Hewo there, peoples!

Mkay, so this is how my logic works: I haven't read the books, so I'm sorry if I get histories or names or anything twisted to the point of offence. OK? I've just watched the movie, and skimmed through a couple other RoTG FanFics, but that's really it. I'm basically making things up as I go. So if facts surrounding OC's histories are kind of skewed, or if you actually can't summon the Guardians, do me a favour and just go with it. K? Awesome sauce.

Here we go! Had an AMERZING day of just writing, which was perfect. Plus, I get to post yet ANOTHER chapter for y'all!

Okidoodle, that's all I have to say. :D

DFTBA,

doubtfulfig

Suddenly, I needed to breathe.

The darkness never told me that I needed air.

It had protected me, kept me safe.

And now that I saw the moon, its light shone on things I never knew.

He told me to breathe.

So I did.

Cold air cracked in my lungs, in through my goopy throat. It cleared my head, opened my eyes.

I couldn't really see anything. Nothing had changed, then. This maniac, whoever he was, kept everything shrouded in shadows, including himself. I could hear his insane laugh, the kind that made your shoulders draw up to your ears, made you curl up in a corner and try not to cry — yet I never saw him. Every once in a while, I'd see his shadow descend the stairwell before my cell, and I'd stand, despite my weak legs, and I'd brace myself for his gloating speech - every evil guy has one, right? - but by the time the base of his shadow reached the bottom, he wouldn't be there. Only his laugh.

I pulled the worn blanket closer around my shoulders. My shirt and my jeans left me embarrassingly naked, my favourite aqua bra showing clearly through Mickey Mouse's head.

That made me smile. God, I couldn't even remember the last time I'd smiled. I didn't even care if it drew a few tears. Before everything, Mom had always said that it was typical of me. Dressing mundane and seeming drawl and boring, but underneath it was hidden something crazy, something vibrant and bright.

Then I noticed it.

I was cold.

My entire stay here, however long it had been, had never been cold. Never hot, never cold, just right. I'd never needed the blanket except to comfort me, or to cover myself when I thought this guy would come to see me. But tonight, I was shivering. From my bare shoulders to my bare toes, goosebumps were rising. I wondered vaguely if this was a new form of torture the guy would use on me.

I wished the cowardly bastard would just show his face. Just once, so I knew what I was afraid of.

Instead, all I got was dancing shadows, cast by no light, and cackling that kept me awake.

I sniffed, maybe a bit too loud, because he started to laugh again. I curled up against myself, using my hair as a buffer between me and the rugged ground. I tried to sleep, but it was getting to the point where I could no longer tell what was happening behind my eyelids and before them.

Jack stood above the spot, circling slowly. He knew this place - the clearing where the tunnel had been. The broken bedframe that guarded the entrance was no longer there, however, and neither was the tunnel. It was just a deserted sandy patch amongst a million trees.

He'd been everywhere. On top of mountains, both the Poles, he'd even braved a close shave to the equator. He had to let Tooth or Bunny take over from there, since the temperate weather bit at his skin, as if he'd been shoved in a giant microwave.

But no where had there been any sign of the kids. Just days of searching, wasted - and for all Jack knew, it could've been their last days.

He'd only come here as a last resort. Because he knew it: Pitch'd long since relocated.

"URH!" He screamed, days of containing his frantic frustration tearing up his throat, and he punched a tree trunk nearby. Despite his anger, he had to flinch as it toppled over as hoarfrost ate away at its bark, and made its way to its core.

The moon, nearly invisible in the pale early morning light, poked its face over the treeline.

"Oh, what now?" Jack floated upwards, willing the updraft so he could drop onto an extended deciduous branch. "What?!" Jack's timbre cracked, he yelled so loud, and a few songbirds erupted from the tree beneath him.

He tried to steady his breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth, and he paced across the beam of wood, grasping his shepherd's hook so his white knuckles went yellow.

Finally, after a crisp breath through his nose, he leaned against the rod of his staff and glared up at Man in Moon, trying to convey everything he was feeling. "Look... I know you haven't taken to talking to me. That's fine. But you have to understand... when I was most alone, you brought me to the Guardians. You gave me friends. A family." He sighed, swinging his leg around. "I really want to say that's the reason I need to save her — them — but honestly, I don't really know why." He stared up, searching frantically for some sort of sign of acknowledgement. "Maybe it's my Guardian instinct kicking in." When nothing laughed at his chilled joke, he sighed. "All I know is, they're alone, and scared, and I need to help them. They're children, right? Both of them believe. So I need to protect them. And I need you to tell me how."

