I want to thank everyone for taking the time to review!

NOTICE: Okay, I have to put down a warning for this chapter. There is a detailed death in this chapter and descriptions of drowning. If this is too much too handle, or triggers painful memories, please forgive me now and skip to the next chapter.

Chapter 3: Of Painful Truths

"There's no tragedy in life like the death of a child. Things never get back to the way they were." –Dwight D. Eisenhower

1420

Since becoming a Spirit, Davy had been unable to touch any child until now.

He was so small, the little boy cradled in her arms, she could feel just how thin he was underneath his soaked, oversized clothes. He was young, maybe ten at the most. He still had some baby fat on his face, and his short brown hair was made up of wet, tangled curls. There was a small gap in his top row of teeth, indicating a recently lost tooth and a mass of brown freckles covered his cheeks.

Davy couldn't enjoy holding this child. She couldn't relish touching a human after seven long years of being invisible to the rest of the world. Instead, it took everything she had to not cry, to hold back the shuddering sobs that wanted to break free from her throat. Davy bit down on her lower lip to keep from yelling, kept her eyes pinched tightly to halt the salty tears that burned under her eyelids.

The lad was dead.

She had found him an hour ago adrift at sea; floating on a plank of wood that looked like it had once been part of a poorly made raft. He'd weakly been struggling against the churning water caused by the roaring storm overhead that had shown no signs of stopping. The boy hadn't been able to see her or her ship, so Davy could only watch helplessly as the child tried to keep his head above water. She'd dove into the sea to swim next to him, shouting words of encouragement. Remarkably, the lad had seemed to have heard her, or at least sensed that he wasn't alone.

He'd renewed his efforts and had put everything he had into each kick and stroke, pushing back against the ocean and ignoring the way his body shivered from the cold. Davy had steadied the plank of wood when the current threatened to pull him under and she'd had her body act as a shield against the approaching waves. The Wind helped where it could, battling against the opposing elements and trying to redirect the storm away from the little boy.

It didn't help.

Davy had watched, powerless to aid the lad as he'd tried to swim for land that she knew to be miles away. She witnessed his futile attempts to stay afloat as he fought against the thrashing tide, gasping for air while slowly choking on seawater. His distressed pleas, apologies, and cries for his parents continued to echo in her ears, breaking her heart in a way she'd never thought possible. Davy had tried to take him into her arms, to keep the lad above the water as his strength finally gave out. But her hands had only gone through him, making her scream in a combination of frustration, pain, and horror.

Every time when someone had passed through Jack, Pitch, or Bunny in the movie, they had seemed to be in so much pain and now Davy knew why. It was a new kind of pain, a physical sensation that left her gasping. Thankfully the feeling ended quickly, leaving behind a numbness that made her skin feel dry and too tight. She'd stared through the gaps of her shaking fingers as the lad sank deeper, gritting her teeth against the pain of being insubstantial, and tried again.

Her seventh attempt finally yielded results, but only because the boy's body had essentially become as lifeless as the plank of wood he'd been drifting on. When Davy had pulled him close, finally noticing the blue tint to his lips, she realized just how cold he must've been. She hadn't realized the water was so frigid. She hardly felt the cold anymore. Even the Arctic Ocean barely affected her.

As soon as they were on the Dutchman's deck, Davy had laid the lad down to perform CPR. After fifteen fruitless minutes, she stopped, panting heavily as she stared down at the unresponsive child. Something inside her snapped and she'd gathered the boy up in her arms, rocking him back and forth as she whispered apologies he could no longer hear.

After what felt like hours, Davy opened her eyes and studied the little boy's face, trying to remember what color his eyes were. It had been dusk when she'd found him, too dark to make out his eyes, not that she'd been focusing on them at the time. She couldn't bring herself to peel back an eyelid and find out. It felt too disrespectful, so Davy settled for the memory of dark eyes wide with panic. They must have been brown, she decided, hazel maybe. She felt terrible for not knowing something so simple.

