Pitch doesn't wake up like people in fairy tales do. His eyes don't flutter open and he's conscious for all the years he's slept.

It takes a few minutes of Jack's careful vigilance to watch his chest stutter with breath, like he's just getting used to the concept. It gets deeper, minutely, before his face starts to show movement: a twitch of his lips, a tiny furrow in his brow.

And then Pitch's eyes shut tighter, Jack finds he's been holding his breath, and they open. They're narrowed, like he's glaring, but Jack is confident it's only the light he needs to get used to, despite the drawn up curtains there was a small lamp in the corner of the room that was lit.

Once Pitch's eyes acclimate, he blinks them a few more times and Jack felt the need to step closer to his bedside, unconsciously taking his lax hand for support (though for Pitch's or his own, he's unsure which).

"Pitch?" Jack was hopeful, but he wasn't certain enough of what could happen. Hell— Pitch could up and attack him right now, and he was rather weak and pathetic sitting around for him to wake up.

Pitch doesn't attack him. His golden eyes slide to lock onto Jack, the fingers in his hand twitch and he squeezes back just a little. Speech is lost for a moment as Pitch works his mouth, probably parched and in desperate need of water.

Jack watches with rapt attention as instead of Pitch answering, he takes the chance to move into a sitting position. Jack helps him, if only not to see him struggling.

Pitch's eyes have black circles underneath despite his near two decade sleep, his face has all the same sharp ridges he's had before: high cheekbones, angular cut jaw, prominent bones. His skin was no longer ashen from the nightmare sand, but it was still deathly looking in its own right, another condition Jack decides to blame on the sleep.

Once Pitch is sat up against the headboard, propped up on the pillows, Jack offers water when he tries to talk again. Pitch holds it up carefully enough, his grip weak even if there wasn't a tremor in his hand.

Jack sat on the edge of his bed, setting the cup down on the nightstand, and watching Pitch's movements carefully.

Pitch seemed to take account of himself; he looked down at his arms, laid precariously on his lap and covered with a red thick woven sweater (courtesy of North. They couldn't just let him stay in that awful robe, now could they?) that was a few sizes too big. The sleeves were rolled up, exposing his long fingers that curved as if trying to remember how they worked. The sweater slid off, revealing sharp shoulders. He looked in between healthy and starved, though that was (maybe) to be expected. Even like that, he looked like he stood a whole head taller than Jack. And Jack had all the patience of a saint, for all the years he's sat at his bedside waiting for this opportune moment.

Then, as if all his thoughts had finally got together, Pitch answers slowly, "yes," in a low tenor voice, filled with power in its own right that seemed completely alien coming from the body of the Pitch they knew before. It was filled with confidence, at least, not riddled with fear or uncertainty or that bone-chilling apathy when he'd first resurfaced.

Pitch looks up at him, finally.

"I am Kozmotis Pitchiner, and you are?"

None of the usual recognition flitted anywhere in his eyes and Jack held his breath. A second later he responds, "Jack Frost."

"Jack Frost," Pitch parrots, like tasting fine, aged wine. "Thank you," He says first, for the water he assumes, and Jack was floored he would even hear that word coming out from his mouth, but he managed to keep his jaw from dropping. "Where am I?"

"You don't… remember?" Jack asks carefully. Pitch shakes his head.

"No. I'm afraid my memories are somewhat muddled." His articulation clear and indicative of a scholar. "The last I remember…" he pauses, trying to think.

The door opens to see an elf opening the door while hanging off the handle. Another elf holding a plate of cookies and making a face at his companion before stalking inside and promptly freezing at seeing Pitch sitting up and staring at him unnervingly. Eyes wide, he drops the cookies and proceeds to grab his friend and pull him out, leaving the door to swing shut.

Pitch blinks, and they look at one another in slight confusion. Though Jack knows in a few seconds— there it was, the thundering pound of North running down the hall. He practically throws the door open and it bounces off the wall, his hand keeping it from slamming back in his face as he yells out, "Jack!"

