Disclaimer: Not making any sweet money off of this.

Egypt was, thankfully, very cold at night. At least, in the arid region they had crossed on the way to Philae Island and one of the last temples committed to Isis. Jack had made record time, a strange urgency fueling his actions as the wind blew them across the desert towards the Nile. Of course, Pitch would understand if Jack was preoccupied with thoughts of his mind being, say, brutally crushed, but the sprite didn't seem at all frightened of the dangers of sharing mental space with his partner. Worried, yes, but it wasn't the source of the bubbles of panic that rose and popped uncomfortably between them.

Why would he have wanted them to travel here alone?

Thinking it over on the journey here, Pitch couldn't accept that Jack's intentions were solely to keep from distracting the others from their rescue effort. No one was that soft. And panic wasn't a proportionate response to that, anyway. Especially as they were practically on top of the temple now, alone, as Jack had wanted and thus the feeling should have faded.

The sand-colored stone of the relocated building flickered as Jack touched down, and color washed over the temple as it reacted to the presence of a spirit seeking audience. Harsh white with strong accents of cobalt, green, red, and silver spread over the stone and solidified. The columns within twisted, the impression of petals flowering from the top gaining traction as they bloomed with sudden vigor, a heady scent of tamarisk and sandalwood filling the air as Jack walked into the temple.

"Tekawerahkwa, you were right." Isis was perched regally upon her heavy silver throne, which was in turn held aloft by a stable swirl of water. Lotus petals were braided into her thick hair and the image of colorful wings was emblazoned proudly on the dark skin below her collar bone - the only place left pointedly untouched by the finery that draped her sturdy frame.

Yet it wasn't Isis who held Jack's gaze, nor caused the panic tinged with dread that clawed up the young spirit's throat in a tangible nature even Pitch could feel.

The young woman hovering at Isis's shoulder was simply adorned, her edges fading into the water cradling Isis's throne, and light emanating softly from her fingertips. The gold of sun behind the clouds on her left, and the silver of a misty moon on her right and arrows drawn on the palms of each hand. She was the source of Jack's panic, Pitch was sure. After all, Jack was unable to tear his gaze away.

"A mother always knows." Tekawerahkwa's voice was quiet, but her eyes blazed, similarly fixed on Jack. Despite the venom in her voice at the word mother, she was gifted an imperious nod of agreement from Isis at the statement.

Awkwardly, Jack gripped his staff tightly, keeping it upright but between him and the two women in an unconscious attempt to create a barrier to hide behind. "Hi."

"You're a long way from home," Pitch noted aloud. He hadn't quite meant to, but it appeared Jack wasn't in any kind of state to hold his tongue.

Eyes narrowed on them as Tekawerahkwa gave them a closer look. She clicked her tongue, "You would take another on my lover's winds?"

Though anger twisted Jack's face, it was only a cold fear that prompted him as he argued, "He lets me use them-"

"He forgets his own sons," she shot back, somehow musical in her anger and clenching her hands around the arrows tattooed into her skin, "in favor of an interloper who has never been family-"

"Enough, Tekawerahkwa," Isis laid a hand on the other woman's arm, the gesture gentle though her voice was firm. "You knew he would come. But I know he comes as a supplicant." The American spirit seemed fit to argue further, but Isis's next words stopped her cold, "To me."

Though Tekawerahkwa didn't respond, her gaze cut to Jack expectantly, sharply waiting for him to clarify the situation.

A wavering, deep breath and Jack pushed his focus to Isis with a shaky smile, "You're right. We could really, really use your help."

Isis inclined her head, "It is a queen's duty to serve her people. Am I correct in assuming you require assistance with the second mind in your body?"

"Yeah- I mean, yes." An edge of relief cut through the fear, even as Jack glanced warily at Tekawerahkwa, who made no move to intervene. She was still glaring, but it wasn't the full on attack Jack had anticipated. That was good. The West Wind wouldn't take it well if Jack hurt her - even in self defense. "Please, is there any way to make a new body for- for my friend?"

"For Pitch Black," Isis corrected, refusing to entertain even the notion of deception in her temple. She'd had quite enough of that when her husband and his brother had had their ridiculous spat. "Your lover."

