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"She sat staring with her eyes shut, into his eyes, and felt as if she had finally got to the beginning of something she couldn't begin, and she saw him moving farther and farther away, farther and farther into the darkness until he was the pin point of light."
—Flannery O'Connor, Wise Blood

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Jack touched down in the grassy clearing, grimacing at the sweltering heat. A fighting pair of hummingbirds whizzed past, darting like miniature fighter jets. He judged it be late afternoon, passing the hottest part of the day. The cicadas were practically screaming, their discordant wailing drowning out all other sounds. Jack pocketed North's snow globe and began to make his slow trek towards the the rocky caverns, swishing his staff absentmindedly through the long vegetation. He also pocketed the eye-patch he had filched from a distracted Yeti, snatching it from the large pile before anyone noticed. A gold eye wouldn't keep Jack from seeing Jamie, but he didn't want to scare the kid, or raise unwanted questions. The more he could keep the Pitch-thing under wraps, the better.

The Boogeyman's fear-rage was a hurricane in Jack's head. Everything on the outside was tumultuous and snarling, furious in its strength, but its centre was eerie calm. It was a void that had no bottom and no top, but a cold motionlessness. At this point it didn't surprise Jack. There was a stillness he hadn't realized about the Nightmare King. All last year he'd always seen the Boogeyman in motion, a flurry of activity, but now the young Guardian understood Pitch was a spider, gifted with an iron patience. Pitch was like water, whose measured tenacity weathered down even the highest of mountains.

An enemy with the ability to wait centuries made the dark spirit even more dangerous than the others had previously thought. But none of that mattered. It was hard to remember Pitch was the enemy when having a front-row seat to his distress. And not just that. Before Jack would've felt Pitch's anger as clearly as any physical stimuli. Now he could only feel it at a distance, as if experiencing it behind thick glass.

Tentatively, the young Guardian reached out to brush the icy depths, bypassing the snarling exterior without a scratch. The result was instantaneous.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to calm you down. What do you think I'm doing?"

"How is this calming me down?"

"It's what friends do. Y'know, help each other?"

"We are not friends." Pitch hissed the word like an insult. The dark spirit physically retracted from Jack's attempts at comfort. "Just because I've fed you a few scraps of information does not make us even remotely friends!"

Jack removed his metaphorical hand slowly. He didn't know why he tried in the first place. "This is your fear talking."

"I am not afraid!" he shrilled.

But Pitch was. His fear filled was literally filling Jack's head.

"There's no shame in being scared," Jack said. Even though it no longer hurt him, if felt weird seeing the Boogeyman suffering. "If I were you I'd be scared too."

Pitch snarled. He began to pace with a single-minded violence, voice rising with every word. "I need to get out! I demand you fix this!"

"Pitch, I can't—"

"Let me out!"

"For the love of—"

"LET ME OUT!"

Jamie once showed Jack a Youtube video of a cat accidentally falling in a tube of water. Its frenzied attempts to escape were hilarious to watch, but observing Pitch's same response didn't make Jack laugh now. He stared, wide-eyed, as the dark creature lashed and struck and rebounded, scrabbling and scratching any foothold he could find, gibbering lemmeoutlemmeout the whole while.

There was no devastating pain, only the barest sensations of pressure. Jack unleashed a sigh as a weight rolled off his chest, more relieved in that moment than he could say. Whaddya know? The giant kangaroo was right, he thought. He was no longer a hostage.

Suddenly the resistance gave. The writhing softened and fell away, until it was like holding smoke. Jack could still sense the Boogeyman, but it was a shadow of what he once was.

"Pitch? Pitch!"

"I'm not deaf," was the surly, if faint, reply. It sounded as if Pitch was out of breath."It's nothing. Go away, I said go away! I don't need your pity. You've wanted this all along."

Jack scrubbed his face. Honestly, it was like being tied to a baby. "Oh, stop being so melodramatic. You're worse than the rabbit."

