A.N: Thank you everyone for your kind words of encouragement! Hope you've enjoyed the story as much as I had writing it. Til the next adventure!
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"Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past."
—Willa Cather, My Ántonia
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"Pitch, wake up. C'mon."
Jack could hardly sense the faint stirrings now. Saturday had come and gone without incident, and Sunday arrived leaden with an oppressive weight. There was a heaviness to the air that told the winter spirit today was the day. It even smelled heavy, swollen with the promise of rain. Grasshoppers screamed. By early afternoon the sky was almost grey with it, and towards the west a gigantic wall of cloud was massing.
Jack found himself pacing outside the little cave. It couldn't've happened sooner. Steadily, remorselessly, Pitch's deterioration had taken a turn for the worse. If the dark essence had been a bowling ball before, it was a smoke ring now. The dark spirit was less of a form and more of a suggestion. Jack walked around as if balancing a jug of water on his crown, afraid the slightest wind would puff him out.
"Wakey-wakey, Sunshine."
The presence stirred. "I said don't call me that."
The connection between them, so visceral and painful before, was nearly at its end. Jack couldn't sense the other's emotions. Even Pitch's voice was remote. Jack found himself straining for some clue, some hidden truth between them he could use. But there was none. Like an animal sensing its own death, Pitch was closing himself off as neatly as closing a door. The young Guardian's knocks rang without answer.
"Just hold on for a little longer."
There was no answer, either verbal or emotive. The ancient being, possibly older than the Moon, had been stripped to almost nothing. All what remained was the core of Pitch's essence, a thing so aged Jack had no guide for interaction. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, looking about. He stood in the clearing beyond the caves, in nearly the exact spot he'd woken up after the lightening strike. The grass swayed all around him.
Jack's face tightened. He looked over his shoulder at the growing herd of Nightmares standing a distance away. They stilled, as if sensing his gaze. There were seven now, massing in number with alarming regularity. They had yet to attack, but Jack could see a restlessness had started to affect them. They sidled against each other, baring teeth and flattening ears. Only when he stared did they stop, glaring. What were they waiting for? Pitch?
"So. This is death."
"You're not dead yet," Jack said.
The Boogeyman continued as if he didn't hear, voice faint and raspy. "There's less pain than I'd imagined."
"Stop it. You're not going to die."
The Nightmare King looked at Jack. It was like having a cat stare at him. The regard held nothing recognizable, and as Pitch gazed at him, Jack couldn't tell if the other was contemptuous, angered, or just appraising. There was nothing. It was like a wind. Though it was unseen, Jack could feel it, like a coolness on his cheek. Then it was gone. The dark spirit submerged into unconsciousness, as if the mere act of noticing Jack had exhausted all his strength. The intervals between consciousness and unconsciousness had been widening, and now the immortal teenager knew it'd be some time before Pitch roused again.
"C'mon, c'mon, rain already," Jack said under his breath, staring up into the westward clouds. The humidity made them hazy, indistinct. Only the uppermost reaches were perfectly white, as if rimmed with salt.
It wasn't long before the others came. Bunnymund appeared first, popping out of his tunnel. He took one look at Jack's face and offered a frown of his own.
"Trust me, mate, this might be a favor," he said, but Jack knew that wasn't true. A world without fear was a folly, but the desire to explain it to Bunnymund seemed too exhausting a task. The time for talk was over. Jack continued to pace as the other Guardians arrived, picking at the whorls in his staff with restless fingers. With their help he pulled what was left of Pitch's body out in the open. It was nearly transparent. Only the centre of the body still had dimension, and North handled it as he would delicate lace.
"How's my eye?" Jack asked Tooth when she neared.
Her beautiful gaze flickered over his, lashes dipping. "Very blue," she said after a moment. "Barely any gold left."
Instead of relief, his dread deepened. "How should we do it?" he asked North, nodding to the fading body in his large hands.
"Put him in sleigh," North replied. "Keep him at back. You stay with him, and no matter what, don't let go. We'll drive you directly into the storm if we have to."
Tooth came and put a comradely hand on the winter spirit's shoulder. "I'm not doing this for Pitch," she said. "I'm doing it for you."
Jack's nerves made it hard for him to smile, but he could tell she saw his gratitude. "Thanks, Tooth."
The Big Five had little time to speak further. The towering thunderclouds had arrived.
Dense and impenetrable as a fortress, Jack had to crane his head back just to spy the edges. Everyone held their breath, unable to help watch as the storm's violence unleashed. When it finally reached them, the sunlight disappeared as suddenly as a flipped switch. The wind picked up. The sky took on a yellow tinge, and when the first drops fell, they reeked of ozone.
