Fire. That was all Hiccup could see through his sweaty bangs; blue and purple sonic blasts of flame that ended in orange wisps. He couldn't see Toothless through the smokey haze nor could he pinpoint where Jack had been last or where he was now. The only thing he was aware of other than the suffocating fire was the warming egg in his sweat slickened palms.

Jack clutched his own egg to his chest, ducking away from the flames. His eyes were wide with newfound fear and his breathing grew panicked and labored. "HICCUP!" Jack yelled, choking as he swallowed smoke; the smoke burned his lungs and his heart began to pump furiously at the burning sensation he felt within himself. It wasn't a figurative sense, either; his body was literally burning, melting, at the unforgiving touch of fire and flame and destruction.

Hiccup felt a flush of wind to his left and cried out as sparks caught on his fur vest, igniting in orange flashes; a branch had broken from the tree near Hiccup and was currently cinders and ash near his feet. Hiccup winced at the sudden pain in his fake leg, the metal gnawing painfully at the healed-over tissue from his last episode of complications with it. A cinder had caught in the complicated metal and was currently burning the metal red-hot, only making Hiccup's predicament worse. Hiccup could hear a faint panicked yell that he could've sworn was his name in the smokey haze; alas, his mind was clouded as was his vision and he couldn't have been sure.

Jack called Hiccup's name a few more times, only worsening his state; Jack swiped his shaking hands over his forehead and stared at the sparkling liquid over his fingers. Jack stared at his fingers in disbelief; he was melting. There was a sudden tiny crackle and Jack first looked to the sky, expecting a branch to come down and impale him; when his eyes found nothing, he then looked down to the speckled egg against his drenched cotton shirt and watched as a spiderweb crack broke away and a tiny black claw poked through the hole. There was a little muffled cry from inside the egg and Jack wrapped his shaking fingers around the egg's fragile shell, wetting his cracked lips in a nervous manner. He wasn't going to let the little guy die.

Toothless trampled over sparks, roaring, trying to hear over the crackle of the fire, his eyes searching for any sign of Hiccup and, reluctantly but nevertheless, Jack. His catlike eyes swept across the area, landing on a shadow in the flames; Toothless leapt for it, following the boyish form through the fire, narrowly dodging falling branches and orange leaves. He roared after it, trying to squint through the purpling haze.

Hiccup couldn't possibly wrench the metal fixture away; he was both smart enough to know he wouldn't be able to walk, let alone run, away and that his hands would become raw with burns before he managed to yank it off. Hiccup took a shaky breath through his nose, trying not to breathe in too much smoke. There was a new cracking sound; Hiccup immediately looked to the air, panicked, only to look down at the egg. He gasped as the shell began to crack and slip away; gnashing baby teeth struggled to nip at the shell and claws scratched at it in mild annoyance before a tiny eye peeked through the hole it'd made and peered out curiously. Hiccup stared down at the eye before the eye disappeared and the claws were back, peeling away at the shell from the inside.

Jack held the egg close to him, thinking of ways away from the flames; he felt a painful tug in his abdomen and remembered the time when Pitch had snapped his staff in half ... His staff! Jack closed his eyes and scrunched up his features, trying to concentrate. He needed his staff; he needed cold. Jack let out a frustrated sigh at the lack of water molecules in the air at this level and decided hauntily that he needed to be higher up. He needed to get out of this heat but he didn't want to just leave Hiccup in this fire. Alas, eventually, Jack realized that if he got high enough and it got cold enough, he could send loads of snow down to blanket the flames, Jack kicked off the ash and flew maybe five feet up before he was hit with another slap of heat. Jack landed on his back painfully, the egg on his chest. Jack sighed, sitting up and forcing his aching muscles to push him into a standing position. He took a shaky breath and forced himself to kick off again, the egg in one of his hands. Jack dodged heat signatures and flaming branches, noticing a cold front high above him. Jack shot forward, determination fueling him now. He reached the cool expanses of cold fronts and clouds and held his free hand out in a grasping motion, awaiting his staff. Unbeknownst to Jack, the form in the egg began to shiver.

Jack's staff, tucked under a great mass of fur blankets and leather shawls, began to shake furiously and eventually busted through the mass, leaving through the door it'd busted open. Underneath the mass of fur and leather lay a silver satchel and barely evident unless you were very observant was the edge of a leather journal, beaten and soft from far too much use.

Hiccup cradled the tiny egg in his hands, the top of the egg forgotten and discarded near his hide boot. The form in the bottom half of the egg was snuggled in the makeshift bed, feeling the everpresent warmth of his hands. Hiccup had been walking through the flame-ridden forest, trying to find Toothless or Jack through the flames and smoke. With the comforting weight in Hiccup's hands, he'd begun to relax, albeit slightly as he still jumped at the crackling of branches and the roar of heat that rubbed his cheeks and burned the remainder of his leg.

