(And chapter eight is completed! Thank you all, and for the advice of one of the reviewers on the last chapter! I appreciate it. I also am feeling pretty guilty I've never put any author's notes when I post here, so I'm going to start doing that. See you at the bottom~)
Chapter Eight - First Moments, Picture Books, and Haunting Memories
They'd arrived at his flat. Jack seemed interested and appreciative of the surroundings, but didn't comment, just inspected. Pitch didn't say much, only casually leaning across a counter and then grabbing only some clothes for his friend to take a shower before lounging in a chair with Sandy on his lap. He laughed hard at both the yell he heard from Jack and the reaction Sandy had to it. It seemed all quite amusing, at the time.
Any feeling of laughter had left him now as he stood staring into the bathroom at the upper body of a boy he'd wanted to jokingly see. He didn't expect what lay under the sweatshirts Jack had worn the few times they had been in person together; there was no way he could have known.
Oh, but you could've. Every broken smile and empty lie you watched him force. You could've known what was happening. You should've known what was happening. If only you just paid attention to someone's problems other than your own.
Pitch ignored the little voice in his head that screamed at him. It might have been right about that but at the moment he was going to help as best he could.
Taking a step towards his friend, he saw the teen flinch and make an involuntary stumble back.
"Jack…"
He wouldn't meet the older's eyes.
"You weren't in the classroom long enough to get those bruises," Pitch trailed and hesitated before continuing. "And the majority of them look old…"
He still wouldn't look at the shocked man, but Pitch needed to see his eyes; he needed to make sure what he was thinking wasn't true. It couldn't be possible something like this was happening to someone he actually cared about. No one was allowed to hurt someone he cared about. Not again.
Pushing the nauseous-ness down, Pitch started speaking.
"Look at me."
He wished he hadn't needed to know.
Jack looked expressionless, hollow, empty, drowning, like there was a void behind his sockets and it stretched further than the both of them. He looked, dare Pitch think it, dead.
There was heavy exhale and he recognized it as his own.
"Jack… What's happened to you…"
It wasn't a question, not really. It may have had answers, but that didn't make either of them wonder. Neither of the two moved, nor did they notice the dog leaving the room to find entertainment elsewhere. The silence stretched on. With no ambition to break the icy wall that had come between them, Pitch didn't speak further, but he wasn't waiting for anything either.
There didn't seem any reason to. What could they say to each other? That they both had pain that the other had only guessed at before? That he cared for someone he'd only met days before? That he wanted to confide in this someone everything that he'd ever experienced and in turn wanted to hear their experiences? That he wanted to be close to this person for as long as he possibly could? That he could be free with this person and, maybe someday, even happy? And for that matter, if Pitch accepted Jack for who he was and what he'd been through, Pitch would have to explain what had happened to him, too. One day, at least.
Now they stood, at a bypass.
Pitch didn't realize he was speaking aloud until he saw Jack snap to attention.
"What… What did you just say?" Jack started quietly.
The truth was, Pitch wasn't sure. "I, I don't know… I didn't realize I was speaking…" He looked down at Jack's socks, his socks, really.
The younger took a step forward, causing Pitch to be the one to flinch this time.
Jack's voice was barely above a whisper. "You said… you said you cared about me… and that… that you wanted to be free and happy with me…" Another step was taken.
It was getting harder to look at the socks without craning his neck.
"Oh… Did I?"
They really were nice ones, cotton, though he remembered they felt almost like silk. He had more pairs like it so maybe he'd just let his friend keep those ones. He seemed to like walking forward in them enough, anyway.
"You did." Jack sounded a bit louder, a bit more confident, and a bit more there.
"…Don't keep me in suspense, then, Frosty…" Pitch whispered at the sock-wearer without even glancing away from the fascinating material.
Jack chuckled low and breathy. "I won't."
The footwear was now close enough to Pitch that he could bend down and touch it if he so wished.