The rain battered against their faces like hail, stinging. Dimly, Jack wondered if Jamie and his friends were doing the same thing, eyes riveted to the sky, morbidly curious. The trees began to bend like reeds under the force of the gusts. When the first rumbles of thunder rolled through the air, both dread and anticipation warred within Jack. The feeling only grew worse as the thunder soon crashed over them like rocks in a landslide. Lightening, when it came, lit up the world like a camera's flash. Seconds later a BOOM rattled his bones. He felt it in his chest, the air so staticky it made his teeth hurt.
"Let's go!" North said, shouting to be heard. Jack quickly clambered up the sleigh's seats, crouching by Pitch's fading body. Bunnymund and Sandy were swift to follow, Tooth already besides North. The reindeer bellowed and kicked into the air, swimming towards the heart of the storm. Jack slitted his eyes again the wind and rain, gritting his teeth as he soon became soaked.
Jack felt he was in the middle of a river, deafened on all sides. He could see Bunnymund's mouth moving, but couldn't hear the words. The giant rabbit began to gesticulate, pointing at something behind him. Jack turned. It was the herd of fearlings, galloping alongside the sleigh. A soaking, furry body pressed against Jack as the rabbit pulled back an arm to unleash his boomerang. Without thinking, Jack reached up to stop him.
"No, stop! Maybe they can help!"
"Help? Have you lost your mind?" Bunnymund hollered back.
"I dunno! Just don't chase them away."
"Fine! But if they go after me, I'm introducing them to my boomerangs!"
The rabbit returned to his side of the sleigh, leaving Jack to watch their draconian forms never approach, but never leave, either. There were ten of them now, necks straining as they bobbed and weaved. Hope surged within him. Could this mean Pitch was still alive? Was there still enough of him to attract the Nightmares? As if sensing his thoughts, the faint voice said,
"Don't."
Jack sat upright. "Pitch?"
It was hard to hear the words. It was a miracle he could make them out at all."So tired."
"Hey! Stay with me!"
Jack went to slap Pitch, but his hand passed through. All what physically remained of Pitch's body was a bare thread in the chest, the rest nothing but a ghostly outline. He looked up to see Sandy and Bunnymund regarding at him. Under a golden umbrella, the Sandman's face was sympathetic, more sympathetic than Jack had yet seen. In that instant Jack didn't want sympathy. He just wanted everything back to normal.
"No use," Pitch said."Body. Nothing left."
"Just hang in there!" Louder, directed up front, Jack shouted, "What's the holdup? Where's the lightening?"
Just as he spoke, a huge bolt flashed in front of the sleigh, illuminating every plane. The reindeer shied, veering so hard Jack was nearly thrown overboard. When he righted himself, blinking rain from his eyes, he saw Pitch's body was gone. Jack stared, unbelieving, as something went cold deep in his chest. Movement in his peripheral turned his head. It was the fearling herd, each swerving off to nosedive after something.
There was no thought. Jack dove after them, not hearing Bunnymund's cry. He fell with the rain, plastering his arms to his sides. He pushed himself to greater speeds, gaining on the spiraling Nightmares. Their squeals took on a furious edge when they noticed him, but a well-aimed blast of ice scattered them like flies. Jack had little time to relish his control over his powers as he saw Pitch's body in free fall, nothing more than a suggestion.
"C'mon, Pitch, don't fail on me now!" Jack shouted, not daring to look away for fear of losing sight of it.
Perhaps it was his imagination. As he fell, reaching for Pitch's body, he thought he heard, "Oh!"
Jack stretched. His hand grasped nothing. The body was utterly without matter, and when the lightening struck, Jack knew oblivion.
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Jack came awake with a gasp. He instantly curled over, hissing in pain. Hands were quick to soothe him. It took several moments before the cramps subsided. The young Guardian wobbled upright, slower this time, but no less urgent.
"Dizzit, didzit work?"
"Jack . . ."
"Tell me!"
North laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Jack. We were too late."
But Jack didn't want to hear it. He'd been so sure it would work, so convinced the Boogeyman wouldn't die. It was ludicrous to think such a powerful creature would be brought so low by an accident. He looked around. It was early morning. The eerie sense of déjà vu swept through him as he took in the dew-covered grass, the coolness, the soft drone of insects.
The herd of Nightmares was gone. At first he thought he wasn't looking hard enough, but it was soon apparent they had all disappeared. The young Guardian placed a hand on his forehead, blinking.
