Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Six years.
Six agonizing, grueling, unhurried years had passed since the battle in Burgess.
Time had slowed down to a crawl, where every waking minute, every creeping hour,
Was filled with the clawing, nagging of insanity.
A brewing concoction of rage and fear, rippling beneath his skin and licking its furious tongues along his spine.
Tattering his already crumbling mind, filling it with irrational thoughts, nerve twitching anxiety and baiting the depression that had long since settled there for most of his existence.

Now, skulking the dark corridors of his underground palace, his once proud frame withered, worn and straining with exhaustion, the Nightmare King found himself coming to a stop before the swinging cages, their empty ribs casting idle shadows against the far back wall.
How many times this year has he stalked these halls?
Paced his bedroom for what felt like an eternity?
Finding himself in this same position, staring up at these empty cages that had once been filled with Toothiana’s darling little fairies?

Before the gestating anger in his belly had the chance to thrash in his core like an unborn child, Pitch’s attention was ensnared by the whinnying of one of his Mares, of what few were left from having not succumbed to starvation.
Gliding through the shadows, soundless as he approached the anxious beast, he rose a slender hand up to gently glide along the sleek, sable coat along the Mare’s jawbone, feeling her lightly flinch before nuzzling against his palm.
”Shh, it’s alright Ebony. What has you all riled up?” He asked with a gentleness to his tone as he tried to soothe, watching those golden large orbs flicker upwards.

His own, crescent-moon hued irises began to sweep up towards the ceiling, looking beyond, feeling for what it was that had his Mare excited.
Then he felt it.
He could practically taste it.
Fear.
Bubbling, riveting, beckoning fear that was practically screaming.
A gasp nearly escaped his thin lined lips as he closed his eyes, having Pitch suck upon his breath as his shoulders rolled with a visible shiver.
In that sweet blissful moment, a deep hunger unhinged and the Nightmare King nearly felt himself buckling over in pain, body long since starved and now maddeningly ached to fill it’s quota.

He had to feed.
Oblivious that he was gripping his hand against the throbbing throat of his Mare, Ebony’s veins throbbing with anticipation as the darkness making up her body flickered and danced, eyes like fire as she started to butt her head against his arm, while snorting heavily and digging jet-black hooves against the ground.
Giving Ebony one last soothing stroke up along her ink like skin, he pulled away just to sink into the shadows, eagerness coursing through his veins as predatory needs roused through him.
Like a crashing tide against the shore, racing, hungry and yet meticulous, agile and silent, the Nightmare King followed the beckoning fear to it’s source.

Piercing, near golden orbs illuminated in the darkness beneath the bed of the unsuspecting prey,
as Pitch eased himself to bask against the cool, white tiled flooring there.
Hands neatly tucked to rest against his waist, he took the moment to observe his surroundings.
The bed frame was not the typical structure he often found himself beneath, as the metal legs and supports were designed for mobility and storage, while being quite far off from the ground.
Lulling his head, his slightly pointed ears twitched to the sound of beeping machines, before his attention moved towards the idle creak of what appeared to be an IV stand.

This was a hospital.
Soon, the sounds of the room was made deaf to him as the violent bouts of coughing drew him back, feeling his prey writhing upon the mattress above.
The fear was unbridled, sweet and intoxicating all of his senses, leaving Pitch to let his lashes flutter against his high cheek bones, near shuddering, inhaling through his nostrils as he rode the high.
Tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, teeth near clenched, chest tight and skin tingling, with nerves feeling ignited and the hunger in his core devouring all that it could.
He could taste it, feel it and everything was divine.

Slowly, his eyes would flutter open as he tried to keep a satisfied sigh from escaping his lips, not that the child could hear him anyways.
Just cause there was fear, did not mean he was believed in.
No, this child…this girl, who violently coughed, lurching and wheezing with every spasm, needing to grasp a tissue to wipe the contents of mucus and spittle from young soft lips.
Did not fear him.
No, her fears were justified, as they could very well turn into reality.
Where in other children her age…eight, she was eight, they would be frightened of trivial ordeals, not capable of grasping horrors that were beyond their knowledge.

She was afraid of dying.
Most particularly, dying alone.
For a fleeting moment, a pang of understanding slithered through Pitch, knowing far too well what it was like to have such a fear.
Yet the very moment it came, it was snuffed out like a futile flame of a candle, pinched between two harsh fingers to prevent it from burning ever again.
His hunger was far too feverish to allow sympathy to get in the way, or any other emotion to surface.
This girl.
This sick, human girl was nothing to him.
Just another source of fear to feast upon.

Idly lifting up a hand, a slender pointer finger pointed it’s claw to drag along the cool metal of the bed frame and he began scratching.
The sound was a soft symphony at first, a seed to plant the idea in her head, to gain the child’s attention and the goal was to keep it, the starting ingredient to the recipe of fright.
It didn’t take long, as he could feel the girl stiffen, straining her ears to listen for the sound, clearly knowing she heard something, only to flinch as the scratching grew louder, sharper.
Just as the weight of the bed shifted, Pitch retracted his nail, finger poised in the air as he waited, sipping on the brewing of her emotions.
The moment the eight year old dared to relax, he pressed his entire hand against the frame, slashing his nails along the metallic bars, emitting a sound that came close to that of a hiss.

The fear that erupted through the girl was like a drug.
She had jumped, a simple act that felt like an eruption of euphoria to him, flooding his senses and for a moment, making it difficult to keep in control.
The Nightmare King had been starved for far too long, so to feel the bliss of pure terror, it rejuvenated him, settling in strength he had long lost since his last battle.
In the moment of of his rush, Pitch’s pupils blew wide, wild and feral, as he near trembled with anticipation, as the girl began to shift and lean over the edge of the hospital bed.

There was a momentary pause, indecision, as if the girl was mentally scolding herself for the need to check for ‘monsters’, oblivious to something much more horrifying waiting for her.
Just as long locks of black hair could be visible, dangling down past the hem of the blanket, with little fingers curling along the fabric to pull it way, there was a shift in weight and that hair fell off.
Taken aback, head cocking as he stared at the tangled mess of black locks that gathered upon the white tiled floor, Pitch found himself arching a brow.
A wig?

A flustered sigh huffed over head as a thin arm…
No, correction.
A near skeletal arm, riddled with weakness and exhaustion, struggled to reach down and curl just as thin fingers to snag into the heap of hair, pausing only long enough in hesitation once more.
Slowly, courage would try to outweigh the terror as that same hand pushed away the blanket, casting big brown eyes to scan beneath the bed.
His own looked back, body eerily still as he waited, searching, reaching for some sense of belief that may linger in the child.
There wasn’t any, as she looked beyond him, scanning the floor and for a moment, he could have sworn she looked…disappointed?

A mild grunt emitted through the girls throat, as she tried to keep balance, not strong enough to easily lift her own frame back up against the bed, all a while trying not to tug out the breathing tubes at her nostrils.
The girl remained in that position for a few minutes, as if trying to come up with a rational reasoning to what was causing all the scratching.
Face innocent, though riddled with fatigue, dark sunken bags beneath her beautiful eyes, eyes that continued to stare hard into the shadows, before finally giving up and using what little strength she had left to ease herself back into bed.

Releasing the breath that he didn’t even have to bother with, the dark spirit in that moment felt the biting of anger rouse through him.
Pale golden eyes burrowing rage up at the mattress above, he couldn’t help but seethe.
”She can’t see me…”
It was a terrible taunt, to know that he could excite fear, spur it on and bring it teetering over the edge of oblivion, till it leaked out of the pores of his prey.
Yet it was not enough to make them believe.
The one thing he truly desired, sought and ached with every fiber of his being.
To be taken away, thrown in his face as some sort of joke, denying him as eyes never made contact.

Biting his tongue and releasing a long, snarled growl, Pitch’s hands gripped tight into the metal of the bed, nails clanking against the metal as he gave it a thrash, clawing like some sort of rabid animal as he seethed through his jagged fangs, emitting a howl before slipping away into the darkness of his shadows.
Jolting upward, chest pounding hard in her chest, the girl squinted through the darkness of her room.
”Any…one there?” Her soft voice squeaked, only seconds after succumbing to a fit of coughs, barely managing to catch her breath to listen again, wondering if she was half crazy for wanting some one to answer.
Sinking against her bed, ears straining to hear for any sounds, exhaustion won over and eyes would fall shut, all a while a hand was at ready, balling a bit of the blanket.

Chapter Text

Pitch Black tried to tell himself, that the reasoning behind his visits to the hospital over the next four months was merely to meet his quota, that after six years of living off what little scraps of fear, that he had to rebuild his strength before he’d have enough energy to stalk new and more appealing prey.
Yes, that was his reasoning and not because this girl intrigued him at all.
Most of his time was spent under the bed, idly clawing and scratching against the metal, increasing the acts of gaining her attention.
The first two months, this tactic seemed to work.
Nurturing her fear and causing the child to jolt awake after the Sandman had just left her a pleasant dream.

It had been exhilarating.
To take such sweet dreams and corrode them into such delectable nightmares, rotting away the joy of the dream till all that was left was a ecstasy dancing upon his tongue.
By the third month, such acts began to grow futile as the child barely flinched to the scratching anymore, let alone give it any more acknowledgment.
Determination gripped the dark Spirit, refusing to allow his meal to easily escape his grasp and torment, so the King decided to change strategies.
He’d leave the comfort of the shadows beneath the bed to creep about the room, rustling the privacy curtains near the bed, taking on delight as it birthed the renewal of the flame of worry.
The moment the seed was planted, he’d lean up to the girls ear, whispering doubts, finding all of which she was afraid of.

Yet the girl was oddly resilient.
It became almost a game between them, every night he’d shatter her sweet dreams, ready to dig his claws into the seams of her mind, swooping in to plant cold kisses of mixed terror and sorrow, watching the tiny form tremble and shake, before summoning some out of place courage, whipping out a flashlight from beneath her pillow and glowering into the dark.
Pitch would find himself laughing, amused by the variety of expressions that graced the girls features.
From obvious horror to uncertainty, to that of frustration.
No matter how hard she looked, she found no evidence of what had been plaguing her.

Currently, idly resting beneath the hospital bed and drinking in the insecurity in the girls voice, Pitch found himself oddly lazy.
He was momentarily sated by her emotions, even as he listened to her make the usual routine call before bed.
With the phone gently tucked between shoulder and cheek, a weary smile tried to grace the child’s lips, even though her eyes betrayed the hurt that lingered in her.
”…Yes mommy, I’ve been good for Nurse Watson. No mommy, I didn’t draw another picture of Dr. Carson with a huge mustache again.”
Emma replied.
Her name was Emma, named after her grandmother from her father’s side.

Trying not to hiss an exasperated sigh, Emma adjusted the phone, finding her body stiff and achy, having lied about the last part of her conversation, as upon her lap at this very moment, was a drawing pad.
The feverish sounds of crayon scratching against the paper fluttered in the air, while a very faint giggle graced her throat.
Mischief twinkled in those brown eyes, which gazed down with amusement at the doodle of said doctor, with a goofy mustache nearly bigger than his head, as the lopsided stick figure wore a squiggly stethoscope.
”…Mommy, you promise that you’ll be here for Christmas?”

Upon even hearing that holiday uttered had Pitch Black curling his lip in a disgusted sneer, just the mere thought of it made him want to vomit.
Of course, like any typical child, Emma believed in Santa Claus.
The famous Nicholas St. North.
If it were not for Emma’s radiating anxiety to see her mother keeping him tamed, the Nightmare King would have lashed out, snarling and growling with developing anger.
It continued to be a punch to the gut, a reminder that shoved him back against the wall like some trapped animal.
Whether it was North, that damnable Tooth fairy or that insufferable Easter bunny.
They were believed in.
Children loved them.

