Bunny's heart pounded in his chest, his breathing ragged as he raced through his tunnels. He hadn't paused a moment when Jack disappeared, the Nightmare King not too far after, to open his tunnels and race after the dark, invisible trail left in the wake of the quick battle. He ground his teeth together, anger coursing through his veins.

Oh, Pitch was in for it now. He had crossed the final line a long time ago, and once again had Jack in his clutches. The boy wasn't defenseless-Bunny knew that, but the way he had cried for help, the way he'd been so weak after the first fight with the Nightmare King…it wasn't right. Pitch was stronger this time-but that made no sense. He had no way of gaining more power, despite the fact that yes, children still feared him. But it should've taken months, years more likely, for him to build up such immense power. And yet he'd taken and broken Jack down into an almost child-like state in so little time…

What had Pitch done to him?

"I'm goin' to kill him." The Pooka growled to no one but himself, his claws unsheathing as he felt the darkness thickening around him. He was getting closer to his lair, his senses reaching out for any hope within-he growled again at the feeling of Pitch's hope of concurring Jack, of breaking his will, and Bunny could suddenly see all the horrible things Pitch planned to do with the frost spirit, the black sand and nightmares and more carving into the spirit's skin-his fur bristled on his shoulders-

Look past Pitch, look past him-

He had to stop; the rage building up inside him was too much. Breathe, breathe. No help to Jack if he can't control himself. He felt his form ready to shift, something he hadn't felt in decades, he needed to calm down. His paws, claws unsheathed, dug into the ground as he skidded to a halt. His vision was red, his entire body was burning with so much hatred for Pitch, and he wouldn't be able to control himself like this; not that he didn't want to tear Pitch apart limb by limb, Bunny wanted the dark spirit to suffer horribly,

But Jack needed him. Seeing a friend, someone who protected him, kill someone so brutally…

He couldn't scar him anymore than what had already been done.

That brought Bunny back down to a safe level of anger, and he paused in his sprint. He needed the nightmare king gone-completely. Simply ripping him to pieces would only kill him for a time. Both he and Sandy and Pitch were ancient; they were different. If any part of him remained, he could rise again, he could grow from fear and shadows once more just as he could grow from the smallest spark of hope and just as Sandy returned from one child's dream and this would never end.

This had to end.

They had to cleanse the world of his darkness.

Bunny's mind jumped to the Warren; its Light.

The heart of spring; never ending warmth and purity born from the remains of winter. It purified everything it touched. Just a drop of the pure magic would be enough to destroy the fearlings Pitch controlled and held in his soul. For only a moment, he thought of the man underneath the fearlings, old and forgotten by all but him and the Sandman, that they'd too many times held off in the hope of saving him. But now, it was clear he was gone. There was no hope for the man beneath the darkness. He was lost long ago, and the entire form of the Nightmare King had to be vanquished. And with the Light, he would be.

It was the only way.

At that, the Pooka took off again. His tunnel morphed and turned, sending Bunny back towards his home and the way to end all of this.

"Just hold on, Jackie," He whispered, "I'm comin' for ya."

Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse.

Yes, he was now under the control of a deranged evil spirit. Yes, he had attacked his friends not once, but twice in the same day. And yes, now he was back in the lair of said evil deranged evil spirit, but at least before he'd been down for the count the other times.

He wasn't so lucky this time around.

Jack groaned in agony curling in on his small frame as a dark boot continuously collided with his stomach and chest. Everything hurt and everything burned as he could feel the black sand slither underneath his skin, boiling him from the inside out. He felt ill at the sickly sounds that he could hear rushing in his ears; he felt ready to retch, but of course Pitch wouldn't allow that. The gag tied painfully in his mouth deterred anything at all from slipping out of his mouth. He made a silent vow that if he was to die today, it would not be from choking on his own vomit.

It'd probably be from this stupid boot though because tsar almighty GOD DAMMIT PITCH.