"No." Shaking his head was like sloshing around a hornet's nest. But it was empty. There was no coldness, no immovable weight, no snide commentary. His head was his own, fully.
Pitch? he thought, experimenting. No response. Not even a ripple.
"I'm sorry, Jack," Tooth said.
"Yeah, I'm sorry too." Jack's voice sounded hollow to his ears. Blaming his friends never crossed his mind. It wasn't their fault Pitch had faded away. If anything, it was commendable what they've accomplished despite their hostility towards the dark creature. A sense of futility gnawed at him like a dog at a bone. "Was it always meant to happen?" he asked. He thought back to the conversation he had had with Pitch, a muscle working in his jaw.
Everything you've said is true. If I could rid you lot forever, I would. I won't stop. Then why continue this charade? Why save me?
"Maybe the act of kindness would be enough to break the cycle of violence," Tooth said. Unlike Bunnymund, she didn't outwardly express any relief at the Boogeyman's passing. "Maybe if he were offered a Guardianship—"
"No. No, he'll never, I mean, would never, accept that," Jack said. He cleared his throat. "It's weird. He envied and despised kids. But he would've liked to be seen. I think that's all he's ever wanted."
Bunnymund snorted, flicking dew from his whiskers. "As if. And how'd you get so chummy with that mangy dingo, anyway?"
"Trapped inside my head for five days, remember? We couldn't help but learn about each other." Jack could see it all so clearly now. Maybe not the individual emotions at the time, but like indirectly staring at stars, he saw Pitch, lonely and resentful, had grown to despise humans, children especially. His hostility was the same as the trapped animal's, escaping the pain of exile by gnawing away a part of himself. Yet there was always a pull that kept the Boogeyman attracted to kids. It was the same pull that kept him after Jack, kept offering the Antarctica deal. Jack wasn't stupid. He was a Guardian now, and had to protect the mortal world from another Dark Age, but now he understood the core of the Nightmare King. All he'd ever wanted was his throne returned.
"Should we share words?" North asked, drawing Jack from his thoughts.
Unlike the beautiful and heartfelt monument for Sandy, the Big Five looked at each other, shifting their weight in the dewy grass. No one wanted to meet the other's eyes.
"Well, I've got nothing nice to say, other than good riddance," Bunnymund said. "He's done things no one should be forgiven for."
Several images floated over Sandy's head in quick session, merging into each other. Jack wondered if the Sandman had forgiven Pitch for killing him last year, and as he searched his friend's face, he found no enmity.
"Jack?" the Guardian of Wonder said, gently prodding. "You knew him best, in the end."
Did he? Jack frowned. The Boogeyman was a being in many ways larger than himself; to say Jack 'knew' him was laughable. But over the course of the five days he'd developed a greater understanding, broadened his vocabulary in the Nightmare King's language.
"Pitch was—" Pitch Black was a contradiction. He wanted to be seen but hated children. He longed for a family, but rejected companionship. Jack licked his lips. "Pitch was complicated."
When it was clear Jack would say no more, Bunnymund threw his head back and laughed. "That's it? That's all you're gonna say?"
"That's all I need to say," the youngest Guardian said, and something in his tone, or something lacking, sobered the giant rabbit.
"Yeesh, you sure know how to kill a mood," he grumbled.
North tsk'd reprovingly. "Bunny, some respect, please."
"No, no, it's fine," Jack said quickly, moving between them. "It's fine, all good. It's my head's being weird with everything. I, uh, think I need to be alone for awhile."
Tooth frowned. "You sure, Jack?"
"Yeah. Just need to get used to my own noggin, I think," he said with a little laugh. It sounded strained to his ears. As before, Sandy was the one to level Jack a long, thoughtful gaze, but like before, allowed the winter spirit to flee. Jack was supremely grateful as his friends began to leave for their own realms. Just as before, the threat had been neutralized, therefore so was their collaboration. The mortal world was safe.
Except there was a casualty this time, Jack thought, his lips thinning as no inner voice answered with a caustic reply. He knew he had his work cut out for him. Keeping an eye on Jamie and his friends, now that fear was gone, would be a full-time job.
He was shaken from his thoughts again when something cold was pressed into his hands. Jack looked up, startled.
"Here," North said, voice gentle. "I want you to keep it."
Jack looked down. It was the snow globe.
"In case you need to talk. Or company. And who knows? The Yetis could use a bit more mischief in their lives."
Jack offered a lopsided smile despite the tightness in his chest. "Thanks."