Teeth grinding, Pitch’s attention was snapped back to Emma as he heard a faint sound.
At first, it was difficult to decipher what it was, till the familiarity of it was almost sad music to his ears.
The child gave a soft whimper that hummed in her throat, forcing it not to be audible enough to be
heard upon the phone.
”…O-okay. Just come mommy, I-I don’t need no presents! I just want to see you and big brother…wait, do you have to go now? -But!…okay mommy…love you.”
The phone went dead and droned a static hum before it was placed back upon the hanger, where the tired hand momentarily lingered over the handle, before slowly slipping away and gracing instead over the drawing pad.

With frustration, the girl threw the pad against the nearby table where she was allowed to keep small belongings, something to entertain during long hours of being bedridden.
Bony shoulders began to sag in defeat as her brown eyes stared absently downwards, hands resting at her lap before slowly digging into the blanket, balling them into little fists as she tugged the fabric up closer for comfort.
”I just…” She began, a lump forming in her throat, while moisture began to burn at the corner of each eye.
”I just wanted to hear your voice as your read to me.” Emma whispered to herself, nose wrinkling up as she gave a small sniffle.

Slithering out from the shadows, Pitch had enough.
”Quit your sniveling.” He sneered, hands tucking behind his back as he idly began to pace the room, his eyes turning out towards the frosted coated windows, the sight of the fresh falling snow gave life to his anger once more.
”It’s pointless and a waste of energy! What sort of mother doesn’t oblige their sick offspring with a simple request such as reading? Not to be bothered to give up five minutes of her time. Pathetic,”
the dark spirit hissed, shaking his head as he stood by one of the large windows, brows knitting together as his features contorted, aggravation straining lines under his eyes as he stared across the street, noticing a man stepping out of a truck, where in the back, strapped down by cables and bungee cords, were several pine trees, meant for decorating for the approaching holiday that he despised.

”How am I to install fear when that bastard North is filling up the hearts of children with wonder? Unraveling my hard work of nightmares, as they’ll be replaced by Sandman’s dreams of sugarplum fairies! Curse them! Curse them all for taking away what was rightfully mine! I could have had it all- I could have ruled this pathetic rock and installed enough fear to fuel me forever! Most of all, I would have made them all believe and never forget my name! THE BOOGEYMAN!”
He snapped, the darkness near the hem of his sleek robes rustled and flickered, like twisting black tongues licking at the air as his anger riled and flared.

Wrenching around, the dark spirit’s arm thrashed out to slap against the privacy curtain, violently making it flutter and rock against the rings holding it in place, all a while filling the room with the sound of his foul teeth gritting together, as a wild look of unhinged wrath danced in his pupils.
”That blasted Jack Frost! If it were not for him, encouraging ‘fun’ to the children, I could have had it all! I was so close! So damn CLOSE!” He bellowed, lifting up a leg and kicking at a nearby chair, one used by visitors as it skidded across the tiled floor, making a terrible screeching sound as it finally came to a halt near the bed.
”I am the King of Nightmares! I once spread terror across the cosmos! I took down any foe who was foolish enough to get in my way! Now look at me! Reduced to, to…THIS!” He hissed wildly like a snake, making hand gestures at himself.

Slowly, his tense shoulders would unravel and his posture would slightly slack, jaw muscles so tight that the nerves twitched there, as his mouth pressed into a hard line.
Lowering his head, Pitch sucked back a growl, fizzling it into a snort as his lips curled into an ugly sneer.
”Of course you can’t look at what I’ve become, you can’t even see me…not that you’d want to. Who would? Who in their right minds would want to grace their eyes upon this hideous creature such as I?”
He asked aloud, not expecting an answer as he slowly turned, mouth opening to taunt the silence of the room, getting the rest of his frustration out before he’d sulk back into the shadows, to repeat his routine of trying to scare a girl who didn’t even know he existed.

That is, until his piercing, pale golden orbs fell upon the wide, blown brown irises that met them.
Frozen in place, Pitch found himself unable to move.
Was this really happening?
Was he seeing things?
Had he gone so mad, so desperate for attention, that he was mistaking Emma’s stare to be directed at himself?
It felt like an eternity, standing there, gazes locked and the silence getting dreadfully awkward.
The very moment that the dark spirit took a testing step forward, the girl flinched.
His own eyes going wide, jaw growing slack as utter disbelief flooded him, the King of Nightmares
didn’t even realize he was taking two steps back, an unsettling feeling now licking at the back of his neck, before realizing it was his own fear.
And with that, he escaped through the shadows.
She could see him.
Emma could SEE him.

Chapter Text

Pitch wasn’t aware of how many days had past, till he managed to force himself away from his pacing.
Realizing it had been a week since the incident that took place in Emma’s room, the dark Spirit found himself at a loss as to what to do.
Not even a cup of tea soothed his nerves, as he sat hunched in his library, trying to clear his mind with one of his favorite books.
It did nothing for him.
Not the tea.
Not the book.
Nothing.
His mind was a whirlwind, conflicted with emotions and thoughts that hadn’t dared rear it’s head in his direction for centuries.
So why now?

How was it possible, for this child who didn’t believe in him, to suddenly out of the blue see him?
It gave him a headache, trying so hard to rationalize and figure out what was the meaning behind it all.
It left a bitter taste in his mouth and whats worse, it left him agitated with himself.
Here he was, hiding away, brooding in his thoughts and conflicted as to what to do.
The dark spirit was tempted, oh so terribly tempted to go back to the hospital.
As if to prove to himself he was just seeing things, that Emma didn’t actually see him.
That the sick girl had heard and saw the ruffling of the curtain, had been frightened by the mysterious movement of the chair.
That had to be it, there was no other explanation.

Slapping the book closed, which the sound was all that echoed his empty corridors, the dark spirit set it aside and stood himself up.
Hands poised behind his back, he slipped his way through the shadows, traveling his way up to the surface, till he was near the opening of his lair.
Where what rested there, was the broken bed frame, dank and corroded, loomed over the hole that traveled down to his domain.
Nose wrinkling up, Pitch took a deep sigh as he let his gaze fall upon the snow that was encroaching his territory.
With almost a petty kick against it, the Nightmare King glided over several feet to cast his illuminated gaze over the hill, peering upon the nearby town below.

Just as he was contemplating whether to forget his plans and return to the comforts of his home, a familiar gust of cold wind fluttered forcefully by, causing the hem of his shadowy robes to flicker.
Face scrunching into a scowl, Pitch took a sharp inhale through his nostrils before relaxing, though summoning the barrier of his guard up as he felt the cold approach.
”Well, what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Snowflake?” He scathed out in sarcasm, not even dignifying the young Guardian with a look of acknowledgment.

”That’s Jack Frost to you!” Snapped the young winter spirit, who idly drifted in the cold wind, holding out his staff defensively as he glowered his gorgeous azure eyes.
”I thought I sensed a foul intention in the air, what do you think you’re up to Pitch? How are you out of your lair?”
The Guardian demanded, slowly lowering down to touch the tip of his bare toes against the snow, like some agile bird barely leaving behind any prints.
”Answer me!”

Snorting out a sound of amusement at the boy, though knowing the others body was just a front, frozen in time as a young adult, unable to grow up, Pitch found himself entertained by the youthful spirit.
”I answer to no one, Frostbite. Don’t you have some children to go throw snowballs at? I don’t have the time nor the patience for what little games you have.” The Boogeyman snorted, raising his nose up in the air in a haughty manner, going as far as looking away from the winter Spirit.
He could sense Jack’s stirring fear, oh, how he missed it.
The Guardian was clearly unsettled by the view of the Nightmare King, clearly his thoughts betrayed him in thinking that Pitch was up to no good.
Which Jack would be right.

Taking a step forward, Jack’s eyes narrowed as he thrust his staff out, pointing it threateningly at the dark Spirit, in that moment, he caught Pitch’s lingering gaze.
Pausing slowly, the Guardian followed and allowed his own to settle upon a building down below, taking him a moment to recognize it was a hospital.
Confusion clearly written upon those youthful features, the wind lightly flickering the white locks of the boys hair, Jack’s face wrinkled much like a child’s upon discovering something unwanted.
”…How low can you get Pitch, feeding on vulnerable children in a hospital…”

Emitting a low hiss, Pitch spun on his heel and with a powerful thrust of his arm, sent a wave of darkness to flash over towards the young spirit, driving Jack back and leaping into the cool air to drift up over the Boogeyman’s head.
”Not nearly as pathetic and low as painting useless images with frost on windows! Have you forgotten already who I am Jack? You wound me! I prey on the fears of any child, discriminating against no one! All fears are equal in my eyes!” He snapped, lips twitching into a smug grin as he noticed the stirring anger in the boys eyes.
”Do you truly believe, that the world is a better place without fear, Jack?”

Clutching his staff, which began to emit a glow of frost as he was preparing to retaliate, the young Guardian was suddenly thrown off by the question.
Face scrunching up again, puzzlement etched upon the boy’s features as he cocked his head, before finally settling with a huff and shoving one hand into the pocket of his blue hoodie.
”…No. Cause I’m not foolish like the others in believing that children will be just fine without it. I’ve seen what happens to kids without fear, they become reckless and bold and some times, that leads to them getting hurt…or worse.” He admitted, but just as soon as those words escaped past his pale lips, the winter Spirit thrust his staff forward, pointing it down towards Pitch as he glared at him with those alluring eyes.

”Stay away from the hospital Pitch, it will be useless to suckle on fear from the children there anyways. Christmas is coming and North will bring them joy with his presents, renewing their sense of wonder and I, will ensure that they forget their pains and sorrows as I bring them fun. I wont let you take that away from them.” He warned, keeping his evident threat to linger in the air as he sent yet another gush of frost biting wind in the dark spirits direction, before riding along on that wind and disappearing out of sight.
Having never been bothered by the cold, it was an idle threat, one that only had the King of Nightmares rolling his eyes, before his gaze settled upon the moon.
”…Think you’re cute, don’t you Tsar? So round, full bellied and gloating there in the night sky. Don’t think for a single moment that I’m intimidated by your foolish Guardians.”

He scoffed, diverting his gaze back down towards the hospital.
Who the hell was Jack Frost to order him around?
The Winter spirit was only three hundred years old, acting as if becoming a Guardian gave him some sort of authority over the ancient evil.
All because they were believed in, each one of those sniveling, annoying Guardians looked down upon him, thinking him unneeded, unwanted.
He’d show them, he’d show them all.
Cause now, his determination building, he was going to prove them wrong.
He was going to prove that some one believed in him.
And that little girl was going to get the nightmare of of a lifetime.

Chapter Text

Not even an hour after the confrontation with Jack Frost, the Boogeyman found himself beneath Emma’s bed.
He had spent several minutes just laying there, hesitation keeping him at bay.
The dark spirit wasn’t sure what was preventing him from acting, having had a fire lit beneath him and the drive to brand absolute fear into the child, making her not only believe, but fester that horror, to which he hoped would catch like wildfire to the other children within the ward.
Raising a hand, letting his nails linger along the cool metal of the frame, he gave it a slow scratch, hoping to rouse the attention of the sickly girl.
What he got instead, was a loud shifting on the bed.

Pausing and tensing up, Pitch found himself searching, prodding and feeling out, trying to decipher her emotions and what she was currently feeling.
There was worry there, even a tiny prickle of fear, but there was something else.
For a moment, he had to narrow his eyes, as he couldn’t quite believe what he was sensing.
He sensed blooming excitement in the child.
Of all the things that he could possible provoke in a small girl, excitement was the last thing he’d ever imagine bubbling to the surface from his prey.
As the weight on the bed continue to shift, leaning more so towards the side, he half expected to see Emma trying to pull back the covers to peek at him.

