Author's Note: Welcome to part two. Let the feels-killing begin. Once again - no happy endings.
A year passed, though unlike its predecessors, it was not spent in silence.
Jack Frost grew to accept Pitch Black – their meetings grew more frequent and lasted longer, stretching into the hours of dawn when Pitch was forced to once more retreat into the darkness of his lair. And Jack would always smile and wave as he went, chasing after the elder with the horizon at his heels, just to share that perfect innocence of a peck upon his newfound love's lips. Perhaps he was not willing to admit it just yet, but somewhere deep within the recesses of the dark spirit's chest – heart or no heart – he was harboring a barrage of emotions for Jack he could not quite describe.
Pitch was without memories of his human life, and so Jack did sympathize with him, talking most often about his deceased daughter. When Jack suggested looking to Tooth for the memories he'd lost of her, he was most grievously informed that his teeth were never collected – the Guardian of Memory had only begun working after he'd become the boogeyman, after the world had been plagued with fear. And so Jack reminisced with him, trying and failing to discover what it was that haunted the elder's mind – but still, they held some perception of love, and apparently, it was enough to satisfy them both.
But, as their encounters grew more intimate, the understanding growing between them – something unforeseen was occurring. For as strong as innocent love is, for desire, for longing, and for seemingly unbreakable ties – there is a force that may conquer it… and the darkness knew this all too well.
A final kiss upon blankets of freshly fallen snow signified much to the heavens above, though most unfortunately for Jack Frost, the black void of Pitch's memory could never be healed.
It would never be healed.
~...~
It was mid-December again, the day Jack had first found Pitch on his way to the grave just beyond the hills of Burgess. Nightfall was quickly approaching, and the frost spirit knew it would not be long before the boogeyman was lured from his home by the shadows. It would not be long before Pitch Black made his journey to the cemetery once more.
Jack intended to be there from the very start this time, accompanying his lover the entire way. For the winter knew that Pitch was growing weaker every day – and he felt guilty knowing that at least part of the blame fell to him. Jack Frost knew that this time, venturing so far would take a toll upon the dark even nearer to the end of life.
To the end of belief?
For the darkness he once knew had somehow managed to alter itself, and that unnerved the younger spirit to a rather troublesome degree. Darkness and fear were constants, were they not? Forbidden to be forever banished; to disappear completely?
Jack shook the remnants of memory from his mind, and began his descent toward the frozen earth. This season, there had been less snowfall than usual, though it was not to compensate for the greater amounts the year prior. No, this abrupt change in weather was for one sole purpose – one much closer to the frost spirit's heart. He knew the troubles of the lengthy journey Black would make – and so he'd gifted an easier voyage by simply erasing the obstacle of a few feet of snow. The idea had come to him quite suddenly, and here, scarcely a week later, Jack was quite proud of it.
"Pitch!" he called, smiling and swinging his staff about without a care.
"Pitch!" he called again, grinning and laughing and playfully spiraling down into the hole which led to the elder's chambers.
"Pitch!" – again, as he danced through the darkness' foyer, closing in upon the throne where he could usually be found.
The fourth time the name was spoken, the timbre of fear rolled from Jack Frost's tongue, biting as hard as the bitter blackness itself. The wind ceased its whistling, and Frost came to a halt in his advance. For there, among the solid obsidian palace, laid Pitch Black's throne: vacant. Nothing but a trail of the black blood he'd left the year prior in his place.
"My God… Pitch… Pitch! Pitch?! Where are you?!"
The room offered no answer; it took him a few mere seconds to remove himself from his lover's home, and ride the wind into the starry night sky. He would search, however long it took, for the spirit who'd resolved to leave the safety of his lair before nightfall.
It didn't take Jack long to find the person in question.
He plummeted back to earth, his shoulder suddenly alive with burning pain as he hit the ground. Frost did his best to ignore it, scuttling to the side of the being shrouded in darkness. There, beside his pond, laid Pitch Black… or so it…seemed…
Jack tentatively reached a hand out, fingers slipping along the lining of Pitch's cloak. The material almost seemed to retreat from his touches, hissing, but not having the strength to fight back in any way. And at the moment of his understanding, the tiny flares of black ceased, collapsing back upon their master.
"Pitch… no, Pitch… you…"
His fingers found no purchase in the mass of darkness.
His eyes found no one to gaze back at him, no piercing gold, nor slivers of drained silver.
"P-Pitch…"
There was a quivering, trembling, sickening feeling welling up inside of him. A feeling like the weight of sin, like the pain of fire lapping against his icy skin, and like the remembrance of no memory at all. His mouth was suddenly dry, and an unexplainable sobbing tore through his chest, as though his body were trying to dispose of his innards entirely.
