should hate him for what he's done to you."
"What are you talking about?" Jack asked, "He made me immortal, gave me my powers. Why would I hate him for that?"
"Oh, it's not the immortality that I thought might be upsetting for you... it was the fact that he killed you just to fill an open position."
Jack's eyes went wide, "He didn't kill me!" He sputtered, "I fell through the ice. I drowned!"
An amused smile crossed Pitch's lips. "Ah. Yes, of course. I'm sure it's just a completely random coincidence that you had your little 'accident'," he said, making little quote marks with his fingers, "Mere hours after the idea of my nightmare sand first came to me." His smile fell away and he straightened, "That ice should have been a solid four inches thick at that temperature and you know it. Quite a bit more than is required to hold the weight of a fifty pound girl. He did that. He was just testing you, Jack. It's a good thing you passed, otherwise he would have killed you for no reason. Perhaps your sister too. Forty two young people such as yourself died between my epiphany and your untimely demise. That's at least three or four times the average number that should have died during that time period in that day in age. How many of those, do you suppose, were just like you... only a bit less noble? I suppose you would also like to believe that the fact that the death rate dropped back down to normal the minute you were 'chosen' was a mere coincidence…"
Jack's mouth fell open a bit at the audacity of the accusation. The man in the moon wouldn't kill people just to find some teenager to play as a winter sprite! "He would never do something like that!" Jack growled, "Maybe you would, but that doesn't mean the Man in the Moon would!"
Pitch reached out, brushing his fingers down Jack's cheek, then cupping his chin. "You are rather adorably naïve, you know that, right?" He asked. After a moment a little smile tugged at the side of his mouth. "Believe what you like, Jack." Pitch said, releasing his chin and moving the hand over to rest on Jack's shoulder, "You prefer to see the good in people. It's unrealistic, but despite your actual age, the man in the moon obviously managed to trap that youthful optimism in you, so I suppose you can't help it. If you'd been allowed to live, you would have learned in time that humans just can't be trusted. There is something in them... something dark. Something that must be controlled."
Jack let out a little breath. "People are basically good, Pitch. Yes, there are bad people out there, but they're the exception, not the rule. Don't blame innocent people just because you assume everyone is just like you!"
Pitch let out a little amused sound. "You know, for someone who believes in the good in everyone, you certainly were quick to assume that I am nothing but evil."
"Aren't you?" Jack shot back.
Pitch chuckled softly. "They really have you brainwashed, don't they? I, Jack, am one of the oldest and most important Guardians there has ever been. The man in the moon didn't tell you that part, did he?"
"You? A Guardian? In what universe?" Jack laughed back in his face.
"This one." Pitch said simply, "Your optimistic delusions blind you to the darker side of humanity. The side that it is my job to temper. Without fear humans would be little more than animals. None of what you see that is good could exist without fear. There would be no human civilization at all without fear!"
"And just how do you figure that?" Jack shot back.
"People fear being alone and are afraid they will be incapable of raising their offspring without help, so families form. Parents fear for the safety and well-being of their children, and upon seeing this fear in their parents the children feel loved. These families need protection from the elements. They fear what those elements might do to them and the pain it would cause, so they build homes. Because they fear the natural world and the unknown they tend to make their homes in close proximity to each other for protection... but they can't do that without a government to guide them and protect them from each other. Government cannot exist without rules. And after all, why do people follow rules? Because they fear what will happen if they don't! The people fear the unknown, so they want to learn and as a result education comes about. People have needs such as food and clothing which must be met or they will suffer and die. People fear suffering and dying, but they also can't make everything they need themselves so a barter system is born. People fear getting cheated so a standardized monetary system evolves. People need money to buy the things they need, so they get jobs and become productive members of society. There is so much good in this world that wouldn't exist without fear."
"Fear isn't the only thing that could explain those things, you know." Jack countered, "Families form because humans have a natural desire to love and be loved, the desire to nurture and protect. People live close together in a small part for protection perhaps, but it's more because they are social creatures that need others of their kind around them to form relationships with. As for education..."
"Yes, yes, curiosity, thirst for knowledge, all that drivel." Pitch said in a bored voice, then he gazed at Jack silently for a moment before going on, "I will concede that not everything can be accounted for by fear alone. There are some innate desires there. In fact you and I are living proof of that. Neither of us have any real reason to fear for our survival... and yet we both still feel that need to be close to someone else... the need to be loved... to be touched..." He said, reaching out and gently stroking the backs of his fingers down Jack's cheek.
Jack suddenly realized how very close to him Pitch had gotten. He felt an odd flutter inside that he attributed to nervousness. He hadn't really had much cause to be nervous about anything in centuries, so the sensation felt odd. He wanted to back up a step, but his stubbornness wouldn't let him. Pitch was obviously trying to intimidate him or something to see if he could get him to back down, and Jack wasn't going to play his little games. He held his ground, not flinching away. Pitch didn't appear to be physically moving towards him as he trailed his fingers slowly down Jack's neck, but his presence seemed to be getting somehow closer... he wasn't larger and yet he was somehow all around him. He couldn't even see or sense the cabin anymore. There was nothing but him and Pitch. Pitch's softly glowing eyes followed his fingers as he ran them on down Jack's chest.