There was a slightly calloused finger against the underside lining of his jaw. No wait, it was two. They felt warm, and softer than he would've expected from their appearance. Maybe even softer than the current object of his affections. Something told him he should get more of the touch; as much as he possibly could, but he was too preoccupied at the moment to listen.
The digits, it felt like three now, moved along the edge and to the base of Pitch's ear before trailing down the side of his neck to the collar on his shirt and back up to the side. He shivered, and thought there might be a draft somewhere in the flat.
Now there was a whole hand, inching up the back of his scalp, spreading his hair between its fingers. It wasn't able to reach very far up, only about halfway, but the heat that radiated from it was felt in every corner of Pitch's body. Another hand now fell on the shoulder opposite where the sensations first started. It gripped him lightly.
He almost wanted to tear his eyes away from the godly matching pair but couldn't.
He heard a sigh tinged with frustration. "What's so interesting, Pitch?
The older finally managed to wrench his pupils away. He smiled small and shyly. "Well, uh… I was thinking maybe you could just have those socks."
"That's too bad." Jack heavily exhaled, looking away in mock apathy but never moving his hands
"W-what?" Pitch sounded almost hurt someone wouldn't like them. They were just so perfect.
"I didn't plan on wearing them for much longer." The teen shrugged as best he could.
"And why would that be?" He was irritated now.
Jack clicked his eyes back to Pitch's and smiled wide, definitely mischievously.
"I was hoping you would knock them off for me."
The obsidian-haired looked abashed. "Oh come on, that's got to be the wor-," as much as he wanted to finish his insult and top it off with a roll of his eyes, he was silenced by a meeting of lips.
A kiss, some might call it.
Pitch's first kiss in his twenty-one years, to be exact, and he was glad he waited as long as he did. Nervousness had always been a key factor. Not knowing for sure what to do if and when the time came. That didn't seem to be an issue now.
It was gentle and soft and warm like his fingers had been. Jack was on his tippy toes, Pitch slightly bent and instinctively holding Jack's upper and lower back. They pulled each other closer, and even when there wasn't any more space between them, they pulled closer still. Pitch made sure to be careful of the more hurt looking parts of the boy he was holding and Jack made sure to be careful of Pitch's injured hand. It might've been more work than they could handle at the moment, but neither of them cared.
Lips moved in unison. Happy humming could be heard. A slight ruffle of a button-up shirt, maybe. Feelings of being wanted hung in the air; feelings of being cared for; feelings of being loved.
Sandy barked from somewhere in the apartment and Pitch pulled back, gasping, at the same time Jack did.
Once he relatively had himself composed, the older breathlessly spoke. "I was basically trying to say you're just awful at pick-up lines."
Jack smirked but was just as needing for air as Pitch. "Because you totally didn't end up falling for it anyway."
"Like I had a choice, you little brat." Pitch smiled warmly.
"I'm rubber; you're glue, so screw you."
Realizing they were still entangled, the two unwove themselves, snickering. Pitch ran a hand through his disheveled hair, attempting not to look at the teen's bruised body. Somehow they'd pushed everything to the backs of their minds.
Somehow.
"I really don't think you have that saying right."
"I really think I do."
They grinned happily at each other before Pitch reached a hand out to Jack's lip.
"Seems you have a slight indent there."
"I bet it's from your damn lip ring."
"Go ahead and deny you didn't like feeling that thin, cold, metal band against your pink mouth." Pitch leaned in closer.
"I will not tell lies."
Pitched grinned even wider and moved back again. "If you wanted to watch Harry Potter, all you had to do was ask."
"Wait, wait, wait. You watch Harry Potter? But you're so… British." Jack raised his eyebrows with an incredulous expression.
"I think you're missing a really big part about the films." The light grey-skinned one laughed.
Jack blushed lightly. "You know what I mean!"
"Now come along." Pitch grasped Jack's hand with his good one.
"What are you doing?" The younger looked shocked.
Pitch looked down at their intertwined fingers. "Is this not an American custom?"
