"THE FEAR OF FUN"
Mar. 15th, 2013 12:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ginbeanNotes: I saw Rise of the Guardians and then went to tumblr. whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyy?
The first time Jack visits him, Pitch decimates the spot where he stands.
Only he isn't standing there anymore when he proceeds with the aforementioned decimating, but that's besides the point. Like an errant snowflake on the breeze, the boy is ridiculously hard to hit and being crippled in the pool of power certainly does help.
"Get out," the Bogeyman snarls, hating the way this boy- this guardian shimmers with cold and light. Like falling snow winking in the moonlight. It's disgustingly cheerful, especially given the way he hovers up there, just out of reach of a scythe swing and smiling down at him far too smugly.
"Hello to you too," he replies, voice undaunted as he begins drifting around his place, looking this way and that. "Man, this place is so gloomy. You ever think about redecorating?" Pitch growls in response and swings again, missing by a hair as he somersaults through the air on a fresh breeze and descends onto the floor. "Guess I hit a sore spot."
"The only spot you'll be hitting is the ground when I-"
"Heeeeeey, now that's not the Christmas spirit." Jack interrupts, staff tapping the floor impatiently even as his bare feet settle comfortably against blackened stone. "And it is Christmas you know. I get that the whole thing is North's day? But c'mon, it's pretty cool for me too. Lots of snow and ice... busy time."
And it stings. It stings so badly that Jack has found his place among the believers while Pitch is still wallowing in nothingness. Naught but a bedtime story meant to frighten children into behaving. He grips his hand into a fist, contemplates just hitting Jack for a moment, a base and unfashionable slam of fist into frozen skin... but no. That will be to no avail and the fact that he's even considering such a thing shows just how far from grace he has fallen. It's... depressing. "Then go, guardian." The title rolls off his tongue like curdled milk. "See to your important duties." The dismissal is plain and clear, even as Pitch gathers the shadows around him to vanish back into the darkness.
Except he finds the growing shade stopped by a creeping line of ice he did not notice earlier.
"Kiiiiinda am, actually. See, with North busy and Tooth and Sandy always running around, the only people available to check in on good ol' Pitch are me and Bunny. 'course, he won't come anywhere near this place. Thinks you aren't worth the time." Jack continues to wander this way and that, ever whimsical in his movements as Pitch watches him darkly, his eyes two sharp pinpricks in the shadows. "So that just leaves me."
"What," Pitch asks then, tone cynical. "You're still concerned about poor, forgotten Pitch Black? Still afraid of the dark?"
"Nope." The reply is abrupt and crisp, making Pitch hiss. He loathes games when they're not to his making. "Although you are really hyping up the pity act, aren't you?" And the look Jack gives him? It makes every fiber of his body rise up in anger. Without another word, his scythe forms in his hand and slams down on the ground, cracking stone as Jack leaps up and away, carried by wind rife with bits of snow. "Then again, your aim is actually pretty pitiable."
"GET OUT." Pitch yells, fruitlessly of course, but he yells it all the same and finds himself... glad for the distraction. For something to target with his frustration and despair. As he swings again and misses, Jack ducks and dodges his attacks, countering with a burst of cold every now and then, painting the black walls of his cave in the icy floral beauty that so defines him. They carry on this way until Pitch gets close, forcing Jack to bring up his staff to block the strike. In a blast of cold and dark that rattles the cages hanging from his ceiling, another jagged peak of ice stands where their powers met and for a moment Pitch stares at it, even as Jack peels himself off the floor where he was thrown and winces.
"That was close." And then he's grinning. "Now wasn't that fun?"
Pitch doesn't respond, but he does feel... lighter. Taking his silence as agreement, Jack gets to his feet, dusts himself off and then walks on over, pulling something from the pocket of his hoodie. This he tosses to Pitch, forcing the spirit to break his reverie and catch it, a reflexive action. With the object in hand, Jack gives him a mock salute and calls the wind to him. "See you later, Pitch." And he's off, flying through Pitch's dark cave in a whirlwind and out the tunnels.
It isn't until he's gone that Pitch opens his hand to see what nonsense 'Father Winter' has given him.
It's a horse carved from wood.
Only he isn't standing there anymore when he proceeds with the aforementioned decimating, but that's besides the point. Like an errant snowflake on the breeze, the boy is ridiculously hard to hit and being crippled in the pool of power certainly does help.