"My-" Jack choked, and Pitch was choking right along with him. Honestly, it was hard to tell which of them had caused the physical response. "We don't- we're not into that kind of-"

She raised an eyebrow. "A disinterest in sex is not an inability to love."

"I won't listen to this," Tekawerahkwa shut her eyes for a moment. Her body dissolved into the water still swirling slowly around Isis's throne, lowering it gently to the ground as she fled.

Isis watched her go, eyes softening for a moment before she lifted her head and regained her tranquil sternness. "Regardless, your… companion is not someone I can help with my own hands." Before the sinking feeling could really register, she continued, "You will have to undertake the trials on your own. I doubt there are a great many who have a deep enough understanding of the Boogeyman to help without losing the desire to do so."

Jack would have liked to defend Pitch against that, but it was more of a fact than an insult. The lack of amusement from the second presence in his head was deafening.

"But you'll help us?" Jack asked, needing the confirmation. "To start the trials or whatever, even if…" He couldn't help glancing down to the ground, where Tekawerahkwa had condensed and vanished less than a minute ago.

"Tekawerahkwa is my friend," Isis replied neutrally, "but you did not intend to harm her. I will help you." She rose to her full, imposing height and walked across the room, the hieroglyphs and murals on the walls coming to life in her wake. For just a moment she loomed ominously over them, "However, take this as word and bond - intentionally or not, you will not hurt her again." The pressure eased back and she regarded them without malice, "Follow me."

With that she turned, the brilliant white cloth she wore flaring like wings and shimmering with a bright, ephemeral rainbow that vanished as soon as it was seen. Breaking from the renewed dread that had gripped him, Jack hastened after her.

"What, exactly, do these trials entail?" Pitch pressed when Jack had caught up, and Isis spared them not a single glance in her march ahead.

"They shape themselves for the one being tested," she answered simply. "I cannot predict what form they will take for you, but they will attempt to test your dedication to the task. The trials will make you confront your…" That pause again, before Isis continued with some distaste at her own self-censoring, "companion in his entirety. Not just the pieces you would prefer to know. You'll build what you need by putting him back together. From the start, Osiris didn't make it easy for me to love him, so by the time we needed them, these trials alone could not sway our resolve. We had… practice, one might say." She came to a stop in an alcove that was further from the entrance than the initial size of the temple would allow and pressed a hand to a rounded sun on the wall, between the snakes rearing on either side of the disk and the wings that flared about them. "For what it's worth, I hope you have a similar bond."

The sun began to glow, a hot yellow haze filling the room.

"Good luck."

She murmured something Pitch could barely hear.

.

Violently, Pitch shook his head. Sand fell away from him, and he felt strange, as if the world were muffled and small. Why couldn't he feel the rest of him? His shadows? His Fearlings?

Wait…

Pitch shook his head again and his eyes widened.

An alarmed chirp like noise escaped him.

"Pitch?" Large, pale hands were passing through his field of vision, before they wrapped gingerly around him and lifted him to meet amused blue eyes, "You're a bird."

There was a strange, angry caw that lingered in the air before Pitch cut himself off with what might have been embarrassment- had he allowed that sort of feeling at all.

Jack was the one with feelings like that.

"You're adorable!" Jack professed, pressing his nose to Pitch's… To Pitch's beak.

This had better not be the end result of the trials, he wanted to snarl, but the words came out instead as another less than threatening squawk.

"Okay, we need to figure out where to go from here," Jack decided, ignoring this development entirely beyond putting Pitch on one shoulder to sulk in silence. "If this is a trial, it's a little confusing so far." He ran his hand along one unmarked wall, "There's no end to this hall. I've been walking for half an hour before I found you."

Seeing as Jack's staff was missing, there was little chance he'd been flying down the long, sandy corridor. Pitch assumed from this deduction that the hallway was not, in fact, endless, as Jack walking around aimlessly wasn't likely to cover near enough ground to make that claim.

His suspicion must have shown somehow in the fluff of his feathers or the tightness of his grip on Jack's shoulder, because the sprite wrinkled his nose at him, "Your faith in my judgement is, as always, appreciated, honey bunch."

Pitch declined to comment, despite the fact that he hadn't much choice in the matter, anyway.

