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The moon is a funny thing.
Most people look up at it in the night and they think it’s beautiful. And in a way, it is. A big, bright thing in the sky that seems to chase away the darkness, and makes people feel a little bit less alone.
But that’s only because people don’t know any better. Sure, the moon is there.
But it’s not interested in being there for anyone.
Did you know that the moon doesn’t make any of its own light? The light that looks like it’s coming from the moon is really just reflected from the sun.
My name is Jack Frost. I know that, because the moon told me so.
And that’s the last thing he ever told me.
The night is cold, but it’s been a long time since he’s noticed anything like that.
It’s cold… But with the full moon overhead, it’s not dark.
Not only is it bright, but reflected in the frozen lake below, it almost seems bright. Alive, even.
But Jack doesn’t bother trying to say anything to the moon, not tonight.
He’s long since given up on that.
From his position on one of the highest branches of one of the bare trees overlooking the lake, Jack can see pretty much everything; from the snowy tops of the coniferous trees and the bare skeletal branches of their leafy counterparts, to the lights of the town off in the distance with the smoke rising from the chimneys— but the thing he’s most interested in is the lake.
He likes to sit there and watch the moon reflected on the ice and water, remembering the day he rose up out of the ice as Jack Frost, trying to recall anything beyond his name— the same day he discovered that he was completely and utterly alone in the world, that no one could see him or hear him.
And he’s been alone ever since, with a silent moon who refuses to tell him why he’s here, what he’s here for, who he is.
He looks up at the moon hanging low in the sky, then looks away.
That’s when he spots something unusual by the edge of the lake.
He doesn’t spend all of his time in this one spot. He likes to ride the winds, to see the world, to use his powers to have a good time, because what else would he be without those things?
It’s not like he knows why else he has these powers or anything like that. So if anyone feels like criticizing him for ‘goofing off’, well. Maybe those stuffy jerks should try living in his shoes for a few centuries.
But even though he doesn’t always hang out here, he knows the place well. Knows the people from the village who come to the lake to cut holes in the ice and fish— although they always seem to be afraid of falling in, so there aren’t many, and they don’t let their kids go anywhere near it.
And he knows that the person he sees isn’t anyone from the village.
He’s not even sure the person is human.
When he first spots it, he thinks it’s just a weird shadow, the light from the moon overhead playing tricks on his eyes as it shines through the tree branches— but then he spots it again, and it’s definitely movement.
There’s a part of him that wants to just brush it off as some animal or another stalking through the woods at night. But he’s also a very curious sort of person, if that’s even what he can be called anymore, and he’s always been the sort of person who goes where he wants to go and does whatever he wants to do without caring about much of anything.
So he comes down from his perch high above the forest and follows the streak of dark and movement that he sees rounding to the other side of the lake.
It is a person, once he gets close enough to get a better look, although he’s still not sure he would say it’s a human— and he’s curious, but he’s not stupid, so he keeps to the trees and watches from a different branch that gives him a perfect view of the person skulking at the edge of the frozen water.
“So this is it, old friend? This is how it ends.”
The person looks more like a streak of darkness against the white of the snow, stumbling like they’re drunk, until they collapse at the edge of the lake.
“Your precious Guardians have won. I’m beaten. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? And you’re too dignified to even gloat about it.”
His voice rises into the darkness, and as he stumbles out onto the frozen lake— slipping a little, but not in the way that even looks silly enough to laugh at, more concerning than anything— Jack starts to think he’s just some loon that’s made his way out here.
But the mention of the Guardians is enough to draw his interest— the same people who seem to think that because he doesn’t want to play the same little game as them, spending all of their time working and working and working just so some kids will believe in them, that he’s not as good as them.
Even more interesting than that is the fact that he’s standing in the middle of the lake with his fist raised, shaking it— at the moon.
I guess I’m not the only one you don’t like to talk to, huh?
Jack drops down from the tree branch and creeps closer, wanting a better look at the stranger— but he’s too busy watching him to watch where he’s stepping, and his foot lands perfectly on a dry branch that CRACKS with an echo in the still forest.
“Who’s there?!”
The figure in black whips around as soon as he hears it, and without even getting an answer to his question— even with his own eyes— he lashes out with what looks like a whip of pure shadow.