"Get out," the Bogeyman snarls, hating the way this boy- this guardian shimmers with cold and light. Like falling snow winking in the moonlight. It's disgustingly cheerful, especially given the way he hovers up there, just out of reach of a scythe swing and smiling down at him far too smugly.
"Hello to you too," he replies, voice undaunted as he begins drifting around his place, looking this way and that. "Man, this place is so gloomy. You ever think about redecorating?" Pitch growls in response and swings again, missing by a hair as he somersaults through the air on a fresh breeze and descends onto the floor. "Guess I hit a sore spot."
"The only spot you'll be hitting is the ground when I-"
"Heeeeeey, now that's not the Christmas spirit." Jack interrupts, staff tapping the floor impatiently even as his bare feet settle comfortably against blackened stone. "And it is Christmas you know. I get that the whole thing is North's day? But c'mon, it's pretty cool for me too. Lots of snow and ice... busy time."
And it stings. It stings so badly that Jack has found his place among the believers while Pitch is still wallowing in nothingness. Naught but a bedtime story meant to frighten children into behaving. He grips his hand into a fist, contemplates just hitting Jack for a moment, a base and unfashionable slam of fist into frozen skin... but no. That will be to no avail and the fact that he's even considering such a thing shows just how far from grace he has fallen. It's... depressing. "Then go, guardian." The title rolls off his tongue like curdled milk. "See to your important duties." The dismissal is plain and clear, even as Pitch gathers the shadows around him to vanish back into the darkness.
Except he finds the growing shade stopped by a creeping line of ice he did not notice earlier.
"Kiiiiinda am, actually. See, with North busy and Tooth and Sandy always running around, the only people available to check in on good ol' Pitch are me and Bunny. 'course, he won't come anywhere near this place. Thinks you aren't worth the time." Jack continues to wander this way and that, ever whimsical in his movements as Pitch watches him darkly, his eyes two sharp pinpricks in the shadows. "So that just leaves me."
"What," Pitch asks then, tone cynical. "You're still concerned about poor, forgotten Pitch Black? Still afraid of the dark?"
"Nope." The reply is abrupt and crisp, making Pitch hiss. He loathes games when they're not to his making. "Although you are really hyping up the pity act, aren't you?" And the look Jack gives him? It makes every fiber of his body rise up in anger. Without another word, his scythe forms in his hand and slams down on the ground, cracking stone as Jack leaps up and away, carried by wind rife with bits of snow. "Then again, your aim is actually pretty pitiable."
"GET OUT." Pitch yells, fruitlessly of course, but he yells it all the same and finds himself... glad for the distraction. For something to target with his frustration and despair. As he swings again and misses, Jack ducks and dodges his attacks, countering with a burst of cold every now and then, painting the black walls of his cave in the icy floral beauty that so defines him. They carry on this way until Pitch gets close, forcing Jack to bring up his staff to block the strike. In a blast of cold and dark that rattles the cages hanging from his ceiling, another jagged peak of ice stands where their powers met and for a moment Pitch stares at it, even as Jack peels himself off the floor where he was thrown and winces.
"That was close." And then he's grinning. "Now wasn't that fun?"
Pitch doesn't respond, but he does feel... lighter. Taking his silence as agreement, Jack gets to his feet, dusts himself off and then walks on over, pulling something from the pocket of his hoodie. This he tosses to Pitch, forcing the spirit to break his reverie and catch it, a reflexive action. With the object in hand, Jack gives him a mock salute and calls the wind to him. "See you later, Pitch." And he's off, flying through Pitch's dark cave in a whirlwind and out the tunnels.
It isn't until he's gone that Pitch opens his hand to see what nonsense 'Father Winter' has given him.
It's a horse carved from wood.
❖❖❖
As the years go by, Pitch acquires a miniature pile of nonsensical gifts from Jack. Ornaments, books and a sweater in every scintillating color possible. It's maddening, mostly because Pitch doesn't know what to do with the damn things but he can't seem to throw them out. Each and every single one of those gifts is a reminder of Jack coming to his dark, empty cave. A memory of the fights they have and the enjoyment Pitch gets from knowing he hasn't been completely forgotten. Not by everyone.
One time he comes back and discovers a column of ice reaching from top to bottom, carved with the designs that only frost can make. As his fingers slide across the cool surface, he finds a smile touch the corners of his lips for the first time in ages.