Toothless was lost; he couldn't find the boyish shadow anywhere. Supporting singe marks across his leathery wings and his scaly skin, Toothless wished he could see anything but smoke and haze and hallucinations of his master. Toothless snorted through his nose uneasily before turning back to where he'd come and stomping through burnt logs and singing to find Toothless or Jack through the flames and smoke. With the comforting weight in Hiccup's hands, he'd begun to relax, albeit slightly as he still jumped at the crackling of branches and the roar of heat that rubbed his cheeks and the burned the remainder of his leg.

Jack caught the staff in his hand and the force nearly pushed him off balance. He flipped over, the egg and staff now each in one hand, and breathed in cool air for a change. His gut pinched and Jack closed his eyes, throwing his staff into the bottom of a cloud; the air and water molecules answered to his command and all the clouds began to produce rain, sleet, snow, hail; anything Jack could think of seeped from the clouds and swirled down below his boot-clad feet.

Toothless didn't have to go very far before he found Hiccup and the egg; Toothless roared and rushed to his master, much like the modern dog (or goat, in Gobber's case) would greet his master after a long (or short) disappearance. Hiccup let out a choked call of relief and rushed to his dragon; Toothless nuzzled him and purred before croaking hurriedly, trying to convince Hiccup to get on his back to get out of the burning wood. Hiccup only clutched the egg closer, confused, and looked to the sky; he could see something ... It was faint, a shadow, no, two shadows, one glowing with blue light and another wrapped in smoky black trendils like tentacles of an unruly sea monster.

Hiccup heart froze in his chest as Toothless proceeded to roar into his face, panic slitting his catlike eyes. Hiccup stared up into the smoking haze of the ruined forest to the upcoming battle overhead; he watched the glowing shadow whip around, a crooked staff in his hand as the two connected. Then, from the bowels of the sky and the clouds, Thor struck down his mighty power over the elements and Hiccup had a faint realization just before a chunk of ice connected with his temple: I remember you, Jokul. I remember.

Jack stared at the black shadow in surprise. The shadow's hair fluttered in the heavy wind and stared at him with unblinking golden eyes, eyes that looked pained and rejected and most of all scared and Jack didn't think eyes like that, eyes without pupils, could show such emotion ... Emotion Jack had felt his entire invisible life.

Jack's sympathy lessened when the shadow pulled its black fist back before slamming it into Jack's jaw; black trendils clung to his jaw, crawling up to the healed bit of cheek that had been broken before. The black spiderweb in his cheek throbbed black and the trendils seeped into the pale flesh, turning the web darker and more distinct. Jack bit back a cry and willed his power into his staff, which he whipped forward and slammed into the shadow's head. The shadow's head whipped to the left then turned to face him, unblinking and unphased. A trendil whipped out and wrapped around Jack's wrist, pulling him close to the shadow. The shadow blinked and the eyes suddenly had fearful brown irises and he whispered into Jack's ear before he disappeared in a flash of lightning. The words rung in Jack's head like thunder and Jack closed his eyes before loosing all consciousness, freefalling through the hail and the rain and the snow. The words were etched in the sky, in the destroyed land, sketched into Jack's wrist with trendils of shadow: Beware the black nightmares.

...

Back in Neverland, Peter ran his hand over the bark of Hook's ship, confusion melting over his elfish features. He couldn't recall how this ship had gotten there; he ran his fingers across a scarlet red coat and rubbed a discoloured button between his thumb and forefinger. He licked his lips slightly and pulled it from its hook before throwing it over his shoulders. He glanced down and noticed a pair of boots; he shoved his small childish feet into the size 9 men's boots. Peter let out a bubbly laugh at the foolish attire and gave an innocent strut. "Look, Tink!" He called to the flash of golden light. "Look at me!"

Tink sighed and watched Peter hop around Hook's quarters. Peter stopped near a flattened scroll against a wooden desk, positioned into the desk by a dagger. Peter blinked at the yellowed paper and the scrawled map of Neverland, his brow furrowing in confusion and maybe even recognition as his eyes slid to an X that marked the spot of ... Was that the Nevertree? He ran a finger over the mark and stared at it before tapping it with his fingernail. He stared at it only a moment longer before his eyes slid up and caught sight of Hook's ship in a bottle; Peter let out an excited cry and reached for it, peering through the glass. He flipped it over and shook it slightly before growing disinterested; he replaced it on the desk and picked up a slippery red rubber thing in his hands and began to knead the water inside with his small hands before tossing it over his shoulder and hopping out the door to the deck.

Tink leapt to the side as the rubber met wood beside her; water slushed over the wood and it hit the floor with a squishy plod. She huffed in frustration and followed Peter out.

Peter overlooked the shimmering greens and blues of the sea surrounding him. He looked out at the water and rubbed a long forgotten scar of angry teeth before he felt a shocking pain across his neck, as if someone had slapped him with a tree branch. Pain rippled across his body, shooting to and fro between major limbs; his side popped and blood seeped through his fingers then the same happened to his temple until both of his hands were pressed against the sides of his head before he fell to his knees, blood as red as the scarlet coat. "Tink!" He cried through fresh tears. "Tink! It hurts!"