"Of course..." Pitch said softly, his voice almost a soft purr, "There are other desires we both still have as well... That's why I'm here, in fact. I can't honestly say I wasn't a bit hurt before when you immediately threw my overture back in my face. Even you have to admit that slapping the olive branch from my hand the way you did was a bit rude. Still, you obviously felt we were directly at odds at the time, so I'm choosing to overlook the rebuff and try again now that we are not currently in conflict. My ploy failed, which was regrettable, but obviously I'm in no position to make another such attempt in the near future, so this rivalry you perceive between us is currently in a bit of a lull."
He couldn't really be serious, could he? Jack's eyes widened as Pitch's hand slipped around his side to the small of his back, then pulled him closer until their bodies were pressed together. He could feel the heat radiating from Pitch's body and with a jolt he felt the blood suddenly rushing through his veins. All pretense out the window, he shoved Pitch away.
Pitch chuckled softly as Jack escaped his embrace, scrambling away though he didn't get far. He came up against a wall of blackness that turned into a corner. Pitch just strolled casually closer. "What's the matter, Jack?" He asked lightly.
"What... what do you want with me, Pitch?" Jack asked, trying to keep his voice steady though his heart was pounding.
"Like I said, I just wanted to talk to you a bit." Pitch replied evenly. He came to a stop a pace from Jack, but the way his eyes gazed at him made Jack feel like Pitch could see into his soul. "Thought I'd try to reason with you. I think if you understood what I am really trying to accomplish you'd realize we aren't so very different. You're trying to help children. So am I. It's true our methods may be on completely opposite ends of the spectrum, and admittedly I may have gone a touch overboard with my most recent ploy, but I think if you'd keep an open mind you might find our goals are the same in the end."
"I really doubt that." Jack said as confidently as he could. Pitch wasn't reaching for him anymore, but there was something in the air, something humming between them like a living force. He didn't really know what it was, and didn't understand it at all... but it frightened him. A little smile pulled at the edge of Pitch's mouth and Jack knew Pitch could feel that fear. He tried to quash it, but couldn't seem to.
Suddenly the 'room' jostled. Pitch let out an exasperated sigh. "Really?" Pitch asked, though the comment appeared to be directed at the room around them. "Just when we were starting to get somewhere!"
Jack felt the wall behind him disintegrate, but he didn't fall. "What's going on? What are you doing?" he asked as the floor bucked beneath him.
"I'm not doing anything." Pitch replied in a somewhat resigned tone. "Believe me, you would know it if it were me." The chair and table from the cabin appeared and he resumed his seat. The lighting faded up and they were back in the cabin. "That," He said, gesturing at the walls as they jostled once more, "would be one of your dear chums."
Jack looked over, seeing the black sand sealing to door starting to shift and crumble, losing cohesion here and there.
Pitch rested his elbow on the table and propped his head up on it, gazing over at the rag doll once more lying on the floor before the fire. "That's not how she died, by the way."
"What? Who?" Jack said, his attention snapping back to Pitch.
"Your precious little sister. Pippa."
That name sent a little shock through Jack. That was his sister's name. How did Pitch know his sister's name?!
"She didn't die as a child," Pitch continued, "and certainly not from starvation. In fact, she put on a bit of extra weight as she grew up. Not saying anything against it! I'm certainly not one to complain about healthy curves on a woman."
Jack's eyes widened and the question burning inside him finally burst forth, "How could you possibly know that?" He demanded, strongly suspecting some kind of trick.
Pitch gave a little amused snort. "Like I said, you were chosen within hours of the greatest epiphany of my existence. I'm not stupid. I knew the man in the moon somehow planned to use you to counter me, so I kept track of your family. To be honest I had hoped the knowledge would come in handy for blackmail purposes. I had no idea it would take me so long to work out the details and master it. It's not nearly as easy to control as Sandman makes it look. Not to mention that I needed his sand to work with before I figured out how to create my own, and I couldn't exactly pilfer it in large quantities at a time without him noticing. At any rate, I only kept tabs on them for a couple of generations. After that I figured the point would be pretty moot. Your sister married at seventeen, popped out half a dozen kids. She named her first son Jack. Isn't that adorable?"
Jack was having a hard time breathing. Did he dare believe anything Pitch said? The man certainly wasn't opposed to lying whenever it suited him, but what would he have to gain from this particular lie? Was he just trying to feed Jack's nightmares? Only one way to find out. "How... how did she die?" He forced himself to ask.
"Oh, it was quite boring, actually." Pitch replied, "Died quietly of old age. She was sixty seven, which as you know was quite long in the tooth for that time period. Just went to sleep and slipped away, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. Wasn't a speck of fear in her. It was rather disappointing, really."
Jack let out a little shuddering breath, his eyes watering up. There's no way Pitch would lie about that, was there? It did nothing but ease the pain and worry that had plagued Jack. How could that possibly benefit Pitch?
The whole room jostled again and beams of light started cutting through the remains of Pitch's seal on the door.
"Her youngest daughter had married a mason who made Pippa quite a lovely tombstone. Excellent workmanship." Pitch added, "In fact, it's still there today. She was buried just South of..."