"Who would mourn for the Boogeyman, anyway?" Pitch continued to say, as if not hearing Jack at all, still breathless. "I bet you all will throw a celebration."

"Seriously? I can get you a soap box if it'll help. You're being ridiculous."

"It's happened before to others, you know."

"What, getting struck by lightening?"

"No!" Some of the Nightmare King's strength returned. "Fading, you halfwit. It's happen before. The gwyllgi. Huldras, nökkens, even the leshi. They're all spirits faded to dust, forgotten. No! This was your plan all along, and nothing you can say will convince me of otherwise."

"Stop it. You're going to be fine," Jack said, yet even as he said it, he was unable to stop the tiniest flicker of doubt. He'd never heard of any of the creatures Pitch had rattled off, which made him wonder how many creatures had risen and fallen because humans had forgotten their legends. The same strange resentment as before flickered through Jack at children's tendency to forget. It didn't seem fair his entire existence, all of their existences, hinged on human belief. The tether was just too fragile.

"Oh, just let me rest in peace," the Boogeyman said, decided he was done trying to soothe the dark creature and ducked into the little cave. It was exactly as he'd left it, except—

"Whoa," he said, unable to stop himself.

The body laid there, comatose for all it moved, pale and lifeless. That in itself wasn't what pulled Jack up short, so short he hit his forehead on a rock overhang. At first glance it seemed nothing was amiss, but as Jack neared, rubbing his bruised head, he could see Pitch's body was inconsistent a good three inches around the edges. He could see the ground through the Boogeyman's shoulder. When Jack reached own, his fingers phased through.

"Stop that!" Pitch snapped, but Jack took advantage of his newfound power and batted away the Boogeyman's indignant squawks as easily as a bear would flies.

"So Tooth was right. We do fade," he murmured. Which only made him wonder if they, too, had seen this before. He found out where the body became solid again his fingers couldn't pass through. He stood up, wiping his hand on the front of his blue hoodie. He hid a shudder, understanding he was watching the Boogeyman physically decay in front of him.

"You just need to hold on for a few more days, that's all," he said.

"What do you care," was the bitter reply.

Jack bared his teeth. Enough was enough. "You know what? I dunno. I dunno know why we should save you. You were a jerk before, you're a jerk now, and you'll be a jerk if you survive this. You tried to leave me brain dead a few days ago, and still would if you had half the chance. You hurt all of us last year, Sandy most of all. You drove a freaking arrow in him, for crap's sake! So why don't you shut up before I change my mind, huh? Just, just stop."

"Do it, then." The voice was stiff. "Kill me. You won't hear me beg."

Jack smiled, eyes untouched and cold. "You forget you're in my head,"he said. "I know you're lying."

The winter spirit waited patiently as Pitch visibly tried to control himself. When Pitch spoke again, his tone was withering.

"Everything you've said is true. If I could rid you lot forever, I would. I won't stop. Why continue this charade? Why save me? Why?"

Jack carded a distracted hand through his hair. "I dunno. I really don't. It just feels . . . wrong, this way. I'd rather freeze your butt in a fair fight than like this."

The young Guardian could tell Pitch wasn't pleased with the quasi-answer, but the essence subdued nonetheless, retreating. It was only then Jack realized his head felt lighter, like there was less there. This was happening. Really, really happening. Like the cheshire cat, Pitch was digesting himself into non-existence. Before Jack could wonder more about it, the unforgettable wail of a fearling pierced the cave.

"Oh, what now," he said. Jack found the Nightmare waiting for him outside. It stood in the shade of a tree twenty feet away. It was weird seeing it in the broad daylight. Without the cover of night it seemed diminished, smaller than what it really was. Its coat was matte black, the sun casting no reflections. It stared at Jack with orange eyes as if his very presence affronted it, ears pinning back. It took two steps forward but hesitated when Jack lifted his staff.

"I think it's following you," Jack said to Pitch. "Stop being afraid."

But Pitch stank with the fear of his own fading.

"Relax, Sunshine. I won't let it get you."