As the years go by, Pitch acquires a miniature pile of nonsensical gifts from Jack. Ornaments, books and a sweater in every scintillating color possible. It's maddening, mostly because Pitch doesn't know what to do with the damn things but he can't seem to throw them out. Each and every single one of those gifts is a reminder of Jack coming to his dark, empty cave. A memory of the fights they have and the enjoyment Pitch gets from knowing he hasn't been completely forgotten. Not by everyone.
One time he comes back and discovers a column of ice reaching from top to bottom, carved with the designs that only frost can make. As his fingers slide across the cool surface, he finds a smile touch the corners of his lips for the first time in ages.
❖❖❖
"What is that atrocity?" Pitch utters quietly one day as a cool burst of air announces Jack's arrival. Over his familiar blue hoodie rests a light blue cloak trimmed with white fur around a deep cowl. Already ice has begun to settle on its edges as Jack throws back the hood and grins.
"You don't like it?"
"It's gaudy." Pitch replies faintly and sticks to his shadows, ignoring the way Jack twirls his staff in one hand and rests it on his shoulders.
"It's a gift. You know, from North." And that, for some reason, pinches at the spirit of fear as he pauses in his steps, glancing at Jack. "Apparently I've got Bunny to thank for it actually being the right color. Turns out he wanted to make the whole thing red with black trim." And he laughs, unaware of Pitch's rolling emotions as he brushes a bit of snow off his shoulders. But his touch lingers fondly and that doesn't escape the eyes of darkness. "Not exactly my style, know what I mean?"
"Hardly." Pitch responds, but he does get it. Red does not suit Jack Frost, not in any incarnation and it's dim-witted of North to think it would. The guardian has always been a bit dull when it comes to such things as a sense of individual fashion. "And what, may I ask, warranted such a generous act?" He inquires as he starts walking again, circling Jack while keeping behind the pillars.
"It's my birthday." For the second time in as many minutes, Pitch stops sharply and has to keep himself from openly staring. Jack, heedless, takes a spot against a wall and shrugs. "Well, not my birthday birthday, just the day I became an official guardian. Apparently since I'm 'young' that means I should celebrate it while I can and be grateful I get treated like a kid. Can you believe that? In what context is 300 years old young?" He asks then, voice rather indignant and traitorously childish.
"Compared to my years, you are something of a brat. But then, we already knew that." Pitch replies, quietly this time as he struggles to keep his voice calm and easy, even as his mind races furiously. What is this trace of jealousy and guilt coursing through him? Where does it come from? And why does he want to rend North into bits and pieces more than usual right now?
"Thanks a lot. Fair warning? If you starts calling me brat, I'm gonna start calling you old man." Jack snipes back, voice tinged with amusement. "And will you come out already? I'm getting tired of talking to thin air."
"You're not speaking to air, Jack. You're speaking to darkness." But he steps out into the dim light anyway.
"What is that atrocity?" Pitch utters quietly one day as a cool burst of air announces Jack's arrival. Over his familiar blue hoodie rests a light blue cloak trimmed with white fur around a deep cowl. Already ice has begun to settle on its edges as Jack throws back the hood and grins.
"You don't like it?"
"It's gaudy." Pitch replies faintly and sticks to his shadows, ignoring the way Jack twirls his staff in one hand and rests it on his shoulders.
"It's a gift. You know, from North." And that, for some reason, pinches at the spirit of fear as he pauses in his steps, glancing at Jack. "Apparently I've got Bunny to thank for it actually being the right color. Turns out he wanted to make the whole thing red with black trim." And he laughs, unaware of Pitch's rolling emotions as he brushes a bit of snow off his shoulders. But his touch lingers fondly and that doesn't escape the eyes of darkness. "Not exactly my style, know what I mean?"
"Hardly." Pitch responds, but he does get it. Red does not suit Jack Frost, not in any incarnation and it's dim-witted of North to think it would. The guardian has always been a bit dull when it comes to such things as a sense of individual fashion. "And what, may I ask, warranted such a generous act?" He inquires as he starts walking again, circling Jack while keeping behind the pillars.
"It's my birthday." For the second time in as many minutes, Pitch stops sharply and has to keep himself from openly staring. Jack, heedless, takes a spot against a wall and shrugs. "Well, not my birthday birthday, just the day I became an official guardian. Apparently since I'm 'young' that means I should celebrate it while I can and be grateful I get treated like a kid. Can you believe that? In what context is 300 years old young?" He asks then, voice rather indignant and traitorously childish.