"Wuzzamatta, Frostbite?"

Pitch. Jack's face settled into a snarl as he whirled downward onto the voice, feet away from the tree he'd knocked over. Only after he had him pinned to a trunk with his staff, breathing hard, did he realize it was Bunny, ears flat against his head in an unexpected adrenaline rush.

"Easy there, mate," he said calmly. The corner of his mouth turned up in a small grin. "I know you don't hate me all that much."

"Sorry," he mumbled, flicking his staff away. "I thought you might have been him."

"Ah." Bunny stood, bouncing nimbly on his hind legs. He brought one up to scratch behind his ear, musing, "Anger, anxiety, jumpiness. I'd know it anywhere. This is a case of love at first sight, am I right?"

"What?" Jack took to wandering aimlessly in a circle.

"Oh, you know." He examined his fuzzy paw, expertly avoiding Jack's gaze, which was scorching enough to melt an ice cube. "Saving the damsel in distress might win her love, am I right?"

"What? No!" Jack struck the ground with his staff, sinking it into the ground. Frost laced outward around the rod, stiffening the sand into hard-packed earth. "It's our duty to protect, Bunny. These two need us more than any other kid of the face of the planet does right now. I know it." He spoke deliberately, glaring defiantly at the silent Pooka. "You didn't see them. The way Willow just assumed I was there to hurt her. And Emmett…" Jack shook his head. "I don't know. But I do know that before, Pitch only played with the mind. He never caused any real harm. Just nightmares, right? But he also only played with kids. But everything..." He looked toward the darkness. "Everything about this is different. He's crossing a line."

Bunny didn't say anything for a while. Just watched Jack as he curled his slender fingers into his palms, then relaxing them just as slowly. His frosty shoulders were hunched, making him look even more slinky than usual.

He knew Jack wasn't talking about both of them. So what was it about this girl, this particular girl, that made him so defensive? This wasn't the Jack Bunny knew. This was a fierce protector, not a fun-loving trickster.

This must be important to him, to change him like that.

"What do you need me to do, mate?" he asked quietly.

"The tunnel." Jack twisted the staff until it broke free, sending little frosty grains of sand airborne. "It's not here. He's moved, somewhere else."

"Well, if it's a tunnel you're after," Bunny stood up straight, coming up behind the distraught boy, "you summoned the right Guardian."

Jack shook his head. His eyebrows levelled over his eyes in bewilderment. "I didn't summon you."

"Aw, mate." He smiled brazenly when Jack turned to face him. "The tree."

Jack glanced over Bunny's shoulder at the tree he'd knocked over. It was practically shredded by the frost he'd inflicted on it.

"Tap any tree, and BANG, I'm here." He nodded proudly, ears wobbling from the movement. "And you did a bit more than tap it, mate."

"Heh." Jack ran a hand down the back of his neck. A sort of sheepish grin, spreading slow and steady, brought the normal Jack's brightness back into his tired face. "Yeah."

Bunny laid a paw heavily on Jack's shoulder, raising Jack's eyes to his viridescent ones. The grey was soft, for once, not sharp with the idea of a new trick. Open, and willing.

"Now," Bunny said, tapping his foot on the ground. The sand fell in on itself, falling concave into a neat circle that lead to somewhere that no one could see. "Let's hunt this guy down."

Ok, yeah. I've officially lost my mind.

Someone was whispering.

But no one was around.

Do you believe in the Bogeyman?

Maniacal laughter.

It was always there.

Yet there was no face.

Just shadows, slinking across the bars of the cell, blocking some light that didn't exist.

The shadows and the dark exposed more than the Moon's pale light did. I found myself bunching the blanket up and around my front. This creep would see no more than what I wanted him to see.

Emmett. The thought came to me in a gut-wrenching blow. And it didn't want to leave. How selfish was I, worried about myself, when Emmett was out there, in his grasp… I imagined him somewhere like this, curled up in a corner all alone.

This was all my fault. My forehead rammed itself into my palms.

Then the voice bounced off the walls, and around inside my head. I tried to keep my cool, but no sooner did I get a grip on myself, the laughter got louder, and instead of floating around, it seemed to concentrate, materialize, right in front of me.