"You know what it can do!"

"Yeah, well, it has no idea what I can do," Jack replied, widening his stance. The draconian horse lifted its head as if waiting for an invisible signal. The winter spirit tightened his grip on his staff, preparing to attack. Despite Pitch's diminished control, Jack's magic still nipped and bit at his fingertips. But the Nightmare didn't know that. It knew with a cold hatred what the staff had done to its brethren, and what it could still do. So when Jack advanced, shouting insults and brandishing his staff, it relented, giving ground with stiff dignity. But as much as Jack tried, it wouldn't outright leave. After twenty minutes, the young Guardian realized it wasn't going anywhere.

"Well, if it tries anything, I'll freeze its ugly face," Jack said, panting in the hot sun. He felt he was melting. At thirty feet, the fearling's silent vigil was eerie. "Seriously? Is there nothing you can do?"

"I'm dying, Frost. Sorry I'm not at my calmest!"

"Yeah, but, you're not dying now. I mean, you are, but you still have a few days left. Worry then."

A sharp snarl was Jack's only answer.

Shrugging, Jack went back to the cave. The fading was still creeping inward. Half the arm was transparent now. The body's head was yet untouched, the slack face a stark contrast to the essence in his head, which hadn't stopped twitching and pacing in Jack's mind since his return from the Pole. The young Guardian was surprised he hadn't worn a track yet.

You should try to relax, Jack thought. You'll burn yourself out if you don't. But Pitch stoutly ignored him. It wasn't long, of course, before Jack felt the phantom footsteps fade, along with the Nightmare King's presence. Jack tried not to care, but couldn't help but ask.

"Pitch?"

"Just leave me alone." The voice was faint, drowsy.

Jack didn't worry. He wasn't worrying. Not worrying. Why should he? The Boogeyman was right. If he survived the ordeal and returned to his body, he would be back to his old tricks before any of them could blink. He was cruel and malicious and every action aimed to hurt. He would attempt to finish the Guardians off time without number. What little good remained had long been twisted and warped beyond recognition.

Was there any affection left in that cold heart? Had there been any love to begin with? What would Jack be saving in the end? A future enemy? Their biggest regret? I'm not worrying about this, I'm not, he told himself. He was doing this to ease his conscience. They were Guardians, not murders. If Pitch had any thoughts or emotions on the matter, Jack hardly felt them. Only if he concentrated could he sense something was nestled behind his eyes, something cold and dark and growing smaller by the hour.

When Jack re-emerged from the cave, the fearling was still around, standing beneath the maple tree as if tied there. It quickly retreated to a safe distance when the young Guardian started insulting its face, its mother, and its mother's mother, but still didn't leave. Jack didn't like it. Its patient, lidless stare bore into him like fishhooks, raising the hairs on his neck.

"Creepy," he muttered under his breath.

Enough was enough. Jack donned his eye-patch and piggybacked on a passing wind all the way to Jamie's house. It was weird losing his depth-perception. When he finally released his ride, he tried to land on the picket fence, overshot, and missed. He tumbled into the bushes with a sharp whoa! He popped back up, brushing wayward leaves and twigs off his person with hasty hands, but soon found it didn't matter.

Jamie and his gang were entrenched in a rousing game of backyard soccer, too preoccupied to see. Two goal posts composed of cardboard, several rakes, and battered traffic cone stood on opposite sides of the the backyard. Jamie's team had their back to the busy street, cars breezing by as the children played. They didn't notice Jack's approach, the tiniest this time, this time they won't see shot up his spine, but then Jamie waved him over. The kids accepted the spirit's presence as easily as slipping on their shoes, not even questioning the impossibility of a creature like Jack. Belief, a child's strongest weapon. The young Guardian released the pent-up sigh and joined them.

"Trying out as a pirate, Jack?" Monty said. The front of his shirt was streaked with grass stains. His hair was soaked with sweat.

"Yeah, what's up with the get-up?"

Only Jamie looked on with a knowing, secret gaze, and didn't ask about the eye-patch.