A hand patted down his ruffled feathers and Jack continued walking in silence.

For a time.

"Maybe this is the wrong way," he said abruptly above the soft swish of his bare feet through the sand. "I always seem to go the wrong way."

That was an odd statement. Resignation and a tinge of something harsher had painted his tone, despite the pleasant expression on his face. Pitch eyed his mobile perch contemplatively. Then he pecked his ear.

"Ow!" Jack jumped back, as if this would remove him from the range of the bird on his shoulder, "What was that for?"

Just checking that you're not a shapeshifter or a doppelganger or something, Pitch thought but couldn't say. The sprite seemed uncharacteristically morose.

"You're a jerk," Jack murmured, but kept walking without further comment.

Yes, something was wrong.

Fingers trailed along the stone wall as Jack continued to leave footprints in the sand. Pitch couldn't see anything past the darkness down the hall, and glancing back the other way revealed more of the same.

"Maybe this is the wrong way," Jack repeated, this time looking back the way he'd come, "Maybe I should turn around."

His feet slowed to a stop, still looking behind him.

Fingers white in the gloom, tight against the wall, Jack pointed out, "There's no markings or anything. Who's to say which way is right?"

Pitch fluttered his wings restlessly. If the trial was about resolve, they clearly needed to continue forward. Jack was looking back with a tense longing, now, his body leaning as if to turn around.

Well, there weren't any markings, Jack was right about that, but...

Walking the direction he'd been going had brought Jack to Pitch.

Surely that meant it was the right way?

As soon as the thought registered, Jack frowned, as if in response. "Why would that make it right? Can't you hear the Guardians back there? They could be the right way, too."

What.

Now that Pitch was straining his little avian ears - or ear holes, or however he was taking in auditory stimuli - he could hear the horrid sounds of beating wings and scimitars scraping along the stone, as well as the thump of a Pooka hopping along.

"I don't know why I keep running from them," Jack murmured. "I can't take you with me if I go that way, though, can I? Why is it there's a way I can go where you won't go with me?" He deflated visibly, but he had turned while he was speaking. He was facing the other way, now, even if he hadn't started to walk. "I'd go anywhere with you, but you…?"

Jack, Pitch's wings fluttered helplessly before he forced himself to still.

His heart was beating too hard against a fragile rib cage. This was an unmitigated disaster. What was this? Jack had already chosen him!

...Hadn't he?

No, he had. Pitch had had more than enough heart to heart discussions with the sprite on the issue. He was sure.

Yet… Jack was still looking back the way he came.

"You'd hate this, right?" The question came in a whisper, and Jack hadn't moved to check Pitch's response. "If I ever wanted… to walk this way. You would hate me. You wouldn't go with me. I'm surprised you haven't left already."

Honestly, Pitch's temper was getting up there with his fear, so he rather wanted to snap back that he couldn't believe he hadn't left, either. He couldn't say it, and a part of him was still biting mad about it, but with a wash of shame, he realized he would have regretted it the moment it left his mouth.

Jack hadn't started walking, even if he kept talking about it.

Because he didn't want to go without Pitch.

What was this?

This didn't make sense. Jack had chosen Pitch. Why repeat a trial he'd already overcome? Furthermore, what piece of Pitch was this supposed to make Jack confront?

Unless this wasn't meant to be Jack confronting Pitch.

Unless Pitch was the target here.

"I liked the Guardians," Jack was saying, "before I messed everything up there, too. Just like I do with everyone. Like I did with Tekawerahkwa and the West Wind."

Well. That was a piece of Jack Pitch didn't yet know. He'd been curious, but there had been no time to ask about it.

"They had twins together, long before I existed, and they always, always fought." Jack continued, still staring back into the darkness, "The twins loved each other, yeah, but they just couldn't get along. Eventually, the West Wind couldn't stand the fighting, and decided to find a way to get the two to make up. To give them a common purpose. So he plucked me off the ground when I was young and alone, and brought me to them, told them I was supposed to be their younger brother, and that they needed to teach and protect me. For a little while, they did. But even though I wanted a family more than anything, I couldn't stay still. I couldn't keep following rules and doing what they told me without acting out and playing pranks or running off to the nearest town to cause trouble. Tawiskaron and Okwiraseh started to get sick of it. Okwiraseh just looked disappointed at me, really hard, but Tawiskaron decided to teach me a lesson."

