Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jack Frost jumped his way down the hole under the bed, deep within the forest in Burgess, Pennsylvania. The hole went down, turning into a tunnel with curves carved haphazardly into the rock. Eventually the tunnel lead into an open area, with more tunnels leading off into darkness. Suspended above a pitch black hole hung several cages, long been empty since the Easter fiasco a month ago.

However, while the room was more lit up during the last visit, this time shadows writhed on the walls and floor, blocking out almost every last bit of the moonlight. With each step Jack took, frost spiraled out, sending any surround shadows scurrying away.

“Frost. So wonderful to see you. Have you come to gloat over your last victory? Because I can assure you, it’s very much unwanted.”

“Well you’re no fun,” Jack answered the unseen. “Pitch, stop hiding in the shadows. I just want to talk.” He searched the darkness on the walls until he saw a pair of golden eyes staring him down. He stared right back, hands gripping his staff tightly, until a sigh was heard and a figure stepped out.

Pitch Black, the self-proclaimed King of Nightmares, glided forward, his cloak trailing behind him like the very shadows that moved behind him. With every step, the darkness of the shadows thickened.

“So speak then. I’ll give you two minutes before I slice you in half. I’m in no mood for nonsense.” Eyes narrowed and every limb stiff, his body language helped prove this treat true.

“Wrong person for no nonsense then…” Jack muttered to himself. “So here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking of what you’ve said before, and after watching people for a while and all the things they do, I think you’re going about this ‘fear’ thing the wrong way.” There was silence. Before he could continue, Pitch spoke.

“You think you can tell me how to do my job?” The shadows thickened even more, sending the room into even more darkness. The air grew heavy. “You, a spirit of barely over three hundred years, believe you can tell me, a being older than the very earth you were born from, what I should and should not do? Tell me, why shouldn’t I just tears your limbs from your body? You’re the only thing standing between me and destroying those pathetic and useless Guardians.” Nightmare sand sprung from below and wrapped around Jack’s arms and legs as Pitch walked towards him. Jack stiffened, sucking in a bit of air and trying to reign in his fear.

“You’ve got thirty seconds…” The Nightmare King growled.

“Fear doesn’t have to be a bad thing!” Mid-step, Pitch paused, eyebrow raised. “Fear can make you cautious, think about what you’re doing before you actually do it. It stops people from doing stupid things.”

It was a minute before Pitch replied. “Perhaps you need a bit more fear then.”

“You’re missing the point!” Jack cried, frustrated. “Fear isn’t necessarily a bad thing. You aren’t necessarily a bad person! Just because something seems negative doesn’t mean it really is. It’s all on how you act on your perception.” As the Child of Winter spoke, the shadows slowly pulled back, revealing more of the underground lair again and letting in just a bit more of the moonlight.

The two immortal spirit stared at each other for a minute. Silence filled the room. The Pitch snapped his fingers and the nightmare sand removed themselves from Jack’s limbs. He brushed off the remained grains from his blue sweatshirt while he waited for a reply.

“I honestly don’t understand what has motivated you to come down and speak with me,” Pitch started off. “I have been doing this for years and years, decades and decades, and for longer than that. I have never been welcomed, I have never changed. One little ‘inspiring’ speech from you will never change any of that. Now, I ask that you remove yourself from here.” He turned around and started to move away.

Jack reached out after him. “But Pitch! Why-”

“Leave! Now!” Pitch snarled. The shadows moved, forming monstrosities and terrifying creatures all around his that rose from the ground. Jack hesitated for a second, watching Pitch’s reaction. Then he firmly held onto his staff and flew out, leaving the lair behind.

Pitch watched him leave, surrounded by his army before he dispelled them with a sigh. He walked forward, the shadows slowly fading a bit to let in a single large beam of moonlight in front of him. This did little to light up the room, however, as the shadows did what they could to keep the room dark to their master’s wishes. He stared at it before he stepped forward into it to look up at the moon.

“You pick the strangest beings to be your spirits, I do hope you know that,” he called out. He waited for that ever constant tingling to happen when he stepped into the light, but it never came. He stared at his hands, the light brightening up the grey color of his skin. He harrumphed, but if anyone was around to watch, they would have noticed his eyes and seen his grimace soften just a bit.

He walked off towards one of the tunnels in the large open room. But with each step, the shadows left bit by bit. When he finally disappeared in the darkness of the tunnel, the room was brightly lit by the moonlight, with not a single shadow left behind.

The moon above flickered brightly, but if only the tiniest bit, as if to show its happiness.

Chapter Text

The tunnels echoed with the sounds of scratching, an ever ominous and present sound. Pitch Black, the only one to walk the halls besides the creatures of the night, listened without a care to the ever repeating noise. However, it was the only companion he had in these dark days lately. He never counted the nightmares; they were just an extension of himself, in a way. Ever since his failure at Easter just a month ago, he had been trapped in these dark halls, his anger brewing and simmering alone.

He exited the tunnel into the large open area, the only room with even the tiniest bit of light. But even that was mostly blocked by the shadows he forced to cover. Why should light be allowed in if he weren’t allowed to leave? He scoffed at the light, covering it some more.

Almost immediate afterwards, he felt something new for the first time in a while. He felt the presence of someone entering his lair. Swiftly, he covered himself in shadows and watched for his intruder.

Jack Frost flew down and landed quietly. He looked around for a minute before he walked forward. His frost spread slightly across the ground, chasing a few shadow away and further heightening Pitch’s annoyance.