"Compared to my years, you are something of a brat. But then, we already knew that." Pitch replies, quietly this time as he struggles to keep his voice calm and easy, even as his mind races furiously. What is this trace of jealousy and guilt coursing through him? Where does it come from? And why does he want to rend North into bits and pieces more than usual right now?
"Thanks a lot. Fair warning? If you starts calling me brat, I'm gonna start calling you old man." Jack snipes back, voice tinged with amusement. "And will you come out already? I'm getting tired of talking to thin air."
"You're not speaking to air, Jack. You're speaking to darkness." But he steps out into the dim light anyway.
❖❖❖
Jack has made a new home for himself. While he doesn't linger in any one place for too long, for now he has settled around a small town far up in northern Canada. A tiny town he has chosen to gift with a layer of snow and solidly frozen lakes made perfect for ice fishing. It's something Pitch has noticed, actually. Anytime Jack comes close to frozen water, he gives it an extra tap of his staff just to make sure it's solid. Why he does this, Pitch does not yet know, but he does understand that Jack is afraid. He is afraid of weak ice and humans falling through, and it grips at him with an intensity that makes him crave all the more. Fear, unsurprisingly, is a taste he will never tire of.
As he watches Jack at work, spreading the sharp designs of ice into the lake and laughing as he causes the children in skates to slip and slide into soft, powdery banks of snow, a part of Pitch recoils. This is Jack's world, one where he is known and loved. Even now, as the children sit up with false indignation and yell at him for tripping them up, their laughter and joy is clear.
They see him... but they don't see Pitch. He can sense it, their eyes all rooted to the wonder and joy of 'fun' and ignorant of the darkness that is 'fear.' He loathes their existence, wants them to know what it's like to be scared. But as he steps onto the ice, wearing a cloak of shadows like always, he sees Jack notice him and look up. The expression that forms on his face, weary and surprised, is invigorating.
"Hello Jack." His voice is pleased, rather satisfied actually and it makes Jack both alert and amused.
"Hey, nice to see you in daylight for a change."
"Jack, who are you talking to?" A little girl in mittens and a toque asks, tugging on his sleeve and wobbling on a pair of skates. Jack glances at her and Pitch feels the anger in his body flare up. How dare he look away?
"Just a friend." Jack replies, voice light and comforting, even as his irises flicker towards Pitch. "You guys go on ahead, okay? I'll be right back." And before they can argue, he's calling the wind and soaring up into the air. Pitch, with one last disparaging look at the children who cannot see him, disappears into the shadows to follow. Reappearing at the edge of the lake, he watches as Jack lands near him and gives him a curious and annoyed look.
"So what's- whoa!" He's cut off sharply as the wind suddenly blasts forward, almost knocking him off balance. The wind... is attacking him. Pitch gasps as he finds himself slammed backwards into a snow drift and blinded as the wind picks up and funnels around him, creating a miniature blizzard. Past the roaring in his ears, he can faintly hear Jack saying something before it suddenly stops. Well, sort of.
The wind spirals upward and eventually dissipates, dropping another load of snow on him. Sitting up with a snarl and flinging white everywhere, he turns on Jack ready to demand answers... and finds the guardian laughing. Oh he tries to stifle it, but the mirth is in his eyes and he is so obviously amused.
"What. Was that?" Pitch asks, voice dangerously dark.
"That? That was... Wind."
"I am aware," his voice peaks with a note of rage, "of what that was. I am asking why that happened." And unbeknownst to him, Jack isn't looking at his eyes, he's eying the mound of snow on top of Pitch's hair, painting it as white as his own.
"Who knows?" He gets out, voice marred with giggles. "Maybe it was uh..." And, aware that Pitch is getting very, very angry, he coughs to hide what he can of his amusement and tries again, shrugging. "Maybe it was worried about me."
"... worried about you." Pitch repeats, voice now filled with disbelief.
"Yeah, I mean ever since I've become a guardian it's been getting stronger, bigger. I figure it's... y'know, becoming my thing."
"... your thing." Pitch repeats again, though this time rubbing at his temple. Why is Jack getting continuously harder to understand?
"Yeah, like North's got the Yetis and the elves, Tooth has her fairies." Jack shrugs and tries not to grin so broadly as a bit of snow falls onto Pitch's nose. "And I've got wind." When Pitch only glares at him, Jack smiles. "We're kind of off track though. What did you come to see me about?"
And Pitch falls silent, ignoring the guardian as he brushes the drift from his shoulders and scowls when he discovers there is more in his hair. Giving that a quick swipe, Jack waits until he's all clean before pointedly clearing his throat. Spirit of winter and fun he may be but patience is a quality he is sorely lacking in.