Her gaze drifted to the sky, instinctively seeking out Manny, only to sigh hollowly. Even though the storm had finally calmed, dark clouds blotted out the night sky. There was no sight of the Man in the Moon. It was simply drizzling now, a cold, depressing light rain that left Davy feeling numb instead of refreshed.

"Hmm, I was not expecting to see another Spirit here." Someone said from behind Davy, surprising her. She turned to see, what she could only describe as the Grim Reaper, scythe and all, standing aboard the Dutchman. "Ah, Nathaniel. I wondered why he was not in the water when I searched for him."

"Is that his name? Nathaniel?" She croaked in raspy whisper, her throat aching as her gaze dropped back to the boy. "I like that. It sounds like a strong name. His friends probably called him Nathan though. Nathaniel be too long ta use all the time." The towering, foreboding Spirit behind her didn't say anything and it was quiet as Nathan steadily grew heavier in her tired arms. "I take it yer the Grim Reaper?"

"I see my appearance was a dead giveaway." He joked and Davy gave him a blank look. The Reaper coughed lightly, obviously realizing that she wasn't in the mood for any sort of humor and approached her slowly, tone turning serious. "I am the Grim Reaper, tis my duty to ferry lost souls."

"Yer goin' ta take Nathan ta heaven now." She said firmly, not even allowing the thoughts of such an innocent child going somewhere else to enter her mind. She'd fight Death off if that was the case.

"Humans and their ridiculous religions." He huffed. "Nay, none go to heaven, because there is no heaven, nor hell. They art simply reborn. I find lost or resistant souls and send them to a realm where they will rest until they art sorted by the Man in the Moon to their next lives." The Grim Reaper explained and Davy nodded, somewhat familiar with how reincarnation worked.

He stopped a foot away from her and gently touched the end of his scythe against Nathan's chest, on the area over his heart. A bright white orb rose up and circled around them once before flying off towards the sky. The dark clouds seemed to part for a brief second and she saw the Moon hanging in the distance, before Nathan's soul disappeared as the clouds shifted back.

Davy slowly stood, gently placing Nathan on the deck before turning to the Grim Reaper only to find him staring at her, or at least she thought he was staring. She couldn't really tell since his hood completely covered his face in shadows. He was ridiculously tall, cutting a very impressive figure. He looked like how the stereotypes depicted him as; cloaked in a long black robe and a holding a menacing scythe. Her gaze dropped to his hands, the only part of him that was visible, and found that he had no skin, they were skeletal, just bits of off-white bone and cartilage. She looked away before she could be caught staring.

"We have not been properly introduced yet. My name is Grimmons, more commonly known as Death or the Grim Reaper among humans." He said politely and Davy managed a weak smile, wondering if she should offer a handshake or not.

"Captain Davy Jones, at yer service." She took off her hat and gave a slight bow, forcing herself to give the Spirit weak grin. "No offense matey, but I always thought that Death would be a bit more… grim." She couldn't see it, but Davy was pretty sure that Grimmons was full out smiling at her now.

"Oh, I think I like thee." He responded heartily. "Yet I have no memory of thou." That quickly wiped away the smile from her face as a budding feeling of apprehension took root in her mind. "As the caretaker of souls that do not move on, I bear witness the birth of every Spirit. And I definitely do not remember thee."

"Aye, I wasn't made in the traditional sense." Davy muttered while looking away from Death, only for her seafoam green eyes to land on Nathan's body. A deadening ache returned, making her breath catch in the back of her throat as her chest tightened painfully. She would bring the lad to shore, somewhere near civilization so that he could get a proper burial. Davy heaved a shaky sigh, feeling unbelievable drained in that moment.

"Well that answer just makes me even more curious, but I can see that now is not the time. I shall return in a day or two." Grimmons said as he stepped back into the shadows. "Fare thee well, Captain." Then he disappeared into the shadows, much like Pitch had two years ago after their meeting.

Davy exhaled heavily, the sound coming out hoarse and much too close to a sob for her liking. The Wind brushed the side of her face, comforting her a little with its' warm front. And she suddenly wished that this warmth had been the last thing Nathan had felt, not the iciness of the sea or the darkness that followed. She bent down and picked up Nathan's stiffening body, holding him close, but not allowing her eyes to drift down to the child that she'd failed to save.

