A/N

Hi! I've returned! And I'm sorry for the shortness, but I wanted to give you guys something!

I hope you enjoy~

In The Shadows

In the shadows of a child's bedroom, Jack Frost stood obediently, bound at the wrist and gagged, as he always was when his master, Pitch Black, took him on these ventures. He kept his eyes low and his face carefully neutral. He knew what would be happening here tonight, and he knew what it meant. He knew his master only brought him here to gloat, and to prove the time was now.

Pitch stepped out of the shadows, leaving Jack behind with a silent command to stay put. "Oh, I thought I heard the clippety-clop of a unicorn!" Pitch said, his tone sarcastic and laced with feigned sweetness. He looked at the golden sand over the head of the sleeping girl, who's room they had invaded. There, on display, was an innocently whimsical dream of the girl riding on the back of a unicorn. "What an adorable dream! And look at her-" Pitch went on, and Jack was unsure if he were speaking to him or not, but he obeyed the words regardless. Clasping his hands together, Pitched appeared to be awed by the sweetness of the girl's peace. "Oh! Precious child... so sweet, so full of hope and wonder. Why, there's only one thing missing: a touch of Fear!"

Jack eyes sadden as he watched as his master's hand tip-toe closer to the girl's dream. Upon his well-practiced touch, the golden dream sand began to shake and squirm as darkness corrupted its very existence. Jack felt sympathetic for the girl, who was moaning in discomfort at the abrupt change to her dream. He knew all too well what this felt like.

He looked at his master and marveled at how easy this skill had come to him after so many years of hardships and failed experiments. Not so long ago, Jack could recall how difficult it was for Pitch to turn the Sandman's creatures against their nature, and how angry this had made his master. Jack knew Pitch had taken it personally when he could not pick apart the dream sand to discover its secrets. But Pitch had eventually figured it out, fueled by hatred, pride, and his sinister lust for revenge, he had uncovered the intricacies of the mind and how and why children would dream about fantastical, and unrealistic things. The child currently before them had an extreme love for unicorns, if the appearance of her room were to hint at anything, and so the Sandman had sent her a dream she would take. A dream that would bring her joy. A dream that the child would want.

For nightmares, it was a bit different. While the fears could be irrational, they had to be believable to the recipient. Unicorns were fantasies. They existed in the imaginations of children and wishful thinkers as gentle and helpful creatures. We only know of them what has been made up of them. So, if one were to introduce even a sliver of doubt that maybe unicorns weren't as gentle as they are believed to be, or were forced to face one pessimistic thought that they could be evil…then the mind had no trouble turning such a fantastical character into horrid one. That's why people can dream of flying, but will fall when the question of possibility interrupts their flight. That's why you can dream of swimming underwater without need for air, but begin to drown when reality surfaces.

Pitch chuckled darkly at the girl's fearful squirming "That never gets old." He began to make beckoning motions to the sand, and whispering gently and encouragingly. "Feed your fear, come on." The unicorn curled in on itself and wrapped around Pitch as black sand started spindle out form the once golden creature. "Come on, that's right. Yes..." All too soon, the unicorn had shifted into a Nightmare Stallion.

"What a pretty little Nightmare!" Pitch said proudly as his creation lovingly circled and rubbed up against him. The Nightmare neighed, prideful that she had pleased her master.

"Now..." Pitch said, suddenly drawing the Nightmare close, his tone becoming dark. "I want you to go tell the others: the wait is over!" Quickly, the Nightmare rushed out of the bedroom and off to fulfill the task she had been given.

Pitch turned his attention to his ward. Jack had not moved from where he had been left.

Pitch smiled, as he was truly satisfied with tonight's events. He was genuinely happy, and Jack knew it. Jack hadn't had any doubt his corruption wouldn't work. Pitch had been testing it on him for years, and while his early attempts were pitiful and had little effect, the last dozen times had been completely successful.

Jack knew it would work…but that didn't mean he hadn't prayed that it wouldn't

Pitch threw his arms wide. "Come." He said smiling. "I have someone I wish to speak with."

Jack stepped forward, standing just at the edge of the shadows that would soon engulf and carry them to wherever Pitch desired.

Pitched wrapped his arm around Jack, who had to hold back a flinch. He hated when Pitched touched him. He never knew what he was in store for when the dark spirit reached for him. Pitch had used touch as torture in many ways. Punches, strangles, hits, slaps, pulling, tearing, and that was only what he had done with his bare hands.

But Jack hated it most when Pitch touched him with no intentions to harm him. When he mockingly stroked his hair or cupped his cheek. Jack hated it more than he hated the beatings, because Pitch had constantly used touch as a reminder. A reminder that he was the only one that could, or ever would, touch him. That Jack was invisible and insignificant to mortals. His nature was feared and hated. He did not matter to anyone, except for Pitch, who had use for him. Jack was always reminded of how mortals ran to shield themselves form the cold and how they turned their backs to him when he had screamed for their attention. Mortals did not like the cold, but darkness did.

Now outside and standing just out of reach of a street lamps halo, Pitch dropped his arm from Jack's shoulder and began to speak to the glowing moon.

"Don't look at me like that, old friend. You must have known this day would come. Jack and my Nightmares are finally ready - are your Guardians?"

Jack hung his head in shame. He was not ready. He would never be ready, but he knew to be obedient. It wasn't like he wouldn't be. He had no fight left in him, for Pitch had stripped him of it. He would not fight his masters will, for he had long ago given into Pitch's influences, believing Pitch's mind games, and doing as he had been told. He had been empty for years...deflated and numb. Jack hadn't fought against his masters wishes in decades. He hadn't hoped since...

A/N

I know! It's a terrible place to end and I'm sorry! (I couldn't decide it I liked this or not, but eventually I decided I...did?) Now I'm going to respond to some lovely guest reviewers!

sparklehannah: Thank you! And yeah, with the change in the story, I felt that the meaning behind the argument had to change as well. And yes, I'm terrible to Jack and Bunny, the poor things. I hope I can keep that curiosity alive!

The Guest who said: "This kept me reading. Please update soon" Yay! I'm so glad that I could hold your attention! And I updated! :D

To the Guest who said: "PLEASE WRITE MORE! I CANT STAND THE WAIT!" I wrote more! Yay! XD

I will do my best to have another chapter out this week. Please ask questions if you have them! And please review :) But I hope to see you soon, and thank you for all of the support!