He decided to make his presence slightly known. “Frost. So wonderful to see you. Have you come to gloat over your last victory? Because I can assure you, it’s very much unwanted.”

Jack grinned. “Well you’re no fun. Pitch, stop hiding in the shadows. I just want to talk.” His eyes roamed around the expansive room. To Pitch’s surprise, Jack looked straight into his eyes and continued to stare, refusing to budge. Pitch sighed. He figured it would be a lot easier to deal with this and get the winter spirit out of there as soon as possible.

A frown filled his face as he moved forward, feeling the shadows darkening the room a bit matching his mood. “So speak then. I’ll give you two minutes before I slice you in half. I’m in no mood for nonsense.”

“Wrong person for no nonsense then…” Despite being quiet, Pitch heard every word. His anger continued to rise. “So here’s the thing,” Jack continued. “I’ve been thinking of what you’ve said before, and after watching people for a while and all the things they do, I think you’re going about this ‘fear’ thing the wrong way.”

Pitch couldn’t even believe his ears. All the anger, built up from the past month, blew over. He was seeing red.

“You think you can tell me how to do my job?” he hissed. Immediately, the shadows reacted and rushed the room into a state of darkness. “You, a spirit of barely over three hundred years, believe you can tell me, a being older than the very earth you were born from, what I should and should not do? Tell me, why shouldn’t I just tears your limbs from your body? You’re the only thing standing between me and destroying those pathetic and useless Guardians.” Reacting to his silent command, tendrils of nightmare sand wound its way around Jack’s limbs. His face never betrayed the fear he felt though. As Pitch walked forward, he reveled in the fear. It had been long since he felt such a thing…

“You’ve got thirty second…” he finished with a growl.

Eyes widening, Jack blurted out, “Fear doesn’t have to be a bad thing!” This stopped Pitch straight in his path. What ever could he even mean? Fear is fear. It’s not something that people regularly decide they want.

“Fear can make you cautious, think about what you’re doing before you actually do it,” Jack continued, his voice just the slightest bit frantic. “It stops people from doing stupid things.”

And he’s the one to say that… “Perhaps you need a bit more fear then,” Pitch drawled.

“You’re missing the point!” Jack was almost as annoyed as Pitch was at this point. It was almost amusing to watch. “Fear isn’t necessarily a bad thing. You aren’t necessarily a bad person! Just because something seems negative doesn’t mean it really is. It’s all on how you act on your perception.
”
His words surprised Pitch. He could almost say that he was shocked. Fear, being useful? Maybe being good? All his years, he wondered if that were possible. Fear had to have its use somewhere. But as the years moved on, and he never found that purpose, he forgot he ever had such thoughts. And here was Jack Frost, just a winter spirit, bringing them up again. Subconsciously, the shadows receded with every thought, until the room held a bit of moonlight again.

The silence that filled the room felt empty, yet took up so much of the air between the two of them. In order to stop his thoughts, Pitch snapped his fingers, removing the nightmare sand that was wound around the limbs of the Guardian of Fun. As Pitch formulated a reply in his head, the only sound heard was the sound of scratching yet again, only this time it was due to Jack wiping away the last traces of nightmare sand.

It was time to end this, once and for all. “I honestly don’t understand what has motivated you to come down and speak with me,” Pitch started off. “I have been doing this for years and years, decades and decades, and for longer than that. I have never been welcomed, I have never changed. One little ‘inspiring’ speech from you will never change any of that. Now, I ask that you remove yourself from here.” Pitch turned around, his movements away from Jack acting more as the stop to their conversation.

“But Pitch! Why-”

“Leave! Now!” Pitch had enough. With all his anger and might, he dredged up images from nightmare sand to stand beside him. Creatures from folklores, true fears, and things that go bump in the night were at his side, ready for the command to attack. Jack looked torn between his want to continue to talk and the want to leave before things got any worse. He seemed to make up his mind, as he gripped his staff and flew out of the underground lair.

Pitch stood there for a minute before he dispelled the images behind him. The nightmare sand swept away, off to various tunnels as Pitch walked forward. Above his head hung several ornate cages, empty and rusted with time. Those were ignored, as his focus was on the moonlit beam that grew brighter as the shadows swept away and he walked closer.

The moonbeam seemed to call to him. He stood before, staring, before he finally made up his mind and moved forward into the light.

“You pick the strangest beings to be your spirits, I do hope you know that,” he called out to the moon above. Of course, there was no answer. It’s not like Pitch was expecting one though. There never was an answer.

As he stood, he was surprised to feel slightly comfortable in the light. Gone was the tingling, the itching beneath his skin to be out of the light and lost in the shadows once more. Surprised once more that night, he stared at his hands. The grey color of the skin seemed just a bit brighter underneath the light of the moon. He laughed at himself, which turned into just a noise that seemed to pierce the silence. He tried to be angry, tried to stay that way, but found no energy to keep himself that way. He felt himself give away into feeling neutral, no emotion to be found. He almost preferred to be that way.

He walked away, away from the moonlight that confused him. As much as he wanted to be in the dark, he found that he couldn’t stand to be that way. Each step left the shadows in the room racing away, until not a single shadow could be found. The rocky room was lit up with almost a glow, some light shining off of the swinging cages above.

If Pitch had stayed behind, if he had not stepped once more into the darkness, maybe he would have noticed the moonlight flickering just the tinniest of bits, as if it was happy.