Ah, I don't like writing my notes up here, but I just wanted to because there is some spoiler-ish stuff from the books regarding Pitch below. I just don't want to spoil anything for anyone and don't want anyone getting mad at me or something, I dunno.

I should really be writing the second chapter on Latibulate, I know. I'm only like a thousand words in, gomen. This was just in my head and I had to get it out. I'm not pleased with it, but I rather put it here than let it rot in my documents.

Oh, and uh, this might be kind of dark (like majority of my other stuff)? I'm so used to writing angsty things that I can't even tell if they are bad enough to put warning labels on anymore.

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Existence, The

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He doesn't remember.

It's not so much that he doesn't want to remember, he just can't remember. He has absolutely no recollection of a life that existed before his life as Pitch Black. He can only be left to wonder. To endlessly wonder just what, what was he before he was Pitch Black? If he can't remember, perhaps it bears no importance.

Still, it haunts him.

Just who was he, really? How did he live? Did he have a family? Did he at one point have hopes and dreams and was made up of something else besides overwhelming darkness?

He has to force himself to push these thoughts away. He knows these thoughts are dangerous, very dangerous to his existence. A threat, if you will. Without fear and darkness, he is nothing. He is made up of terrifying things, and without them, he is a purposeless being. Whether he likes it or not, he needs to frighten children and feed off of their fear to survive.

The Guardians don't seem to understand this. He tries to tell them that fear is necessary, for protection from the dangerous and unknown. But they don't like it. They completely detest the idea of the children they care for so much being afraid.

Imbeciles - the lot of them.

By the time Jack Frost comes along, their backup weapon of sorts, Pitch is so enraged with not being noticed and cast away that he unfolds his plan to destroy the Guardians, once and for all. He has spent a millennium being hated and not believed in. It's their turn, he thinks, so overcome with the need to make them all suffer for a long, long time.

They deserve it, he thinks.

But he realizes his plan went wrong in every way possible as the Toothfairy's fist makes contact with his face, knocking out one of his teeth. He doesn't understand how, but his plan failed. He failed. He knows his enemies will show him no sympathy, not even pity, at this point. He killed one of their friends. He threatened all of their existences. How could they feel bad when he hurt them so badly? But, at the very least, he can see the shock in their eyes as his Nightmares chase and bury him deep within the earth.

Hell.

That is the only way he can describe it. He was in Hell. His Nightmares, his own creations, tortured him with horrible thoughts and visions somewhere deep within the ground. He remembers being in a lot of pain – so much pain. He remembers feeling like he was burning. Like hot tar was being poured all over his body, and then hardening. Becoming tighter and tighter until he couldn't bear it no longer. Until the only thing he could do was scream. He screamed a thousand, hideous screams as memories flashes all around him.

He remembers seeing a little girl with dark hair. But she is distant and her face bears no features. He watches as darkness rips her apart. And even though he does not know this girl, there is a connection there, and watching her in pain is almost more unbearable than his pain. He watches as she dies, over and over again. He wants it to stop, but it won't.

He fears it never will.

His feels himself drift through his memories, some he knows well and others he has forgotten, but no matter what, he regrets every single one of them. He realizes how pathetic his life is. He realizes this as his Nightmares continue to plague him and darkness oozes out of his pores.

Due to his hazy judgment, he cannot tell how long it lasts, but he eventually awakes in a stupor in his lair. He is drenched in sweat. It rolls off his body is large drops as he feels himself shaking violently, and gasping, unable to catch his breath. His vision is blotchy, but he can just make out his Nightmares walking around him in slow circles. He almost expects them to dive back at him, make him re-experience all that just happened. Fear for this hits him hard, but when he tries to get away, he merely flops pathetically to the floor, on his side.

His Nightmares do not do what he expects. Instead, their circles around him become slower until, one after another, they fall with a cry. Pitch watches in awe as his creations twitch uncontrollably in front of him until they dissolve into heaps of black sand.

It takes a long moment for it all to sink it.

Pitch, for the first time in his unbearably long life, cries. He twists, turns, and curls into himself, clenching his clothes tightly as he lets out long, agonizing cries that echo endlessly through the caverns of his lair. His shoulders shake with pain and sadness and anger and hate and, most of all, regret.

He did not want this.

He never wanted this.

He never wanted to be like this. He never wanted to strike fear into the hearts of people. He never wanted to be so hated, so weak, looked at so sorely by everyone. No one loves him. No one cares. He is considered the bad guy and will always be looked at like one. All he has ever been allowed to know is fear and darkness and fear and darkness, but no one cares.

