Author's note:

Well, everyone, this is it. The epilogue. Thank you all so very, very much for sticking with me on this, especially those of you who have been around since day one (nearly a year ago, can you believe it?). A big thank you for all the favorites, follows, and reviews, and another thank you for being added to a community. I sincerely hope you all continue to support me as a writer in the future, even you anonymous stalkers out there. ;)

PaperGirlInAPaperTown: Thank you again for all the kind words, I'm truly glad you've enjoyed my story so much. And yes, Jamie did deserve a break...this fic hasn't been all that kind to anyone, but Jamie was definitely getting a bit of a kicking there for a bit.

Skyress1: So Randy's a familiar name, huh? As I've mentioned before, most of the names I pick for my OCs are chosen deliberately for their meanings and how they pertain to the characters, but a few just sort of stick at random and sound good, so I keep them. Randy's was one of the latter. And most of the kids mentioned last chapter were introduced before, but with the exception of Troy Bellings we haven't seen any of them since chapter one or two, or something crazy like that. (We saw Troy a couple of chapters back when Jack returned to Burgess to see him because of that note Troy left under his pillow. It was quite a while ago time-wise, so it's understandable if you don't remember him either.)

TetraForce214: I would definitely consider writing more about Cassandra, but only if I'm struck with the right inspiration stick. I tend to sort of float along with a couple of random ideas stuck in my head for quite a while and then *boom* a full/almost full idea pops into being, and that's when I actually sit down to start a fic. So we'll both just have to wait and see, unfortunately.

Yellowmiki98: Hey, someone new. Hello! :D I truly love and appreciate the praise, thank you so very much.

And for the last time (for this story at least *bittersweet sobbing*) please enjoy!

It was many months before the furor over Cassandra Fisher's disappearance began to die down. By Thanksgiving time, Barb realized it had been more than a week since she'd seen a news article or overheard a conversation regarding the case. A missing child alert had been issued the same night Cassandra had gone missing, but little ever came of it. Outside of Burgess, it seemed too few cared enough about a runaway twelve year old for the story to last in mainstream media.

Cassandra was right, Barb sadly thought. If she'd died as a child no one would've missed her. She lived for twelve long years and hardly a soul beyond this town even noticed, let alone cared.

It was a very depressing thing to contemplate, so she actively tried not to.

Barb had to admit that the entire ordeal had been extremely hard on her. The grueling police interviews and standing as a witness in Randy Fisher's trial had been bad, yes, but being alone in her house was worse. Jamie Bennett stopped by from time to time, often with his sister in tow, but he had his own problems to deal with and so the visits were few and far between. Cassandra came to see her too, as promised, but they were always exceptionally bittersweet affairs. Her heart would soar like a cloud when she saw the changed child emerge from the shadows, and then she'd break down and cry like a baby once Cassandra left and she was alone again.

If it hadn't been for Salvaguard (who spent so little time in his Chihuahua form now, she'd had to start telling people that Barney had died), Barb knew she would've slipped into another depression. Truly, the Cadejon was her rock, once which she was ever grateful for.

Late one night, just as Barb was getting ready for bed, she heard a knock on her door. She paused in the process of pulling down the covers, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. Who the heck could it be at this time of night?

Peering around the doorway, she saw Salvaguard lying down in the hall. The Cadejon was awake and alert, but his entire body was relaxed, and when she caught his eye he said nothing to her at all. He just…looked at her.

Huh. Usually he would warn her if there was someone strange or potentially dangerous at the door, or at least let her know if it was someone either of them knew. For him to say nothing at all was bizarre.

The knocking sounded again, louder and more demanding than before. Casting off Salvaguard's odd behavior with a shrug, Barb went to answer the door.

Two people stood on her doorstep, one of which was a glowering teenager. Barb blinked, a bit thrown by the fact that she was unable to discern whether they were a boy or a girl. The oversized clothes, close-cut hair (which was dyed black, with unnaturally red highlights), and multiple facial piercings made it impossible to tell one way or the other.