Pitch seemed alarmed, his eyes widening but that was the only change. Jack looked at North, his face worried and wide eyed, jaw dropped when his eyes fall on Pitch, sitting calmly in bed. North seemed on the verge of collapsing in surprise or jumping to pummel him. He settled, though, in that he straightened his back to make himself taller, the act of enlarging himself to seem more intimidating lost on Pitch.

"Pitch, you're awake." North says after a moment of them scoping each other out. Pitch nods.

"Yes. And you are?"

"That's North." Jack answered for him, Pitch's eyes going back to him. Since his awkwaneing he'd rather have Pitch's eyes on him, if only to quench his anxiety that he really was awake. Pitch nods, looking back to North.

"Pleasure," He says curtly but politely, the slowness of his speech lessening the longer he was awake. "I'm to assume this is your abode?" He pauses, looking down at his sweater. "And clothing?"

North seemed baffled, unsure what to do next. He had been ready for a fight, probably keep Jack from dying. But this… weird, polite, confident speech of his has him stalling.

"Yeah." Jack answers for him yet again, catching Pitch's attention while North got his bearings. "Want to walk around? I'm sure you'd want to stretch your muscles." Pitch seems to think before he acquiesced.

"Yes, you're right." He says, taking a deep breath and stretching out his arms finally, hearing a lovely pop in his shoulders and joints that caused a pleasant, though small, smile to grace his lips. It was as if he was now finally starting to wake, pushing away the blankets to kick his legs out.

When he stands, Jack has to crane his head, as he's taller than that whole head. Standing, he was only a few inches shorter than North, which surprised them both. Jack scrambles off the bed to stand near him, trying to catch his attention.

It works, Pitch looks down and smiles— smiles— and Jack can't help but smile back, stepping up to North and raising a brow. "North." He greets and North lets him move him to the side so that he and Pitch can walk past him.

Pitch curiously studies the carved walls they pass, Jack at his side, a bundle of nerves— anxious and excited. Jack unthinkingly links his arm with Pitch's. Pitch flinches, but it was only because of the cold seeping through the sweater.

"Goodness, you're freezing." He says, startled by the stark contrast of his own heat under the sleeve. Jack's lip curls in a smile.

"Comes with the territory." He says, trying to go for funny.

"Territory?"

"Uhh, yeah. You know, Jack Frost." He raises his free hand, letting cold accumulate in his palm until he's got actual frost covering his hand.

"Ahh," Pitch remarks. "Then I'm guessing North lives in the north?" His lips quirk into a smile. "Very… astute names you have."

"I-I guess?" Jack shrugs a bit, dragging Pitch through the corridors and down the stairs to the workshop.

Pitch watched on in piqued curiosity, sometimes letting his fingers slid along the carved handrails, tap at a flying airplane. Jack could just watch him explode for hours, already enamoured at the miraculous differences.

The elves scattered from their path, the yetis freezing and only going back to what they were doing when Pitch told them, "don't let me keep you from your duties." His inoffensive comment and laid back attitude was not something they were used to.

When they finally reached the main floor, where the giant globe stood, Pitch stopped to inspect it.

"Miraculous.." he mumbles, tilting his head this way and that and taking a circle about the globe in interest. Jack let his arms slide out from his, letting him inspect and circle it in peace.

He had so many questions running through his head: who was he? Where did he come from?

Jack was broken from his thoughts when he heard the flutter of wings, seeing Tooth fly in with a handful of BabyTooth. She was preoccupied until she spotted Jack, who was finally out and about the workshop, and then to Pitch as he rounded back around the globe.

Her eyes widened, feathers standing on end, and then she was darting to him, hand drawn back in a punch before Jack could even tell her stop.