Jack wanted nothing more than to curse at the Nightmare King, now still as he towered over him. His body was lost to his control, even his mind was starting to become fuzzy once again, the winter spirit could thank the black sand inside him for that-he almost pleaded for it to take over, to release him from consciousness and just give in. However, the thought of the disgusting substance made him gag again as he was forced to recognize the slithering under his skin. He felt filthy, both physically and mentally, unable to even cry out or hold back the rushing feeling of the contents of his stomach rushing up his throat and there it was, the gross vomit now blocking his airway.

He coughed and gagged, making awful gurgling sounds as he struggled to get air down to his lungs. It was at the moment his captor kicked him once more, rolling him onto his side where it was easier for him to clear his throat, the contents dripping out from him around the gag. Jack breathed in air greedily then, tears stinging his eyes at the fowl stench and taste now stuck in his mouth and nose. The low chuckle above him froze him in place, and he held his breath as if to await another blow.

None came; instead, words filled the silence that had been filling the void of Pitch's lair for what must've been hours now.

"Isn't this such fun, Jack?" Pitch cooed, pleasure laced heavily in his voice. He took in a long, deep breath, and his eyes flashed gold brightly in the dark. He inhaled again and smiled, showing his jagged and uneven teeth. "It is oh so much fun for me, oh your fear is delightful. I should've done this centuries ago!"

He hummed happily and reached down to grab Jack by his hair, earning a whimper in the process, and grinned. Oh yes, this was so much fun-for him, the bastard. The winter spirit wanted nothing more than to be able to glare up at Pitch, to burn a hole into his grey skull and beat him with everything he had-the ache that surged throughout his entire body however, quickly reminded him of the state he was in. No chance of him fulfilling that heavy hope.

Hope. The word brought a new kind of ache to his chest as Jack thought of the Guardian of the wonderful feeling. He felt ashamed at how weak Bunny and the others must think of him. He couldn't save himself from Pitch, someone he'd already taken down before, but he'd had help then; Jamie and his friends, maybe they were the ones who truly deserved to be guardians. Certainly he wasn't deserving right now, weak and defenseless like a young child. The thought of an actual child being in his place made his stomach churn once again, and he groaned, swallowing around the gag in his mouth the best he could in hope to keep whatever was left in him down.

"Now, now, enough of that," Pitch spoke again and threw the spirit against the rocky floor of the lair. Right; Pitch wasn't a fan of groans of pain, which was surprising. He preferred groans and cries of fear, not so surprising. Jack was kicked again, but then time came to a stop as Pitch's foot came to rest on his stomach. Dread filled him as he realized what this position meant, the memory of the last time flooding his mind. He braced himself as Pitch placed his foot on the upper of his back, slowly pressing his weight onto the smaller form as the sound of rushing sand hissed in the air.

Jack didn't need to turn around to know what as forming in the Nightmare King's hands.

A sudden increase in the weight pressed upon him shattered his focus on defending against the incoming blade, instead now trying desperately trying to keep the acid that burned its way up his throat as his stomach convulsed to retch again. There were tears streaming down his face, their hot, stickiness doing nothing to help calm him as the mixture of salvia and stomach acid spewed out from his nose and around the gag.

Just kill me, please. Please. Jack silently begged in his mind, his airway once again blocked, and terror flooded through him as he felt Pitch pull at his memories, at the incident that lead to his demise as a mortal, the bitter cold biting at his skin and the pressure of his lungs being filled with icy water-he couldn't handle that again not in reality nor in his mind he couldn't why couldn't Pitch just stop, stop, STOP!

A low, rumbling laugh filled his ears, and he began to struggle under the weight on top of him as the familiar feeling of a long, sharp blade rested on the back of his neck. He cried out, shutting his eyes tightly and continued to choke, to drown in his own vomit, while that cursed maniac's laughter grew louder and louder.

"I will never stop, Jack," Pitch hissed, lowering his head to speak directly into the spirit's ear. He paused and pressed the blade down, smiling as blood began to trickle out of the fresh, shallow wound. The feeling of something wet and slick over the cut caused Jack to struggle harder, eyes wider than he thought he could open them, in desperate attempt to get away from the disgusting sensation. He did NOT want that tongue on him.