"Can I…help you?" she asked, unsure of what else to say.

Her hesitant question was answered with a sharp one in return. "You Barb?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Taylor."

"Taylor. Nice to meet you."

Well, the name wasn't a clue as to the kid's gender either, since the moniker was unisex. And at this age, it was often difficult to tell one way or the other by voice or physique alone, as puberty could do some remarkable and bizarre things with children's bodies and vocal cords.

The teenaged stranger said nothing. Barb noticed a backpack slung over their shoulder, as well as the white-knuckled grip currently clutching at the straps. The kid was trying to be tough, and surely looked the part, but that one detail was telling.

"Where are you from, Taylor?"

Taylor glanced at the person standing beside them, seeking reassurance—and getting it via a tiny nod—before answering.

"Connecticut."

"That's a long ways away."

Taylor said nothing.

"How old are you Taylor?"

Another sideways glance, another nod of encouragement. "Fourteen." Taylor then raised their chin and announced with a sneer, "I'm a lesbian."

"Ah," Barb said, for that declaration answered two of the many questions compiling in her head. "I see. I take it your parents didn't take the news very well?"

Taylor seemed taken aback by Barb's lack of reaction. Her jaw sagged as she stared, dumbfounded, before those blue eyes darted wildly to the side again, clearly wondering just what in the hell was going on.

Barb sighed quietly.

"Hello, Cassandra."

Taylor's head whipped around so fast, she was lucky she didn't get whiplash. "You can see her too?"

"Yes, I can."

Taylor's whole demeanor changed in an instant. Her sour expression, defiant tone and rigid posture relaxed simultaneously. "Oh, thank god," she said. "I thought I was going insane!"

Barb laughed quietly. "No, no you're not insane. You just believe." Readjusting her bathrobe against the chilly November wind, Barb told Taylor, "Three rules of the house: nothing illegal, do your homework, respect bedtime. Think you can handle that?"

Taylor gaped, blinked, then said a bit weakly, "Yeah. Yeah, I think I can."

Barb smiled. "Good." Stepping back from the doorway, she said warmly, invitingly, "Come on in. For now, let's see about rule number three. In the morning we'll chat."

Taylor needed no further encouragement. Entering the house, she stood beside the kitchen table, studying the colors and the general layout of the place while Barb took a moment to acknowledge the spirit still standing on her doorstep.

"Are you going to make a habit out of this?" she asked.

"Most definitely," was the response.

Barb eyed the girl-spirit before gently closing the door, a small smile brightening her face.

And that was how the Cassandra Fisher House for Vulnerable Youth got its start. Though of course, the official story wasn't quite as remarkable, considering its notable lack of spirit involvement.

"Nice work, kid."

Cassandra sneered at the spirit who had appeared out of nowhere and was now floating beside her, an enormous grin plastered on his stupid pale face.

"Get lost, Frost," she snapped. She didn't have her cloak hood up—Taylor had been far too wary of her with it on, a fear which Cassandra had respected—meaning she was forced to deal with Frost's childish antics without emotional control. It was never a preferable situation, but she was learning to handle the lot of them, even when they insisted on butting into her business for absolutely no reason.

Sensing their master's fouling mood, her pegasus snorted irritably, a puff of hot air that birthed a thin wisp of fog in the cool, moonless night. Yet their wings continued to flap slowly, deliberately, keeping them aloft above the rooftops of Burgess. As deeply as the Nightmares still resented and detested the Guardians, they understood that unless a real threat was being posed they had no business taking command of a situation. They would not snap their teeth or fly off without their master's permission.

"I mean it," Frost said, looking as sincere as he sounded. Even the dumb smile had disappeared, as if that alone should convince her he was telling the truth. "That was great, what you did."

"I'm just surprised a kid that old still believed."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. She turned her head ever so slightly to give Bunnymund—crouched on the lip of a nearby rooftop so he could speak on-level with her and Frost—a cold look.