What he got instead, was a view of a little hand wagging a chocolate pudding cup.
Giving a slow, stupefied blink, the dark Spirit didn’t know how to react.
Just what the hell was she doing?
There seemed to come an almost annoyed huff from Emma as she tried to wave the treat,
as if trying her hardest to tempt him to take her offering.
Giving a bored look at the pudding, Pitch rolled his eyes and ignored it, as he rose up through the shadows, till he was looming at the foot of the bed.

Hands clasping behind his back, towering over the child like a vulture, the dark spirit watched her intently.
The moment Emma’s head turned and allowed her brown eyes to fall upon his frame, she gave a startled reaction, clearly jumping, but merely from surprise, but it didn’t stop the slight tug of a smile against Pitch’s lips.
”So…you can see me.” He spoke, breaking the silence between them and what had settled heavy in the room.
Eyes squinting, reading the child’s body language, the King of Nightmares found that small smile receding and being replaced with a scowl.
”…Why are you not screaming? Why are you not afraid of me? Do…do you even know who I am?”

For a moment, Emma sucked on her breath, hairless brows crunched together as she looked upon him with some reservation, before that damnable flicker of courage she seemed capable of mustering up reared it’s head, having the child shift to scoot closer down the end of her bed.
In that very moment, she jabbed out a finger and poked him.
The action was innocent enough, but what it implied had Pitch reeling.
She could see him and yet she had to touch him to actually believe that he was truly there!
Fury began to build in his eyes, but before he could even hiss out a response, his ears twitched to the fluttering sound of laughter.

Emma was giggling.
”You’re silly.” She smiled up at him, sitting upon her knees as she sat slightly slouched, practically drowning in her hospital gown, as it sank over her thin shoulders, making her collarbones appear more shallow.
”What?” Was all Pitch could reply, too stunned to string together anything more intelligent than that.
If he was able to think more clearly, he would have been more furious with himself for coming off as a simpleton.
This for some reason, only seemed to egg on the girls amusement as more sounds hummed in her throat.
”I just think you’re silly for asking such questions. Of course I can see you.”
”But that doesn’t answer why you’re not afraid! If you can see me, it means you know who I am!”

The dark spirit snapped, watching the girl give a minor flinch to his outburst, but she seemed to disregard it quickly, enough so that she gave a very idle shrug of her shoulders.
”…You’re the Boogeyman. You made that quite clear the night you kicked the chair.”
Biting his tongue and taking a moment to steer himself, listening to her explanation, or, really the lack there of as it didn’t satisfy him, the King of Nightmares glided closer to the bed, his tall, lithe frame leaning further over as he turned those piercing eyes to bore into her.
”Why. Do. You. Not. Fear. ME?!” He hissed each word between his clenched teeth, curling his lips up to snarl and bare off his fangs, only to feel two little palms suddenly clasp each side of his face.

Startled and frozen in place, Pitch’s eyes went wide and his own fear began to bare down upon him, it was almost suffocating as his chest clenched tightly.
Every fiber of his being was telling him to pull away, to remove himself from her reach, that this couldn’t be happening.
Yet, he felt that will draining from him, powerless and weak against these slightly chilly palms, which cupped and held his face, while beautiful brown eyes looked at him with wonder.
Was he so attention starved, so desperate for touch that he’d allow this child so close?
He could feel his stomach turn with his mixed emotions and yet, as if his body had a mind of it’s own, he found himself resting against those little hands, hands that now began to gently paw his strange dark skin.

Almost in a trance, the tender touch was mesmerizing and just as he felt his guard starting to relax, those same hands suddenly grasped at his lips, peeling them back to expose those sharp teeth, with curious fingers trying to probe and explore.
Snapping out of it, the Dark spirit pulled away with a hiss, face warped into a frown as he glared at her.
”Damn it child! You’re as bad as Toothiana!” He barked as he rose a hand to rub at lips accidentally biting his own tongue in the process.
Wide eyes blinking at him, before scooting back up closer, almost on the edge of the mattress now, Emma lifted a hand and rested a finger at her bottom lip sheepishly.
”I’m sorry! Wait….Toothiana? You mean…the Tooth fairy? Are you saying she’s real too?” Brown eyes lighting up, glistening with renewed awe, Pitch found himself feeling cornered as the girl reached out to grasp a small handful of his robe.

Tempted to tug the shadowy fabric from her fingers, he instead leered over, frown still planted upon his face as he huffed, only to plop himself on the side of the bed.
Folding his arms across his chest, nose up in the air, he momentarily ignored Emma as she sat there, still holding onto his robe, while eyes were wide, waiting.
”Oh I bet that would tickle your fancy, now wouldn’t it! Yes child, the damn Tooth fairy is real as well.”
”…And Santa?”
Throwing his arms up a frustrated manner, the dark spirit found himself momentarily glaring up a the ceiling.
”For the love of…Yes! They’re real and before you ask, that means all of them.”

He was getting a foul taste in his mouth, everything about this was wrong.
This wasn’t going according to plan.
He was here to scare her, to bring the greatest fear into the tiny girl.
Not renew her beliefs in the other damn spirits!
His attention was once more returned to the small girl, as his pointed ears heard the distinct sound of a sniffle.
Tilting his head and cocking up a broke, he watched down curiously as Emma had her own head down, a hand balled into a small fist and knuckling at her right eye.
Yet, upon her pale, chapped lips, was a warm smile that seemed to brighten up her entire face.
Wiping away the moisture from each tired eye, Emma looked up at him and that smile only seemed to broaden.
”…Thank you.”

He stilled.
The hell?
She was thanking him?
Maybe he was dreaming, trapped in a nightmare of his own that was taunting him, rubbing this bizarre and strange situation in his face.
For it certainly couldn’t be real, as there was no way in hell that a little girl would ever be thanking him for anything.
Pitch found he was a loss for words and it must have read on his face, as the child looked mildly hurt by his expression.
”What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong?
Such a simple question and yet there was a vast variety of answers he could lash out, all of which only lead to more questions and frustration.
Pursing his lips together for only a moment, the dark spirit turned his attention to the nearby wall, focusing on it as he tried to calm himself, not understanding how a simple girl could evoke such reactions from him.
”…No one has uttered those words to me in a long time.” He finally admitted, not even noticing how his voice went low, soft and laced with a betrayal sorrow.
It was in that moment that little hand at his robe gripped tighter and the gentle press of a head full of black hair tried to nestle at his side.

Gulping, eyes still burrowing holes into the wall as he dared not look down, Pitch found himself useless.
They sat there, for what felt like forever, when in reality it was only a few minutes, before Emma managed to clear her throat and speak up.
”…I…just wanted to thank you for visiting me and…giving me something to look forward to.”
Her voice sounded so small, devoid of strength, like a fading light that could be snuffed out at any moment and it strangely alarmed him.
Flashing his irises down upon Emma, it took everything in his body not to reach a hand out and place it in a comforting manner on top of the mop of black hair, so instead, he lowered his hands and rested one upon his robe, barely brushing against her small hand.
”…Foolish child, I come for your fears. As you said, I am the Boogeyman, it is my purpose.”

”…But it doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy your company. Nobody visits me…” Emma weakly replied, turning her tired eyes up at him.
That irritating lump was back in his throat.
How dare she, gaze up at him with such a look in her eyes?
How dare this little girl, not be like all the other children and just fear him instead?
How dare she look at him with eyes filled with hope.
It slowly began to dawn on him as to why she was not afraid of him and though she held fear in her heart, it was reserved for the likes of him.
Misery ached for company and it found a likeness in him.
With this epiphany, the dark Spirit allowed his own fear to swallow him up once more and in his distress, not knowing what else to do, slithered out of the girls grasp and escaping back into the shadows beneath the bed.

Fumbling over and grunting lightly, blinking as her head landed where the Boogeyman had just been sitting, small hands grazing the sheets, barely feeling the lingering warmth that had been there.
Sighing and slowly easing herself up, carefully adjusting the IV tube that was adjusted to her arm, not wanting to pinch it by accident.
Emma soon eased herself to sit back near the top of the bed.
Sagging in disappointment, she found herself wondering what happened and why the Boogeymen kept running away.
Too tired to think too heavily on it, as she was riddled with exhaustion and her achy frame protesting for some rest, but before she succumb to sleep, she wiggled gently on the side of the bed, delicate fingers curling around the pudding cup and carefully she placed it on the floor, nudging it with the tip of her fingers to push it under the bed.
Satisfied for now, she curled up under the blankets, allowing herself to be enticed by slumber.

Chapter Text

”Will you stop hiding under my bed and just come out already?” Emma pleaded, mild irritation in her voice.
Pitch found himself scowling, arms folded across his chest as he was being stubborn.
Next to his head, was a weeks worth of chocolate pudding cups, all of which were untouched.
Every night of that week, the dark spirit would hide beneath her bed, rambling out a mixture of scathing remarks and gentle admissions, his emotions were all over the place and he wasn’t sure how or where to place them.
He was torn, not understanding why he kept coming back to this little girl, why every night he laid there, little by little telling Emma about himself.
Yet unable to come out and be forward of being lonely.

He wasn’t exactly sure when it happened, but a small relationship began to blossom between the two of them.
Not only would the girl offer him her pudding cups, neatly tucking them away under the bed, but there were nights when she was restless, prattling along excitedly as she told Pitch about her family.
How her mother, single as her father left when Emma was just a baby, worked two jobs, one of them being a waitress at a little mom and pop’s diner.
Her brother, being seven years older, was a foot ball player at the local High School, who was secretly a fan of Star Wars and wanted to be a veterinarian.
As she shared her stories, she’d lower down drawings she had scribbled during the day, featuring bright and colorful stick figures of her family, her pet cat named Kitty and her favorite, doodling images of her doctors looking silly.
Which he later learned through her fear, that she drew her doctors like this to take away the power of feeling helpless, especially when the nurses had to come and prepare her for infusions.
In these moments, he found himself strangely getting closer to her.

That didn’t mean, however, that they didn’t have their moments of irritating each other.
Being conflicted with having a friendship with a mere child, the Dark Spirit would find himself instigating arguments, provoking fear in the small girl and pushing too far, stabbing at the painful facts that her mother put her work and older child first and didn’t care for her at all.
In retaliation, with what strength she could summon out of her shaking, diseased body, Emma would snap back, calling him a sad, bitter old ‘Boogerman’.
He’d leave out of anger, but it would be her distress that called him back.
Leaving him feeling guilty, pathetic even, as he’d watch on helplessly as she’d cry, or succumb to painful fits of coughing, which seemed to only be soothed by his timid hand stroking at her hair, whispering his apologies into her ear as he’d rest his forehead against the top of her head, petting till she calmed.

The sounds of scribbling was all that filled the room now and curiosity was finally getting the best of him.
Slipping out from the shadows, the looming dark spirit stood poised near the end of the bed, watching the girl look up, flashing him a smile.
But the moment he tried to take a peek as to what she was drawing, she withdrew, hugging the pad to her chest and wagging a finger at him as if he was the child to scold.
”No looking!”
”Why? You drawing your doctor with a massive mustache again?”
”No! I drew that earlier.” Emma flashed a grin, which it was in that moment that the King noticed the missing tooth.
He didn’t bother hiding his displeasure and Emma, being a surprisingly smart girl, quickly caught on to what that was about.

”I attempted to eat an apple today and one of my baby teeth came out! Neat huh?” She chirped rather excitedly, patting her pillow and watching as he groaned.
”Neat isn’t exactly the word I’d use.” He muttered in distaste under his breathe, but in that moment his crescent-moon hued irises fell upon an object laying by Emma’s hip.
It happened to be a book and before the child could protest, his slender hand snatched it up and held it up to peer at the title.
The scowl upon his features deepened and he gave Emma a look of annoyance.
”The hell is with this rubbish?” He spat dryly, holding the book up before flicking his wrist, allowing the disgrace of reading material to land at the bottom of the bed.
”Hey! Be gentle with my Fairy tale book!” The girl snapped lightly, leaning over to pull it up to her lap.

