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Okay, so, this did not go in any direction I was expecting it to... apologies ^^;

Merry (belated) Christmas, everyone!

NOTE: The words that look like -this- are supposed to be strike throughs because FFN is a jerk and won't let me do actual strike throughs.

I don't own RotG, A Christmas Carol, or The Grinch

...

Pitch Scrooge

It was that disgusting time of year again, when snow was falling in the north, and the south was heating up; when people cut down trees or bought fake ones, dragged them into their homes, and lit them up into spectacular fire hazards; when people were just so damn jolly and happy and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time.

Pitch Black loathed Christmas.

With such an irritating air of festivity suffocating the human world, he barely dared to leave his lair lest he catch whatever disease was going around and causing it. His only respite was preying on those insecure children, elevating their fears with some top quality, A-grade nightmares.

Could he really be blamed for it? No, he didn't think so. He was just doing his job, after all. But, unfortunately, the feeling was not mutual; why else would Jack Frost have encroached on his misery?

Jack appearing in his lair was becoming a common occurrence, and no matter how hard Pitch tried to keep him out, the winter spirit always managed to find a way in. It was a huge nuisance, and he was at something of a loss on how to solve the problem once and for all.

Fighting back the urge to decapitate the boy – he had a feeling Seraphina would notice if her beloved winter spirit lost his head (and he wanted to deal with her even less than he wanted to deal with Jack) – Pitch slammed his book shut and got to his feet just as Jack bounded into the room on a chilled breeze.

He forewent any sort of greeting, thinking his murderous expression spoke a thousand words.

"Hey there, Scrooge!" Jack grinned at him, apparently immune to Pitch's death glare.

"What do you want?" Pitch cut right to the chase.

"What, I can't just come visit my kinda-but-not-really-grandpa on Christmas?"

Pitch's lip curled at the title. Really, it was bad enough being lumped together with someone like Jack Frost, but did he have to use that title? Sure, he may have been around for a millennia or five, but something about the word 'grandpa' made him feel old.

"You of all people should know how I feel about holidays," he said.

Jack sighed in a way that might have been pity. Or possibly exasperation. "You're not going to turn into the Grinch and try to steal Christmas, are you?"

"Well, now that you mention it..."

Jack's smile dropped right off his face, replaced instead by wide doe eyes and a marvellous touch of fear. Then, slowly, understanding dawned and his rising panic gave way to shock. "Did you just make a joke?!"

Pitch turned away to hide his amusement at Jack's reaction. Ignoring the insinuation, he said, "Are you going to leave by yourself or am I going to have to have you removed again?"

"Come on, Pitch; it's Christmas! Where's all your holiday cheer?"

"I murdered it like I'm planning to do to you," he said simply.

The small jab of fear that exuded from Jack made dealing with him almost worthwhile. It always amused him to remind the boy what he was capable of, and just how far he'd be willing to go if he was pushed hard enough.

"You're no fun," Jack said at length.

Pitch turned to glance back at him over his shoulder. "You say that like I should be bothered by it."

"You should!"

"Why are you here, Frost?"

"Because you're my friend and nobody should be alone on Christmas."

Jack's response gave Pitch pause and he halted mid-preparation to have Jack swept from his lair. It was plain as day that his comment about being alone stretched well beyond the holiday season – it was a regular topic in their brief conversations – but that wasn't what his mind stuck on.

"We are not friends," he spat, spinning on his heel and levelling Jack with a powerful glare.

Jack just stared up at him, his eyes boring into him like he could somehow see right to Pitch's very soul. "Do you want to be?"

Pitch gave him the most deadpan expression he could muster. "What do you think?"

"I'd like to be friends," Jack was unperturbed. "I mean, I already consider us as being so but it'd be nice if the feeling was mutual."

"Why is it so hard for you to understand that we. Are. Not. Friends?! Nor are we related like you seem so keen on believing. The only thing we are is enemies, and yet you keep coming back here like a fly to the spider's parlour. Do you want me to kill you? Because I'm becoming increasingly tempted to, Seraphina and her threats be damned!"

Jack blinked. "Wait, the only reason you've been restraining yourself is because Mom threatened you?" He looked genuinely hurt by the realisation.