The smile faded when the Leader of the Guardians climbed aboard his sleigh and coaxed the reindeer into the air. Jack watched the swimming movements grow smaller and smaller, until they disappeared completely in a white blaze of colour. With a grunt he swung his staff up and rested it against his shoulder. He held up a fist and made a snowball. Every flake was as soft as eiderdown, almost blue in the early morning light.
It's over, he thought, but there was no triumph. The same strange emptiness followed him as he made his slow way towards the cavern that had been both prison and refuge for the past week, taking care not to hit his head as he ducked inside the dimness. There was no sign of them having been there, no hint of the struggle between the two opposing forces. As Jack took one last, long look, he decided never to set foot in it again. He touched the ground, feeling the cold through his fingertips. When he withdrew them, inexplicable regret marred what should've been joy.
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The faster Jack distanced himself from the whole ordeal, the better. He didn't know how long long he'd have before kids everywhere ran into roads or double-dog dared each other into dizzying acts of stupidity. But first, there were loose ends he need to take care of.
"So . . . Pitch was stuck in your head the whole time?" Jamie said, squinting up at Jack from his clay rendition of Bigfoot. The sun beat down on the plastic wrap forming the protective barrier for the clay, but it was a bright heat, not an oppressive one. A breeze came and went, cooling their brows. When Jamie reached across to wipe the sweaty hair from his eyes, a streak of clay remained.
"Yeah," Jack said. He moved to mimic the boy's cross legged posture, settling on the mowed grass.
"How was that?"
"A nightmare." They both laugh at the cheesiness, the sounds of their laughter mingling in the late July morning. August was right around the corner; already Jack could sense the cooling of the air as the earth slowly positioned on its axis. Soon the leaves would turn their colours, and winter would once again settle in the quiet town of Burgess. It never ends, Jack thought. The cycle of everything. His mouth twitched downward. Well, almost everything.
"Seriously, though," the boy said, after their mirth trickled away. "Was it terrible?"
Jack picked up a discarded piece of clay and rolled it between his fingers, feeling the grit and sand. "Most of it was," he said after a moment. He flicked his gaze toward Jamie, scrutinizing him for the tenth time for any sign of the strange, reckless stranger he met two days ago. For whatever the reason, Jamie's regard was as bright and clear as before. "He was really old and angry. But sometimes . . . sometimes he was okay."
Jamie hm'd. He scored his clay and applied some slip before adhering one of Bigfoot's arms on the body. "I kinda figured something was up when I saw your eye," he said. He shuddered a little. "I met him only once, that was was enough. You don't forget something like that. Where's he now?"
"Now?" Jack echoed. He looked down, pinching the clay until it smooshed apart. "I dunno."
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Jack stayed with Jamie for the rest of the day, waiting for the strange boy to emerge. To his mingled relief and suspicion, his friend was the same kid he'd known since day one, and not once did he give the impression of recklessness. When Jamie was finally called in for supper, Jack left the Bennett household confused. He didn't feel like wandering far, in case it was all an act, or a fluke.
The youngest Guardian kept in the backyard, swishing his staff and turning the birdbath into a miniature skating rink. Crickets chirruped in a soft concerto. The sky above was turning salmon pink, complete with scaly purple clouds. The sunset soon turned the surrounding trees into black silhouettes. At this point the shadows were so pervasive Jack almost missed the flicker in his peripheral. As it was, he hardly turned his head. It was only the faint prickle of his neck hairs that warned him he was no longer alone, and when he turned, he didn't believe his eyes.
"Pitch?"
The Boogeyman took a step forward, gliding on apparent nothingness. There was something beautiful and violent in the way he moved, a creature in all ways larger than Jack. The winter spirit backed up before realizing he was, both hands on his staff. Pitch stopped, leveling him a long, indescribable look. It was as if the ordeal had never happened. Not a single black hair was out of place, not a speck unchanged.
"I thought you . . . we all thought you didn't make it," Jack said, if only to break the discomforting silence.
"Evidently not."
Pitch took another step, footfalls soundless. The young Guardian didn't retreat, remaining where he was as the dark spirit slowly closed the gap between them. At last Pitch stopped six feet away, face still inscrutable. Jack tried not to let his own emotions show, willing his face to resemble the Nightmare King's cool one. The moment was lost when the Boogeyman blinked as if waking and broke eye contact. He lifted his hands before his face, turning them.
"I'm taller than I remember," Pitch muttered. He curled them into fists and relaxed them by his sides.
When Jack spoke, he was glad at how steady his voice sounded. "How'd you do it? We all saw you disappear."