"Well?" He prods and Pitch glances at him. Is it inaccurate to say he's suddenly feeling rather... uncertain, about the entire thing? No, it would not be inaccurate. After all, this is an entirely new experience for him. Never before has he ever tried to give anything but the gift of fear and despair.
"I have something to show you." He announces then, solemnly so as he gathers up the shadows- so much harder to do in the light- and creates a pool of darkness that will take both him and Jack to their destination. "Will you come?" He asks then, all smiles and honey as he watches Jack eye that swirling ink with mistrust. For a moment the youth deliberates, then shrugs and glances at Pitch with a cocky smile.
"Okay, but just remember. If I don't frost the ground this Sunday, they'll know I'm missing." He reminds Pitch and then, with all the bravery and foolishness of immaturity, hops in. Pitch regrets that this is not actually a trap and follows suit, letting the darkness close up behind them and shut out the light.
When they emerge again, it is in darkness reefed with only the barest pinpricks of light. Shadow dominates here as the waters outside distort the sun's rays. As Pitch walks into the hollowed out bottom of the glacier, he turns and finds Jack... frozen. His eyes dart wildly this way and that and for the first time since his christening as a guardian, Pitch can taste fear. Immediately his hunger surges forward, desperate and all-consuming as the terror rolls off of Jack and permeates the air like a sweet perfume.
Jack... is terrified and Pitch wants to devour him in shadow.
"Jack?" Pitch inquires after a moment, his voice a little too thick with the sweetness of someone who has sampled something delicious and is about to have more. "Is something wrong?"
And the guardian starts, a guilty jerk as his eyes flick back towards Pitch and his hand grips his staff just a little too tightly. "N-no... no, everything's fine."
But it isn't and Pitch can tell that so easily.
"Are you... uncomfortable?" The word slides off his tongue liking oozing honey, sweet and alluring yet with the promise of drowning if one gets in too deep. The tone makes Jack snap to attention and he turns fully on Pitch, his grip loosening on his stave as he twirls it once, loosely, and lets a comfortable smile form on his lips. He can sense danger in the air and is ready to face it. "I said I'm good."
Even if they are locked in a glass bowl of ice, even if the wind can't reach him down here, they are still so very much in his element. Pitch, aware that he is betraying himself, reigns in his desires and clears his throat. "... I see."
"So why are we down here, Pitch? Cause if this is a trap, you picked a pretty bad place for yourself." Jack tosses in, still eying him even as the fear continues to linger in the air. He can't hide it, not completely, and Pitch is starting to key in.
Jack... fears the water.
And then it clicks, like a puzzle piece falling perfectly into place. The lost memories, who Jack was before he became Jack Frost. Jack... drowned to death. That is why he is so peculiar about frozen water and why he's uncomfortable being under it. It is a piece of information Pitch tucks neatly away, ready to use at a better time.
And yet... he cannot ignore a lingering sense of unhappiness. This is not what he wanted.
"Oh no, Jack." Pitch begins, masking his doubts and instead coming closer to the shield of ice. "This room is for you." And he points beyond the transparent wall to where the life of the sea churns in the water. Fish dart this way and that, scales catching the light and glimmering in the darkness, even as they dodge something moving in the shadows. It takes Jack a moment, both because he's wary of Pitch and because he cannot see as well as the Bogeyman, but eventually his eyes do adjust and when they do, they widen impossibly.
There, darting among the glittering schools of fish are fast, curved animals that veer sharply through the waves, cutting perfect angles and snatching up the food with deft precision. As his fingers press up flat against the ice, he goes as close as he can, nose touching the cold wall and follows their movements, even as they dodge in and out of the light much like he does on the wind.
"Dolphins." Pitch supplies for him, unbearably pleased at the reaction.
"I knew that." Jack shoots back, unable to even take his eyes off the sight as he watches them move about gracefully.
"They remind me of you." He adds in after a moment, watching Jack as much as he watches the mammals. "Swift, clever and absolutely intolerable."
"Hey!" Jack snaps, finally glancing at him with a look of indignant amusement. Then his gaze goes back to the dolphins and the dark depths beyond. They spend the rest of their time like that, in companionable silence and watching the dolphins fish in coordinated movements. The pod circles the schools of fish, trapping them in a cylinder, much like the way Jack's wind attacked Pitch, before darting in and out through the middle and snapping up the prey in their mouths. It's... actually pretty amazing to watch.