”Oh, my bad. I didn’t mean to carelessly toss about your book of foolishness.” He replied sarcastically, watching as she shot him a dirty look, one that only seemed to tug a smile at his lips.
However, before he could open his mouth and continue his mockery, something struck him in the forehead.
Tilting his head down to appear at the object that now lightly spun on the floor at his feet, the King of Nightmares stared at a crayon.
He, the terror in the night, the bringer of Nightmares, the boogeyman-
had a damn crayon thrown at him!
Whipping his head back up at her, he could feel a rush of heat gracing his high cheek bones and burning at the tip of his ears, as Emma broke into a deep, full belly laugh that echoed through the entire room.

She laughed so hard, that tears leaked down her tired, almost frighteningly hollow face as she fell over and kicked her feet.
Giving a bored look and muttering a few curses under his breath in various languages, he reached down and plucked the crayon off the floor, holding it momentarily hostage as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, giving a deep snort.
”Glad I can amuse you Princess.” He said through his teeth.
”Hehe, the look on your face was worth it!…What’s so wrong with my book?” She managed to ask in between panting, having a hard time catching her breath now that she was winded, trying to adjust the nasal tubing so she could get more oxygen.

Flicking out his wrist and relinquishing the crayon, to which the girl happily took back, the dark spirit quickly noting that the crayon and the others were already whittled down into stubs.
Slowly folding his arms and feeling at ease, the dark spirit gave a mild snort in reply.
”For starters, those stories in there are sickening. They’re over the top with glorifying good deeds and focusing on only the happy-go-lucky ideals. It’s delusional, there is no balance.”
Hearing his explanation only made Emma look up at him quizzical, lifting her drawing pad to lightly bop against her lower lip, before sliding it over to the side table and scooted closer, slowly displaying the book upon her lap now, pawing at the pages.
”…Balanced like how?”

This caused a smirk to tug at his thin lips, unable to resist his nature as he loomed closer, his cool breath at her hair.
”Well, what about the darker spirits? Where is their place? Where are the little imps pulling at little girls hair, or Krampus stuffing naughty children into cages to beat with his switch,”
He began, sensing Emma shifting uncomfortably, fear slowly rolling off her skin, giving him the incentive to continue.
“Where are the stories of monsters lurking under the bed, waiting to pounce- BOO!” He lurched forward, throwing up his long slender fingers as he roared at her, flashing his crooked teeth.
Nearly jolting out of her skin and flopping over, gasping as she clutched the book against her, face hiding behind it with wide eyes peering over the top, Emma stared at the King of Nightmares, before gasping and lightly began to kick him with her bare foot, prodding her appendage at his slender side.

”That’s not funny!” She yelled, face pink as the dark Spirit snickered in glee, reveling in amusement and uncaring about the light kicks, as they were far too weak to do any harm.
If anything, he snatched the girls ankle and lightly ran his fingers over the sole, causing her to wriggle, biting back giggles before managing to wiggle free.
Panting and slowly managing to sit up to the best of her ability, Emma paused, reaching up to fix her wig, frowning as it was askew and messy.
Before her frustration could settle in however, she felt a gentle pat of Pitch’s hand gracing her shoulder, stilling the child as he reached for the brush upon the stand.
With a motion of his finger, he made a swirling gesture at the girl.
”Turn, I’ll fix it.”

Eyeing the dark Spirit for a moment, Emma finally did as he asked, huffing lightly as she once more laid the book open upon her lap.
”…So, you’re telling me that, um…it’s a good thing, to have both good and bad?”
”It’s not nearly as simple as that, but yes, I suppose that is what I mean.” He replied gently, his tone soft as he glided the brush through the hair, using one hand to gently stroke down along the locks and prevent snagging upon any snarls.
It may not be attached to her scalp, but it was a terrible old habit.
Which in memory of that habit, a bitter-sweet smile tugged at his thin lips, feeling rather grateful that Emma couldn’t see his expression, as he didn’t have it in him to explain the reasoning behind it.
Cause what warmth was left in the recess of his heart, would threaten to shatter if he were to dare think of the memories of his sweet, long lost child.

”Oh…” She replied softly, not really sure what else to say to that, but as Emma’s eyes fell upon her pillow, previous excitement began to bubble up again.
”Do you think the Tooth Fairy will come?” She asked, trying to tilt her head back, butting the back of it against his chest, watching from upside down as the Boogeyman looked on with vexation.
Behave.
He mentally told himself, not one for biting back how he felt as he thought it useless, why be dishonest when it was a waste of time and energy.
However, as that little, fragile girl stared up at him with the need of reassurance, he managed to hold back any undignified remarks.
”Yes, she will. But only if you go to sleep.” He replied, wagging his finger at her and lightly tapping the tip of it to her nose, causing Emma to wiggle it, before scrunching her brows.

Righting herself and turning around, arms folding across her petite chest stubbornly, nose up in the air, the child clearly was trying to mimic him.
”How come I have to sleep for the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus, but I don’t have to for you? Do you not want me to see them?”
Such a bold question would have been normally met with a hasty, bitter retort, even though she was right, at least at the last part of her sentence.
He didn’t want Emma to see the other Spirits, he didn’t want to risk the chance of his only believer to lose focus on him.
Most of all, he didn’t want to share her.
Emma was his!
He wasn’t even aware that he was shaking, nearly crushing the brush in his hand, let alone the concerning look that was slowly melting upon the girls face.

”Why do you need to see them?! Isn’t my word proof enough that they exist? Am I not proof enough?! Or have you grown tired of my company, is that it? Putting up with me cause you’re just as miserable as I am, lonely and desperate that you’d endure my presence till a better Spirit comes along? I bet I’m right, aren’t I! The moment you come across another Spirit, or forbid, one of those damn Guardians, you’ll happily forget all about me! Cause who needs the Boogeyman, right? You-”
His rage was cut short as Emma lurched forward, coughing so violently against her hand, each bout, sharp, piercing and causing the dark Spirit to abandon his verbal attack, as he instead tried to reach out for her.
”Emma! Emma listen to me and calm down! Shh, breathe Princess! Focus on breathing!”

Adrenaline pumping hard enough to pound in his ears, Pitch felt powerless to stop the pain that riddled the girls frail body, as she writhed, each spasm chipping away at what strength she barely had.
The fear in the room was suffocating, crippling and threatened to smother as it was thick in the air, yet he couldn’t focus on it, not when it felt like his heart was sinking at the sight of gushing crimson seeping through those bony little fingers.
Wheezing, phlegm tainted red from blood frothed and bubbled at her pale lips, head lulled to press against the pillow, trying to ride out the cough, while the sounds of gurgling coming from her chest filled the room.
Desperately running his fingers through her hair, forehead pressed against Emma’s temple, all Pitch could do was whisper to her, squeezing one of her hands tightly, helplessly watching on as Nurses began to flood the room, having heard the alarm from the monitors.

Unseen by the Nurses who carefully shifted Emma’s frame, trying to clear her airways from blood and focus on getting her stable, the Nightmare remained there, unseen.
He didn’t budge.
He refused to leave.
Even as the nurses fluttered about, their voices incoherent to him as they spoke in medical jargon, barking out orders and instructions to clear out the girls tubing and get out an oxygen mask.
Nothing in this moment, could force him to leave.
Not because she was emitting intoxicating fear, which in the past he would have savored and basked in it’s entirety.
He stayed cause he didn’t want her fear to come true.
The fear of being alone.

Chapter Text

Pitch couldn’t remember the last time a single night felt like hundreds of years to him.
It had been four hours ago since Emma’s coughing attack, which took an hour alone just to get her stable and calm enough to breathe with her nasal respirator.
Now, her frame laid crumpled against the mattress, worn out from her ordeal and out like a light.
The King of Nightmares had spent the rest of the time watching over her, ignoring the nagging need to seek out children of the night and feed off their nightmares.
His strained eyes watched as her thin chest struggled to rise and fall, still emitting a terrible gurgle.
The dark spirit sat sideways upon the bottom frame of the bed, knees drawn up and resting his elbows there, while in his right hand rested the clipboard detailing her medical information.

It wasn’t till now that he had bothered to pluck it off the nearby wall to flip through it, shoulders sagging as he allowed himself to finally learn of Emma’s ailment.
Lung Cancer.
She had been diagnosed when she was six years of age, having spent the last two years of her life living in this hospital room.
When was the last time she played outside?
When was the last time she felt the sunshine against her skin?
The drawings taped against the back wall was full of her hopes and dreams, longing for a normal life.
Depicting scenes of a stick figure representation of herself, frolicking through the backyard of her house, with her mother and brother by her side.
There were even pictures of her getting on the bus or attending school, wanting to participate in even the mundane that life offers, just so she could feel like a normal kid.

Sighing and letting the clipboard lightly flop against the bottom of the mattress, the dark spirit rose a hand to his face, momentarily hiding behind it, before running it through his messy locks of raven hair, eyes closed as he tried to reel in his thoughts, clueless as to what to do.
The back of the dark spirit’s mind hissed at him to leave, retreat back to his lair and forget about this child.
That Emma wasn’t worth the tornado of emotions that were wasted on a being such as himself.
That he didn’t deserve to have company, another soul to soothe away the loneliness.
Insisting that he was being a fool, to make himself vulnerable to heart break.
That this was a fleeting moment that would be over in a blink.
Even if Emma managed to live a full life, eventually she’d stop believing and he’d return to the shadows alone.
However, those thoughts didn’t get the chance to linger much longer as a familiar hum filled his ears.

Perking up his head, Pitch squinted through the room, before catching a blur of movement zipping over towards the bed.
It was in that moment, he remembered about Emma’s baby tooth.
Gliding silently towards the tiny Fairy, the dark spirit’s lips curled into a frown at the sight of the Fairy trying to roll and tuck a quarter under the pillow after pawing the tooth out.
Swiftly, his fingers shot out and grasped hold of the coin, pinching it tightly as he threw his heated gaze towards the now startled and squawking baby Tooth.
Leaning over, his lean frame casting a shadow over the tiny Sister of Flight, he curled his lips back and exposed his fangs.
”How useless of a gift, what does she need something like this for? Hmm? Tell me!” He huffed, taking out his frustration upon the small thing, half tempted to flick the coin at her, but instead used his finger to shove it up to her chest, forcing the Fairy to grasp it or risk dropping the quarter to the floor.

”Your gift is not welcomed nor is it needed. I will supply something more appropriate, now leave!” He ordered, spinning on his heel and throwing his hand up in a dismissive manner, ignoring the excessive chirping emitted in his direction.
It wasn’t till he heard a line of threats in those chirps, that the Nightmare King threw a cold glare over his shoulder.
”Oh, is that so? Well go right a head, go running back to your Queen. Warn Toothiana so that she may gather her pathetic Guardian Friends. You think you can run me off with such tripe? Begone with you,” He hissed, lifting a hand to blast a wave of shadows in the fairies direction, watching the tiny humming bird like creature flutter in distress before managing to escape.
The moment he knew the traces of the Fairy was gone, the Dark Spirit stepped into the darkness and slipped away.

His silent presence wouldn’t return to the hospital room until almost half an hour later.
Hands immediately slipping his own gift under the pillow, which he carefully cradled Emma’s head in one palm, so not to wake her.
Once the gift was in place, Pitch found his hand lingering, slipping from the back of the child’s head, to idly his knuckles to brush against the girl’s pale cheek.
His touch didn’t elicit a response, not even a tremor of an eyelid, which were bare and naked of any lashes.
A pang wretched itself into his chest, as flooding memories seemed to burst through him like a damn.
Memories of last times long ago, when he lived a different life, before he became the creature of nightmares today.
If he were to close his eyes, he would see the phantom images, faded and distorted of a little girl reaching up to him, cooing as small fingers would weave to clasp together behind his neck.