For the first time in a while, Jack turned to look at Pitch.

"He told me he was going to teach me to fish, and brought me deep into a cave, where there was a deep lake. He showed me how to make the rod and told me I had to stay perfectly still for an hour, knowing I could barely stay in one spot for ten minutes. I did try. I did. And the moment I moved, he pushed me in. Okwiraseh found me eventually and broke the ice to get me out, but he was angrier with Tawiskaron for going against what he'd decided than for hurting me. They fought, and it was over disagreements in how to do their duty, how to teach me as the West Wind instructed. And Okwiraseh ended up going dormant when Tawiskaron went too far in his anger. It had been barely a month, and somehow I'd made the situation a thousand times worse." Jack's voice had dropped to a harsh low, "The West Wind picked me up and took me away before Tawiskaron could kill me for it." Even if it would lead to dormancy, the phrase still fit.

There was a moment of dead silence. Pitch hadn't known Jack had had any meaningful interaction with other spirits before the Guardians and Pitch. It explained why Jack was allowed to call on the winds, though. The West Wind probably felt the whole nasty situation had been his fault. Rightly, too, or so Pitch believed.

"That was the first family I ruined," Jack concluded, "And then I had to set my eyes on the Guardians. But they… survived me. And even after I had done my worst, they asked me back. I threw it back in their face and moved on to you." Pitch shifted uncomfortably when the temperature dropped a few degrees. "I haven't ruined you yet, have I? But if I wanted to fix things with the Guardians… You'd leave. It'd be ruined. You'd leave so easily."

At this, Jack's knees seemed to give out as he sank to the sandy floor, causing Pitch to flap wildly to maintain his balance.

"Why not just leave now?" Jack gripped his knees, torso rocking forward slightly as if in pain, "Just go. You don't want to go this way with me."

He didn't.

He didn't want to go that way, not with the potential of the trials in the other direction and the Guardians or their stand-ins coming up behind.

But if Jack did turn around, start walking… Would Pitch let him go alone?

No. Definitely not. Even if Pitch was just running after him to take him back he wouldn't have been able to walk away. Not anymore.

If only he could just say it!

Maybe not in those exact words, but Jack looked miserable and he didn't know how to get the message across without… Without just…

Ugh, he was going to hold this over Jack's head for the rest of eternity.

Pitch fluttered down from Jack's shoulder and took a few, awkward hops back the way they'd come, pausing to look at Jack in a hopefully meaningful manner.

"...Pitch?" There was a hitch in Jack's breath that he evened out with a deliberate swallow. "Are you- would you go with me?"

He really didn't know how to make it any clearer.

A smile broke across Jack's face like a sunrise and the rest of Pitch's snarky thoughts fled.

He reached out, about to say something, but Pitch didn't hear it. A golden glow had flared, edging out the scene and replacing it with a haze he recognized.

Had that been the first trial?

...Pitch was the target. He was the one who needed to go through these trials. What was it Isis had said? You'll build what you need by putting him back together. Of course it couldn't be simple.

Now it wasn't just the chance of Pitch gaining a body at risk. If he understood correctly, Jack had had the pieces of him Pitch didn't want to know about strewn through these trials.

What a lovely process. Why couldn't this be a calm jigsaw puzzle situation where they played Frankenstein and magicked up a shell for Pitch to use?

The gold faded, and Pitch found himself perched on a set of swings in a snow-covered abandoned playground. Brilliant. He was still a bird. The swingset shifted beneath him, and he saw Jack was blankly swinging beneath him.

He clumsily glided to the ground. It was easier to fly as a shadow than with feathered, solid wings. And he had never done it with his main body before.

After a less than graceful crash landing, Pitch righted himself and turned to Jack with a peep. A peep. Pitch would have strangled whoever decided he needed to be a small bird if he had hands.

"Oh," Jack came to a halt, his hands tight on the rope of the swing, "It's you." The tone was not promising, but Pitch wasn't sure what he'd expected. This was supposed to be challenging, right?