"Land, Wind, bring us ta port."

Grimmons returned as promised. It was two days later when he stepped back onto her ship, and needless to say his arrival caused quite a stir. Davy hadn't yet told her crew about Nathan or her encounter with Death. She hastily made up a story about running into the Grim Reaper the day before and inviting him aboard the Dutchman.

After the initial shock passed, Undine was not pleased with her and even though Grimmons was clearly a man, her crew avoided the Spirit like he had the plague. It was odd, but Davy didn't stop her shipmates as they basically fled into the sea. Only Undine had given him a short greeting before directing a nasty glare at her and joining the others. Like with Pitch, Davy brought him into her cabin and offered a drink of rum, but unlike Pitch, Grimmons turned her down.

Davy had used the two days to think about what she'd planned to tell Grimmons. She'd had an entire story mapped out in her head about being born from Manny's own powers. A new Spirit created not from the dead, but from the seas itself. But when she'd looked up at him and saw Grimmons' dark figure standing so serenely in her quarters, she'd found herself spilling the truth instead.

So she told him everything, about who she used to be and where she was really from, but excluded mentioning the Rise of The Guardians movie or the books it was based off of. Grimmons had silently and attentively listened to every word, never once interrupting her. When she'd finished, Davy felt an unknown weight on her shoulders lighten, startling her. She hadn't even realized that keeping her past a secret had been much of a burden until that moment.

Grimmons, thank Manny, had taken it all in stride, not focusing on how she was different or that she came from the future, but instead explained how things worked in this world. He told her of the First Generation of Spirits, made up of himself, Mother Nature, and Father Time. He then informed her of the Spirits she hadn't known about, which she was just a little surprised to learn were real. In the movie, only the Leprechaun and the Groundhog had been mentioned, but fans had speculated that there had to be more. A total of twelve Spirits had come before her.

Long after the First Generation had been created, Pitch had been the next Spirit made by the Man in the Moon, shortly followed by Sandy. A couple hundred years after them came the Muse, and the three new Spirits were dubbed the Second Generation. Centuries later North was chosen, and then surprisingly the Leprechaun was created some decades after him. Cupid, who actually turned out to be a woman, was made next, finishing off the Third Generation. About a hundred years came the Easter Bunny, followed the Tooth Fairy several decades later, and then Will-o'-the-Wisp, who was her senior by about two hundred years, completed the Fourth Generation. Davy herself was the first of the Fifth Generation and she idly wondered if Jack would be apart of it.

After that, Grimmons began to tell her stories about the many things he'd seen during his existence. Davy had honestly never met anyone like him in her past life. He had a dry sense of humor and way too many groan inducing puns, but she found him to be great company. Once he left to go back to work, she invited him to come back whenever he liked, which clearly startled him at first, but he quickly agreed and thanked her before leaving.

Hours later, Davy stood alone at the helm of the Flying Dutchman, flying over what would one day become the United States of America. There was a thick cover of clouds blocking the moon tonight, for which she was grateful. She couldn't bear to face Manny after what happened to Nathan. She'd avoided him for the last few days by chasing the sun, too afraid of what his reaction towards her might be.

What if Manny was disappointed in her? Well, she really couldn't blame him if that was the case. Davy was disappointed in herself, but there was more to it as a foreign, bitter sensation of self-hatred had started to take shape in her head. A dark thought kept taking over her thoughts, a simple fact that gave her mind no peace. 'Another Spirit could have saved Nathan.'

Davy felt like a failure and it wasn't a sentiment that she was familiar with.

She'd always lived a rather simple life. There were no real expectations from her that were beyond the norm of what others had experienced. Be good, try your best, get good grades, be responsible, get a job, start a family. She had always managed to succeed where it mattered. Yet here as Davy Jones, she obviously wasn't good enough. The first child she'd met in her seven years as a Spirit and she couldn't even save him. She definitely wasn't what Manny had in mind when he'd charged her with keeping the children safe.