"Oh, y'know, switching things up a bit," Jack said airily. "So. Who's team am I on?"

The resulting uproar caused a time out and a subsequent rule-change, but soon Jack was playing soccer with the rest of them, switching teams every five minutes. He wasn't allowed to use his magic, but the new loss of his depth perception added a challenge he hadn't thought about before. So when the ball shot past him and into the street, he almost didn't notice Jamie running after it. He wouldn't have thought anything of it, except instead of pausing on the sidewalk until the road was clear, Jamie continued jogging without looking either way. Jack's stomach plunged and for one terrible, horrible moment, he knew the boy would get hit. He launched himself at the kid, shouting Jamie, no!

Jamie's startled pause gave Jack enough time to whisk him out of a car's path. The car was still blaring its horn as it drove past.

Jack hugged the boy tightly to his chest for a moment, willing himself to believe Jamie was safe. Then he held his friend out at arm's length and crouched before him.

"Jamie! Why did you do that?"

"I dunno," the boy said, blinking. He looked around as if waking up from a dream.

"You could've been hit! Why did you cross the road like that?"

The lost look was slowly fading from Jamie's eyes, but far too slowly for Jack's taste. "I dunno," he said again. "I didn't think."

Pitch's voice slithered in his ear. It was the wispiest Jack had ever heard it."It's happening. Fear is fading from the children."

"That's a good thing, right?" Jack asked, but even as the words left his mouth, a terrible sense of dread stole over him.

"What?" Jamie asked.

"Oh, uh, just talking to myself. Listen, kiddo, you have to be careful. You could get really hurt if you run into the road like that."

By now the others had jogged over, peering at the scene curiously. Jack stood up, still tall enough to tower all of them, even Cupcake. None of their expressions held concern over Jamie's safety, or relief he was still alright. Just bright, curious faces stared back at him, devoid of the tiniest spark that would've put Jack's heart at ease. Instead, the dread grew.

"Promise me none of you will run into the road," Jack said. He couldn't believe he was saying this at their age.

"Sure, no problem," they chorused back, but the young Guardian still insisted they re-arrange the goal posts so the street was no longer such a pressing danger. To make matters worse, Jack noticed the fearling had followed him. It wasn't foolish. It remained on the other side of the road, giving the playing children a wide berth, as if it knew just being near them would invoke the young Guardian's wrath. Not that it noticed them, anyway. Its lidless gaze remained locked on Jack, boring into him.

Jack startled a little as laughter exploded behind him. The gang had resumed playing, Clyde and Caleb locked in a fancy-foot battle for the ball, utterly unaware of the fearling's presence. Any other time Jack would've jumped right in the thick of things, but now he couldn't help but stare at the little strangers, alarmed. He kept to the sidelines, balancing on the picket fence. He couldn't risk another close call. When they went inside for supper, Jack squirreled himself in a nearby tree to maintain his vigil. If any of them got hurt on his watch, he would never forgive himself.

His hackles rose as a low, slow chuckle entered his mind. "What's so funny?"

"It's just so perfect."

"Perfect? A car almost hit Jamie!"

"Exactly."

Jack's hackles shot up.

In a moment of self-preservation in the wake of Jack's dangerous anger, the Nightmare King stumbled to add, "Now my value is apparent. Don't you see? Now you'll all learn the value of fear."

"I know the value of fear," Jack began hotly.

"No, you didn't. Not you or the Guardians."

Before Jack could say "I'm a Guardian too, remember?" the dark creature continued, "We both know you're not like the others. If I was stuck in that furball's head or the feathery tart's, they wouldn't've lifted a finger to help me. But not you. You're different. You're like me."

"Oh, joy. Look, I thought we wouldn't have this 'cold and dark' talk again."

"We're not," Pitch snapped. "You're not listening."

