Hello, everyone!
It's been a while. Sorry about that. I just haven't really had the motivation to write. I've been doing plenty of reading, though! There are some really amazing fics out there and when I look at mine, I'm just like "what is this hot mess?"
But that means I can be excited to see what this becomes!
As always, thanks for reading and enjoy!
It had been a full day since Jack had seen Pitch. He was a little disappointed that nothing had seemed to change between them. Maybe he shouldn't have teased Pitch, but they were both alone. Jack may have misunderstood that they could have created a bond due to that similar loneliness. But it looked like it didn't affect Pitch as much as it did Jack.
Jack was once again back to looking for anything to entertain himself. He had found a piece of sharp rock broken off from the wall and had begun to carve into the stone. He had carved dolls and bowls for a little money normally, so it gave him an almost calming effect.
He had no real vision for his carving; he had just started scraping at the wall. It would turn into what it wanted eventually. For now, he would just help it along the way by cutting randomly.
Turns out cutting in the dark wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. He ended up slicing the palm of his hand not even an hour into it. It didn't really hurt much but he couldn't see how much it was bleeding so he didn't know how serious it was. Trying not to panic, he takes off his top and wraps it around his hand.
"Pitch, I cut my hand," Jack announced. "I don't know how bad it is because I can't see. Will you come check it?"
Pitch didn't appear and he didn't answer. Jack was pretty sure he could be heard no matter where Pitch was at, even if he decided to take a stroll through the village. After all, it wouldn't do to have a sacrifice kill themselves before Pitch got their full use. This realization made Jack a tad frustrated as that meant he was being ignored.
"I might die, Pitch," Jack said.
Even with such a realization, still Pitch did not come. In his moment of stubbornness, Jack worried for a minute if Pitch might actually be hurt or in trouble. He was the God of Fear. Surely he had enemies. Hell, Jack's entire village was his enemy. But Jack would never think that one of them would have the guts to come and harm Pitch. Even if they hated him, they feared him too much to take action against him.
Jack raced to the wall where he thought the door was and started beating on it. He wasn't sure if that would even do anything, but if at least annoyed Pitch enough to get a response… Or, maybe in the worst case, alert someone from the village of his presence.
"Pitch!" He yelled, "Pitch, are you out there? Pitch, answer me!"
"What are you yelling for?" Pitch hissed from directly behind him. "You know perfectly well that I can hear you."
Jack turned to him, their faces inches apart, glaring. "Then why didn't you answer me?"
Pitch glared right back. "Frankly, because you're annoying."
"I thought you were hurt!" Jack yelled.
Pitch gives a look that is mostly confusion with hints of condescending. "Who would want to hurt me?"
Jack doesn't answer. He fells wetness on his face and wipes it away. All this stress and loneliness was getting to him. Pitch really was forcing him to destroy himself, just not in the way he wanted.
Pitch just looked more confused. "What is that? How can you do that and not be afraid?"
Jack stared at him. "What?"
"Your eyes," he elaborated, "they're leaking water. But you aren't afraid."
"You don't have to be afraid to cry," Jack told him. He was stilled confused by what had gotten into Pitch's head, but he shouldn't have been. Pitch had only ever been around people who feared him, to Jack's knowledge. "You can cry when you're happy, or sad… Sometimes when you're angry."
Pitch didn't acknowledge the new information. He just looked down to Jack's hand and takes it. Jack wasn't sure if Pitch knows what he's doing, as he was taking off the shirt with such gentleness one might think Jack was made of glass.
Pitch held the bloody hand up for Jack to see. As before, it was too dark and Jack could barely make out the outline of his hand with the liquid on it. "And this?"
Back into confusion Jack went. "What?"
"This is caused when you are injured," Pitch stated. "Did you injure yourself out of anger?"
"No," Jack told him although he wasn't going to explain how it happened.
Pitch just nodded and went back to examining the hand. "I have a similar attribute. For humans, how much blood is fatal? What would be considered a simple scrape?"
"Um…." Jack tried to think of how to explain it. "A little cut normally only lets blood rise to the surface and then quits. A serious wound would bleed enough to drip onto the ground and wouldn't stop."
"What about somewhere in between?" Pitch asked.
"It needs to be treated, even then," Jack told him. "If it gets infected, I'll die."
Pitch groans and drops Jack's hand. Jack opens his mouth to question him, but Pitch opens the door and grabs the wrist on Jack's non injured hand. He is then pulled out of the room for the first time in almost a week and lead towards the area Pitch had told Jack that he stayed.
They entered a part of the liar that was completely unlike the rest of Pitch's home. The walls were more smoothed out here and there was furniture made of stone. There was a single chair and what looked more like a bench. Along the walls were stone bookshelves, filled with all kinds of books. Some looked to come from other parts of the world while others looked like something his friends would own.
"I guess you do like to read," Jack muses.
He was only given a minute to look before he was pulled into a room beyond that one. Here, shelves were built into the walls had odd collections upon them. There were shelves full of simple things like hammers and glass and more beautiful things like pottery and porcelain. On the far shelf was a group of various plants, herbs, and berries.
Pitch practically shoved Jack towards it. "I don't know how to treat a human wound so you'll have to make due yourself. Take what you need."
"What have you got all these for?" Jack asked.
Behind him, Pitch was crossing his arms in a way to look uncaring and smug. "I collect all types of objects you humans have created."
"But why plants?"
Now Pitch was less smug. "I collected food for the sacrifices, but they told me things such as this were better used for the ill. I kept it in case one of them ever needed it."
Jack was grinning now. "You act all tough but you actually care, huh?"
"Did you find what you need?" Pitch asked bitterly.
Jack had actually seen exactly what he needed as soon as he saw the shelf. The herb he needed was a brighter green than the rest and Jack had gotten used to spotting it because of his constant wounds and the good price he could sell it for. Many families had just women, with the men going to hunt many hours or working in the larger cities for money, and Jack often sold them the herb for a cheaper price than what it was worth due to their state. Besides, he was really the only man who never left town. Many of his friends were already working with their fathers and had asked him to watch over their families.
"I've got it right here," Jack said, lifting it and showing it to Pitch.
Pitch smiled. "Good."
Without him realizing it, the ground disappeared beneath Jack's feet and a wave of dizziness overtook him. He felt something almost pulling him, similar to when he first arrived but rather than down, it was pulling him in a different direction. When he got ahold of himself, he had realized Pitch had dumped him through the shadows back to his room.
With a grin, Jack began dressing his wound.