"Father. Come find me! Please! Please!! I am so alone!"

Eyes screwing shut, inhaling sharply as he tried to shake and will the images away, feeling the insipid tongues of darkness dragging along his spine, feeding off his fear and in turn, making the still blood in his veins to roar.
Everything felt as if it was spiraling out of control, falling at accelerating speeds that promised but shattered hopes, etching the glass deep through the flesh and nipping at every burning nerve.
Allowing darkness to take root in it’s place instead, like ravenous serpents with wide open mouths, watering with putrid teeth eager to devour, suckling till there wasn’t a drop of light left.
”I’m sorry.”
The words ripped through him, eliciting a pathetic sound to skirt across his lips.
”I shouldn’t…if I hadn’t…you wouldn’t…I’m so sorry…I’m broken and I can’t fix it…”

Just as his eyes began to burn with a familiar sting, a gentle touch had him snapping his gaze open, startled and yet relieved to see two brown eyes, though drowsy, staring back at him.
All Emma could do, was reply with a gentle whine, throat too raw to muster much more than that.
However, as she tried to shift, slinking her other hand to adjust her pillow, the small girl paused.
Tilting her head up, smooth skin of her scalp brushing along the fabric, puzzled as her fingers curled around an object and gently tugged it down.
Pitch sucked on his breath, unable to swallow the lump in his throat as uncertainty wove it’s self into his tired features, golden irises watching as Emma lifted up a box of brand new crayons, staring at them for several minutes before turning her awe at him, able to read him like a book in this moment.
”Silly…I would have…been happy with…a quarter.” She wheezed, voice hoarse and gave a little cough, tongue dragging across chapped, dry lips as she attempted to sit up, but the hand at her stomach prevented that.

”Don’t…just rest Princess.” His voice coming out a lot more pleading than he intended.
”…W-why do you do that?”
”Do what?”
”Call…me Princess…why?”
”Would you rather I stopped?” The King of Nightmares offered, raising his other hand up to smooth his palm over Emma’s forehead, not caring that she lacked hair, as with or without it, what laid before was a beautiful little girl.
”N-No!” She managed to squeak, raising a hand to quickly cough into her first, sniffling before leaning against the palm that cradled her cheek.
”I…like it when you call me that.”
”Then I shall continue to address you as such, Princess.” He whispered, tenderly stroking a dark thumb along the fragile pale skin, watching as those eyelids of the child threatened to close and in that moment, noticing the golden sand that began to slither into the room, ready to dust over Emma to give her sweet dreams.

Tilting his head to gaze over his shoulder, the Dark spirit was quiet as he emitted a soft sigh.
Sandman, of course, how could he forget?
The other was always on time, weaving his sand to lull children into peaceful, beautiful dreams, inspiring them to push on and try to obtain their desires.
Turning his illuminated gaze back down to the little girl before him, the Nightmare King allowed for a gentle smile to grace his features, causing the corner of his eyes to crinkle as he gently pulled the blanket up and tucked it beneath Emma’s chin.
”Sleep, Princess. Sweet dreams will soon come and you will be able to get some rest.”
”W-Will you stay with me…for the night…please?”
How could he resist?
Slipping his lean frame to bask on the side of the mattress, where there was plenty of room between the two of him, with himself basking on the top of the blanket, rather than getting underneath, he laid upon his side, lifting a hand to tenderly caress along Emma’s cheek.

As her breathing began to calm, growing a bit more steady and body grew slack, the sleepy child managed to summon enough energy to mumble.
”Mm…Pitch?”
”Yes?”
”Tomorrow…can you bring me to the window? I’d like to see the snow…” Emma near whispered, raising a hand to lazily knuckle her eyes.
Feeling a pool of warmth spread through him, pulling at the strings that still managed to hold onto his rotten heart, the dark spirit found himself giving in far too easily, not even realizing at this point, he’d gladly give her anything she desired.
”Better yet Princess, I’ll bring the snow to you.”

Too tired to ponder on to what he meant by that, she gave a final yawn before letting eyelids flutter close, head lulling as sleep took it’s prize once more, this time, golden sand inspired dreams of snowflakes.
Slowly, Pitch would lay his head down, resting it on top of Emma’s, while a protective arm wrapped around the girls scrawny frame.
Two days from now, Christmas will arrive and the intolerable Nicholas St. North will be making his way to every child in the world, bringing them gifts and inspiring them with Wonder.
The Nightmare King was going to beat the jolly old fool to the punch, at least, when it came to getting a gift for his Believer, his Emma.
Tomorrow, he would bring her snow.
Even if it meant tricking a certain Frost Spirit into doing it for him.

Chapter Text

There was nothing more taunting than the sensation of feeling powerless.
Unable to stop the pain that the little girl had to endure, as she had no choice but to face a bout of chemo, strapped for three hours in a infusion chair, with eyelids heavily bruised and chest looking as if it was barely moving.
If it were not for his need to reach out and squeeze her hand for reassurance, feeling those bony fingers squeeze back, he would have feared the worse.
However, the twisting, gut wrenching reality of just how helpless he was didn’t start till after Emma was returned to her room, where the poor child got a whiff of another patient’s lunch, spurring on a terrible fit of vomiting.

The waves of overwhelming nausea erupted through Emma and was strong enough to leave her teetering, spilling what little food had nestled in her stomach from the breakfast that morning.
Whines were trapped in her throat as she struggled to breathe, fingers firstly digging into the mattress before flailing to grasp down for the bin.

Tears trickled down her contorted face, sobbing in between her lurching as she heaved, body arching over the bed as she cupped the sides of the trashcan.
Strangled whimpers roused past Emma’s lips as she cried, snot clogging at her nasal tubes and causing her to cough.
It wouldn’t be till she felt the comforting strokes of slender fingers against her cheeks, trying to wipe away stray tears and pulling back her long locks of hair, which the wig kept falling into her face as she continued to expel the contents of her stomach.

Ignoring the strong odor emitting from the trash bin, Pitch remained close by, looming over with his hands gently cupping back the hair, with one free hand idly caressing along the girls back.
”Shh, it’s okay Princess…I know, it hurts and you don’t feel good. It’s okay, it will be over soon.”
The dark spirit tried to soothe her, giving what sort of comfort he could manage, knowing well there wasn’t much else he could do.
After several minutes of dry heaving, exhaustion took feast on the girl and withered her frail frame, causing Emma to slouch.
If it were not for Pitch’s guiding hands to lay her comfortably against the bed, she would have fallen off the side, uncaring as to where or how she landed as she just didn’t have the strength.

Once settled, Emma’s discolored eyelids drooped, yet too stubborn to close them as she willed herself to look up towards the spirit.
”L-Let me…take a little nap…just for a bit…okay? I…still wanna see snow.”
”Of course Princess, I haven’t planned on changing my mind on that.”
”…Pitch?”
”Yes?” He asked, watching as the tiny girl tried to use her arms, which quivered and shook, struggling to even turn to lay upon her side.
Casting weary brown orbs up at him, looking a bit hesitant, she managed to grab a small handful of his robe, something she had grown accustomed to doing time to time, even without realizing she was doing it in the first place.
”Will…you visit me on Christmas? I…have a gift for you.”

Taken aback, the Nightmare King felt his mouth slightly open ajar, surprise gracing his features.
She had a gift for him?
The Dark spirit couldn’t even remember the last time anyone gave him a gift, especially not one by a human.
It wasn’t uncommon for spirits to occasionally gift to each other, often doing exchanges at parties when all of them got together in once place, but no one ever paid any mind to Pitch.
No, they would rather fear him, reject him and cast glances of mistrust in the Boogeyman’s direction.
Over time, he grew cold to it, uncaring and even provoked their fears, giving them reasons to hate and turn their backs.
But the other spirits didn’t matter right now, accept for one young Guardian who was going to help him return a gift to the little girl before him.
”I’ll come.”
”…Promise?”
”On my Soul.”

Chapter Text

Resting his cheek against his right palm, Jack’s blue eyes milked in the view of the children playing down below, laughing and squealing as they trekked through the snow, trying to roll a large enough ball to make for the base of their snowman.
The young Guardian couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his pale lips, it always spread a sense of warmth through his cold chest, at the sight of the children having fun and knowing that he was able to make it happen.
Looking upwards thoughtfully, he mused to himself as he rose his staff and rested it across his shoulders, both arms idly folded over it, as he idly shuffled his feet as he drifted in the wind.
”Well, I guess that’s enough for today.” He sighed, momentarily closing his eyes and ready to call the wind to bring him home, when a dark presence caught his attention.

Whipping around, azure eyes snapping open and staring down upon the Nightmare King, the Winter Spirit frowned as he lowered his staff from his shoulders, poising it in a defensive manner.
”What do you want Pitch?”
The Guardian demanded to know, tensing up as he watched the silent form glide across the snow, shadows flickering all around him as his intimidating frame watched with piercing eyes, unblinking and watching intently.
”At ease, Snowflake. I am not here to fight you.”
”Then why are you here? Don’t you think for a second that you can try to convince me to join you again! Cause no matter how many times you ask, I refuse! I will not install fear into the hearts of children! If that is why you’re here, you can stuff it and crawl back to the dank hole you crawled out of!”

Scowling, the Dark spirit bit back a scathing remark as he lowered his shadows, arms opened up to show that he meant no harm.
”As much as that is tempting, Frostbite. No, that isn’t the reason why I come before you Jack. I come because I have a favor I must ask of you.”
Diving down towards the ground and landing nimbly upon his feet, the Guardian took several steps forward as he pointed his staff at the Dark spirit.
”You’ve got to be kidding me! What makes you think I would want to help you with anything? I heard what you did with one of Tooth’s fairies! You also didn’t listen to me when I warned you, when I said to stay away from the hospital!”
”Will you just shut the hell up and listen to me?!” Pitch hissed, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears, as Jack read his body language wrong and thrust out his staff, sending out a wave of ice.

Leaping out of the way before the ice could strike him, the Nightmare King growled wildly in his throat, throwing up his arm to summon a shield of shadows to stop a secondary spray.
”Jackson Overland Frost!” The dark spirit barked out, like a parent using their child’s full name in the midst of a scolding, as Pitch leaped back to gain a bit of distance, pale-gold irises fixated on the young Guardian.
”For just one moment, will you put aside the rules and help me like a kindred spirit! All I ask, is something as simple as the use of your powers!”

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, staff only lowering slightly, the Winter Spirit watched the other cautiously.
However, instead of hearing Pitch out, he jumped to his own conclusions.
”Help you with my powers?…Oh I see, it’s like that time back in Antarctica. You saw what our powers can do when paired together. You want to use that for your own plans, don’t you? It’s no different from when you manipulated Sandy’s dream sand! Turning into your horrid Nightmares and trying to taint the dreams of all the children so that you may install fear! Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To get a hold of my powers and see what you could do with them- Not a chance!”

”No! You insufferable-” Pitch didn’t even have the chance to spit the words out when something struck him by the side, bursting with a terrible burning that tore right through him.
Eyes wide, shadows barely managing to draw him back as he stumbled and staggered to keep his balance, the dark Spirit’s knees buckled.
Lowering his gaze, a shaky hand moving to his side, Pitch stared at the gaping hole oozing there, spilling thick strings of dark blood into the snow.