"I will not. You are mine, now, Jack Frost," Pitch finally continued, and Jack felt of the tip of the blade disappear from his skin. For a moment, he was relieved, and let out a sigh as silently as he could, until full-blown terror overtook him. He felt Pitch's hands moving, now free of holding the weapon, down his body, lightly dragging against the fabric of his hoodie. No, no no not-not that no no NO.

He stopped struggling, and his mind began to shut down as he felt burning warmth from the other spirit's flesh against his. The scars on his back sparked with pain as they were touched, very likely infected both normally and magically with the black sand, but Pitch didn't stop there. Even though his hands were bound, Pitch moved to pull the one layer of defense left off of his body, eventually ripping the fabric to get the piece of clothing off of him.

Jack began to shake then, slowly, soft tremors turned into violent ones as terror clouded every thought except for the fears that pushed through. The tears that slid down his face increased, and he felt himself close to sobbing, his chest fully aching at the sounds of despair ready to leave him. This couldn't be happening; Pitch wouldn't dare scar him again, right? The way the blood had gotten underneath his long, cracked nails and smeared all over his robes, even he had been disgusted enough to stop after carving his name into his skin. What else is he trying to-

No.

NO!

Stop! P-Please! Jack screamed inside his mind, and the hands on him pressed hard against his lower half, burning hot fingers clawing into his skin deeply, but not enough to break the skin. That almost made it worse, as then they slid lower, trailing along in a way that made the spirit whimper in fear. Surprising even himself, he then began to kick out as he felt the hands slip underneath the fabric of his trousers, denial and the urge to flee overpowering the control Pitch's sand had over him.

"Stop! Please! P-Please just-" Jack tried to yell around his gag, the words coming out muffled until he was cut off by the gag growing tighter and it dug into his cheeks. He felt a tendril wrap around his throat, slithering just like the sand under his skin, and further locked him into an immobile position. He closed his eyes, and denied what was happening to him. Maybe it was just a nightmare and he'd wake up right now, whether it be back at the pole or in Bunny's warren or the lake, he'd even take the corner of Pitch's lair that he had spent little time in and hated if it meant he was not currently undergoing this.

"Such a beautiful thing you are, Frost," Pitch whispered above him, his larger, shadowy body curled around Jack's much smaller form. His hands were still moving, they moved out from underneath the fabric and then began to tug at the rim of his trousers. Jack didn't try to move, completely immobilized physically and mentally by his binds and own mind.

"So beautiful, indeed," Pitch hummed. He truly did enjoy the sight of the young immortal below him. Jack's skin had been like porcelain, so smooth and perfect-a few minor imperfections had graced its surface, scars from his previous encounters with spirits and perhaps even some from his mortal life-no longer was it such. Now it was like the porcelain had cracked, long, black and red streaks covered his torso, his arms, and as Pitch slid the ancient trousers off the guardian, he saw they covered his legs as well. Pitch growled, a sick, wide smile spread across his face.

"You are perfect, yes," The Nightmare king continued, and he traced one long, spindly finger down one of the fresh scars on one of Jack's legs. "A great choice for my Nightmare Prince. Just imagine, what a leader for my fearling army, led by an immortal child." Pitch chuckled.

"We could even give you a second in command, a little prince of your own," He paused, and he pretended to think. He hummed,

"What about one of your favorite believers?" Pitch suggested, and he leaned down close to Jack's ear, "That boy, Jamie? The last light? It'd be so poetic for him to be the first we turn together."

Jack's eyes snapped back into focus.

Jamie.

He would not let this monster anywhere near Jamie, or Sophie, or any of their friends.

Near any of those children.

With strength he didn't know he had left, Jack bucked from beneath Pitch. He slammed the back of his skull into Pitch's chin and as the spirit backed off him, he flipped onto his back and kicked away. He glared at the Nightmare King with cold, shockingly bright eyes for someone in his position, daring Pitch to make the next move. Jack struggled against the shadow tendrils wrapped around his wrists, and backed himself up against something behind him, he couldn't tell what. He could see Pitch getting his bearings, he needed to act fast if he had any chance to-

Jack saw stars as his head was whipped back against the wall behind him, unable to comprehend how Pitch rushed to him so quickly. Pitch was bent over him, blocking out everything else from his sight. He couldn't see anything but Pitch's long, inky black body. He felt himself begin to panic, and he tried to flail away when the figure above him snatched his head by his hair and smacked it back against the wall once again.