The guy is definitely dangerous. He might even be a threat if he was in his right mind, but as it stands, Jack dodges the attack easily— he’s in his element, he knows the terrain, and from the crazed look in his eyes and the stumbling movements, it seems like his unexpected opponent is already on his last legs as it is.
Jack rolls out of the way of his whip and immediately raises his staff to fire a bolt of ice at him.
He could aim for something vital— he could even blast him away, probably send him sliding all the way across the lake. It would give him enough time to leave and since the shadow man seems like he can barely walk, he doesn’t think he would be able to catch up to him in the air.
But there’s something that makes him pause.
Something about what the mysterious stranger was saying… Or how he was saying it, maybe.
Either way, Jack is curious. And that’s something very dangerous for him to be.
Instead of doing either of those things, he aims for the mysterious stranger’s feet, freezing him in place on the snowy bank.
The stranger makes to attack again, momentarily not realizing what Jack has done, but he realizes when his balance is thrown off and his arms pinwheel in place for a second.
In any other circumstances, it might actually be funny. But Jack is too on edge to find any humour in the situation— which is rare for him.
The shadow man doesn’t break his ankles or anything, but after a moment he realizes he isn’t going anywhere and Jack has retreated out of his reach into the trees.
He glares up at him, and Jack just stares back down.
The guy definitely doesn’t look completely human, that’s for sure… And Jack feels like he’s supposed to recognize him.
“So,” he says, conversationally. “Do you usually come to places like this to… Yell at the moon?”
The look on shadow man’s face looks like someone who’s just caught a whiff of something that smells really bad.
Jack isn’t entirely sure the guy won’t attack him if he gets closer, but… He can’t help himself.
Yelling about the Guardians. Yelling to the moon about the Guardians.
He wants to know more. No, he needs to know more.
So he jumps down out of his tree perch, floating gently to the ground… And the man’s eyes are on him the entire time.
He thinks the man is just going to stay quiet, based on the way he’s looking at him, but instead he says,
“Ah… So the rumours I heard were true, then. He really did fish someone out of the water.”
The look on his face changes. Now he doesn’t look like he’s smelling something terrible; he looks more like he’s sizing him up.
Well, Jack isn’t really used to having anyone looking at him much anymore, so even though he doesn’t trust this guy, it still feels like a nice change of pace.
“It’s Jack Frost, right?”
“You’ve heard of me?”
“Of course I have. There aren’t many of us out there, you know.”
He doesn’t actually know. He hasn’t exactly had anyone around to teach him or anything. People— normal, living, human people— don’t see him anymore, walk right through him as if he’s not even there, and the only other people who seem to operate by the same rules are them.
The Guardians.
Every time he’s had a run in with them, it just feels like he’s being made fun of. Like they think he’s just some prankster or clown out to make their lives harder because the only thing they care about are their duties. So he decided early on that if that was all they were going to see him as, that was all he was going to act like.
No point trying hard if they’re never going to even try to see him as anything else, right?
“Well, you know who I am.” Jack plants his staff in the ground and leans on it, looking the stranger— the one who is like him, apparently, like the Guardians, and like whoever else is apparently out there— up and down. “But I have no idea who you are. Or why you’re wandering around out here yelling at the moon.”
From tip to toe, the man in front of him looks like a pure streak of shadow. His robes are so black there’s not really any shape to them except the parts that hug his bodies. His hair, slicked back, is the same colour of night. Even his skin is a dark grey. He stands out against the white of the lake behind him, but blends in with the shadows of the trees; Jack feels like he could just melt into the shadows at any second, although if he could do that, then he probably would have already to get out of his ice.
The only thing that stands out about him are his eyes.
Golden.
Jack definitely feels like he should know who he is.
“Don’t play dumb,” the shadow man spits, baring one crooked fang at him in a snarl. “You just decided to sneak up on me and ambush me without knowing who I am, is that it?”
“I wasn’t trying to ambush you,” he says immediately. “You’re the one who attacked me. I just came to see what you were yelling about.”
“And you decided to do that by sneaking about?”
“Well, if you were some crazy weirdo, I didn’t want to set you off. Which kind of did happen, so can you blame me?”
He doesn’t look like he believes him. It’s not like Jack really cares whether he believes him or not, really, it’s just…
“Do you expect me to so readily believe that you aren’t just like them?”
“Who are you talking about?”