For a moment, I couldn't tell if I was still staring at shadows, slight variations of darkness, but the moment those glowing eyes appeared feet from where I crouched, I knew it was him. His cloak, blacker than night, faded evenly into his grey forearms, like it was... a part of him. Black spiked from his head, combed back from his face to reveal cheekbones you could cut yourself on, and his lips, barely distinctive, curled back over pointed teeth. He was like a black-and-white photograph, with grey skin and shadowed features.

Except for those eyes. They could cut into your skin, cast the shadows away from your deepest secrets. I fumbled with the blanket, wishing I had some clothes that didn't suck at being clothing, as he moved toward me. His cloak covered his legs, and he didn't bounce, like one would when walking. It was like he melded into the ground. He just floated forward, slowly, the cloak not really ending at a hem line.

I could see his chest shake, like he was chuckling, but the sound came in waves, from my left, then the right, then behind. It closed me in, but I didn't flinch. I only panicked in my mind. I kept my eyes glassy.

He crouched, taking my chin roughly in his hands. It felt like the sun had suddenly vanished, leaving my face in dank shadow.

"Boo." His breath was like death. Warm, putrid death. But the single word had no effect on me. There was nothing this creep could do to make me more terrified than I already was.

But he wasn't going to know that.

"Who the hell are you?" My voice came out, although my faith in it wasn't entirely all there. To my satisfaction, it sounded defiant.

He cocked his head to the side, a sinister smile sliding across his face. "Your worst nightmare."

He let go of my face, jerking my head backwards so it cracked against the wall. I didn't groan, although the pain that exploded at the back of my head blossomed down my neck like a searing liquid.

"To be precise, I suppose, you could call me the Bogeyman. Most people do. Although," he flicked his eyes back to mine, "the more important people call me Pitch. Pitch Black."

"Too bad for you, I'm not..." I had to breathe deeply, clearing the stars from the back of my eyelids, "...afraid of the dark."

"Aren't you? What a shame," he pouted, clasping his hands as he straightened. His voice was like quicksilver, smooth and silky, with a heavy English accent. I had to admit, it was impressively practiced in the art of inflicting fear. "Ah, well. I can try, at least."

With a snap of his fingers, all definite lines disappeared. All I could see was black. No dancing shadows, no moving dark. Just black. Even the Moon had been snuffed out.

His laugh filled the air again, thick, spreading everywhere in billowing waves. "How about now, dear?"

"Mmm, nope." I wondered vaguely, through the fog in my head, if this was what it was like to be dead. If it was, it wasn't so bad. I could close my eyes and I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between dreams and reality.

"Drat. You teenagers don't know how to have any fun." His face loomed suddenly before me, like he had stepped into light from shadow. "You don't know how to believe in fear."

"I don't follow." I rubbed the back of my neck. It was wet, and when I pulled my hands back, they came away sticky.

"Oh, sorry. I forget, you're... well... different." He stepped to the side, beginning a circle around me.

"What else is new."

"I know what you're thinking, dear child. I'm just a figment of your ample imagination." He chuckled at that, because for some reason, he found that funny. He was gesturing delicately with his slender grey hands. "Well, let me give you a little hint, darling. Is this just another nightmare?"

All of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. It wasn't - I couldn't - the air, it wouldn't come. Instead, what felt like sand flooded my nostrils, and my mouth when I opened it in a silent gasp. It dropped into my lungs, filled my stomach, and I tried to cough it up, but when I did, it would lodge in my throat, clogging it with the thick sweetness of cough syrup, and all I could think of was his laugh, it's gonna kill me, oh, God, why is this happening, why, why, just STOP, just make it end, ohgodohgod i'm gonna die it's over-

Just as suddenly as it had started, it ended. Cold air filtered through my raspy throat, and I couldn't drink it up fast enough. I could still feel the sand, or whatever it was, condense and rise whenever I breathed. It made me cough, but it wouldn't come up in the phlegm I gagged on.

"Oh, poor dear." The outline of his face danced on the outskirts of my vision, past the limits of the stars sparkling in the dark. Or maybe it was just my eyes. "How cruel of me."

"Why?" I rasped. Weird noises I associated with throwing up were emerging from my throat when I opened my mouth, so to keep myself from humiliate myself further in front of him, I promptly closed it.

"You ask why I do this to you?" He shrugged. He kept circling me as he continued, "Ah, well. Might as well tell you. It'll pass the time.