Tinkerbell zipped forward in a panic; she darted around him feverishly, unable to decide what to do. Peter rolled in his agony and Tink stared down with wide fearful eyes before she remembered who could help as she looked to the darkening sky and the sphere of ivory against the navy blue. She let out a spew of reassuring tinkling before darting off, cringing at his cries for her not to leave him; his cries only pushed her to go faster until she was inside a tree root and past a curtain of leather. She groaned when she found the dusty old stick of a switch; she slammed her weight down against it, cursing her size. She finally grabbed a rock and after a bout of struggling let it fall from her strained arms before it came down swiftly and pushed down the lever, breaking a chunk of wood, as well, but it didn't really concern Tink as she was already far from the tree and burning through leaves to get back to Peter. She froze, however, when she realized she couldn't hear Peter's cries over the rush of wind in her elfish ears or the intense pounding of her heart. She looked through the burnt outline of a leaf, staring at the sand-ravaged ship, empty except for the blood-slickened spot of deck Peter had earlier cried upon. Her heart thudded absently as rainbows flashed through the sky and the moon shimmered behind a bundle of rouge Fearlings, holding an unconscious boy by his ankles.

...

Pitch lazily shielded his eyes with a light grey hand, peering through his fingers at the sudden light overhead. The army of Fearlings hissed at the burning pain and retreated from the light as a cluster of bustling shadows soared into the dark palace before throwing the form of a young boy to the cold ground before Pitch's feet.

A shadow of the same boy reached through the bars of a cage, his other hand clutching the piercing pain in his side in which he'd been stabbed on his arrival back from Berk; his arrival back from failure, Gothel had called it.

Pitch raised his eyebrows amusedly at the act of desperation from the shadow; Peter stirred on the cold ground, rolling and writhing and groaning. He winced as he pushed himself from the floor and blinked in the darkening throne room; his eyes found feet as black as the boots that had earlier slipped away into the sea.

Pitch smiled unkindly down to Peter, who backed up slightly before his eyes caught sight of his shadow. Steeling his courage, Peter glared at Pitch and jerked his chin to his shadow. "What's this?" Peter snapped.

Pitch closed his eyes and pursed his lips; the boy was already irritating.

"What kind of game are you playing here, you-you," Peter puffed out a huff of frustration, unable to find a word for this brooding figure before him.

"-Bogey?" Pitch chuckled humorlessly. He lazily peered down at the boy before him.

Peter had a faint memory in the back of his mind of a time when he was young, too young to remember fully, but still old enough to remember the fear of Bogeys, of the dark, of the villians of old London. He remembered a voice, a kind motherly voice, whispering to him that it was all but make believe, all but dreams; but Peter loved pretending, he loved dreams. Or at least Peter thought he did.

The Fearlings formed lifesized shadow puppets from above; an image of a young boy falling from a pram and staring longingly from a window and later finding that window locked and his bed filled with a new boy who was being kissed by a mother and a father, Peter's mother and father, or at least they used to be. Then a girl and two brothers; young boys in the skins of animals they'd once slain; the boys leaving and growing old; the girl, her face wrinkled with stress and an equal amount of worry and smile lines, and a baby girl she held and Peter cowering from the sight. Peter stared at the show in open-mouthed horror, tears rushing to his eyes, and he sobbed; he let out sobs that racked his small frame and caused his shadow to cry, as well, cry with no words or tears, which was even more heartwrenching than the pained screams from the boy; the boys' cries and the shadows' silence were a chorus that Pitch was directing and he watched the scene before him with a somber expression; even Pitch Black wasn't sick enough to enjoy the torment caused to the boy by his memories.

A woman's chuckle met his ears as teeth nipped the top of Pitch's ear and the woman continued, "So, I see your plan is officially unfolding ... Took you long enough," and she shoved Pitch away as she walked to the boy, his pain so horrible that his cries were now silent; his shadow now howled at the woman as she cruelly kicked the boy in the gut but cowered when she whirled at him, snarling. She spat into the cage and glared at Pitch. Even in this scarce light, the grey strands were evident in her shadowy curls; she dug her long nails into the palms of her hands, pursing her lips together. In her sweetest tone of voice she could muster, she asked, "So, Pitch. When will we ... extract information?"

She strode forward, running a manicured nail along his jawline. His nose scrunched slightly at the excessive flirtation and he noted the venom behind the sugar-coat, poking through the last word like gaping stab wounds. Pitch swallowed audibly, causing Gothel's lips to curl. "We will when it's time." Her smile faltered into a grimace and she snarled at him, wishing to claw her nails down his normally smug face.

"And, when will that be?" She asked through clenched teeth, her nail biting into Pitch's flesh.

He sighed. "When I've got time on my side."

She suddenly grinned, her snarl morphing to a purr. "Well then; that changes everything," She bit her lip, rolling her tongue over her teeth. "Let's put this little plan into action."

Oh god ew what am I doing this ship you guys

and poor Peter why do I write this stuff

and Hijack just

why

and you guys

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and just the 9th chapter

-cries because you're all perfect-