"She didn't," she said. "Or should I say…she doesn't. Not in the traditional sense. She was rejected by her family and all-but banished from the small town in which she lived, with no money and no idea how to keep herself alive."

"She was terrified," Frost said quietly.

"Yes. Both the Dark Ages and the fiasco in Burgess before I was born proved one thing: regardless of age, the more afraid a human is the more apt they are to believe something is there even when nothing is. Superstitious ones are even more susceptible to such fear, because they're far less dismissive of the unexplained, no matter how insignificant. The slightest noise, the tiniest flicker of shadow, whether harmless or not, terrifies the vulnerable, be they innocent children or victimized teens or superstitious adults, and that great fear is what enables them to see, if only for a brief moment."

"So her belief won't last long," Bunnymund surmised.

"If she still believes in me in a year's time, I'll be shocked," Cassandra admitted, not that she had a problem with it. She wasn't out to gather believers, but to offer help, and if the vast majority of those who accepted said help wound up forgetting all about her relatively quickly, well, Cassandra was perfectly fine with that. Her agreement with Morsoi and her own personal feelings on the matter notwithstanding, she knew the Adjudicating Eye wouldn't stand for her to possess hoards of believers (especially older ones) after the chaos her predecessor had caused.

Such was the reason the black metal globe had remained—to serve both as a reminder and as a warning not to upset the precarious balance between the human and spirit worlds.

Finding the equilibrium between dark and light, fear and hope, had been difficult. Cassandra wasn't fool enough to believe she could save everyone, of course—not only was it beyond her scope of power, it was irresponsible. Fear could come in many, many forms, and often went hand-in-hand with pain or misery or suffering. If she saved every child who endured those things, no one would ever take the initiative to help themselves. They'd never grow up wanting to be better, to make the world better, or to help others who'd borne similar conditions, because they'd all be too busy lying around waiting for someone else to come rescue them. Suffering and terror could do terrible things to a child, yes, but enduring and outliving such wretchedness could spark bravery and determination and compassion in their hearts that couldn't be found by any other means.

At the same time, though, she just couldn't stand to leave things the way they were. The world was slowly becoming overwhelmed with fear of the sort the Guardians' believers were largely ignorant of…which meant the Guardians were blissfully ignorant of it too. In her flights over and across the world, Cassandra had felt the fear of children who were beaten, starved, tortured, enslaved; kids who were bullied and rejected by their peers; kids who were told they were stupid and worthless and unlovable until they sincerely believed it; children who were desperate to end it, just end it, but were too scared of what would happen if they failed (or succeeded) to actually try.

It was a time bomb just waiting to explode, and nothing was being done about it because the Guardians were too busy being overprotective of their own believers to bother with children who didn't see or know them.

In Cassandra's mind, it was absolutely intolerable. She knew what it felt like to be an invisible child—someone whose misery went largely unnoticed and who could drop off the face of the earth without anyone realizing. Despite Barb's attempts to keep the news from her, Cassandra was fully aware of the fact that the furor over her "running away" had all but ceased to exist, and it had only been a couple of months. Really, if it hadn't been for Barb and Mr. Bennett and the fact that Burgess was such a small town, she knew no one would have noticed or cared at all.

Her predecessor's situation had been much the same, what with how he'd disappeared into the parasite's possession without anyone ever knowing, which only made the present state of the world even more insufferable for Cassandra.

Darkness is deepest after gazing into the light.

Cassandra clenched her teeth. The words that had once confounded her possessed a double meaning: In a literal sense, one could associate the phrase to the sort of disorientation a person endured whenever they entered a dark space directly after being exposed to bright light. Far more important—both in terms of the present situation and the matter with the parasite—was the figurative meaning, for that was when the phrase pertained to the indescribable pain someone felt whenever they saw just how wonderful and enjoyable life could be…but wasn't. When someone dwelled in emotional and psychological darkness with no sense of hope or self-worth, seeing others live happy, carefree lives redoubled their own internal agony, for then they were left to wonder: Why? Why can't I have that too? After gazing into the light of those bright eyes and contented smiles, facing the gloom of their own reality was like staring into the terrible black void of a bottomless abyss—impenetrable, insurmountable, inescapable.