Luckily he didn't need to. Pitch caught her fist easily, his hand dwarfing her own considerably and he looked at her like one would notice a detail not yet seen. He didn't seemed particularly frightened or perturbed about her sudden attack.

"Tooth stop!" Jack scrambles over there and pushes her away before she decided to take another swing. Tooth is glaring, practically, eyes flitting between Jack and Pitch. Her blood boiled at the thought of what else could happen should Pitch be free to do as he pleases and she grits her teeth.

"Quite alright, Jack." Pitch says as he puts a hand on Jack's shoulder, calmly and as if they've been friends for years. "Seems like my presence had caused nothing but disturbances since I've woken up." He makes eye contact with Tooth, and she nearly barrels into him again, only stopped by Jack in the way. He opens his mouth again, only to close it and use the hand that was on Jack to reach behind himself and catch the boomerang that was quickly aimed for him.

Jack's eyes widen as the force of the stop caused some wind. And because, whoa, Pitch was very strong.

And all Jack could think was damn, that was hot.

"Jack, get away from him!" Bunny growls, stepping up by Tooth. Jack wanted to groan in frustration. Pitch huffs a small laugh and Jack turned to him, brow raised.

"See? Disturbances." He says, amused. Jack has to wonder about his nerves, how he could just handle knowing nothing but his past, even if it was shoddy at best.

"Enough!" North bellowed as he came around. He was the only one without raised weapons, the others wound as taut as a bow. "Sorry 'bout this." He says, lowering Bunny's second boomerang. Pitch nods, throwing back the weapon he caught so easily.

"No harm, no foul."

Tooth bristles and North coughs to gain their attention.

"We have much to discuss, Sandy will be here soon, but let's start." He coughs again, lips pursed as if he didn't know where. "You know Jack." Pitch nods, glancing at the boy who came to stand beside him. "I'm North, this is Tooth." He gestures to the very angry looking lady. "And that's Bunny." Bunny glares outright, even as Pitch narrows his eyes back and brings a hand to his chin in thought.

"Pleasure." Pitch says, probably not for the last time. Tooth and Bunny make a look of distaste.

"I wouldn't count on it." She grits out, staying afloat on his wings just in case.

"Right." Pitch only nods. The others were at a standoff, waiting for the pin to drop. Pitch opened his mouth to speak, and promptly closed it when he saw the swirling golden sand. When Sandy jumped from his little airplane, Pitch smiled. "Now there's a familiar face."

Sandy jumped, eyes turning to Pitch and then paused. Jack raised a brow.

"You remember him?"

"How could I not?" Pitch hums. "His Nocturnal Magnificence, Sanderson Mansnoozie, Sandman the First, Lord High Protector of Sleep and Dreams." And then, at the bafflement of everyone in eyesight, he puts a hand at his waist and bows, just enough of an incline to show respect to something with such an outrageous title. He could hear Bunny whisper loudly, "I think we broke him, mate."

Sandy's eyes widen and he has flashes of symbols pop above his head, ones Pitch was very interested in watching. And then he laughed. It was short, genuine, and amused. And Jack had never known anyone to really understand or speak to Sandy beyond a head shake or nod.

"Yes, quite." Pitch responds with an amused look at his huge, rolled up sleeves. He did a twist of his wrist thrice before a wave like motion overcame the fabric as it shrunk to fit him, rolling over his shoulders and down his long body, up until those oversized trousers rested comfortably at his ankle to show his naked feet.

"How… did you do that?" Jack finds himself asking. Pitch smiles, looking more like a knowing smirk.

"Dear Jack, when you've been alive for as long as I have, harnessing magic is child's play." He says, giving himself a once over and decides he looks more presentable before looking back up. "Right, it may be time for a proper introduction. Though it seems I've gotten in a bit of trifle with you all without being conscious. I am," He starts, standing back straight and tall with his hands behind his back at attention. "General Kozmotis Pitchiner, right hand of Tsar and Tsarina Lunanoff's Golden Army."