For a moment Jack was convinced Pitch wouldn't respond. There was something off about him, something not quite there. The Boogeyman stood as if his mind was miles away, staring through Jack as if he was transparent. So when the dark spirit spoke, the other thought he misheard.
"I understood, then. Hard to believe it took me this long."
"Understood what?"
Pitch regarded Jack sharply, eyes narrowing. He searched the pale face for a moment before saying, "When I was too afraid to die, I couldn't enter my body. It was when I finally let go was I able to." He looked away, jaw clenching. "A second later and I would've faded entirely."
Jack thought he could hear the bones creaking under the tension when Pitch made a fist again. "It's always supposed that way, wasn't it?" Pitch said, voice low and vicious and aimed inward. He bared his uneven teeth in a snarl. "Am I forever meant to be conquered?"
Jack kept himself very still, not wanting to provoke a potentially unstable monster. Well, more unstable than normal. Even though they'd sent five days undeniably tethered to each other, in no way did it make them friends. As he waited, his eyes flicked over possible escape venues. Jack knew he was already at a disadvantage. Night was falling fast now, and soon Pitch would be able to move through the darkness with an assassin's efficiency. There'd be no stopping an attack, and Jack wasn't sure how he'd fare against the Nightmare King so close to Jamie's house.
As if they still shared a mental connection, Pitch's gaze twitched over Jack's shoulder to land on Jamie's room.
"Don't," Jack said in quiet warning.
Pitch curled his upper lip in faint contempt as he regarded Jack again. "I wasn't planning on it. I'll keep my word." Again that strange, strangled pause. "As you did."
Jack blinked. "What?"
The cutting, angry look returned. "Don't make it spell it out for you, Frost. You know exactly what I mean."
Jack felt himself relaxing. He straightened from his fighting crouch and leaned against his staff. "You're trying to say 'thank you,' aren't you," he said, struggling to hide his spreading grin. Pitch's furious glare quickly quelled the urge.
"Yes." Pulling all his teeth by the roots would've caused the Boogeyman less pain than the admission. "I am."
Jack could've milked the situation for several minutes more, but he knew provoking a wounded monster would mean more pain for him in the future than he dared consider. He coughed, trying to find safer ground.
"What bout those Nightmares?" he said. "Why were they there?"
The other's expression was similar to swallowing a lemon. "They were drawn to my fear, but repelled by your lack of it. Again, it seems as if I have you to thank."
Pitch spat the last word like a curse, frustration and resentment brimming over every syllable. Jack's stance widened again, toes curling in the grass in case he had to dodge a blow. More and more the fogginess was leaving the Boogeyman's mien, making Jack wonder how much longer the fragile truce between them would last. Like the Nightmares, Pitch seemed caught between two opposing urges, torn between attacking and gratitude. Then again, when was the last time the Boogeyman had to thank another creature? And to an enemy, too?
"Listen, Pitch, I don't want any trouble," Jack began, but the ancient creature cut him off with a growl.
In an almost violent gesture, Pitch stuck out his hand. It took an embarrassingly long moment before Jack realized what the other was asking. His eyebrows shot into his hairline as he stared at Pitch in open astonishment. If possible, the Boogeyman's scowl deepened. But the hand stayed. Jack chewed on his inner cheek, remembering the last time Pitch had reached out to him in a similar manner.
He took my staff and double crossed me, Jack thought, remembering the desolate ice floes. Even then they never made physical contact. Pitch had just taken the staff and that was that. What Pitch was asking now. . . . Surprised at the sudden flush of anger, Jack glared at the gray face, hating what it made him remember. Antarctica. It always came back to Antarctica. But the inexorable hand remained like a brand, unmoving. A muscle twitched in the lean jaw as Pitch's expression steadily darkened. He leaned forward a little, bowing just the slightest.
Jack's own jaw clenched. Then he took the Boogeyman's hand.
Pitch's skin was a surprise. It was cool, cooler than Jack would've guessed. The grasp was strong and narrow, and as it clamped around his own like a vice, warning bells sang. It was all clear. Pitch would pull him close and stab him as he stabbed Sandy, and the second war against the Guardians would begin. Never again would the Nightmare King have such a chance to end his greatest threat as he did now.
But as Jack waited for the betrayal, waited for the excuse to whip his staff in defense, the grip never tightened. The betrayal never came. They shook hands once, twice, then the moment was done. They released, parting ways like two opponents in a ring.
The strange bottled tension seemed to bleed from Pitch's frame as he straightened. Jack waited for the snide comment sure to come, still too tense to relax, but there was none. Then, like that, the Boogeyman bled away, disappearing into the dark.
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-fin-