As if hearing her thoughts, moonlight broke through the clouds and Davy stumbled back into the shadows as soon as she felt Manny's warm presence. From the shade she saw the light grow stronger and she knew that he was trying to coax her back into the open, but she didn't dare move. The thread of fear in the back of her mind grew and spread like a spider's web, entangling any other thoughts and keeping her frozen in place.

Davy wasn't sure how long she waited until Manny's presence left her ship, she just knew it was long enough to make her back feel stiff. She slumped against a wooden railing; the ship's gentle rocking calming her down as the Wind ruffled her hair playfully. She abruptly wished for company, for Undine and her crew, for Grimmons who now knew more about her than anyone else. The crew would cheer her up. Grimmons would share more stories. And then she wouldn't have to think about Nathan or Manny's disappointment.

Her thoughts turned to her family, and she felt unbearably homesick. Davy longed for the warmth they'd provided, for the comfort their hugs had once given her. She hadn't thought about her mother and father in years, even before becoming a Spirit. At eighteen years old she had packed her bags and moved to the city, using the inheritance from her grandmother to pay for a flat in New York. There'd been so much bad blood between her and her parents. They'd been realistic people, a father who worked in retailing and a mother for a lawyer. Neither had approved of their only daughter's dream of becoming an artist. Davy had left to prove them wrong. If only she could say that she had.

While she'd managed to get a job soon after arriving in New York, she hadn't been very successful in selling her artwork. Eventually she'd had to take a second job to pay for her schooling and her own personal projects had been pushed aside as she struggled to make ends meet. At twenty-six and with a Bachelor's Degree, her life had finally started to look up. And then… well she wasn't sure what happened next. She wasn't sure how she died or how she came to be in the Guardians' Universe. She only knew that her dreams of becoming a great artist were just that.

A stream of golden sand circled around Davy and she let out a bitter chuckle, finding it ironic that Sandy would show up after she'd realizing that her dreams would never come true. Sandy hovered nearby on a cloud of Dream Sand, creating a parrot on his shoulder along with his default pirate hat. The ridiculously large feather on his cap wilted as he caught sight of the look on her face.

"Huh, I'm certainly very popular tonight." Davy muttered to herself before forcing a smile on her face that Sandy wasn't buying for a second. She peaked over the railing and saw that it was in fact dawn. That explained why Manny had left then. A question mark appeared above his head and she sighed. "It be nothin' Sandy. The Grim Reaper jus' paid me a little visit earlier, that's all."

Sand exploded over his head, the images shifting from an exclamation mark to drawn out scenes moving so quickly that she couldn't even begin to guess what he was asking. Despite herself Davy chuckled, feeling a little less lonely at witnessing the little man's obvious concern for her wellbeing. She should count herself lucky that he considered her to be such a dear friend.

Eventually Sandy wore himself out, panting silently as he looked at her with wide golden eyes. The open display of worry on his face jerked at her heart and Davy quickly found it hard to swallow. She shook her head and moved past him to grab the steering wheel, trying to ground herself and to keep her mind from wandering into bad memories. She didn't want to think about Nathan.

Her earlier fear that had fled when she'd remembered her parents returned and Davy gripped the wooden pegs so hard, she felt her hands cramp in response. What would Sandy think of her if he found out she'd been unable to save Nathaniel? She couldn't bear the idea of disappointing him too, to see such emotions reflecting off of his face that could be so painfully expressive.

Davy felt a yanking on the hem of her shirt and she thought it was the Wind at first, but the pulling became fiercer and even more insistent. She looked down and saw Sandy gazing up at her; he'd abandoned his cloud of Dream Sand to stand beside her. He was so short. He couldn't be much taller than three feet. Really, it was absurd at how small Sandy was. Small like a child. Small like Nathan had been.

Standing there, with those little hands still tugging on her shirt, Davy felt something inside of her give.

"Thar… thar was a lad adrift at sea and I couldn't touch'em Sandy. I couldn't–" Something thick caught the words in her throat leaving her unable to continue, to explain why she hadn't been able to save one little boy. She closed her eyes and angrily stomped her foot on the deck, physically trying to shove back the roiling emotions that were pushing hard against the dam.