"No, stupid. We never even bandaged your hand. You're lucky it's still not bleeding." Jack let go and crossed his arms angrily.
Pitch resisted the urge to snicker. "You're one to talk, if we're gonna help anyone it's you-," He bit his tongue as his friend's face became downcast and Jack bent down to pick up the shirt Pitch had dropped earlier. Pulling it on over his head, he made careful movements to avoid his more bruised areas.
Pitch left the room quickly, coming back with multiple ice packs. He reached under the sink in the bathroom, grabbing bandages and rubbing alcohol. He held his bloody hand over the sink and poured the antiseptic over it, wincing at the violent sting, and then bandaging the appendage.
He looked over at Jack. "There. Now let's go." He once again gripped Jack's hand in his own, a little bit more forcefully this time, and pulled him towards the living room and the couch with the icepacks in arm. Setting them down on the coffee table, he snatched the remotes and turned on the Teli, ushering Jack to take a seat, and then sitting himself beside his friend.
Pitch lay against the armrest and the back of the couch, motioning for Jack to lie next to him. Reaching over for the icepacks, he brushed more fully against Jack and tried to ignore his thoughts. He placed the ice where he remembered Jack had the most bruises: his stomach, his left side, his right shoulder. He threw his arm around the younger and held the last pack to his friend's forehead, careful not to knock any other packs out of place.
Grinning happily, Jack looked slightly back at his friend. "This is my favorite show."
The older hadn't even noticed what was on yet. He glanced over. It appeared to be some cartoon about adventuring. Pitch looked back at Jack quizzically. "This?"
Before Jack could respond he continued. "Wait, I suppose it should've been expected."
"Oh really? Then what's your favorite cartoon, Mr. Sophisticate." Jack beamed.
Pitch was proud of the big word. "Well, I don't often indulge in such juvenile shows, but if I had to pick, it would have to be…" He trailed off with a bit of ruddiness in his cheeks.
"Hmm?"
"You'll just make fun of it." Pitch huffed.
"Nuh uh." Jack shook his head, causing Pitch to hold the ice more firmly.
"Well, it's," he paused, exhaling. "They only show it over in the UK."
"Mhhm." Jack nodded.
"It's called 'Dude, That's My Ghost.'" Pitch blurted quietly.
Jack laughed. "I can't believe you just said dude, even if it was in a title."
"Shut your mouth." Pitch leaned slightly to get the remote.
"Hey! I was watching that!"
"I believe we discussed Harry Potter."
Pitch flipped over to another input and started the movie.
"It's already in there? Seriously? How often do you watch it?" Jack snickered, causing Pitch to roll his eyes.
"I'm almost positive I told you to stop talking."
"You're a Potterhead. I've found out your secret."
"Why is your jaw open right now?" He sounded annoyed, but the sentence had just spiked his fear for a moment.
Jack chuckled and turned his attention the movie Pitch had already started.
The boy didn't need to know about his secrets, at least, not today.
It didn't feel like long before the movie was over. Pitch was having trouble keeping cool on the matter of the movie. It had been one of his favorites from childhood and he'd be damned if Jack Frost ruined it for him. He was also having trouble not rising to put in the second one.
He glanced over at the living room's book case. He could see his eight-disc collection. He didn't move.
"Oh what, we're not going to watch the second one?" Jack questioned with something creeping into his voice.
Thank God. "I'm not that childish, but if you want to watch it, we can."
Pitch started to rise, gently nudging Jack over so he could still lie down. He stood up and padded over to the bookcase just as he heard Sandy start barking angrily. Looking back over at Jack, he tossed the movies on the couch. "I'll be right back."
"'Kay." Jack responded with a nod.
He headed towards the sound and found Sandy growling at the closet where he kept his spare art supplies. Shutting the door to the room behind him, he walked over to the dog and bent down on one knee to pet him gingerly. The thing had surprisingly grown on him quite a lot.
"Now what on earth are you barking at, you stupid dog?"