Jack was motionless, staring in disbelief and shock as he watched a boomerang sail through the air, landing firmly into the furry palm of Aster.
The Pooka stood several feet away, sheathing his weapon before bounding over, padded feet skidding through the powdered snow as he finally came to a halt, whiskers twitching and furry brows narrowed, emerald-green irises falling upon the Nightmare King.
Shaking himself out of his stupor, Jack dashed over by the other Guardian.
”Hey mate, you alright-”
”Bunny what hell were you thinking!”
”Woah, woah! Calm down! North asked me to come check up on you! With Pitch’s odd behavior all of us have been on Edge! I thought you were in danger!”

Both Guardian’s immediately turned their attention to the hunched form of the Boogeyman, whose crooked teeth were clenched together, with a string of bloody spittle leaking down his lips, feet slipping in his own inky essence as he tried to get back to his feet.
”Pitch…” Jack choked, daring to take a step forward, only to witness the feral snap in Pitch’s irises, as the pupils slit and in one desperate attempt, thrust his arm out and sent a wave of shadows across the ground.

”Watch out!” Bunnymund shouted as he wrapped his large paw around Jack’s slender wrist, wrenching the young Spirit out of the way of the powerful wave of dark energy, watching as it twisted against the snow before dispersing.
Spinning on his heels, Jack Frost’s blue eyes returned to the sight of his wounded enemy, how he managed to gain more distance between them.
Arm propped up against a nearby tree, Pitch’s body was arched as he heaved, one hand cupping his gushing side as he clenched his eyes shut and tried to push back the rippling pain.
”PITCH!”
”The hell are you doing Jack?! He was going to hurt you! You can’t trust him! He’s evil!” Aster huffed as he pointed a singular furry digit in the Boogeyman’s direction.
”He only wants to use you, just like he did last time. He only cares about himself.”

Groaning, momentarily disoriented and trying to keep from passing out, Pitch sucked on his breath and stood himself tall, head held high in the air as he sucked between clenched teeth, emitting a low hiss.
”…Y-you’re wrong…” He near whispered, voice crackling.
Rolling his gaze over to the youngest spirit, he managed to lift an arm up and pointed in the direction of the local hospital.
”Jack...please. Fourth floor, far right with a room with large pink curtains…bring…snow…”
”Pitch? Pitch just what are you talking about?” Jack’s voice pleaded for answers, nearly faltering as he watched the darker spirit stagger, but before the Guardian could rush to his aid, Pitch sailed backwards, falling into the shadows below to be swept away, leaving behind a pool of his black blood to disperse like spilled ink against the ground.

The Winter Spirit and the Pooka stood there upon the snow covered playground, unseen by the children who were long since gone, as many of them were far too busy heading home for the evening, leaving the Guardians alone and clueless as to what to do.
Turning his green eyes to the boy, Aster gave a frown.
”The hell was Pitch going on about? Just what do you know, Jack? What’s going on?” He demanded to know, but the Easter bunny would find himself quickly ignored as Jack leapt up into the wind, gripping his staff tightly in both hands as he allowed the gust to carry him away in the direction of the hospital.
”JACK! Damn it! Fine! Be that way- I’ll ask North!” Aster shouted, stomping his large feet in irritation, with arms throwing up high in the air, giving up and opening up a hole in the ground taking his own leave.

Allowing the wind to drift him through the air, the Winter spirit soon came into the view of the hospital, fluttering around as he counted the floors, before pressing his face up against the glass, nose stubbed up against the smooth surface, trying to squint through the windows.
Finally, he came across the only room with the pink curtains and his azure irises fell upon a sleeping form a little girl.
Pulling his face away from the glass, he stared in awe for some time as he finally understood what it was that Pitch was asking him.
Guilt knotted in the young Spirits belly as he lowered his head, pressing his forehead against the glass as he clenched his eyes shut.
All the Boogeyman wanted, was to bestow the gift of fun to a sick little girl.
There were no tricks, no deception.
Why couldn’t he have just listened?
Why did he have to leap so quickly to disbelieve in Pitch?
It was true that they were enemies, but couldn’t they put such things aside and come together for what was best for the children of this world?
Just cause Pitch Black wasn’t a guardian, didn’t mean he didn’t protect children in some ways, teaching them fear to steer them away from danger.

Taking a steady breath, the young Winter spirit gently managed to use his powers to lift the locks, creaking the window open as he crawled in side, quietly tip-toeing to the bed.
A tender, sad smile tugged at his lips as he rose his staff, which illuminated a lush hue of blue, as a gust of cool air swirled around the bed and from the ceiling, small snowflakes began to form.
The very moment Emma’s eyelids fluttered to open, Jack was gone, closing the window behind him.
Leaving behind the gift of snow, as it danced and fluttered about the room, lightly dusting along the little girl’s bed and floor, tickling against pale cheeks.
Groaning, raising a hand to knuckle an eye, she grew still at the sensation of something cool brushing against her skin.
Blinking, squinting through the dim lighting of her room, Emma stared in momentary confusion before lips parted in awe.

Brown eyes wide and a shaky hand reaching up, she captured a vibrant snowflake against her palm, feeling the cold chill into her skin before it melted away.
Sitting upright, eager hands scooped into the snow against her blankets, trying to capture it before it vanished, strangely not soaking through the fabric, not like any type of snow she had ever seen before.
Cradling the cold ball in her hands, Emma could feel the burn of tears at the corner of her eyes, while a giggle hummed warmly within her hoarse throat.
Excitedly, she flopped back against the bed and began to spread her arms and legs, laughing as she tried to pretend to be making a snow angel against the sheets, tilting her head up to capture a flake against her tongue.
”Snow! It’s snowing! It’s snowing in my room! This is amazing! Pitch! Pitch you have to come out and see this! Pitch?”

Rolling over to carefully ease herself over the side of the mattress, in her excitement ignoring her own weariness, Emma’s brown eyes peered into the darkness beneath her bed.
Squinting, irises darting back and forth, waiting for the moment Golden orbs stared back at her, worry began to settle in as she couldn’t see anything.
”…Pitch? Are you there?…C-come on it’s not funny.” She pouted, biting her lower lip as she felt her fingers digging into the blanket.
It wasn’t till she felt the rush of blood going to her head that she forced herself to sit back up, hands slumping upon her lap, coming to the realization that he just wasn’t there.
Maybe he was busy?
She was well aware of what he had to thrive upon, as without nightmares he was left in a weaken state.
That was the only reason, it had to be right?

Easing herself back down against the mattress, curled upon her side, Emma lifted up a hand to capture another snowflake upon her palm, watching it linger there for a moment before melting into a cool bead of water upon her skin.
A gentle smile graced her dry lips.
”…Thank you Pitch.” She whispered sweetly, before lowering that hand to dangle over the edge, keeping it close to the lower frame, trying to convince herself that maybe, just maybe, in the middle of the night as she lay sleeping, she’d feel the gentle stroke of his fingers greeting hers, stubbornly in his quiet way, letting her know that he was there.

Chapter Text

A loud snort echoed into the shell of his earlobe, followed by a gentle nudge.
Eyes slowly moving beneath the dark blanket of his eyelids, the Dark spirit found himself rousing back to consciousness.
An aggravated stamp of a hoofed foot struck the ground near his slumped frame, with yet another persistent nudge now against his jawline.
Lids slitting open, vision blurry and feeling his head spin, Pitch emitted a low groan as he felt Ebony near slam her chin into his forehead.
”Easy…easy girl.” He drawled out, voice nearly a raspy whisper as he managed to lift an arm to halt the Mare’s headbutting.
The nightmare eyed him closely with it’s large golden orbs, sniffing and snorting against her master’s hair, before finally leaving him be.

Letting his hand rise up to run over his face, the dark spirit winced and hissed through his teeth, as pain seemed to awake and flourish against his lower belly.
Peeling away a part of his robe, he gave a light grimace to the view of the gaping wound, having not nourished upon enough fears of children to rebuild his strength, which allowed such a wound to linger far longer than what he was used to.
Sighing and letting his head fall back against the cool wall, gaze distant as he sat in the silence of his palace, it took the Nightmare King several minutes to realize he hadn’t a clue how long he had been unconscious.
”What…day is it?” He murmured to himself, lulling his eyes up towards the ceiling.
Allowing his eyelids to flutter close, he took a sharp inhale as he tried to sense his surroundings.

As the familiar taste of lingering fear lingered nearby, he focused upon it, trying to figure out what it was from, as it leaked from the pores of a small boy.
A boy who walked across the street hurrying with his mother to reach for the car, worried his mother would follow through with her threat, that if he didn’t behave, he wouldn’t be allowed to open the presents beneath the tree back at home.
Eyes snapping open, breath stilling and his body growing tense as he tried to jolt up to his feet, Pitch staggered several feet before catching himself.
Presents had been delivered already, which meant today was Christmas.
He had been unconscious for far too long, was it possible he was too late?
No, he wouldn’t allow it even if the day was nearly over.
The Nightmare King was going to keep his promise and nothing was going to stand in his way.

The moment he took a step forward, searing pain spiraled through him, exploding like hot, jagged coal burning into his nerves, causing the Boogeyman to nearly fumble over, hands cupping his wound and feeling the warm gush of blood spurt between his fingers.
”Shit.” He hissed, giving a shaky breath, puffing out his thin cheeks momentarily as he forced himself to endure, pushing aside the agonizing throb as he summoned his shadows.
As he felt the swirl of darkness swallow him up, shifting and traveling up the the surface, slipping away like an invisible snake, creeping into every dark crevice and shade, before he materialized out from the shadow of a creaking old swing set.

The Nightmare King barely took a step, when the sound of loud footsteps fell upon his ears, to which the dark spirit lifted his gaze and settled it upon an unwelcome sight.
Just several feet away, standing before the hospital were the Guardians, minus a certain Winter Spirit. Almost all of them had their weapons drawn, except for Sandy, in which the Guardian of Dreams seemed uncertain, looking back and forth between his comrades and Pitch.
Taking an intimidating step forward, the massive Russian born man held his sabers by his sides, head held high as the wind lightly caused his neat beard to flutter.
”I don’t know what you’ve been up to Pitch Black, but this is the end of the line, yes? You see, we cannot permit you to go any further.”

”Oh? Is that right?..And who, exactly, put you in charge?” The Nightmare King sneered, cocking his head to the side and spat out a wad of bloody, jet back phlegm, while the rest trickled down his chin.
Body giving a sickly crack, head lulling as he narrowed his golden orbs upon the opposing group.
Though his essence splashed from his side, the Boogeyman took a confident step forward and it initiated the Guardian of Wonder to rise his sabers, causing the cool steel to sing.
Symbols of sand appearing over his head, Sandman tried to get in front of his friend, wordlessly trying to convey that North needed to take a moment to reconsider this.
”Hmm, what’s this comrade?…Come again? You say that Boogeyman just wishes to see the girl?”

”No! I say we run him off- I don’t trust him! He’s been acting suspicious for the past couple of months, coming to feed off this one girl. I say he’s up to something! I don’t know what it is, but it can’t be any good!” Aster barked, stepping forth and pointing an accusing furry digit in Pitch’s direction, all a while Toothiana fluttered behind the group, biting her lower lip before zipping a head as the hummingbird-human hybrid tried to gather her friends attention.
”Wait! Please, Sandy has a point- I mean look at him North! Pitch is wounded and in no condition to fight us-”
”-Doesn’t mean that he wont try.” The burly Russian stated, wagging a black gloved finger in her direction, before turning his attention back to their enemy, only to cast his blue eyes down upon Sandman, who was huffing and once more using his golden sand to create symbols to communicate.
Taking what his friend was telling him into consideration, North slowly lowered his sabers, but nodded his head into the direction of the Nightmare King.