A truly devastating thing for a child to try to bear.

Taylor was the first to be spared from such darkness and fear, and certainly wouldn't be the last. But even if Cassandra could only save a handful more, she knew it would be enough to keep those new, ugly fears from seeping so far into the world as to cross a point of no return.

After all, if she didn't keep her own powers in careful check she would become as great a hypocrite as the Guardians.

"Any rate," Bunnymund grumbled, rudely breaking into Cassandra's thoughts. "Nice work."

"Yeah," Jack butted in with a grin. "Keep it up, and all that good stuff."

Cassandra's lip curled. She made to pull the pegasus' reins so as to turn and fly away from the Guardians, but the Pooka's next words stopped her mid-tug.

"One piece of advice: I know you and Morsoi are gonna be working together from now on—on what, I really don't know and honestly don't wanna know—but you watch yourself around him."

"I've done a fine job of that so far, in case you haven't noticed," Cassandra coolly pointed out.

Rather than accept her words at face-value, though, the Pooka reiterated, "I mean it, kid. I don't trust him any more than I can touch the sun, never have. But the way he's been acting lately just ain't right."

"If you mean what happened with the Bennetts—"

"He's right," Jack interrupted, a concerned frown having replaced his stupid smile. "Be careful, Fisher. Morsoi's up to something, and I don't like it."

"And whatever you do," Bunnymund added, "don't take anything from him, no matter how innocent it appears."

Cassandra opened her mouth to tell the rabbit he was completely and utterly stupid if he thought she didn't know that by now, but the words became stuck in her throat when the full breadth of what he was insinuating struck her unexpectedly.

Instead of uttering a condescending retort, her face twisted into a look of complete disgust.

"You do realize that I'm twelve," she said. "And it's never going to happen." The mere suggestion of such a thing was beyond revolting.

The rabbit spirit looked at her, emerald eyes grave and unblinking. "I once said Jack would never be a Guardian, and that we never should've trusted him." His voice turned grim. "And you need to remember, Fisher: you ain't gonna be twelve forever."

He leapt from the roof, disappearing into the alleys of Burgess. Catching Frost's eye, Cassandra saw the boy-spirit shrug before he dived away on the wind, flying off after his friend.

Once she was alone again, Cassandra found herself suppressing a shudder. How could the Guardians even suggest such a thing? It was absolutely absurd!

Obsidian spoke up suddenly. Do not trust the tainted one.

Do not trust him, Timber reiterated in an uncharacteristically firm tone. With a whicker that sounded almost like a hiss of repugnance, she added, The tainted one is tricky.

Yes, very tricky.

He is certainly cunning, Onyx said, speaking for the first time that night. Her tone was neutral, as it often was, but this time Cassandra knew the mare was forcing herself to remain so. Clearly she had much stronger opinions about the spirit of pestilence and plague than she was willing to let on.

Drawing up the hood of her cloak, Cassandra inquired of her mares, "Are you suggesting the rabbit's warning was necessary?"

Ridiculous! Timber whinnied, the sound carrying on the wind. It seemed the very suggestion that she agreed with a Guardian about anything was deeply insulting.

We only mean it as we said it, Obsidian told her master.

The tricky one is tricky, do not trust!

Ah. So they weren't agreeing with the Pooka, necessarily, just pointing out how untrustworthy Morsoi was.

…as if she didn't know that already.

Deciding to let the pointless conversation die, Cassandra dug into her pocket to switch on her iPod. After stuffing the headphones into her ears, she finally followed through with pulling the pegasus around by the reins and, with a gentle nudge of her heels, spurred them on into the night.

There were still a few hours left before dawn. She figured they might as well take advantage of that.