Pitch slides from beneath the girl's bed. She is a tiny thing, all rosy cheeks and curls. She couldn't be older than five, maybe six, years. She is the perfect prey. Pitch gets to work.
Really, all it takes is a whisper. It's nothing outlandish or exaggerated. That's the key. It has to be believable or fear won't have a foothold. It's not scary if it'll never happen. It's not frightening if it can't be real. It has to teeter on the edge of possibility. Because maybe, just maybe, there is something right outside your window. And you don't know what it is but it wants to come inside.
The poor girl wakes up screaming. Fat drops of tears roll down those oh so rosy cheeks. She catches sight of his shadow and screams her little heart out. Her terror is postively exquisite. Pitch smirks. How he would love to stay, truly, but he can hear the sound of footsteps. It's her mother to the rescue and he's overstayed his welcome, hasn't he?
He finds Jack nestled on a branch right outside the girl's window. A scowl curls on his lips but he makes no move to stop Pitch. It's for the best, really. They've done that whole song and dance before. Jack is acutely aware of how well his powers fair against Pitch. It's a tie, a solid and explosive tie. To battle is to assure mutual destruction. And there's nothing to be accomplished from punching each other out. It's simply not worth the fuss. Still, Jack toys with his staff like he wants nothing more than to skewer Pitch with it.
"Why do you follow me when you obviously disapprove of my work?" Pitch inquires, honestly curious.
Jack shrugs nonchalantly. "Got nothin' better to do."
"You are a strange one, Jack Frost." Pitch rolls his eyes, floating away.
"So you keep tellng me." Jack grins cheekily. He pays the Boogieman no mind as the shadowy spirit slides past him. His eyes are trained on the window, watching the unfolding events within.
The girl's mother sweeps into the room, hair in a tangled disarray and a robe thrown over her nightgown. The little girl, with red, puffy cheeks, raises her arms and her mother is quick to gather her in a warm embrace. They sit on the bed, rocking back and forth. Her mother soothingly whispers in her ears...
"It's all right now. You're safe. Mommy's here."
Something in Jack, something important, breaks.
"Don't look."
Jack jumps nearly falling out of the tree. He manages to regain his balance and whips around. Pitch hovers behind him, his expression unusually blank.
"Don't look." He repeats. "It hurts less that way."
Jack stares at him politely puzzled. Pitch offers no further explanation and glides away. Jack turns back to the window, watching the mother rock her daughter to sleep. A sigh of a moment passes before he finally understands. There are pins and needles in his throat. Shards he thinks of the thing that broke. He swallows them down and pushes off the branch, following after Pitch.
'Don't look. It hurts less that way.'
So he doesn't.
"Hey, wait up." Jack calls after Pitch.
The Boogieman doesn't even pause. "I have a schedule to keep, Jack. Unlike you, I have followers to retain."
The jibe hurts but Jack shakes it off like he shook off the dozen others before it. He urges the wind faster and siddles up next to Pitch, just close enough to barely not touch.
"And what do you want?" Pitch asks flatly.
Jack shrugs and bumps their shoulders together. It's the faintest of contact but the effect is immediately. Pitch stiffen like a frightened ally cat. But he doesn't pull away. Jack smirks yet remains silent. They stay like that, their sides pressed together, flying side by side.
It's not a mother's embrace. But it's enough. For the two of them, it's enough. It's a reminder, small it may be, but a reminded that they aren't alone. Misery can at least have company.