Pitch looked at the armoire, standing back up. He stepped the short distance over to it and slowly opened it. He fell back on himself as something flew out towards him. Leaning on his elbows, he saw what had startled him, clinging to the ceiling.
It was a butterfly.
The butterfly had purple wings singed with black and dotted with gold. It was one of the most breathtaking things Pitch had ever seen.
He was terrified.
Pitch quickly sat up and stumbled to a standing position. He grabbed Sandy and raced out of the room quietly, trying not to alert Jack as to what he was doing. The door shut behind him, pulled accidentally with his hurt hand. He winced and calmly strolled back into the living room. He set Sandy down on the floor.
"Sorry about that, he-," Pitch blinked as he looked at the couch. Jack wasn't there. Only the melted ice packs lay strewn across it.
"Uh, Jack?" Pitch looked around the fireplace pillar. Not seeing him, he went towards the hall. The bathroom was empty and he knew what was in the storage room. He went on to his own room, placing a palm on the hard door, and pushed it gradually open.
Jack was standing in front of the wall he'd covered in paintings. The boy seemed particularly taken with the golden butterfly. He stared at the signature until he finally pointed at it and then looked over his shoulder at Pitch.
"Did you paint this one?"
Pitch tried to keep his breathing under control. "Yes. I've painted a couple of them, actually."
Jack looked happy, dropped his arm, and kept questioning. "What inspired you to paint this one?"
It was getting harder to not run to the washroom. "I just, uh, like butterflies, I suppose." He shrugged. He knew it wasn't convincing.
"Oh come on." Jack rolled his eyes. "Even I can tell you did this passionately."
Pitch swallowed.
"I really like them."
"I'm not going to believe that for a second, Kozzy."
"You should." Pitch snapped.
Jack raised his hands in submission and stepped back. "Whoa there. I didn't mean to offend you."
Pitch sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's fine, really. It's just not something I talk about." It was getting more difficult by the second to breathe.
"Pitch… Can I ask you another question?" Jack looked back at the painting.
"You asked before without permission so go right ahead"
"Who's Seraphina?"
Pitch felt his heart leap, his pace quicken, and his lungs collapse.
Time stopped for him but kept moving for Jack.
She was so beautiful. Pitch could never understand how she'd been graced with such beauty when he wasn't. She told him he was beautiful too, and he always wanted to believe her. They'd walk hand in hand to school in the mornings. He would always make sure she checked both ways before crossing the street for the day when she'd make the journey alone.
"It's just that you fell asleep during the movie and…"
Their mother and father never paid much attention to them. They were busy with work, but the children always found love and happiness amongst themselves. The maids and butlers would cook for them and clean up after them and tuck them in at night. Pitch could still remember her favorite bedtime story, and once the house-workers, who they now called family, had bid them sweet dreams, she would always beg her big brother to read it again to her. And he complied, every time.
"…you were twitching and I just figured maybe you were…"
"Are you ready for this one, Sera?"
"Yes!" She would snuggle further under her comforter.
"Alright, then here goes." He began to read the tale.
"There once was a little caterpillar from a faraway land.
The little caterpillar had lost its family.
It wanted nothing more than to search for them, but it was too small to travel very far.
When it would rise in the morning, the caterpillar would go as far as it could before it was too tuckered out to continue.
It would even travel at night, in hopes of being reunited with the family it held dear.
Eventually, all of the journeying took its toll on the caterpillar and it couldn't keep on.
The little caterpillar from a faraway land curled up in a ball and wept.
It missed them so badly, and now it couldn't even search.
When it woke up the next morning, there was a cocoon wrapped around its insect body.
It had made it in its sleep.
Weeks passed that way, and one day, the caterpillar found it could break out of its casing, and it did just that.
But when it emerged, it saw it was different now.
It had wings! Big and purple with gold speckles!
It was now a butterfly!
The butterfly flapped its wings and soared up into the air.
It continued its journey for many more moons, now faster.
The little caterpillar was no more, and soon it forgot what it was first searching for.