When the pod is finished, they chirp out noises through the water and swim off, much to the guardian's disappointment. Only when they're gone does he speak though.
"Okay, I give up. What's your game?"
"No game at all," Pitch replies with false modesty, shrugging when Jack leans on his staff and gives him a raised eyebrow. "I merely wanted to take you where the wind does not go." When Jack continues to stare, Pitch finally gives up. The child's curiosity will not be satisfied without it being said in layman's terms. "Happy Birthday." He grumbles, annoyed that he has been forced to resort to this inelegant explanation.
But Jack's smile goes a long way to soothing that indignity.
Jack has made a new home for himself. While he doesn't linger in any one place for too long, for now he has settled around a small town far up in northern Canada. A tiny town he has chosen to gift with a layer of snow and solidly frozen lakes made perfect for ice fishing. It's something Pitch has noticed, actually. Anytime Jack comes close to frozen water, he gives it an extra tap of his staff just to make sure it's solid. Why he does this, Pitch does not yet know, but he does understand that Jack is afraid. He is afraid of weak ice and humans falling through, and it grips at him with an intensity that makes him crave all the more. Fear, unsurprisingly, is a taste he will never tire of.
As he watches Jack at work, spreading the sharp designs of ice into the lake and laughing as he causes the children in skates to slip and slide into soft, powdery banks of snow, a part of Pitch recoils. This is Jack's world, one where he is known and loved. Even now, as the children sit up with false indignation and yell at him for tripping them up, their laughter and joy is clear.
They see him... but they don't see Pitch. He can sense it, their eyes all rooted to the wonder and joy of 'fun' and ignorant of the darkness that is 'fear.' He loathes their existence, wants them to know what it's like to be scared. But as he steps onto the ice, wearing a cloak of shadows like always, he sees Jack notice him and look up. The expression that forms on his face, weary and surprised, is invigorating.
"Hello Jack." His voice is pleased, rather satisfied actually and it makes Jack both alert and amused.
"Hey, nice to see you in daylight for a change."
"Jack, who are you talking to?" A little girl in mittens and a toque asks, tugging on his sleeve and wobbling on a pair of skates. Jack glances at her and Pitch feels the anger in his body flare up. How dare he look away?
"Just a friend." Jack replies, voice light and comforting, even as his irises flicker towards Pitch. "You guys go on ahead, okay? I'll be right back." And before they can argue, he's calling the wind and soaring up into the air. Pitch, with one last disparaging look at the children who cannot see him, disappears into the shadows to follow. Reappearing at the edge of the lake, he watches as Jack lands near him and gives him a curious and annoyed look.
"So what's- whoa!" He's cut off sharply as the wind suddenly blasts forward, almost knocking him off balance. The wind... is attacking him. Pitch gasps as he finds himself slammed backwards into a snow drift and blinded as the wind picks up and funnels around him, creating a miniature blizzard. Past the roaring in his ears, he can faintly hear Jack saying something before it suddenly stops. Well, sort of.
The wind spirals upward and eventually dissipates, dropping another load of snow on him. Sitting up with a snarl and flinging white everywhere, he turns on Jack ready to demand answers... and finds the guardian laughing. Oh he tries to stifle it, but the mirth is in his eyes and he is so obviously amused.
"What. Was that?" Pitch asks, voice dangerously dark.
"That? That was... Wind."
"I am aware," his voice peaks with a note of rage, "of what that was. I am asking why that happened." And unbeknownst to him, Jack isn't looking at his eyes, he's eying the mound of snow on top of Pitch's hair, painting it as white as his own.
"Who knows?" He gets out, voice marred with giggles. "Maybe it was uh..." And, aware that Pitch is getting very, very angry, he coughs to hide what he can of his amusement and tries again, shrugging. "Maybe it was worried about me."
"... worried about you." Pitch repeats, voice now filled with disbelief.
"Yeah, I mean ever since I've become a guardian it's been getting stronger, bigger. I figure it's... y'know, becoming my thing."
"... your thing." Pitch repeats again, though this time rubbing at his temple. Why is Jack getting continuously harder to understand?
"Yeah, like North's got the Yetis and the elves, Tooth has her fairies." Jack shrugs and tries not to grin so broadly as a bit of snow falls onto Pitch's nose. "And I've got wind." When Pitch only glares at him, Jack smiles. "We're kind of off track though. What did you come to see me about?"