Pitch, tired of dealing with the boy, waved his hand and Jack fell through the shadows. He would reappear somewhere in the woods outside, and with it being winter, there was no threat of him overheating like last time. "Let that be a lesson to you," he muttered darkly, knowing full well that it would probably take an actual sledgehammer to get anything through Jack's thick skull.

...

...

Jack sat up from where he'd been rudely tossed out of Pitch's lair. He was still in Burgess from the looks of things, under a tree near his lake. He sighed, wiping some excess snow from his hair as he stood.

He really thought he'd been making progress with Pitch. To find out it hadn't really been him all along... it was disheartening. He knew he and Pitch were the same, with the exception of attitude, of course, and he knew he could get through to him.

Well, he'd thought he could, anyway. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe they were just too different.

Jack turned his gaze in the direction of Burgess. It was the day before Christmas Eve; the kids were probably with family, all hyped up for North's visit the next night. He called silently to the wind, and perched himself up in one of the higher branches.

It was still early afternoon, but as Jack looked skywards, he easily spotted the moon overhead. He still hadn't gotten over the Man in the Moon's treatment of him for the past three hundred years – part of him doubted he'd ever get the closure needed to heal that particular wound – but seeing that huge hunk of rock (which apparently wasn't actually a rock at all) had always brought him comfort, minimal though it may be.

"What do you think I should do?" he found himself asking.

As always, he received no reply.

He wished Emma was there; she'd always been better at this sort of thing. He was good at making people laugh, but she had had a knack for really knowing people – reading them – especially as she'd grown older. He wished he'd known who she was, wished he'd paid more attention. Time was such a fickle thing.

The wind suddenly surged, changing direction and blowing Jack's hair into his face.

"Wha- hey!" he cried, trying to maintain his balance in the sudden onslaught.

The breeze picked up, literally tossing him skywards and throwing him around as it carried him away from the lake and towards the town, ignoring his many protests. When he was finally released, it was roughly, like his constant companion had forgotten everything they'd ever mastered about flying together.

Jack brushed himself off and sent a glare at the empty space around him, a glare that disappeared as soon as he realised where he was and, more specifically, what he had 'discovered'.

Jack shifted so he was no longer standing precariously on a pile of hard rubbish. A grin spread its way across his face. "Thanks, little lady."

...

...

It had been hours, and yet there had been not one sight of Jack Frost. Pitch was somehow simultaneously grateful for the peace and quiet and annoyed at himself for that small feeling of guilt in the back of his mind. Something about the crestfallen expression Jack had worn when he'd learned of Seraphina's meddling had stuck with him and refused to be shaken off.

What did he care how the winter brat was feeling? He didn't. So then why wouldn't it leave him alone? Any and all emotions Kozmotis Pitchiner had harboured – almost nonexistent though they were – should have died with him.

Pitch turned away from his absent surveying of the lights on the Globe to the Nightmare that had anxiously trotted up to him.

"What?" he snapped impatiently when it made no move to convey anything.

Hesitantly, it snorted out its news.

"What?" Pitch repeated, this time in disbelief. Without waiting for any sort of confirmation, he allowed the shadows to consume him, reappearing in the shade of a tree just outside the entrance of his lair. Even in the dying light of the day, he easily spotted just what it was his Nightmare had alerted him to.

A wrought iron bed frame, elaborately decorated in gothic style, was placed over the hole, some of the planks used to hold up a mattress removed to allow easy access. There was a small silver bow tied around one of the posts, a tag dangling just underneath it.

I know you said you were tired of hiding under beds, it read, but I found this and thought it suited you. If you don't like it, we can find you something else. Maybe a table or something for variety. Or a lamp; they put off lots of shadows.

-Merry- -Misery- Scary Christmas!

Jack Frost.

Guest Review Responses:

Alliprince: Haha glad you enjoyed it! Sorry this isn't the continuation, but I'll get to that asap!

Guest: Is it bad that I thoroughly enjoyed your reaction? XD I promise to get to the second part of that one as soon as I can. In the meantime, enjoy a Christmas chapter that kind of derailed and took its own route ^^;