”Sandy says, that you’ve been allowing him to give the girl sweet Dreams, that you haven’t been tainting them…I do not know, as to what you are up to, Boogeyman. However, you see I’m in a bit of a predicament, yes? This girl, Emma, she is not well. Her mother sits at her bedside, comforting her in what may be her final hours.”
A heavy silence fell over them as the chilly wind began to pick up, barely brushing the flakes along the still form of the Dark Spirit.
Crescent-moon hued irises betrayed only consternation, an almost pathetic sound lodged in his throat as the Nightmare King took yet another step forward.
”Please,” He hissed, not even realizing his tall, lithe frame was slightly trembling.
”Please let me see her, I have never asked of anything from you Guardians, ever- so just this once, let me do the right thing.”

”Let him.” Came a pleading voice from behind the group, causing the Guardians to turn their head in the direction of Jack.
The Winter Spirit’s eyes were moist, hands tight upon his staff as he clutched it to his chest.
”Please. Let him go, just this once can’t we just trust in his word? That girl…She believes in him and right now, she needs him…”
”…Jack?” North spoke up, reaching a hand out towards the lad, letting it rest upon the young spirits shoulder, watching as the boy took a sharp breath, trying not to let his emotions undo him.
Casting up a sorrowful smile, Jack Frost clutched his staff tighter, like the way a small child would to a teddy for comfort.
”He…asked me to give her snow. The gift of fun…I trust him North, I trust that he just wants to be by her side. Let him have this, don’t take this moment from him.”

With a deep, rumbling sigh that vibrated through his thick chest, North closed his eyes, contemplating the situation before half turning, for a moment pointing his sword at Pitch, before sheathing the weapon and nodding his head in the direction of the hospital.
”We, call a truce this time, yes? You keep your word Pitch, and we shall wait here. Go.”
The Guardian of Wonder agreed, a warm, charming smile lighting up his features.
The moment he got permission, the King of Nightmares didn’t hesitate as he slipped away into the shadows, shifting through the darkness and traveling up into the hospital, till he found himself laying against the cold, tiled floor beneath Emma’s bed.

Shifting his head, Pitch gave a light grunt as he turned his head, spying two fresh pudding cups, to which he could only assume the rest had been found by Nurse Watson and properly disposed of.
However, next to the pudding was a picked at chocolate Santa bar, which only the corner of his head had been nibbled upon.
Hearing movement, the dark spirit’s attention was turned towards the left, peering past the hem of the blanket to spy a pair of legs, which slightly shifted, before his gaze rose to fall upon a woman’s sleeping face, slumped in the chair, with one arm out to rest against the bed, hand curled to cup Emma’s smaller one.

Slipping out from the darkness, Pitch materialized himself at the foot of the bed, his sadden gaze falling upon the deteriorated form of the little girl, whose respirator was removed, along with the rest of her life support.
”Oh…Princess.” He choked, easing himself down as he reached a hand down to clasp onto hers, finding it nearly cold to the touch and he found himself holding it tighter, holding up the bony knuckles to his lips as he pressed a firm kiss there, his eyes screwing tight as he tried to force back the whimper in his throat.
”…I-I came. I would have came sooner…I truly would have, but I still came. I promised you didn’t I?…Emma?”

He was greeted only be silence, as not even the machines gave the comfort of beeping to let him know of her vitals.
Lowering his head, pressing her tiny hand against his cheek, Pitch began to grind his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache.
The silence was almost deafening and time felt like it was coming to a halt, as if life in this room no longer existed.
”…P…itch?”
Breath hitching, wondering if this was some sort of twisted trick, like the very one that had changed his course of life forever so many centuries ago, when he was Deceived into believing his daughter Seraphina was trapped, locked in with the Fearlings and their ilk that he had sworn to protect the world from, only to be devoured by their darkness and transformed into being he was today.

Forcing his golden orbs to open, a flood of joy pulsed through him as a trembling smile spread across his thin lips, gazing upon the brown eyes he had come to love and adore.
Shifting slightly, breathing terribly labored, Emma’s head lulled to the side, not having the strength to hold it up as she cast those tired, blood shot eyes up at him, which were contrasted by heavily contused eyelids.
”Y…you’re really…here?”
”Yes, I’m really here Princess.” He replied, pulse quickening as he gave her little hand a gentle squeeze.
Willing what strength she had, the eight year old managed to roll closer to the dark Spirit, going motionless for only a few minutes before pawing at the drawing pad at her side.
Realizing what it was that she wanted, Pitch grasped hold of the item, allowing Emma to slowly flip the pages, till a loose leaf fell out and landed upon her stomach.
”It’s…my…present.” She wheezed, trying to nudge the picture towards him, in which the Nightmare King’s fingers curled around the corner of the paper and brought up to view.

A smile spread across his battered features, causing the corners of his eyes to wrinkle as he gazed upon the stick figures adoringly, as she had drawn herself and to her left, was her mother and brother, but upon the right was Pitch, tall, with a squiggly line for a body and a rather jagged mouth, but she had drawn hearts all around him.
”I know…it’s…not much…”
”Don’t,” Pitch began, keeping his voice as steady as he could, ignoring the slight crack in his tone as he held the drawing with care.
”It’s more than enough.”
”That’s…good…I think I…understand now…why you are here…cause..it’s okay to be afraid…being afraid some times…reminds you what it means to be alive..” Emma wheezed, managing to muster a smile, causing deep dimples upon her sunken cheeks, watching as the tall, lean spirit’s eyes went momentarily wide, but soon enough, he too returned the smile.
”…Pitch?”

”Yes Princess?” The Nightmare King replied, placing the picture away for the moment to keep it safe, before lifting up Emma’s hand, giving soft little kisses to the knuckles there.
”Will…y…you tell me…a bed time…story?”
How could he refuse such a darling request?
Carefully, the dark Spirit eased himself to lay himself by her side, resting his chin on the top of Emma’s head, casting his glowing, golden irises down to watch the child’s chest rise and fall, each breath seemed strained and excruciating.
”Once upon a time, there was a King.” The Nightmare King began, his voice tender, a tone a father would use to chase away the monsters in the night and make his child feel safe.
”This King, was a lonely and bitter old man, who lived by himself in a massive palace, with only his Mares to keep him company, but it didn’t chase away the loneliness.”
Pausing only a moment as he felt Emma shift, Pitch’s hand gave her small hand a squeeze.
”The King set out, in hopes to make friends, but everyone turned a blind eye. Not only did they judge him for his appearance, but when mad, he hissed like some terrible beast. This…scared the other people away, leaving him more sad and miserable, as they feared him.”

Tilting his head slightly, his thin lips brushed against the small girl’s forehead, taking a steady breath, realizing now that he could smell her natural scent.
It was faint, hidden by layers of moisturizer and medical ointments, but it was still there, almost like the aroma of a newborn baby.
”What…happened…to the…King?”
”…The King spent years like this, believing that nobody would ever care for him and so, he became the monster they all believed him to be. At the sight of children, he’d roar and chase them away, his sorrow turned into anger. Then, one day he stumbled across a little girl,”
Taking in a deep breath, he held it at the moment he thought Emma’s stopped moving, which turned into painful seconds before it finally rose and fell once more, allowing the spirit’s shoulders to relax.
”This little girl was different from all the others, as she was not afraid of this King. No, she sympathized with him, as she too was lonely. No matter how he roared, no matter how he tried to scare her away, this little girl just smiled at him.”

”I…know…why she smiled.” Emma cut in before he could finish, dark eyelids heavily hooded, threatening to close at any moment.
”Is that so? So tell me Princess, why did she smile?”
”Cause…she believed…in him…”
A terrible pang clenched in his chest, as if some one had taken their hand had curled there and squeezed, till it bled through their fingers.
”Yes…she did. She believed in him when no one else would. She…his Princess, gave him a gift that will stay with him forever.”
”…P…itch…” Came a weak murmur, causing Pitch’s brows to knit as he leaned closer, straining his ears to hear her, unsure if she was trying to say something.
It was then, he felt the brush of little chapped lips planting a chaste kiss against his cheek, much like the brief flutter of butterfly wings.
Stiffening, the Nightmare King could only squeeze his eyes shut, his hand gently squeezing Emma’s a bit tighter, before he rose his head to brush lips of his own against her forehead, resting his chin there as his golden orbs fell upon her mother, who was beginning to rouse from sleep.

Groaning lightly, the woman, disheveled and exhausted with lines under each brown eye, dirty blonde locks thrown about into a messy bun, while a slightly dirty hooded jacket crumpled against her small frame.
Growing more aware, Emma’s mother suddenly sat up, quickly palming each eye to try and wipe away the sleep as she sniffed, scooting up closer to the bed, taking her child’s hand into her own, giving it a gentle squeeze.
”Sweety?…Emma? Honey can you hear me?…Baby?” The woman’s voice whimpered out, a flash of fear glistening in her wet eyes, along with guilt for having fallen asleep.
Pitch remained where he was, as the adult couldn’t see him anyways and even if she could, he wasn’t going anywhere.
”Mommy is right here, Em. I’m not going anywhere this time. Y-You’re no longer alone. It’s going to be okay baby…I-I know you’re tired…I-it’s okay to let go, it’s…okay to sleep.”

The world fell into a terrible silence.
Nothing could detour his attention, not even the beckoning calls of fear and anxiety from other children around the world, nor the promises of oh sweet nightmares.
There was no temptation in the whole known existence that could draw the Nightmare King away from Emma’s side, as he wanted to give her one last gift.
Too chase away the fear that she’d die alone.
As the minutes ticked by and Emma’s chest continued to struggle for air, the little girl gave one final soft breathe, before her chest finally stilled and eventually the warmth in her bony hand was gone.
His only light in the darkness has disappeared.
”...Goodbye, Princess…”
Pitch whispered against her temple, as silent tears he had not shed for centuries, trickled down his face.

Chapter Text

A hush fell over the Guardians as they watched the shadows stretch far across the snowy ground, reaching it’s fingers up towards the nearby hill, where Pitch came forth, hands clasped behind his back, while his sore pale-gold irises stared up into the night sky.
Fidgeting, wings beating quickly as she moved from Jack’s side to the front of the group of Guardians, Toothiana was hesitant, before making her way towards the hill, casting a worried gaze to the Nightmare King, noticing the streak of moisture along side one of his cheeks.
”Um…a-are you…going to be alright, Pitch? I can take a look at your wound?” The Guardian of Memories offered, only to slightly flinch at the movement nearby, much to her surprise, it being Aster as the Pooka took a seep sigh, arms folded across his chest, puffing up the scruff of fur there as he lowered his ears.
”…I ought to be the one to be checking your wound…Listen, I really did think you were up to your old ways and I jumped to conclusions, and like…look…I’m,” struggling to get the words out, the large anthropomorphic bunny like creature rose a paw, rubbing it up along his neck as he sucked on his breath.
”I’m sorry, alright! There, I said it- good, right? Right, good. So yeah…”

He wasn’t sure if it was due to the fact that his nerves were shot to hell, or that he just wasn’t thinking straight at all, but the Nightmare King seemed to even surprise himself as a laugh managed to bubble up his throat, thin lips slitting up in amusement even though he turned his gaze down towards the snow.
”Fret not Guardians, my wound is not fatal at the least. I was caught by surprise, nothing but rest and fears wont be able to fix.” He began, not allowing the Guardian of Hope to open his mouth as Pitch glanced over his shoulder.
”You have every right to think I am up to no good, as I am. I cannot deny my nature, as long as there is hope…I will turn it into fear.”

The dark spirit watched as the Guardians shifted uncomfortably, confusion danced in their eyes as their conflicted emotions tried to rationalize what to do.
They had just witnessed him doing an act of kindness to a sick, dying little girl and here he was, having not changed at all.
If he were in the right state of mind, he probably would have laughed in their faces, especially at their expressions and rub it all in, taking delight in their growing fears and anxiety.
But he wasn’t in his right mind, nothing was right at all.
Nor was he ever going to be the same.
Closing his eyes and giving a mild snort, the Nightmare King returned his gaze upwards, casting his sadden eyes upon the moon, watching as the clouds began to idly part and bare it’s full glory.