She felt a small hand on her shoulder and she looked over to see Sandy's sad, but understanding face. It was his kind and warm golden eyes that finally undid her. Davy reached for him and Sandy spread his stubby arms as far as they could go, inviting her to grieve and offering support. She collapsed to her knees, bringing him down with her, whispering desperate apologies to Nathan, to the Moon, to her parents, and Sandy squeezed her tightly in return.

She broke down for the first time in years and cried for a lot of reasons.

"Please help me, someone, anyone!" Nathan cried out before sputtering as a wave crashed into his face. He choked and coughed on the briny water, tears streaming down his face as he frantically tried to stay above the water. "Mama, papa! Help!"

"I'm tryin' Nathan. God help me lad, I'm tryin'!" Davy yelled back, her hands stinging from how many times she'd tried to grab the boy, only to end up passing through him. She rubbed at them, hoping to make the pain go away, but it continued to linger. As Nathan's head disappeared under the tide again, Davy felt something inside her break and she desperately looked to the cloudy sky for help. "Manny, I can't save him!"

She knew it already. There was nothing she could do for the lad at this point, no attempt that would bring him to safety. This horror of simply watching ate at her insides, leaving her raw and in pain that was much worse than when she phased through Nathan.

Where was her crew? Where was Sandy or any of the other Guardians? Hell, even Pitch could probably save him! So why was she the only one there to help Nathan, to witness this terrible thing that she couldn't change? He couldn't see her. She couldn't touch him. The lad didn't Believe in Davy Jones, nobody did!

Manny's warm light suddenly shone down on them and Davy smiled in relief because he wouldn't let anything bad happen to Nathan. But then the light suddenly burned and she felt her chest ache in response. Davy looked down in shock as a little white orb flew out of her chest. It bobbed in front of her face only once before shooting up towards Manny.

She desperately reached out for it, knowing that it was vital and that it had once belonged to her. She looked down at herself, finding her clothes had changed into a familiar uniform. Davy nearly stopped breathing as she spotted her finless arms. She frantically brought a strand of hair up to her face and a choked noise escaped her throat when she saw that it was blonde. She was Davie Elson again.

A large wave abruptly pushed her under and she shot back up quickly, fear gipping at her heart as she desperately tried to stay above the cold water whose undertow was suddenly too strong for her to handle. There was someone screaming her name in the distance, but she could hardly hear it over the rushing water and the deafening wind. Davie was pulled under again and she panicked, unsure of which way was up or down. She pushed herself in a random direction, praying she was right, and gasped greedily as she broke the surface.

"Manny, help me! I can't–" She was cut off as she felt something tug on her legs. It was if the water had grown hands and was trying to drag her into its depths, to drown her like it had Nathan. Davie felt her terror increase as she swung her arms frantically, reaching for something solid to grab onto. "Manny, please!"

"You failed. You do not deserve to be Davy Jones." He responded at last and Davie tried to protest, to explain how hard she'd tried to save Nathan. All she managed to do was inhale more water, gagging as her lungs burned from the lack of air. "You were a mistake."

She shook her head, inwardly pleading for another chance. But Manny did nothing to help and the water pulled her under and Davie knew she wasn't coming back up this time.

Davy awoke with a muffled cry, trying as best as she could to right herself and take in as much air as possible. She could feel it, the terrible sensation of water sliding down her throat and filling her lungs. Her dread continued to grow. She was drowning, and dying, and Manny took it back–

"Oh my, that dream truly rattled thee." Davy's head shot up, her breathing wild and frantic, only to see a dark figure standing a few feet away from her. Terrified, she quickly reared back, grabbing her nearby cutlass, and swung out at it.

Pitch barely avoided being hit, his silver-gold eyes widening as he saw the woman's form tremble on her bed, her chest rapidly expanding and contracting, as if she couldn't breathe. He'd sensed the Captain's fear from his Dark Cave only moments ago and had traveled to her ship through the shadows. He'd made sure to land directly in her cabin this time, completely avoiding the possibility of running into the crew of... hands-y Mermaids.