He is the most despicable, pathetic being this world has ever experienced. And he will continue to be so forevermore.

He figures that someone had to be given this job, but why him?

He would wonder if that little girl has anything to do with it, but by the time he stops his crying, he is still shaking and trying to re-teach himself how to walk, and all traces of her vanish from his memory.

Pitch does not dare approach the surface for years. He remains underground, where he feels the safest. He spends a lot of his time sitting on a worn-out throne that once belonged to the mighty Nightmare King; someone he no longer identifies himself as. He sits there and stares into the darkness, trying not to think. Never think. Thinking is dangerous.

He wonders how long he would have to hide down here until he fades away completely.

One day something out of the norm happens. He senses a certain boy snooping around in his home. Pitch, however, stays put. Let the boy have his fun, he thinks. Like he guessed, it's Jack Frost. The boy is not quick to find him on his throne, but when he does, he jumps back a little and gasps. Pitch makes no effort to move. Jack, very curious, takes cautious steps forward.

Jack leans in close, but not too close, to Pitch's unmoving body. His hallow eyes stay fixated, yet unmoving, on the boy. Jack leans in a little, staff held sharply in his hand, ready to attack if need be.

"Are you," Jack whispers, "dead?"

There is no response.

Jack, unsure, goes to poke the Boogeyman with the end of his staff, but stops and is nearly scared to death as Pitch says, with his voice extremely harsh with disuse, "Probably." He didn't even know he was capable of speaking anymore.

"What… What happened to you?" is Jack's next question.

Pitch does not know how to answer this question. More so, he doesn't want to. He almost wants to say, you happened, stupid boy. But that would be a lie, now wouldn't it? Pitch doesn't know if there is anyone to blame but himself.

"Why are you here?" Pitch asks instead.

Jack seems to be caught off guard by this, like he somehow knew he would be confronted with this question, but was hoping to avoid it.

"I," the boy starts, "just wanted to know. No one has seen you for a really long time, and I just wanted to know what had happened after you…" He doesn't know how to word it exactly. "After you, know you, disappeared."

These words are enough to set off a trigger in Pitch's head. His body trembles with the trauma. His body trembles so much that Jack realizes. Jack almost makes a comment about it, but he is silenced as he sees Pitch stand up. The Boogeyman's body becomes a dark shadow that stretches over Jack. When the boy tries to back away, shadows tightly wrap around his ankles and midsection. Another steals his staff.

What Jack is looking at isn't Pitch anymore. The only things he can make out are Pitch's metallic gold eyes. But even those darkened in a layer of shadows. The boy doesn't know what to expect. He can't find it in himself to speak. Or scream.

"Curiosity brought you here, is that what you're telling me?" Pitch's voice booms. "No. No, I don't think so. If anything, I bet you were checking to make sure I was gone for good. You and your "friends" want to ensure that you have ridded of me forever. Because really, what am I to you, Jack Frost?"

The shadows squeeze. The one at the boy's midsection, especially. He gasps out in pain.

"I am nothing but a nightmare. A bad dream. I am just something you find inconvenient and are sworn to destroy. You do not care at all, so don't pretend you do. If you care about anything, it's that I am gone and that you and your "friends" live happily ever after."

Jack struggles in the grasp of the shadows. One emerges from the ceiling, hooking him from around the neck. The others let go as it lifts him up into the air, leaving him kicking and struggling for breath that he never thought he needed. The shadow that Pitch has become elongates to keep eye contact with Jack.

"Well, guess what? You are nothing but a puppet. The Man in the Moon is free to use you as much as he wishes, and you are sworn to obey. And I thought my existence was pathetic," Pitch lets out a cruel, broken laugh.

Jack is still gasping. He tries to lessen the pressure by pressing his hands against the shadow, to support his weight. But shadow hands grab at Jack's wrists, forcing his hands down, forcing him to hang.

"Perhaps I should just let you die here," Pitch suggests. "I think it would be awful kind of me to do so."

Jack lets out a scared, desperate sound, and Pitch can't help but smirk because it feels so good for this boy to be in pain. Pitch has been in pain for far too long. Others should have the privilege of experiencing it as well. The shadow at Jack's throat starts to shake him around violently, much like a child to a toy. He is slammed against the ground numerous times and even the oversized birdcages that hang from the ceilings. By the time the shadow stops, Jack's face is hot and he is letting out gasps and sobs that are mostly ragged from his constricted throat. He just wants it to stop.

"Oh, am I hurting you, Jacky Boy? You don't seem to like this much," Pitch teases.

