Author's Note: This is it! The final chapter (you didn't think I'd leave it at the last chapter did you?)! To all my readers, thank you so much for your enthusiasm and comments. I couldn't have finished this without you.

Enjoy~

Pitch Black looked out over the clearing and sighed, his breath fogging in front of his lips.

All the children in this town had long since been lulled to sleep by the Sandman's dreams, and the moon was nothing more than a tiny sliver of light above the canopy of trees that Pitch stood under. There wasn't a cloud in sight.

"Hello, Frost," Pitch drawled, not amused by the boy's half-baked attempt to sneak up on him.

"Hi, Pitch. Lovely weather tonight, huh?" Jack observed as he landed beside Pitch, completely disregarding the fact that mere moments ago he had been creeping through the shadows like a thief in the night.

"It was, but I suspect that it won't last long. I felt an unseasonable chill just now, surely a sign of unexpected snowfall. Won't the children be thrilled, tomorrow morning?" Pitch replied, peering up at a patch of sky through the branches of a tree that was no doubt dreading the snow it would be forced to carry. It had just gotten its leaves back too.

Jack grinned, but there wasn't a speck of remorse in his eyes as he followed Pitch's gaze skyward. "Gotta keep the rabbit on his toes," was the boy's excuse. Pitch bit back a snort.

"Came here to check up on me, did you?" He mused, throwing Jack a sidelong glance.

Jack's eyes never left the sky as he replied, "Well, yeah, that too."

Pitch really did snort that time. "Of course, of course," He murmured. The first signs of cloud cover were beginning to drift overhead, and Pitch could have sworn the tree above him groaned.

The bushes rustled off to his left and Pitch looked down at what was tugging at the hem of his robe.

"Oi, kiddo, you're supposed ta bring the egg to the basket, remember?" Bunnymund said as he bounded out into the open.

The fearling ignored Bunnymund in favor of hoisting its find over its head for Pitch to see. A golden egg. No, the golden egg. The ultimate prize of Bunnymund's egg hunts. It let out a squeak that sounded almost human, bouncing up and down on its shadowy tail.

"Goodness, that was fast. Well done, little one." Pitch stooped to accept the egg and watched as the fearling scampered off with renewed vigor to search for more treats. "How many does this make it then? Eight?"

"Twelve. The kiddo's too quick. Can't hide 'em fast enough. I'm gonna have to think up better hiding spots at this rate," Bunnymund huffed, watching the fearling go.

Pitch smirked at the egg in his hand. "I'd say if it can find the golden egg that easily you clearly aren't hiding them well enough." Granted, an egg hunt for a fearling was very different compared to the egg hunt that had occurred just earlier that day. The fearling could search for eggs faster than Toothiana's fairies searched for teeth, even if the basket was too heavy for it to carry, and it was getting faster every year. Pitch was surprised that the fearling hadn't gotten bored yet. Bunnymund really ought to step up his game.

"Oh, rack off," Bunnymund grumbled, stalking away to supervise the last egg hunt of Easter somewhere that Pitch's smug grin wouldn't reach.

"You gonna eat that?" Jack asked after a moment, nodding hungrily towards the egg in Pitch's hand. Pitch scowled and held it a bit closer.

"I might. Find your own egg if you want one so badly, but I'll warn you there might not be any left to find pretty soon." Judging by the sounds, the fearling had found its thirteenth and fourteenth egg. Honestly, was Bunnymund just hiding them in groups or was he not even trying?

"Technically you didn't find it either," Jack pointed out, pouting.

"No, but it was given to me, and that makes it mine. Besides, you probably wouldn't be able to find one even if you tried." Pitch grinned triumphantly at Jack's scowl.

"You know what? Just for that, I will. We'll see how good the fearling fares at finding eggs against Jack Frost!" Jack declared, and despite the aggression in his voice there was mirth twinkling in his eyes as he sped after Bunnymund and the fearling on foot, the wind all but forgotten in the face of a challenge.

Pitch chuckled quietly as he watched the winter spirit flounder between the bushes, as elegant as a duck on land when he wasn't being carried to and fro by the breeze.

"If you really aren't going to eat that, I'll take it."

Pitch jumped violently at the voice. "Don't do that!" he hissed, turning to glare at the woman that had managed to get so close without his notice. Mother Nature tossed her billowing hair with a huff and Pitch crossed his arms, recovering from the shock with a gusty sigh. "You're checking up on me too then, I take it?" he supposed, making room for her to stand beside him. He was only slightly stung when she continued to keep her distance.

"No, actually. I came here to put a stop to whatever mess that idiot Frost was here to make." The tree above them creaked with relief and an uncomfortable silence settled over the two that Pitch couldn't help but break.

"I haven't seen you for a while. Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?" he tried. She didn't show a single sign of having heard him. He might as well have been talking to another tree for all he knew (he spent far too much time talking to trees these days), still he kept trying. He exhaled slowly, listening to the fearling play with Jack among the trees under Bunnymund's vigilant supervision.