He had arrived to see the woman tossing in her bed. There'd been no Dream Sand over her head, for surely if there was she would not have had a bad dream to begin with. The fear that she'd projected had almost made him silently groan in pleasure. The decline in his Believers fell by a handful every day. Pitch could not scare every child in one night to keep their Beliefs in him alive. He did not have a holiday to instill credence like North, nor could he visit hundreds of children every night like Sanderson could through dreams.

His own limited abilities were working against him and Pitch knew that he had to do something different soon if he was going to keep up with the Guardians. It did not help the situation that he now had to be discreet to avoid detection from both Sanderson and Toothiana's irksome Fairies. Those wretched things seemed to be multiplying every hour, Pitch was sure of it, and he was much too weak to risk running into the Guardians again.

It was because of this overwhelming loss of Believers that drove Pitch to visit Davy Jones.

The woman's fear, her abundant horror and dread, was like a succulent meal to him after feeling half-starved for so long. Her fear was a beacon drawing him in, like a moth to a flame. Pitch had been hard-pressed to resist the temptation, not that there was much to deter him from taking advantage of her delectable fear. The only Guardian the Captain had come into contact with so far was Sanderson, and Pitch habitually checked from the shadows to make sure that the Sandman was nowhere in sight wherever he went.

He watched warily as the woman's glassy eyes cleared and a look of comprehension dawned on her face as she finally shook off the effects of her bad dream. She took a deep breath, the fear dwindling now that she had calmed herself down, and gave him a weak grin that looked more like a grimace.

"Uh, sorry 'bout that Pitch, didn't mean ta take a swipe at ye." She offered, before sliding a hand down her face and pausing to rub at her tired eyes. She looked like humans do when they forego sleep, which was odd since Spirits did not require slumber unless they'd been gravely wounded and needed to recover their strength. Sleep was a choice, not a necessity.

The Captain's words however, broke through to Pitch after a moment and he could only blink in confusion. That was not the usual reaction he got when someone found him in their bedroom. There was usually a lot more screaming, but then again this was his first time being in the bedchamber of another Spirit. Still, he was absolutely certain she was not supposed to greet him with an apology. There was something truly peculiar about this woman.

"Another night-mare my dear Captain?" Pitch mocked while looking down at his nails, making sure he could still see her expressions from the corner of his eyes. Her face fell for a second, her seafoam green eyes landing on the floor, before she huffed and stood up. Pitch moved back into the shadows ever so slightly, ready to leave should things elevate, but the woman merely walked past him and over to her desk where she pulled out another bottle and two glasses. "I think we have done this before. Is this not the part where thou blathers on about how awful things art for thee?" She either didn't hear him or had simply decided to ignore the derision in his tone. Pitch scoffed, irritated that she failed to show any reaction to his insults.

The Captain merely poured the amber colored liquid into both glasses and sat at a table that certainly hadn't been in her cabin during his first visit. She nodded to the extra chair, the second glass sitting in front of it invitingly, and raised a light blue eyebrow. Pitch bit back a growl. He was starting to dislike this woman.

"Dost thou have Believers yet?" He asked idly as he sat down, not missing the way his question had hit its mark. Her posture tensed immediately and she briefly closed her eyes, exhaling a sharp breath that rang throughout the quiet room. Pitch inwardly smirked, taking the reaction as an undesirable admission. He turned his attention away from the woman, wanting to let his taunt settle in her mind for a bit, and took a closer look at her new furnishings.

The chair, and Pitch was hesitant to call it that, was surprising very comfortable. In truth it looked more like a throne in his opinion. The tall dark wooden frame was decorated with exquisite carvings of various seashells. The fabric of the seat was soft like velvet, but dyed a dark grey color that he rather liked. The Captain's chair was almost exactly the same with one exception; the fabric was a dark blue instead. The color suited her.

The small round table was solely unremarkable at first glance. There were scratches and chips on the surface which ruined its' dark finish. But as he continued his examinations, Pitch saw the figures of ships and waves fashioned along the tables' border and up the main stand. The carvings were so detailed that he had no doubt that the craftsman had spent most of their life working on this table, acting as a lasting tribute to their superior skill and talent.