"You see, dear, I'm not the only one of my kind. There are other spirits, other beings who are not - ah, how do I say this? - made of the same cloth as you humans, I suppose. We are immortal, and we thrive on the things we were made to. Ah, yes," he smiled, waving his hand in the air to my left. A pale orb appeared in front of me, hovering amongst the black, exposing everything, exposing nothing. "We were made. The Man in the Moon, many call him. Quite fitting, I'd say. He sees everything, knows everything, and he is what summons spirits like myself into being in this world. A few you've heard of, no doubt."

As he spoke, the moon warped, deepening into a rosy-cheeked man with a long white beard sprouting slowly from his chin. His wide blue eyes sparkled, under flaring darkened eyebrows, and as he opened his mouth to laugh, his two front teeth elongated, and suddenly I was looking into the face of an ashen rabbit, with distinctive markings running along the dark bushes of fur that served as eyebrows. His eyes were strong, a flickering green that could either be as hard as stone, or lively and warm like spring. As I thought it, they flashed violet, the sort of purple you associate with hummingbirds. Which made sense, as the face morphed into a human one, yet the twitchy green and yellow feathers that adorned her head told me she wasn't quite human. Just as quickly as feathers grew, they receded, and in their place hair sprouted that appeared like it had just been through a windstorm in a desert. A wide, smiling face beneath it, yellow and beaming.

I knew who these were before Pitch spoke. They were all just names I'd almost forgotten in the frenzy my life had become in the past few years. But the last face was familiar. I'd actually had a conversation with this one. Pale skin, angular features, an icy-white tuft of hair that stuck up every which way. Grey eyes that I figured seemed to be the only thing that wasn't cold about his appearance, yet they were just as sharp as the angles of his jawline. They sparked almost violently as half of his thin mouth curved upward in a rather charming, if somewhat sharp, grin.

"Nicholas St. North," he spoke softly with each change, "E. Aster Bunnymund, Toothiana, Sanderson. Jack Frost." Bitterness stung each of the words, twisting them into something resulting from hatred and fear. So they had a past, I thought dryly as he continued: "The Guardians who watch over all the children of the world. They protect their hope, their wonder, their joy, and they always make sure that fear doesn't bring harm to them." He scoffed loudly as the image of Jack's blinding smile was taken over by a sweeping mass of darkness. "You see, dearest, as long as children believe, they live. And only those who believe can see them."

"What does this have to do with me?" I croaked, breathing around the sandstorm rising in my lungs.

"Everything," he spat, whirling to face me. "Too long have I lived in the shadows, too long have I gone unnoticed. How many times have you heard it said, 'There's no such thing as the Bogeyman'? How many more children can you imagine don't believe in me?" His words flared angrily. "Children everywhere dismiss me. They do not see me." He glided toward me, reaching out for my face. "Except for you. You, dearest, seem to have a special place in your heart for fear."

I didn't respond. I only glared at him as I struggled to breathe through the mass of sand settled in my breathing organs.

"You are special, don't you see?" he spoke softly, running a finger along my cheek. I resisted the urge to bite it - not because it looked delicious, but because I wanted to draw creepy blood from his grey skin. "You are obviously not a child..." His eyes ran me up and down, eyebrow muscles twisted weirdly. "And yet, you still believe."

I bit my response down, keeping it with the sand in my gut.

"You will be proof to the Guardians that no longer am I limited to children's fears..." He stood straight, running his tongue over his lips. "...But instead, I can reach into the minds of everyone. And not only their minds can I harm. Oh, no. You witnessed that for yourself. And still you will." He chuckled, shoulders shaking in sick amusement. "So enjoy it here, while you can. In your last few hours on your own, I can't imagine what you might want to do. But don't imagine there will be an escape." With a sneer, he turned, walking into a deeper dark. "You will be my example."

"Wait…"

At my rasped cry, he turned his head a little.

"Emmett." I swallowed hard, but it didn't stop the coughs from wracking my chest. "What did you do to him?"

A smile pressed his pointed chin toward his neck. "You'll know soon enough."

And just like that, he was gone, although his insane laugh was still lingering. My surroundings sunk back around me, materializing into vague shapes and forms. I curled up against myself. No matter how I sat, the weight in my lungs and in my stomach wouldn't sit comfortably. Breathing stirred it, sending grains airborne and up my throat. My breaths rattled, and they hurt.

I was wrong.

Dying felt much different than soft darkness.