"How dare you," Pitch growled, and his other hand snatched Jack by the neck. He squeezed it tightly.

"I offer you a chance for power, to choose who will join you in your suffering," He continued, and he stood up. His hand was still tightly clenched around Jack's throat, and lifted him up as well. "And you not only remain silent, but you dare to try to fight back? How ungrateful and selfish of a brat can you possibly be?"

Jack's mind was unclear. He could only see blackness and the amber of Pitch's eyes, and the Nightmare King's words barely even registered. The winter spirit tried to kick his legs out, but strong, shadow tendrils quickly bound them together. He could feel his trousers much farther down then they just had been, and Jack began to panic even more. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't see anything but darkness and those eyes. His mind barely processed the fabric as it slipped over his ankles and fell to the floor, everything was going black now. He was going to pass out.

Maybe that would be for the best, he thought through the cloudiness. If he just, closed his eyes and gave in, maybe he wouldn't feel anything else. Anything that was to come. Jack's lungs were screaming, screaming for air or were they screaming to get water out of them-was he underwater? He couldn't see anything. Where was he? Where was Pitch? Wait, why was Pitch here? What was happening? Why was everything so hard to remember? Who was Pitch?

Who was he?

Slowly, Jack began to go limp. Pitch grinned in malicious glee as he watched the young immortal's struggles slow. Just a bit more, just a little more sand in the boy's system, and he'd have him. The Guardian's precious child, their one weakness, his.

"That's it," Pitch purred, and he slowly lowered both himself and Jack to the ground. His grip remained tight around the guardian's neck, his other hand cradling Jack's face. He could see it; he could see what his Prince would be. He was so close; he could taste his success over the guardians of childhood and their precious leader Man in the Mood. He'd use the Moon's own creation to tear him down, to finally put an end to this millennia-long war-

"PITCH BLACK!"

Pitch's concentration broke and he hissed in frustration. He watched Jack for a moment more, content to see his mind still shutting down, before he closed his eyes and rose to face the intruder in his lair. A sinister smile spread across his face, and he turned to the voice, eyes opening-

Well, not quite ready for that.

The Nightmare King hadn't seen the true form of the Pooka in many centuries, and Bunnymund's tall, looming, six-armed figure gave Pitch pause. He'd thought the rabbit had gone soft, unable to reach such a form ever again. He clenched his fists so hard he drew black, sticky blood from his palms. His gaze found that of the other's, and the first shivers of his own fear trickled down his spine. The hatred and pure rage in those emerald eyes, the curl of the Pooka's snarl…

For a moment, Pitch considered his actions.

The last time he'd fought the Pooka in this state, he'd been at his peak. His power was untouchable, and it'd taken all the guardians to take him down. But the Pooka had been a huge blow all on its own. He'd only just managed to hideaway after his defeat, slowly regaining any power he could find.

Now, he was nowhere near that power. Yes, he felt better than he had in decades, but this-feeling the unwavering gaze of the beast locked on him, Pitch knew.

He knew he couldn't win this battle either.

In fact, he thought, as he watched the Pooka take a step towards him, he didn't think he'd even survive it.

Unless he took everything, everything he'd put into the boy, all his fear and power, and used it for one devasting attack. To blow the Pooka's form back to its weaker state, to stun and buy time, to get away-

Not enough to win, but enough to survive.

Pitch growled, and slowly drew the black sand into swirling tendrils that latched onto his wrists. All that work, all the plans he'd had, would have to be scrapped if he wanted to see another night. In one hand, he formed his scythe once more, and the other opened back towards the boy. He scowled as he pulled at the magic and tainted sand inside the frost spirit. He gained little pleasure from the sounds of pain that Jack let out as the sand physically pushed through his skin to the open air, to return to him. He didn't have enough control to force Jack to fight for him, but he'd been so damn close-

Pitch let out a roar as he laughed at Bunnymund, swinging madly with his scythe as he dodged the many arms looking to grab his limbs and tear them from his body. Everything he'd done, the careful planning and manipulation and perfecting his technique-it wouldn't work if he wasn't around to control it. The sand would return to its original creator overtime, purifying itself without pause. His shadows would fade.