"I'm still visiting the Oak of Sorrows. You were right when you said that it would be good for me," he told her quietly. The admittance seemed to soften her expression, if only slightly. "I can almost sleep on my own now. Sanderson is pleased. It's been… different, coping with all the new headspace," He continued, hearing her hum wordlessly in acknowledgement. He shifted uncomfortably and fell quiet, looking off into the trees.

"Do you think it would have been better if I had killed the fearling?" He mused suddenly. "It's the last one. I could have finished what the Constellations started. It would all be over."

"The General's job is never done," Was her scathing reply. She'd said something similar once, when she had been younger and smaller, he remembered with a bitter frown.

"Did you want me to kill the fearling before?" he asked softly, pursing his lips.

"Yes."

Pitch sighed heavily and closed his eyes at the unpleasant twinge in his chest. "Do you still want me to kill it?"

"I suppose not," She conceded, to his relief and surprise.

"This change of heart… Would it be presumptuous of me to assume that the fearling might have grown on you? Just a little bit?" Pitch pried in an even softer voice, daring to hope. Wouldn't Aster be proud, his mind added snidely. She shot him a glare.

"It would," she answered sharply. After a few moments, she continued, her words no less cutting. "Regardless, it might be for the best that you let it live. The Guardians might never have agreed to help you otherwise. And you finally have something to fill your nest."

"It isn't the same," Pitch sighed, gazing at her sadly. Her glare intensified.

"It's more than you deserve. And maybe it will finally convince you to quit on that darkling princess idea that you'd been obsessing over for the last few millennia," she snipped with just enough venom in her voice to make the grass around her feet wilt.

"Maybe," Pitch agreed noncommittally. "My first attempt was the best really, nothing can ever come close to being as terrifying and beautiful as you," He confessed with a brittle smile.

She snatched the egg out of his hands with a sniff. "Is that meant to be flattery?" she grumbled, turning the egg over in her hands.

A more comfortable silence descended on them, and Pitch was content to let it last a little while. Mother Nature settled in the grass, collecting beetles in her hand and nibbling discretely on the chocolate egg while Pitch puzzled over the stray moth she had managed to attract or occasional tendril of hair that found its way around his ankle. When it seemed the fearling was finishing its egg hunt, Mother Nature began to take her leave, and Pitch barely managed to catch her before she ran off.

"You wouldn't happen to know who it was that taught the fearling to pronounce my name with a "B" rather than a "P" would you?" he asked in lieu of saying goodbye, though he already knew the answer. She hated when he said goodbye. She shrugged innocently.

"It isn't my fault that it misheard me."

And she was gone.

Pitch shook his head and turned to see the fearling dragging a wicker basket full of eggs determinedly towards him, completely unaware that Bunnymund was pushing it along with his foot. It seemed very proud of itself as Pitch looked over the basket of eggs indulgently and tried to ignore Bunnymund's piercing scrutiny. Judging by how protective the pooka was towards the fearling, Pitch doubted the suspicious looks would go away anytime soon, but he could never get over the oddness of the situation. It was strange enough that he had to talk Toothiana out of teaching the fearling how to brush its teeth as he was fairly sure that it didn't have any, and spending Christmas at North's workshop every year never ceased to be an outlandish affair.

Pitch was immensely relieved to leave without any further interactions. He was looking forward to a quiet evening in his lair, and if he were lucky, the fearling would give him the chance to rest. How such a small shadow had so much energy was an absolute mystery.

"I'm glad she still takes after her mother in some ways," Pitch confided in the fearling as they walked back to the entrance of his lair, one arm weighed down by the basket of the eggs that the fearling had found. He hadn't the slightest idea what he was going to do with all the chocolate. The fearling would only spit it back up, and if he ate it all himself he would probably do the same.

"Read?" the fearling chirped, tugging on his robe from where it sat nestled in the crook of his arm. It didn't have the slightest clue who he was talking about, and Pitch wasn't about to explain. The last time Mother Nature had come up in conversation the fearling had spent three days referring to her only as "Sister", much to everyone's discomfort. Needless to say, the fearling wasn't having any play dates with her for a few more years.

"Alright, but only a short story. Don't forget, Sanderson is going to visit us tonight," he reminded the fearling seriously. It didn't seem to have heard anything other than the fact that the Sandman was coming.

"Hide an' seek?" it asked him in a higher voice, pulling itself up onto his shoulder. It couldn't seem to settle on a voice to use today.

"Yes, I'm sure he'd love to play a game of hide and seek with you." The fearling made an unintelligible exclamation of excitement and wrapped itself around his neck like a scarf. It rested its chin on the top of his head and Pitch heard a faint puff as it exhaled contentedly.

"Are you happy?"

A nod and a squeak was the fearling's reply and Pitch found himself frowning.

"So you don't hate me yet?"

A muffled squeak as it put his hair in its mouth and spat it back out. Not exactly the answer he anticipated, then again it might not have been listening anyway.

Jack had been right, the fearling deserved a papa, and even if he didn't deserve the title he would be its papa for as long as it wanted him.

One day it might remember what he'd done.

One day it might even forgive him for it.