And Pitch falls silent, ignoring the guardian as he brushes the drift from his shoulders and scowls when he discovers there is more in his hair. Giving that a quick swipe, Jack waits until he's all clean before pointedly clearing his throat. Spirit of winter and fun he may be but patience is a quality he is sorely lacking in.
"Well?" He prods and Pitch glances at him. Is it inaccurate to say he's suddenly feeling rather... uncertain, about the entire thing? No, it would not be inaccurate. After all, this is an entirely new experience for him. Never before has he ever tried to give anything but the gift of fear and despair.
"I have something to show you." He announces then, solemnly so as he gathers up the shadows- so much harder to do in the light- and creates a pool of darkness that will take both him and Jack to their destination. "Will you come?" He asks then, all smiles and honey as he watches Jack eye that swirling ink with mistrust. For a moment the youth deliberates, then shrugs and glances at Pitch with a cocky smile.
"Okay, but just remember. If I don't frost the ground this Sunday, they'll know I'm missing." He reminds Pitch and then, with all the bravery and foolishness of immaturity, hops in. Pitch regrets that this is not actually a trap and follows suit, letting the darkness close up behind them and shut out the light.
When they emerge again, it is in darkness reefed with only the barest pinpricks of light. Shadow dominates here as the waters outside distort the sun's rays. As Pitch walks into the hollowed out bottom of the glacier, he turns and finds Jack... frozen. His eyes dart wildly this way and that and for the first time since his christening as a guardian, Pitch can taste fear. Immediately his hunger surges forward, desperate and all-consuming as the terror rolls off of Jack and permeates the air like a sweet perfume.
Jack... is terrified and Pitch wants to devour him in shadow.
"Jack?" Pitch inquires after a moment, his voice a little too thick with the sweetness of someone who has sampled something delicious and is about to have more. "Is something wrong?"
And the guardian starts, a guilty jerk as his eyes flick back towards Pitch and his hand grips his staff just a little too tightly. "N-no... no, everything's fine."
But it isn't and Pitch can tell that so easily.
"Are you... uncomfortable?" The word slides off his tongue liking oozing honey, sweet and alluring yet with the promise of drowning if one gets in too deep. The tone makes Jack snap to attention and he turns fully on Pitch, his grip loosening on his stave as he twirls it once, loosely, and lets a comfortable smile form on his lips. He can sense danger in the air and is ready to face it. "I said I'm good."
Even if they are locked in a glass bowl of ice, even if the wind can't reach him down here, they are still so very much in his element. Pitch, aware that he is betraying himself, reigns in his desires and clears his throat. "... I see."
"So why are we down here, Pitch? Cause if this is a trap, you picked a pretty bad place for yourself." Jack tosses in, still eying him even as the fear continues to linger in the air. He can't hide it, not completely, and Pitch is starting to key in.
Jack... fears the water.
And then it clicks, like a puzzle piece falling perfectly into place. The lost memories, who Jack was before he became Jack Frost. Jack... drowned to death. That is why he is so peculiar about frozen water and why he's uncomfortable being under it. It is a piece of information Pitch tucks neatly away, ready to use at a better time.
And yet... he cannot ignore a lingering sense of unhappiness. This is not what he wanted.
"Oh no, Jack." Pitch begins, masking his doubts and instead coming closer to the shield of ice. "This room is for you." And he points beyond the transparent wall to where the life of the sea churns in the water. Fish dart this way and that, scales catching the light and glimmering in the darkness, even as they dodge something moving in the shadows. It takes Jack a moment, both because he's wary of Pitch and because he cannot see as well as the Bogeyman, but eventually his eyes do adjust and when they do, they widen impossibly.
There, darting among the glittering schools of fish are fast, curved animals that veer sharply through the waves, cutting perfect angles and snatching up the food with deft precision. As his fingers press up flat against the ice, he goes as close as he can, nose touching the cold wall and follows their movements, even as they dodge in and out of the light much like he does on the wind.
"Dolphins." Pitch supplies for him, unbearably pleased at the reaction.
"I knew that." Jack shoots back, unable to even take his eyes off the sight as he watches them move about gracefully.
"They remind me of you." He adds in after a moment, watching Jack as much as he watches the mammals. "Swift, clever and absolutely intolerable."
"Hey!" Jack snaps, finally glancing at him with a look of indignant amusement. Then his gaze goes back to the dolphins and the dark depths beyond. They spend the rest of their time like that, in companionable silence and watching the dolphins fish in coordinated movements. The pod circles the schools of fish, trapping them in a cylinder, much like the way Jack's wind attacked Pitch, before darting in and out through the middle and snapping up the prey in their mouths. It's... actually pretty amazing to watch.