The butterfly, when it could remember, thought of its family as caterpillars, but surely a butterfly couldn't have a caterpillar family!
Eventually the beautiful purple butterfly stopped its journey.
It decided all the family it ever had was itself, completely forgetting who it used to be.
As it pondered this it floated atop a single white flower in the middle of a barren land.
The flower looked familiar, and the butterfly peered into it.
Inside there was sand. The butterfly was puzzled.
It flew down underneath the flower and found a small pool of water surrounded by even more sand.
It looked in at its own reflection and saw the caterpillar it used to be, staring back.
The caterpillar had always been there. It may have changed on the outside into a butterfly, but it was still the same on the inside.
Suddenly the butterfly remembered its past and its family, the happy times they'd had together.
It flew off into the sky, knowing exactly where to look this time.
The flower it left behind shook in the wind, and atop it sat an equally little caterpillar, staring after the butterfly.
"Why do you always insist I read you that one?"
"Because! The butterfly is happy!"
And for the life of him, the little boy could never tell his darling sister what he thought it meant.
"… having a bad dream or something and then…"
"Seraphina, don't leave your room, okay?"
"But why?" She was always curious.
"Because I think I heard a noise and I'm gonna go see what it is!"
"Why can't I come!?" She would stamp when she didn't get to adventure with him.
"Because it might be dangerous! Now go back in your room for me, alright?"
"Okay, but be careful!"
Pitch patted her head gently and closed her door behind him.
He tiptoed down the steps, careful to not wake his parents. Thankfully the 'in-house' staff had their own building out back of the main dwelling, so he didn't have to worry about them.
There were people all through his home! It had to be at least ten of them, and they all had big bags with stuff from his house in them. The boy was old enough to know what it was they were doing. His family was being robbed.
"… you yelled out that name so I…"
Pitch tried to race back up the stairs to tell his parents but one of the intruders saw him and grabbed him from behind. He felt his nose break on the step and cried out loudly, screaming for his mother and father to hear him.
He was pulled down the staircase and onto the first floor. They held him down and started speaking and asking him questions. Angry questions.
"Where's the safe, boy?"
"Tell us where it is!"
They grabbed at him and threw him around, trying to make him talk. One man took out a knife, ripping off the lad's shirt, and started to slice into Pitch's abdomen. Three vertical cuts, all in a row.
He screamed, begged them to let him go. That he didn't know what they were talking about.
They finally, thankfully, gave up.
"It's no use. He doesn't know."
"And Pitchiner is already taken care of."
"I told you we shouldn't of brought along that trigger happy narcissist."
"Well it's too bloody late now, isn't it!?"
"But wait, didn't they have a daughter?"
"Oh right!"
"Someone go grab the little bitch, see if she knows anything."
The boy tried to break free of the arms that held his own tight behind his back but failed. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do anything more.
But he'd be damned if he didn't try to save his sister.
He kept punching and yelling and kicking.
They brought her down the steps. She was in her green and purple night gown. Just a little girl. She was only a little girl.
"Stop it! She doesn't know anything! Please… Please don't hurt her!" He screamed, wrenching forward on the hands that held his arms, hot tears bouncing off of the ornately tiled floor.
Seraphina looked around in confusion. "Pitch! Is this a new game?" She smiled brightly in blissful ignorance.
Pitch felt more tears rush down his face but he managed to force a smile. "Yeah, Sera, it's just a game! They're gonna ask you some questions, so just answer truthfully, alright?"
One of the men bent down to her level and started talking. "Do you know where mommy and daddy keep the safe?"
She shook her head no. "Not telling!"
The boy's eyes widened in shock. "No! She doesn't know what she's saying! She thinks you're not being serious!" He struggled again.
"… was wondering…"
The men started talking to each other. "There's no way to see for sure if she knows or not."
"We better try to get it out of her, just in case."
He screeched. "No! Don't do it! Stop it! She doesn't know anything! I swear she doesn't!"