“The Guardians. The moon’s other pets.”
“Don’t compare me to those guys.”
Maybe Jack overreacts to that a bit, jabbing his staff into the guy’s face.
The Guardians are… Fine.
They don’t like him. That’s okay. They don’t need to like him. They’re stuck up and full of themselves and seem to think that their way of helping kids is the only way.
But they’re not… Bad, or anything. They’re not evil or diabolical or anything like that. They’re just jerks. And the fact that Jack can see people and people can’t see him means that he knows exactly how many jerks there are, whether it’s in this small village or in the distant places the wind carries him on cold winter nights.
They’re just like the moon. They don’t want anything to do with him. And since he doesn’t want anything to do with them, either, that’s just fine.
Absolutely, one hundred percent fine.
He squeezes the handle of his staff a little bit harder.
“...Ah. So you aren’t their biggest fan either, I see.”
Even though he’s frozen to the ground because of him, even though they were just fighting a second ago, as soon as he hears that the shadow guy looks like he… Relaxes a little bit.
Jack tilts his head curiously.
“You could say that,” he says cautiously, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “I mean… I don’t think they’re the biggest fan of me, either.”
“Heh. Join the club.”
He raises an eyebrow curiously at that.
It’s not like he’s surprised to hear that or anything. The guy in front of him— who just tried to attack him for getting too close— doesn’t exactly look like the kind of person the Guardians would be best buddies with.
But he can’t help but find himself… A bit curious.
There aren’t many people who can see him; just others like him, and this guy definitely seems to know they’re cut from the same cloth.
This is probably the longest conversation he’s had with someone since he woke up and came rising out of the lake— or at least, it’s the longest conversation he’s had with someone that isn’t a lecture.
He probably shouldn’t find himself warming up to the guy who just tried to attack him, but he did freeze him to the ground in retaliation, so they’re probably even on that front.
He goes to retract the ice— but then he thinks twice and figures that either way he should probably figure out who this guy is and why he’s out here in the first place before he starts changing his mind about him.
“You still haven’t told me who you are,” he reminds him, trying to sound as suspicious as he definitely is but failing a little bit because the way the man rolls his eyes makes him chuckle just a little bit.
“Pitch Black,” he says, his voice an exasperated drawl, but even when he sounds like he’s run out of patience with him he doesn’t sound as condescending as the Guardians do.
“The Boogeyman?”
He knows the name, because one of the few things he’s learned from others like him is that the Boogeyman is to be avoided. According to everyone else of their kind, he’s a mean son of a bitch who only seems to get joy from messing with kids.
But Jack doesn’t usually trust what other people tell him. He would much rather learn these things for himself, even if that means getting burned once or twice.
“One and the same.” Pitch sighs. “Though those days might be over now…”
Jack doesn’t even realize he’s removing the ice from Pitch’s feet until he actually does it, but Pitch doesn’t immediately try to attack him or even seem to realize he’s free to move again except by adjusting his stance so he’s standing properly again.
“Why? I thought you were supposed to be the monster every kid’s afraid of finding under their bed or something.”
“I am,” Pitch spits, but Jack can tell his anger isn’t directed at him— but it is super interesting. “But the Guardians happened.”
Pitch starts walking away, along the edge of the frozen lake, but it doesn’t seem like he’s leaving— especially when he stops and looks over his shoulder, like he’s waiting for Jack to follow.
It’s probably a bad idea to follow the Boogeyman who you just nearly got into a fight with.
Jack isn’t exactly known for being full of good ideas.
So he follows.
Jack doesn’t know how long the two of them spend talking.
Since it’s the first real conversation he’s had with someone in so long, it feels like it lasts forever, but also not nearly long enough.
It doesn’t take him long for him to look at the guy he’s talking to— to look at Pitch— and stop seeing him as the bad guy he’s been warned to stay away from.
Sure, he’s the Boogeyman. The living embodiment of fear. But does that really make him completely evil?
Jack doesn’t remember being human— if he even was human and didn’t just pop fully formed out of the lake or something— but he does spend a lot of his time watching humans.
Humans, especially young ones, have plenty of good reasons to be afraid of things. The world is a scary place, and having a healthy dose of fear can help keep them alive.