He was a desperate man now. He had no choice.

And he had a feeling the Pooka would show no mercy tonight.

The lair bent around them, Pitch pulling at the very fabrics of his domain to get enough distance between him and the raging Bunnymund to deliver a stunning blow. He gathered all of his sand, all of the small fearlings, oh how it was so little to what he'd let on, still weak from so many defeats, he was angry. His attacks barely brushed the other, who jumped off every surface with claws out and ready to tear him into shreds. A golden fleck on Bunnymund's hip caught his attention. It was a small, golden egg just barely hanging on to the leather belt wrapped around the large form, and once Pitch recognized it, it's energy and purpose, his eyes widened in disbelief.

He truly was going to die tonight.

And despite how angry and frustrated he was, he realized quickly as he paused for just a millisecond too long,

He was afraid.

The Pooka pounced and had him by the neck, and Pitch found himself forced to the ground as his airway was cutoff. His eyes never left the golden egg, the glow radiating from it banishing the shadows alone, and he finally found himself still as he began to accept his fate. He'd not seen that kind of magic in such a long time, and yet, he should have known the Pooka would find a way to use it once more.

He felt the form above him lighten, and he watched as Bunnymund's form began to shrink, one set of arms disappearing as the others held him down and pulled the egg from its holder. Pitch felt his mind begin to shut down as the light was cast onto him, and he growled as his skin began to burn and boil. He stared up into the eyes of his enemy, the single Pooka he'd let live, and spat in his face.

"How proud you must be," he whispered, and he grunted as Bunnymund pressed the glowing egg to his chest. Pain unlike anything he'd ever felt radiated outward, and he could barely continue to speak

"H…How proud, to kill me using the one thing your kind ch…cherished most, protected. Vo-Vowed to use only for hope…hope. Their l-life source."

Pitch sneered one last time,

"How d-disgraceful."

Light ripped into him, and thousands of voices screamed out as all at once he was everything and nothing at all-

And then, the Nightmare King knew no more.

Bunnymund opened his eyes, he hadn't realized he'd even closed them and found himself hunched over the dark mark on the floor of the cave. He glanced around and watched as the cave filled with light. He welcomed it and let out a sigh of pure content as his body shifted back to its smaller, more common form.

He'd done it.

He'd finally done it.

His gaze returned to the shadow beneath him, his attention unwavering as it too slowly began to lighten just like the cave around him. Slowly, he placed his paw against the stone and whispered in his language a prayer he'd not used in eons. He'd finished what'd been started, and he could truly, finally, let his life on Earth move on from his past. He hadn't realized it until now just how heavy the burden had been on his shoulders, the last being connecting him to his people, the downfall of his people, was now gone, and he felt…nothing.

Why did he feel nothing?

He sat back on his heels, crouched and still low to the ground while he pondered this emptiness he now felt. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, he felt lighter than he had in eons, but it still confused him. He should be feeling triumph, perhaps powerful after defeating this long-time evil, but instead there was nothing.

Maybe not nothing, though...

Maybe this was peace.

He stood and nodded to himself. Yes, this was peace. He was finally at peace with everything that had happened, his loss and his anger-they were resolved, it seemed. He'd never stop missing his people, his original family, but that didn't mean he couldn't move on. He had moved on, in fact, with the guardians. They were his family, not new or replacing the old, but additional, they grew his family to be bigger and were in the current time. He was no longer looking to the past to live.

He had a present one to enjoy and engage in.

With the thoughts of the other guardians in his mind, he stood taller and tensed and swiveled his ears to try and detect where he'd left his fellow guardian, his friend, his little brother in many aspects.

Jack

Where was Jack?