Jack gritted his teeth. He was still bristling from the Boogeyman's reaction to Jamie's close call, and was in a less-than charitable mood. Being the good guy was proving harder than he thought. Suddenly he empathized with Bunnymund's and Tooth's apathy. What if they had their own human friends during the Dark Ages? And what if Pitch had done something horrible to them? What, exactly, did the Nightmare King do that was so terrible in 1348?

"Oh, don't start that," Pitch said, though some nervousness leaked through. "My business with the Four are mine and theirs. Old history. Water under the bridge."

"Sure," Jack said in a dark tone to rival one of Pitch's own.

"You understand now why you need me. That little demonstration proved that."

"I just saw Jamie forgetting to look both ways on a busy street," Jack replied coolly.

"Nooooo, you saw a child without fear. Do you know what a child without fear is? Reckless. A reckless child is a stupid child. A stupid child is a dead child. Am I making it easy for you?"

"I don't think the kid's the only one being stupid here," Jack growled. He clung to his anger, because anger was pure. It made his stance on Save-the-Boogeyman campaign an easy one. But try as he would, he couldn't help but see the logic. The flight or fight response was a valuable teacher, and those without easily misstepped.

The essence in his head coiled on itself, folding like an impossible Möbius strip. "You know I'm right."

"Shut up. I can do without your gloating."

"It's more than just that," Pitch said. "I bet you didn't realize without fear, there'd be no courage, either."

"Courage is conquering fear yet still being afraid," Jack said lowly, as if to himself. Gods, did agreeing with the Boogeyman taste this bad all the time? He changed tactics. "That still doesn't change the fact you purposely went after Jamie and his friends. After we defeated you."

"Yes. Well. Could you blame me?"

"No more," Jack said. His voice was iron. He leaned forward, pinning the squirming essence an inward glare Bunnymund would've been proud of. "If I go through with the plan and save you, you have to promise no more vendettas. No more revenge. You can do what you want with us Guardians, but you stay far away from Jamie and his friends. Promise, or I go to the Pole now and stay there until you fade to nothing. Lie, and I'll know."

Pitch froze. Emotions, too many to count and too tangled to single out, flashed by. With the diminished presence was even harder now to discern what the other was feeling, but Jack didn't care about those.

"But you can't do that. You need my fear in the world. You saw what nearly happened to your precious Jamie."

"I don't care. I'll watch him every second if I have to keep him safe, but if you don't give me your word, I'm letting you die."

"You won't."

"Your choice."

Pitch fell silent, though in his silence Jack could sense alien thoughts flickering. The young Guardian could dimly sense the Boogeyman attempting to find a loophole, a glitch in his sincerity. Jack knew Pitch wouldn't find one. After being so utterly entwined for the past three days, they knew there could be no deception.

At last the Boogeyman said, "Fine. I give you my word."

"Go back on your word," Jack said, "hurt Jamie in anyway . . . I promise you'll wish you had faded."

"I get it, I get it," Pitch snapped, his voice thinning. "Touch a hair on his head, yes, yes. Now who's the one who needs to stop with the dramatizations."

"Just wanted to make sure," the immortal teenager said, settling back on his haunches. He felt a great weight roll off his chest. The sounding clarity gave the whole business order, and as Jack crouched in the tree by Jamie's house, he found he was at peace. He was in the horse chestnut tree all over again, back when he and the Nightmare King had come to their first understanding. Jamie and friends wouldn't be hurt by Pitch's again. Pitch, in turn, would be allowed to continue teaching the importance of caution to children, after his own harsh fashion. As for Jack himself, he was glad he resolved the temptations for murder.

He was still thinking such thoughts when he saw the fearling out of a corner of his eye. He turned his head. No. There were two now. They stood side-by-side in silence, identically draconian and fierce, their faces locked unwavering on Jack's own. They made no attempt to attack, but Jack still shifted uneasily. He stood up on the branch, loosening his grip on his staff in a fighter's hold.

"Pitch? Care to explain?" he asked, but could the cold essence in his head didn't rouse. The Boogeyman had slipped into unconsciousness, growing smaller by the hour.

…

TBC