When the pod is finished, they chirp out noises through the water and swim off, much to the guardian's disappointment. Only when they're gone does he speak though.
"Okay, I give up. What's your game?"
"No game at all," Pitch replies with false modesty, shrugging when Jack leans on his staff and gives him a raised eyebrow. "I merely wanted to take you where the wind does not go." When Jack continues to stare, Pitch finally gives up. The child's curiosity will not be satisfied without it being said in layman's terms. "Happy Birthday." He grumbles, annoyed that he has been forced to resort to this inelegant explanation.
But Jack's smile goes a long way to soothing that indignity.
❖❖❖
The next time Jack visits his cave and Pitch is out, trying to spread his influence however he can, he spends a long time designing the pattern of swimming dolphins and waves on Pitch's walls. Graffiti? Maybe, it's definitely cold enough down here that the pictures will never melt. Still, it's fun to imagine Pitch coming home after doing whatever he's doing and finding the images here. Maybe getting mad, maybe smiling hopelessly.
It's fun. And that's all Jack wants Pitch to have, in a good kind of way.
And so he writes a quick thank you beneath the picture when he's done and heads on his way, suddenly eager to be gone and not get caught being grateful to the Nightmare King of all things. As the wind whisks him up and out, only when the sound of rushing winds fade does Pitch step out of the shadows. As always, Jack is blissfully ignorant of when he's being watched.
And as he steps up and runs his hand over the defaced wall, he struggles for a moment to remain properly intimidating, then gives up. There is no point in remaining somber against the attempts of the incarnation of fun.
So he gives in, and smiles.
end.
The next time Jack visits his cave and Pitch is out, trying to spread his influence however he can, he spends a long time designing the pattern of swimming dolphins and waves on Pitch's walls. Graffiti? Maybe, it's definitely cold enough down here that the pictures will never melt. Still, it's fun to imagine Pitch coming home after doing whatever he's doing and finding the images here. Maybe getting mad, maybe smiling hopelessly.
It's fun. And that's all Jack wants Pitch to have, in a good kind of way.
And so he writes a quick thank you beneath the picture when he's done and heads on his way, suddenly eager to be gone and not get caught being grateful to the Nightmare King of all things. As the wind whisks him up and out, only when the sound of rushing winds fade does Pitch step out of the shadows. As always, Jack is blissfully ignorant of when he's being watched.
And as he steps up and runs his hand over the defaced wall, he struggles for a moment to remain properly intimidating, then gives up. There is no point in remaining somber against the attempts of the incarnation of fun.
So he gives in, and smiles.
end.
omake:
"Why don't you go spend time in your own home for once?" Pitch demands, voice irritable as Jack sits atop one of his cages and makes his wind swing it back and forth.
"Don't have one." The guardian chirps back, watching Pitch as he inspects the globe thoughtfully, frowning at all those bright lights.
"Then make one." Pitch snaps, eying the guardian with discernible displeasure.
"Why? If I ever need to host, I'll just bring them over here. Should make for a pretty entertaining reception." Jack replies and laughs, hanging off the cage by wrapping his foot around the chain. "Actually, that's pretty tempting. Mind if I move in?"
"This is not your dwelling." Pitch growls and returns to his thoughts, stroking his chin as Jack shrugs and goes back to swinging on his cages. Unbeknownst to him, Pitch is just a little bit pleased that Jack would consider this place his home, even if the question was only made in foolish merriment.
"Why don't you go spend time in your own home for once?" Pitch demands, voice irritable as Jack sits atop one of his cages and makes his wind swing it back and forth.
"Don't have one." The guardian chirps back, watching Pitch as he inspects the globe thoughtfully, frowning at all those bright lights.
"Then make one." Pitch snaps, eying the guardian with discernible displeasure.
"Why? If I ever need to host, I'll just bring them over here. Should make for a pretty entertaining reception." Jack replies and laughs, hanging off the cage by wrapping his foot around the chain. "Actually, that's pretty tempting. Mind if I move in?"
"This is not your dwelling." Pitch growls and returns to his thoughts, stroking his chin as Jack shrugs and goes back to swinging on his cages. Unbeknownst to him, Pitch is just a little bit pleased that Jack would consider this place his home, even if the question was only made in foolish merriment.