Jack tries to speak, but he is unable to get anything to come out of his mouth correctly. He mostly shakes and sobs harshly. Normally, this would be enough for Pitch. But no, it's not. Not after everything he has been through. He wants to destroy this boy as slowly and painfully as possible. Not only will it satisfy that empty place within him, but this boy's demise could serve as a message to the Guardians. The message for them to not mess with him, and he will have his revenge.

With this in mind, Pitch commands the shadow to release Jack. The boy falls to the ground with a loud, almost lifeless thud. Pitch shrinks down to normal size and appearance, leaning over Jack's body. The boy is gasping heavily, in obvious pain. When he tries to turn on his back, he makes eye contact with Pitch, and quickly turns away to break contact. He thinks if he doesn't see Pitch, he can't hurt him – how cute.

The Boogeyman grabs the ice boy by the collar of his sweatshirt, forcing him to stand up. Jack's legs just end up dragging behind him and his head bobs slightly, dizzy. His eyes, though, are filled with terror. This is just too perfect.

Pitch has not felt this powerful in a long time. He almost forgot how it felt like for someone to truly fear him, especially like this. He can't help but smirk with teeth and all. He can do whatever he wants with this boy. He can torture him until his little body gives way. Or, perhaps, he can turn him into a Fearling to do his bidding forever. The possibilities are endless, really.

Pitch feels stupid for thinking himself pathetic before. Of course he isn't. He is every bit necessary. He is fear. There is no other way, no other resolve. For whatever reason, he was chosen to be like this and he will fulfill his purpose. He has nothing else to hold onto, nothing else to be, so if he is meant to know nothing but solitude and fear, he will do it.

There's no other way.

He lifts the boy higher into the air, until Jack is practically forced to stand on his own. Pitch never lets go, though. Jack tries to pull away, but considering how worn-out he is the attempt is very weak. Pitch's hand, the one that is holding his sweatshirt, gradually runs along Jack's neck, teasing the marks left behind. Jack whimpers and tries to pull away again, but Pitch grabs the boy's chin firmly, locking him in place.

"Keep struggling, I implore you." Pitch means it. He enjoys Jack's attempts.

Something flickers in Jack's eyes, but they are so full of other emotions it's hard to tell exactly what it is. No matter. It probably isn't important.

With his other hand, Pitch caresses Jack's flushed, beaten face. He hums softly as he presses his thumb against Jack's upper lip, forcing his mouth open a bit. He can feel Jack's surprisingly warm breath as he huffs. Strangely enough, he likes it. Pitch roughly tugs at the boy's chin, moving his mouth open wide, and holds him like that. He almost expects Jack to squirm, but he doesn't.

Everything goes silent momentarily, but soon little shadows crawl up Jack's body, going right for his mouth. Pitch waits patiently, expectantly. This will be interesting.

But then something uncalled for happens. Jack snaps his mouth shut and moves in close to Pitch. For a second, Pitch expects the boy to knock him down and run for his life to the exit, but that doesn't happen. Instead, he feels arms wrap around him as he is brought in close. Closer than he ever recalls being to anyone.

Pitch looks down in shock as he feels Jack hold him tightly and press his face into his chest. He… How does he react to this? The entire lair is quiet all except for Jack's unsteady breathing. The shaking of his body vibrates against Pitch's, snapping him out of his stupor.

Jack Frost is hugging him.

Why is Jack Frost hugging him?

Something else more pressing is bugging his mind at the moment, however. This embrace. Suddenly, a memory as clear as day takes him back to a place he once called home. A place that smells of flowers and there is not any pain or loneliness or suffering. An image of a little girl with dark hair pops into his mind. Wait, this is familiar. She is smiling and happy and hugging him.

"Daddy," she says.

Sera-

"Pitch," Jack says.

Suddenly Pitch is back in his lair with Jack Frost holding him. The boy is looking up at him, eyes weary with pain and terror, yet somehow filled with something hopeful. Pitch had forgotten he had a heart until he starts to feel it grow heavy with guilt. He feels terrible. Jack is his enemy, and he should hate him, but all of a sudden that doesn't seem to matter. Just...

They stay like that for a while, unmoving.

Pitch wonders how Jack could be kind to him after all that's he done to the poor boy. He lies to himself and tells himself it's because, at heart, Jack is still a child. Children are easy to forgive and forget. And now that Pitch remembers, nothing else seems to matter anymore.

Regrettably at first, Pitch embraces Jack. And he holds the boy gently in the darkness until he forgets how much he despises his existence.

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