The Pooka sprung up, headed up from the bottom of the cave towards the light higher and higher. He hadn't realized how far he and the Nightmare King had traveled in their battle, or rather how far down. Pity, it seemed that in Pitch's final moments he tried to gain the upper hand by going deeper into the Earth; he must've forgotten how the Pooka's strength was tied to the core. He truly had been a desperate creature in the end. It almost made Bunny smirk to himself, as much as his core hurt at pulling hope from any living being.

His eyes scoured every ledge and crevice on the way up, becoming more and more frantic as he found no signs of the frost spirit. He began to worry; had Pitch somehow tied the boy to him, all the shadows he had latched to the boy bringing him down with the Nightmare King? The though made him sick to his stomach; had he killed two spirits in his blind rage?

Thankfully, all these thoughts were erased when his gaze finally fell on a heap of blue and brown fabric, pale, light skin poking through where the clothing didn't overlap. Bunny still felt his heart race at the sight, and quickly jumped to where Jack was sprawled out. For a moment, Bunny watched in apprehension, eyes locked onto the spirit's chest, waiting for it to rise or fall.

It did, and Bunny let out a long, shaky sigh before he slowly approached his fellow guardian. Gently, he slid his arms underneath the other and propped him up against the cave wall. He waited patiently for Jack to open his eyes, the younger spirit seemingly coming to after being out for the entire battle. Bunny smiled softly as he watched Jack focus his gaze from the ground below him to the older spirit at his side. He tried not to look at all of the cuts and gashes and dark bruises littering the spirit's skin but took note of them to care for them later.

"Jackie," Bunny started softly, "Ya with me?"

Jack hummed and tried to turn his head to look at him. He seemed to struggle to move any part of his body apart from his eyes and let out a cough to cover any sound of pain before replying, "As…as much as I can be, Bunny."

Concerned, Bunny looked him over once more. "Where does it hurt, hm?" He asked and began to gently prod at all of the spirit's limbs. He did note the dark, angry looking bruise around the winter spirit's neck, and the notion of serious, permanent injury quickly jumped to mind "Can ya tell me?"

Jack made a sound that was probably an attempt at a chuckle but came out more like a wheeze rather than anything else. "Everywhere…" he mumbled, his voice raspy and unsteady, "But I…I can still feel everything, so… that's a good thing, right?"

The older guardian let out a sigh of relief before he moved to pull Jack into his arms again, "A'ight then, we're gonna getcha outta here then 'nd take care of all that." He paused in his movements and lowered his gaze to match Jack's, having before not missed the bruises that trailed down Jack's torso to his hips, and ending even further down on skin that shouldn't have been exposed.

"Is it okay if I carry ya outta here?"

Jack took a moment to respond and had his gaze, with the little energy it had, focused on his toes, which Bunny then noticed the other was successfully wiggling. "Mm, yeah…can barely, uh, move my feet. Don't…don't think walking, or even standing is, is possible, for a bit."

Bunny nodded then in understanding, and fully slid his arms under and around the smaller spirit before lifting him off the cave floor. "No problem, mate," He whispered and shifted Jack in his arms to be easier to maneuver. "Let's get outta here, then; getcha patched up. M'Sure ta others are worried sick 'bout us, huh?"

Jack hummed again and settled into Bunny's arms by shifting ever so slightly. Right as Bunny lifted his foot to tap and open a tunnel, Jack suddenly tensed.

"Wait…" He started and lifted his head just enough to look around the cave, seeming to take in the light and bright air for the first time since coming to. "Where…where'd Pitch go?"

Bunny brought his foot down lightly, tapping his toes against the ground twice and opened his tunnel before he answered Jack's question.

"Gone," The Pooka whispered, voice taut and soft, "'N he's never gonna hurt you or anyone eva again, Snowflake."

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it and simply settled back down into Bunny's arms before he shut his eyes. He was tired, and he decided that was all he needed to know for now.

"Let's go home, Bunny." He mumbled out, and Bunny remained quiet as he leapt down into his tunnel, not sparing another glance to the quiet, lit cave, ready to leave it and everything else to do with the Nightmare King far, far behind.

That's it, folks. Thanks to those who have continued to read and review over this long, wild ride that took five years, six months, and one day to come to completion.

Maybe you'll see me around again, with some new stuff. Maybe not, who knows. See ya around.