Chapter Text
It had been twenty years. Twenty years of never hearing a word from the Guardians, twenty years of waiting for them to stop one of his countless crimes against the children’s innocent lives, twenty years of waiting to see what they’d do next.
Pitch hadn’t been particularly busy since the fall of himself and the rise of the ever faithful Guardians twenty years ago. Exiled to his underground wonderland, he rarely visited the surface, except when the need was very great. Pitch’s powers had been draining ever since that day when the children stopped fearing the name ‘The Boogeyman’, and Pitch had been worn down to a hollow shell without the fear to feed on. Occasionally he’d risk sending out a few of his Nightmares to the above ground world, basking in the fear they’d bring back after only an hour of work. Other times, the Nightmare King himself would venture away from his home and drink the fear right out of the children’s soul.
He’d missed it so much.
However, all good things, sadly, must come to an end, and that’s why, twenty years later, Pitch stands surrounded by the Guardians, all weaponry pointed directly at him as he tries desperately to defend himself with the little power he’d gained in his meal.
“Pitch, long time no see, buddy.” Jack Frost is at the head of the circle; his Shepherd’s Crook staff nestled against Pitch’s collar bone. “I was starting to think the King of Fear was afraid of us,” he continues, his voice rising to a tone similar to one used on a young child who’s not the brightest bulb in the box.
“How kind of you to worry, Frost,” Pitch spits, using his hand that’s not wielding his beloved scythe to brush off Jack’s staff. Jack snorts in response but doesn’t move the weapon away from the Boogeyman’s face.
North steps forward with one of his mighty swords held tightly in his hand, and oh my does Pitch remember the hell those blades have brought to him. So long ago it seemed that those swords destroyed him for the first time. “Pitch, what are you doing above ground?” North asks seriously, his blue eyes glistening with an unspoken worry.
Pitch chuckles softly, stepping away from the area of Jacks staff and gliding along the circle of enemies. “Now, now, North, you must know that just because you dropped me into a hole in the ground and buried me, does not mean that I cannot dig again,” Pitch says, pausing by Toothiana and shooting her a particularly hostile look, still feeling sour about his lost tooth.
“But why return?” North asks and Pitch outright cackles.
“Do you not understand, old man? I need fear to survive, and just because I might not be in the mood to destroy your beautiful little cliché, doesn’t mean that I’m just going to die down there!” Pitch says, resuming his walking until he stands in front of North. “No matter what, you will never release the world from the Boogey—“
He hears the boomerang coming before he sees it and turns around to find it hurtling at his face. Ducking quickly, he spins his body so that the scythe is pointed to Bunnymund, letting out a scream as he throws it down, missing the rabbit by only a hair. He feels the ice crawling up his legs and looks over at Jack Frost, his staff shooting ice at Pitch’s feet and freezing him to the spot.
Pitch summons Nightmares, watching them fly up through the sewage pipes and attack Sanderson on impulse. The little man jumps onto his cloud of golden sand and uses his whips to fight the Nightmares back one by one. Pitch drops himself down into the shadows cast by his body and slips out of the hold Jack’s ice had him in and shoots a stream of black sand at the youngest Guardians face, throwing him backwards against a tree.
Tooth flies forward, silent if not for Pitch’s trained ears and she meets him head on, her tiny fists enveloped by Pitch’s much larger hands. He throws her down to the ground with a laugh and ducks another boomerang that’s flying towards him.
It’s only when Sandy shows up, that things get difficult.
The Dream Spirit shoots him from behind, knocking him over and blinding him in a waterfall of golden sand. Pitch growls in annoyance, pushing himself out of the painful light and face to face with the floating Sandman. Sandy smiles cutely, and Pitch knows better than to sit and wait for the blow as Sandman’s palm flies forward, shooting out a jet of sand. The Boogeyman dodges it just in time, returning the favor with a spray of black sand to Sanderson as he crumples to the ground.
Being distracted by the tiny Guardian didn’t help Pitch at all, and he smirks in disgust as the Guardians are now surrounding him, only a few feet away, poised for death this time. Pitch stops, thinks on what he can do to get out of this seemingly impossible situation, and then it hits him. Laughing gleefully, Pitch brings his hands together in front of him, summoning a magic to his palms that he hasn’t felt for years. A ball of black and purple light form between his hands, writhing and screaming to be released as it grows bigger and bigger. The Guardians watch in fear as the ball grows, until it’s almost too big to be between the oldest spirit’s hands, then he claps and sends the light dancing around the circle, surrounding the Guardians and causing them to scream, not in pain, but in confusion.
After the spell is done being placed, the lights vanish, leaving Pitch standing in the middle of a circle that’s much smaller than it was seconds before. Dust spins around the ground, clouding most of his vision.
Pitch looks down as the dust separates, shocked at what he finds.
The spell was supposed to rid the Guardians of their powers, cause them to fall back to how they were twenty years ago, unseen, not believed in. It seems the spell had other plans in mind, as Pitch watches, horrified, as five tiny Guardians emerge from the swirling dust and debris.