”…You Guardians, will never truly accept me, but I hope that some day that you will come to understand that fear is needed. Without fear, children will blindly leap into danger, unable to comprehend the consequences of their actions as they’ll believe they’re indestructible.”
He began, already sensing North shifting, as the burly Russian born man folded his arms, raising a hand to stroke along his beard.
”Well…certainly that makes sense, yes. Though, it still doesn’t seem right to me!”
”That, is because your Guardians protect the joys and happiness of children, anything that threatens that ideal unnerves you. Therefor, you try to shield them away from it, not realizing it’s hindering their growth.Fear, allows children to learn what makes good decisions, especially for survival. Just as there are it’s downsides, there is good to it as well…as some times, fear…can promote courage.”

”So…is that how you see yourself then? A Guardian of Courage?” Piped up a warm voice, as Jack Frost leaned his chin against his staff, a smirk tugging at his pale lips as he gave the Nightmare a Cheeky look.
Pursing his lips and responded to that grin with a stultified scowl, yet it was only met with a melodious laughter from the Winter Spirit.
”I am no Guardian,” Pitch sneered, as if the title left a putrid flavor upon his tongue, not even realizing he was making a face like that of a toddler who had tasted something foul.
”Jack be right, you’d be good Guardian of Courage- maybe you consider joining us, hm?” North teased, wagging his big brows and coming over, having forgotten the Nightmare King was wounded and proceeded to give the other a friendly pat to the shoulder, which was a lot more powerful than expected.
Grunting and nearly teetering, the dark spirit found himself taking two steps away, eyes squinted with a dirty glare, reminding the guardians of a cat ready to arch it’s back and hiss.

Slowly, the tension died and the dark spirit returned to his more regal pose, head held high in a conceited manner.
”Oh that would just tickle you, wouldn’t it? However, I’ll have to kindly decline. I have no interest in becoming a Guardian any time soon.”
”So, that means it may be a consideration later on?” North hummed with amusement, giving Pitch’s shoulder one more pat, this time managing to be far more gentle.
The dark spirit didn’t reply, merely giving the Guardian of Wonder a side glance.
”Well, I suppose then, that it’s time to go home?” Aster spoke up, shifting his large padded feet, not wanting to admit that he was actually getting quite cold.

”Ah, yes, yes it is getting quite late and we all have much to do…Pitch, you’re welcomed to come with us! You sure about not letting us check your wound? My Yetis are actually quite-”
”-No thank you, I don’t need anyone pawing at it.” Pitch cut in, curling his lip to the thought of any of the Yeti’s getting close to him, the last encounter he swore their wet pelt smell was never going to get out of his nostrils, he wasn’t even sure how North put up with it, but considering the man himself smelled of warm cinnamon and other spices, there was a chance the Russian couldn’t smell it at all.
”Hmm…alright then. Well, then- see you soon my friends!” North bellowed out as he smiled with mirth, dashing down the hill to catch his sleigh.

”Right, well, I’ll be off then..” Aster mumbled, giving a small salute of his fingers in the direction of his comrades and a mere slightly nod of his head in the Nightmare King’s, before opening up a portal at his feet and jumping down.
Toothiana continued to fidget, a look of uncertainty still glistened in her eyes, but with Jack’s gentle touch against her wrist, it seemed to soothe the Tooth fairy and she soon took the air with him, pausing only momentarily before speaking up.
”T-Take care Pitch! I…I am sorry for your loss.”
Unable to see the flicker of pain in his eyes, his back still turned to her, all the dark spirit could do was raise a hand and give a back handed wave.
Jack continued to smile, it was filled with sadness, but it also conveyed understanding, knowing all too well what it was like to lose some one close.
”…Maybe when you’re feeling better, I’ll bring you some fun.” The Winter Spirit chirped, soon leaping up into the air to join the wind.

Soon, all that was left was Sandy, as the Guardian of Dreams now stood beside his polar opposite, silently gazing up at the moon with his own hands folded in front of him.
”…You and Tsar knew about the little girl.” Pitch realized, not bothering to look down to spy the shorter spirit nodding his head and creating symbols with his sand, indicating that he had known all along.
”You could have easily intervened at any time, especially in the beginning when I was terrorizing the girl…Tsar must have known what was going to happen, nothing seems to get past him.” The dark spirit spoke thoughtfully, giving his head a brief shake before finally casting his golden orbs down towards the other.
”…Thank you.”
The wordless Guardian cocked his head, shrugging up both shoulders as a symbol of a question mark appeared over his head, which seemed to mildly humor the Nightmare King.
”For…letting me have this. You could have easily taken away an opportunity I may have never gotten the chance to experience again. To think, the King of Nightmares, undone by a little girl…” He muttered the last part to himself, however Sandy had excellent hearing and could not help the warm smile that spread from ear to ear upon his golden face.

Wincing slightly at the dull ache in his side reminded him that he needed to rest and recover, the dark spirit pressed his fingers there, feeling that the leaking essence was starting to clot up, which was always a good sign.
As he stared down at the jet black liquid upon his finger tips, he was silent for some time, knowing well that sleep, would at least by him some time till he was well enough to seek out fear to thrive on.
However, not just any sleep would do.
”Sanderson?”
Getting the Guardian of Dreams attention as he heard his name, Sandy perked up, looking quite like a plump prairie dog as he did, eager to find out what it was that the Nightmare King wanted.
With a light chuckle in his throat, the dark spirit turned towards the other spirit, having always mutual respect for the one who brought children sweet dreams, even more so knowing that the Guardian allowed Emma to have dreams in which Pitch was apart of them.
”Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream!” The dark spirit nearly sang, watching as the Guardians eyes lit up with delight.

The smaller spirit was already trying to get his dream sand out, when the Nightmare King lifted up a hand, trying to halt the other from his exuberance, causing Sandy to blink and once more form a question mark.
”Not right here! Honestly Sanderson, you think I want to pass out asleep on top of a snowy hill?” Pitch snorted and shook his head, raising that same hand to snake through his messy locks of dark hair.
”Can…you wait for me in my palace? I’ll try not to take long I just…need some time alone.”
A wave of understanding washed over the smaller spirit as his lips formed an ‘o’ shape, a pleasant and tender smile tugged at those full lips as the Guardian nodded, soon gathering himself upon a cloud of dream dust, watching Pitch only momentarily, before a slight look of worry crossed his features.
Which the Nightmare King seemed to figure out quickly what that worry was, as he could easily read the unease.
”The Mare’s wont do anything to you, the most they’ll do is snort and attempt to chew on your hair- you could easily be mistaken for hay.” He teased, knowing the latter wouldn’t happen, seeing as his Mares only fed on fears, but he also knew with what he had fed them over the last few months, had been enough to sate them for the time being.

Sagging with a silent sigh of relief, the Sandman gave a small wave of his hand, before rising up into the clouds, knowing well where Pitch’s lair was and would easily be able to find it on his own.
Pitch’s gaze followed the Guardian till the other was out of sight, with only the looming, full bellied moon casting over head in the night sky to keep him company.
Closing his eyes, the Nightmare King rose a hand to his robe, gracing his fingers over the fabric over his right pectoral muscle, feeling the folded drawing there, as the paper gave a light sound of crinkling.
It was in that moment, something began to give.
Lips pulled back, eyes squeezed tightly shut, the dark spirit wasn’t able to stop the choked sob in his throat.

As the anguish paralyzes him, sending Pitch crashing down to the ground, an earth shattering
caterwaul erupts from his throat, rousing past his lips as he lurched forward, muscles tight at his neck and jaw as he bellows out his tribulation, shuddering as the world around him falls apart.
His agonizing howls continued to burst through him, hunched over as his fingers clawed at his chest, before hugging at himself and digging his nails now into his arms, spittle hanging past lips,while tears burn down his cheeks, dripping upon the snow beneath his withered frame.
Head falling back, now cowering behind his palms as he tried to hide from the comforting light that the Moon gave, trying to blanket against his pathetic form, all the dark Spirit could do was shriek pitifully, the melancholy that shattered through him only fueled his grief, teetering the dark spirit over the edge of oblivion.
leaving him feeling like a limb that had been severed, twitching with phantom pains to be reunited with the one who stole his heart.
Not holding back his sobbing, he allowed himself to grieve into the darkness of the night for his loss.

Chapter Text

Inquisitive yellow irises gazed into dark recess beneath the King sized mattress, eventually locking upon golden orbs that slit open through the shadows.
Puffing his lips out and huffing, causing some of his yellow-gold hair to flutter from the action, Sandy made a gesture with his arms at the bed in a puzzled fashion, as to why the Nightmare King would choose to sleep under it, rather on top of his own mattress.
”Old Habit.” Was all Pitch could croak out, his earlier bout of crying left him in an weakened state, with eyelids heavy and feeling like lead.
Making a sighing like gesture as his body heaved, shoulders deflating as his eyes rolled, the Guardian of Dreams was about to step away, when his gaze fell upon something peculiar.

In the upper right corner by the dark spirits head, was a few containers of what appeared to be a treat most popular by children, reading upon the label of chocolate pudding.
Like a cat that stumbled upon something unexpected, the most Sandy could do was form a dust cloud of a question mark, while pointing at the containers.
There was a heavy sigh that seem to drawl past Pitch’s slightly parted lips, while those golden orbs turned to stare up at the support beams of the mattress.
Fingers slowly curled protectively over a piece of paper resting at his chest, making it crinkle lightly from the touch.
The moment yellow eyes managed to squint through the darkness and make out what it was, the Guardian gave a compassionate, supportive smile but before he’d finally step away, the gentle spirit gave once more a worried look to Pitch, symbols bouncing over his head as he tried to convey his concern for the others wound.

”Sanderson, I’m tired…please. I will be fine, honestly you Guardian’s act almost like a bunch of mother hens.”
The comment seemed to tickle the Sandman as he made a gust of golden sand puff out, indicating that if given the chance, he’d happily roost over the dark spirit and keep an eye on him.
Tilting his head, the Nightmare King could only manage the strength to resort to a petty response, such as sticking out his tongue.
Mirth danced in Sandy’s eyes as he soundlessly chuckled, finally removing himself from the side of the bed, as he began to float on a cloud of his golden sand.
Hands moving out on each side, the Guardian of Dreams began to summon up swirls of the sand, watching as it danced and weaved around his arms and fingers, channeling it before he allowed it to burst, sprinkling over head of the mattress, to which the particles melted through to dust itself over the Nightmare King.

The moment the dust settled, Pitch felt his heavy eyes begin to flutter, the welcoming arms of sleep beckoning him into the land of slumber with the promise of sweet dreams awaiting him.
The dark spirit clutched the picture tighter, his consciousness fading as drowsiness settled in.
The moment his lids closed and his breath became steady, Pitch fell into the warm embrace of the darkness, like the maternal arms of a mother that kissed a whispered promise to the rim of ear.
Upon his lips, tugged a gentle smile as the dream flooded with light that seemed to call out to him, before he was greeted by a sight that filled his soul with warmth.
There, waving their hands up high over their heads, their melodious voices calling his name.
There they were, his girls.
His precious princesses.
As the warm, golden glow washed over them and brightening their smiles, as Seraphina’s long locks of black hair pooled over each shoulder and with her other hand, held upon Emma’s, as the small girl giggled and flashed a grin with missing baby teeth.
Their hands reached out for Pitch, while his own arms wrapped around both of them, pulling them to his chest.
The sad King was no longer alone.

-End.