"Unfortunately, no, I can't say that I do." The Captain said lowly, needlessly answering his rhetoric question and breaking Pitch out of his observations. "How 'bout yerself, Mr. Black? I hear tell that ye've seen better days." She continued and he felt his eyes narrow at her cheekiness. Pitch moved to lash out, an acidic comment already resting on the tip of his tongue, but he paused instead to reexamine her words.

They'd been offensive, purposefully said to get a rise out of him. It was an exact opposite to how the Captain had approached him two years ago when she'd been nothing, but inviting and courteous. Her tone was different too. There was a sharpness to it that hadn't existed last time. Pitch took in the way she held herself, all tense and rigid, her eyes focused on the glass in front of her which had remained untouched.

The woman was on her guard. He smiled at that revelation, enjoying the way she stiffened even further and how her left hand grasped the arm of her chair. Her sudden defensiveness was new, but not unwelcomed. It seemed that others, whoever they may be, had finally informed her not to take the Boogeyman lightly.

"I am doing quite well, as thou can see. The Guardians think they have weakened me, but..." His eyes gleamed as he flashed her a pointed smile. "The ocean can be such a terrifying force after all. With every shipwreck and life lost at sea, the fears of these dark waters grow with each new day." Pitch smirked into his drink, feeling as if he finally won something after the past seventeen years of destitute. The Captain sent him a dark glare and it just made him feel all the more gratified.

But then woman's glare faltered after a moment and her eyes drifted downwards.

Abruptly, a wretched weariness seemed to consume the Captain's persona, tearing down an invisible wall that he hadn't even realized existed, exposing her true feelings. There was a pain in her eyes, so brittle and piercing that Pitch felt his good mood instantly fade. She looked back up at him helplessly, a vile feebleness dominating her once proud nature. His mild barb had struck deeper than he intended, digging into her strong front and crippling it within moments.

Pitch found his mouth suddenly uncomfortably dry and he sipped at his unpleasant drink, hoping to cure the unsettling pit that had formed near his stomach. He reached into her mind to see the cause of her reaction and drew back instantly as he felt despair mangled in deeply with her fear. He had still seen some images though, flashes of her dream and memories. He felt her fear towards the Man in the Moon's possible disappointment.

And saw a child drowned at sea.

Despite what others believed, Pitch did not gain any joy from seeing children suffer and he most certainly did not relish in their deaths. True, he did not dote on the young ones like the Guardians did, or even enjoy a child's happiness, but that was simply because if they were happy, then they were not afraid. Pitch knew his power, his entire existence, depended on the children and their Belief. In an obscured sense, he saw them as a part of who he was. So why would he take any delight in losing those small bits of himself?

"I can't do this Pitch, not today." He stared at the woman for a moment, a small amount of pity unexpectedly rising within him at her soft words.

She looked so broken at that moment and Pitch knew he could take advantage of her then. He could figuratively dig at her bleeding wounds; pour salt in them with whispers of hatred and acrimony. He could tell her that all her fears were genuine, his finely placed lies acting as a terrible poison that would slowly drain her of any loyalty and hope. He could turn her against the Man in the Moon, against Sanderson and the Guardians. He could make her his pawn.

But instead he simply nodded, leaving the weary Captain to drink her worries away in solitude.

Well, that was more than a little sad. I felt it best to have something tragic at the beginning, if only to show the range of emotions that Davy can go through and how she shows them. It was really hard writing out her reactions, I tried to keep her looking strong, without making her seem frigid or too weepy. I mean, you have to remember that these guys have been around for centuries. Chances are they've seen some pretty messed up stuff, so kids dying seemed like a very real possibility to me. That's not even mentioning all the child abuse, illnesses, and other problems they could've seen, but had been unable to do anything about.

On a side note, Grimmons was featured here, who is an OC of mine. Though I think almost everyone has mentioned the Grim Reaper in their stories by now, so I couldn't resist adding him. I also gave a shout out to Muse, Will-o'-the-Wisp, and Cupid. You don't have to worry about overwhelming OCs if you're not a fan. Their scenes will be sparing until the movie's plot ends.

–Hexalys