The man that had squatted in front of Seraphina stood up and looked over at the boy. He was obviously the leader of the group.
"I think the boy's right."
The brother cried happy tears. "Thank you… Thank you so much…"
"But it's too late now. They've seen what we look like, and we already broke in and offed their parents."
Pitch held his breath.
"We might as well kill them, too. We can't have anyone finding out about this."
He exhaled and started to kick his captor. "Let me go! Don't you touch her!"
Another man held a knife to the girl's throat.
Pitch finally broke free and ran towards the man.
"… who that…"
"Please, just take me, don't hurt her. We didn't do anything wrong. Just take me! If you have to take one of us then take me! No, stop it! Let her go! What are you doing to her! Stop! STOP! STOP IT! GET AWAY FROM HER!"
Pitch charged at the intruders in a rage-filled attempt to get his sister back to him. He was only eleven years old; his sister was even younger, a mere six years old. He wasn't strong enough to get her back; there was no way he could. But even though deep down he knew he wouldn't be able to, even though he knew his parents were already gone upstairs in their beds and no one would hear their screams, and even though he knew it was already too late to save her, he fought hard. Kicking and screaming with everything he had now that they'd grabbed him again.
"Big brother, can we play a different game…?" And Pitch stopped trying to get free and made eye contact with his little sister. His darling little sister that he loved unconditionally. Who was more of a daughter to him than a sibling. He made eye contact with her just in time to see one of the intruders cut her throat and drop her to the floor.
"… might…"
The tears that already stung at his eyes spread and spread until he couldn't see her anymore. Couldn't see her lying on the ground lifeless, a slightly smiling expression in a last attempt to comfort Pitch plastered to her face.
Like she knew it wasn't a game all along.
"Phina…" He whispered, choking back his own vomit. "SERAPHINA!"
"… be?"
Pitch sprinted to the private washroom and slammed the door behind him. He retched violently into the toilet over and over again. He hadn't even eaten that day, or had dinner the night before. He honestly didn't know how it continued like this, over and over again. It didn't seem possible to him, but he could taste the acid and feel the convulsions.
After panting and sweating for what seemed like forever, there was a timid knock on the door.
Pitch opened his eyes and looked. He hadn't vomited at all.
Wobbly on his feet as he was, Pitch managed to stand by grasping onto the sink and walls in an attempt to get to the door. He opened it and hobbled over to his bed, collapsing on top of the blankets and not moving.
He heard light footsteps and felt a warmth next to him on the bed but he didn't open his eyes from the tight closure they were in. His hands instinctively went up to grip the sides of his head and he curled into a ball. He knew he was crying.
Soft arms pulled Pitch backwards and he soon felt a chest behind him and a chin on his head.
There was an even lighter patter of steps before the bed shook a little and something small and furry was huddle up in front of him, trying to get closer.
The person that was holding him somehow got the covers over all three of them. Whispers filled the air underneath.
"Pitch…"
He managed a reply through gritted teeth. "Yes, Jack?"
"I have this wonderful feeling there's a reason we came to be friends."
Pitch exhaled. "Me too, Jack, me too."
The older, yet just as abused, man felt a grin on the back of his neck as Jack moved down to kiss it.
He thought to himself that Jack never seemed to mind when Pitch saw him smile.
(This is definitely not how I was going to go with this chapter, and I would like you all to be happy with what ended up happening because what I had in mind was so, so awful. Though it might happen in later chapter. And woo! Finally have some black ice coming in here! Gotta love that! Did anyone notice the symmetry from the beginning of chapter one and then from the pond scene in chapter two? Anyone? No? Just me? I'm fine with that… ; u ;
If you would like story updates and more black ice, here's the name of my Tumblr accounts:
iciestblack (my main blog)
personaliciestblack (where I post more story updates, life updates, and my art)
I also have a stereomood account where I generally go when I write to make playlists. It's under the same username as my FF account and AO3 AND Tumblr. Look at that. I'm original. Thank you all for continued support and I hope you liked this new chapter!)