“The Guardians don’t understand any of that, of course,” Pitch drawls, rolling his eyes as he and Jack sit on a fallen tree stump at the tree line looking out over the water. Halfway between the shadows of the trees and the frozen water. “To them, the only thing that matters is that children are filled with hope and wonder and sweet dreams— none of which will matter if they’re not filled with fear of the things that could hurt them.”
“Yeah, a visit from the Tooth Fairy won’t mean much if they get lost in the woods and freeze to death.”
“Exactly!” There’s a moment of genuine excitement on Pitch’s face, but it fades quickly, like he’s afraid of showing his hand too much.
Jack doesn’t miss it, though. He also doesn’t say anything.
“To the Guardians, nothing matters other than what they say matters— and who decides who is or is not fit to become a Guardian?”
“Who…?”
“The Man in the Moon, of course.”
Jack didn’t know that. But it’s not like he’s ever really talked to the Guardians much.
And he’s never talked to the Moon. No matter how many times he’s tried.
“That’s how they are with you, too, isn’t it?”
Jack almost startles when he feels something on his arm. It takes him a second to realize that Pitch is reaching over and touching him.
Something as simple as just a couple of fingers lightly brushing against his arm, but it’s the first time he’s felt that— well, ever, at least as far as his memory is concerned.
Pitch doesn’t pull back when he startles; if anything, it makes his lips twitch into a smirk for a second. But he is supposed to be the embodiment of fear itself, right? So that shouldn’t be surprising.
It makes him more bold, if anything. His hand winds around Jack’s wrist. His hands are slender but he has long fingers and he manages to hold Jack’s wrist entirely, running his thumb along the side of his hand.
It’s overwhelming. Jack has been on his own for… A while now, and humans can’t see him. When they come close to him they just pass right through him.
Like a ghost.
The sensation of actually being touched— even such a simple touch— actually makes his brain stop for a moment, and it takes him a second before it catches up.
He knows that Pitch notices, though.
He swallows hard and tries to act like he hasn’t been so caught off guard, but the damage has already been done.
“Uh… Kind of, I guess,” he replies, his usual easy confidence gone and replaced by a feeling that he’s been put completely off kilter.
It’s not like he doesn’t understand why people don’t like Pitch. It’s not like people like to be afraid, whether it’s good for them or not.
But there’s something about him… Maybe it’s just the fact that he’s the first person he’s gotten to talk to and who’s actually touched him in literally as long as he can remember. Or maybe it’s the fact that he seems to be the only person who understands how he feels about the Moon.
Maybe Jack is just the kind of person who likes people who he’s been told are bad for him.
Whatever it is, the longer this goes on…
“You know, they just think I’m kind of… Annoying, I guess? And they act like because I’d rather do my own thing that I’m not as good as them.”
“Yes, that does sound very much like them.”
Pitch still hasn’t let go of his wrist.
Jack doesn’t really want him to let go.
“They don’t understand you,” Pitch says. “They’re quite good at that, it seems. Why, with what they’ve done to me…”
“What they’ve ‘done’ to you?”
“You don’t know?”
Jack doesn’t know what it is he supposedly doesn’t know, but he just shakes his head regardless.
“Although they might like to believe otherwise, the Guardians and I— at least in terms of our powers— work quite similarly.” As he explains, Pitch keeps rubbing his thumb along the side of Jack’s hand. It’s almost… Soothing, especially alongside the sound of Pitch’s voice, which is pleasantly smooth. “Just like them, I’m… Powered by belief. And all of their running around making kids not afraid means that I’m at the weakest I’ve ever been.”
Pitch hangs his head, and lets his hand drop from around Jack’s wrist.
Jack doesn’t even realize he’s reaching for his hand until he grabs it.
Not quite sure what to do with it, he just sort of… Holds it as he looks at Pitch waiting for him to keep talking.
Pitch stares at where the two of them are now holding hands for a few moments before he clears his throat and looks away.
Notably, he doesn’t pull his hand away.
“You do understand how it feels, don’t you? To not be believed in.”
There’s something about Pitch’s voice that just sounds small, and so unlike the big terrifying avatar of fear that he’s supposed to be, according to all of the stories.
Jack looks down at their hands, and then up at the moon, which is shining overhead like it’s staring down at them.
A dark cloud passes in front of the moon.
Everything around them goes dark, cast into shadow without the light of the moon overhead, but where most people would probably be scared, it doesn’t bother Jack.