He saw only white. There was none of the comforting black to be found.
He wasn't sure how long it was before the first of the tears fell, and when the first of them froze upon his cheeks.
He was also uncertain of how just how long he would drift into the realm of unconsciousness.
~...~
Jack Frost had awoken once more.
His body was rigid with ice. His vision was blurry. His skin prickled as he was lifted heavenward, bound toward the full moon. At once, he knew that the light would consume him. The Man in the Moon, the very one who'd bestowed his eternal life, would consume him.
Jack Frost dreamt only of that consumption.
He felt grey skin beneath his paler fingertips. He arched toward the wells of golden light gleaming above him. He tangled his body with that of the immortal darkness, that which was now lost to the other side. But the Man in the Moon would not grant him this contentedness for long; his consumption would not last forever.
~...~
With a heavy breath, he was returning to the surface, and returning to his place beside what remained of Pitch in the mortal's realm. Jack found himself openly weeping into the shadows which wisped about his body, as though trying to comfort him in his time of loss. Having seen this day for a year now, and having dreaded it – that did not change its impact. Jack Frost was lost beyond all comprehension.
"P-Pitch... I'm so s-sorry…"
The night was cold and dark. The night embraced Jack's loneliness – his emptiness.
He would've really given up on life, if he could have managed it. But something was left unresolved, a note of dissatisfaction ringing within the shadows as they pressed into Jack's body, tinting his hair and eyes with fine laces of black. Jack could've asked for nothing more; he desired the shadows – desired Pitch – and desired his very tainting.
When the last shade dissipated, Jack found at last something solid clasped between his hands. A piece of parchment, weathered due to its age, wrapped about a few snowdrop flowers.
Craving closure, if nothing else, Frost tore the bindings from the tiny scroll, and began to read.
Jack Frost,
It has been a year. And with the end of that year, I'm afraid, marks something else.
Surely you must've seen this coming. I'm sorry if you are at all shocked, but know that this parting has pained me just as greatly as it has you.
Don't fret though – I feel no pain. And it's all thanks to you. I can finally leave this world knowing that my existence hasn't been entirely pointless…dark…alone? No. You've shown me something I couldn't have grasped on my own.
Love.
It may seem strange for a spirit of darkness to say such things. Ironic, even. Sarcastic? Certainly not, though that may seem strange coming from me. Not that this banter matters – it only matters that you know.
I leave with you a final request: the flowers here – please, bring them to Katherine. That is all I ask of you.
The snow is heaven-blessed…. Do you know that, Jack? I'm glad to have seen it snowing one last time.
Thank you. And if I have a heart, may it rest eternally beside yours, and comfort you every day of your existence.
What goes better together than cold and dark, after all?
Pitch Black and Jack Frost, of course.
~Pitch
Silence presided over the boy as he read and read again, feeling oh so abandoned, and yet at the same time – satisfied. With shaky hands, he stuffed the letter in the pocket of his hoodie, and gingerly took the flowers between his fingertips.
Yes, there would be a journey tonight, and Jack Frost would ensure that it would not be the last of his lifetime, either.
~...~
"Katherine, you said?"
"Yes. Katherine Pitchiner. She apparently died quite young."
"Jack, if this happened before Pitch's rise to power, then I can't-"
"I know. Just…please. Look, please."
"…alright."
Only a few moments passed before Toothiana returned from the ancient vaults of her palace. And in her hands, she held a tiny box, its cover decorated with elegant spirals and obsidian pieces.
"I don't do this for everyone, Jack. Please, be smart about this."
"I will… I just… have to know. Don't tell the others, okay?"
"…you have my word."
And so Jack Frost opened the box, revealing the extent of Katherine's life enclosed within…
…and he smiled.
"Thank you, Tooth."
"You're welcome, Jack."
~...~
Jack Frost sat on a throne of darkness. He held the smooth staff, tinged with black, by his side. And he gazed upon an elegant foyer: one Pitch must've crossed hundreds of thousands of times during his reign. And before the throne, resting on the step, laid the box containing Katherine's memories. With quiet breath, chill of his body coating the palace walls in icy flowers, Jack began to speak.
"I saw your daughter, Pitch…"
The darkness held no answer.
"She was beautiful, you know. She had your eyes, your hair. She was so elegant."
And silence rang true.
"...and, you know what?"
And night fell, the last traces of sunlight disappearing from the hole leading down into the lair.
"…she loved you too."