After all, the reason he’s meant to be afraid of the dark is sitting with him right now, holding his hand, so he’s pretty sure he has nothing to worry about.
And it’s not like the moon is going to have anything worthwhile to say, anyway.
In his own, Pitch’s hand feels… Warm.
Burgess is a small place, but to Jack, it feels like home.
It’s where he first woke up all those centuries ago, after all. And even though he’s long since stopped trying to figure out why he found himself rising up out of a lake into a snowy night, with no one able to see or hear him, there’s always a part of him that’s going to love this little town.
After all, it’s where the two of them first met.
When he comes to Burgess, he brings with him a blizzard, blowing in on a nor’easter right alongside him as the wind carries him home.
Even though they’re getting close to spring time now, he buries the landscape in a thick blanket of white.
Tomorrow, the kids will probably be excited to get out and play in it, to get a day off from school to just hang out with their friends. Tomorrow, it will be fun.
But for tonight, with the temperature dropping unexpectedly and the power going out and parents comforting crying kids in the dark, ‘fun’ is the last thing on anyone’s mind.
And even though that was what Jack wanted to do for people once upon a time, it’s the farthest thing from his mind, too.
Even though the wind is howling, blowing the snow around and making it harder for people to see (increasing the fear of anyone out on the road right now, fear that they’ll end up in a ditch or worse on their drive home), Jack finds himself a nice comfortable spot under the overhang of some office building’s roof so he can look out across the town and admire his own handiwork.
Anyone else might have panicked when, while standing there alone admiring the scenery with their back against the wall, something wrapped around their waist from behind— but not Jack.
He’s used to it by now.
The way Pitch just seems to melt out of the shadows has always fascinated him, but right now he just leans back into the embrace and doesn’t think about it too much.
With his arms around him, Pitch laces his fingers together on Jack’s stomach as he rests his chin on his shoulder. He’s not looking at him, though— his eyes are somewhere distant as he stares out at the skyline, admiring the wind whipping the snow around violently.
“Beautiful,” he says, his voice a low murmur.
He’s looking at the midnight blizzard when he says it, but his grip on Jack tightens just a bit at the same time.
“What goes together better than cold and dark?”
Pitch turns his head so he’s speaking directly into his eat, and even though Jack doesn’t really feel temperature much anymore, that’s enough to send a shiver down his spine.
But then, ever since the day the two of them met, Pitch has always known exactly how to wrap him around his little finger. And Jack loves every second of it.
As Pitch’s hands move from Jack’s stomach to his hips, the black sand that Pitch has spent a lot of time carefully collecting and tweaking to suit his needs starts to curl around his ankles and up his legs.
“The Guardians are going to have no idea what hit ‘em,” Jack says, and he offers Pitch his best grin.
It’s true, too. Because in their minds, why would he ever want to help someone like Pitch? As far as they’re concerned, he’s nothing but a one-dimensional bad guy who has no interest in doing anything but scare kids, and what can someone like that have to offer Jack? Or to anyone?
They think that they and their precious Man in the Moon know everything, and that’s why they’re going to catch them by surprise.
Because in their minds, they can’t even think about the possibility that Pitch might have something to offer Jack.
Because in their minds, they’re right and Pitch is wrong and that’s all that matters.
Because in their minds, the fact that no one believes in Jack and none of them have ever done anything to help him doesn’t matter— he should still be on their side because they’re the good guys and that’s that.
He knows he’s going to have a good laugh, seeing the looks on their faces as soon as they make their first move. Especially knowing that they had every chance to change things, to make them work in their favour instead, and they threw all of them away because they know best.
Even though the storm clouds are covering the moon, Jack can’t help but look up, to the spot where he knows the moon should be— full and fat overhead, watching over everything but never getting involved himself.
Jack has never actually spoken to the Man in the Moon, isn’t even sure he’s real, but Pitch always talks like he is— and he hopes that this is the moment where he finally comes to regret it.
But there’s going to betime for that later. As the storm starts to wind down, Jack knows they have work to do— and so does Pitch, as he leans in to press a quick kiss to Jack’s cheek before melting back into the shadows so he can set his Nightmares loose to do their bidding.
What goes together better than cold and dark?
Well, as the Moon and the Guardians are about to find out: nothing.