A roll of the eyes, and Jack scoffed, "So you're finally here. Took your sweet time about it, didn't you?" He leapt lightly from the swing and walked across the snow without leaving a mark. "Do you see anything wrong with this picture, Pitch?" Hopping up onto the seesaw and sliding easily down to the other side, a trail of ice manifested behind him and Jack smiled tightly. "Anything that… I don't know, should have been here?" He kept moving, forcing Pitch to hop about to keep him in view. Jack swung himself up weightlessly onto the monkey bars, flipping lazily, slowly across them and back down to the ground, thick icicles left in his wake. He dusted off his palms, as if congratulating himself on a job well done. Without looking away from his work, he addressed Pitch sharply, "So where were you?"

With you, Pitch wanted to mock dryly. I didn't know you'd miss me so greatly that seconds apart could ruin your mood so, schnookums. Instead he hopped a bit closer, hoping to get Jack to reveal what exactly the trial was, here. What it was that Pitch was meant to confront.

"There's supposed to be people here," Jack put his hands in his hoodie pockets, abruptly changing track. "See?" A sharp nod at something behind Pitch preceded a gentle rumbling. He turned just in time. People made of ice were pulling themselves out of the ground. Some of them he didn't recognize, but there was Tekawerahkwa, and two young men who resembled her. The Guardians. Their own little group - Akela, Eros, Groundhog, Mstislava… They made it out of the snow and froze in place. It was honestly a tad disturbing.

"But why now? What gives you all the right?" Jack swung an arm and one of the ice people shattered explosively. "Where do you get off ignoring me for centuries only to turn around and act like- like-" An inarticulate noise and another statue exploded. "I was alone!" Tekawerahkwa was the next victim. "None of you cared!" Well, Pitch wasn't too broken up at seeing Bunnymund's likeness violently destroyed. "I hate you!" Several statues exploded at once, including Sandy, the twin boys, and a few random strangers. Then suddenly Jack was in front of him, and he pointed accusatorily at Pitch.

"Where were you?" he repeated venomously. "You erased me from your memory! You could have found me the moment I formed!" Statues were still shattering behind him, the large shards now flying by dangerously close. "But no, you were too weak to deal with even a second of feeling like I did. Alone."

Form defensively crouched close to the ground, Pitch watched Jack rant with wide eyes, flinching each time another chunk of ice had a near miss. If he'd been anything other than a small, fragile bird, he might have shouted back. He'd spent 500 years looking for him - or didn't that matter? That wasn't exactly a second of feeling alone.

Hmm, perhaps it was better he hadn't said that aloud. Couldn't say anything aloud. As it was, he was a little at a loss.

Jack had hidden this resentment. Maybe he'd been trying to move past it.

What was Pitch meant to do here? Especially when he still couldn't speak?

It was a trial. Last time, he'd passed by, basically, doing what Jack had asked. Or heavily implied, anyway. This time… he couldn't go back and be there when he hadn't been. It was ever so slightly impossible, given that they'd promised Father Time never to meddle with his domain again.

And Pitch was still trapped in what was probably some sort of pocket dimension, given his total inability to sense anything going on in the real world. So it wasn't a given that time worked on the same track here as it did there. Going back might not even land them where they wanted to be.

Not that Pitch was seriously entertaining ideas of finding Jack in the past just so the spirit wouldn't have to be lonely.

He wasn't.

That was not in the cards.

Sure, he didn't like the way his stomach went a little funny as Jack shouted out his hurt. It didn't mean he was willing to break a treaty that preserved both of their safety, of course not.

He tried not to linger on the way his thoughts were sounding more and more like he was trying to convince himself rather than stating facts.

The last ice person shattered into pieces and Jack had his feet spread for balance, panting with unspent fury, but no longer shouting. Not speaking at all, really.

Ice began to creep up Jack's legs.

"Why did I have to be alone?" His voice cracked a little, but it was at a normal volume. "Where were you?"

The ice was gaining speed, reaching up to Jack's knees and past. It didn't seem like a good thing. His fingertips, too, were soon coated, and the ice all rushed inward. Towards his heart.

Alright, never let it be said Pitch couldn't take a hint.

He hopped onto Jack's shoe, despite the spirit glaring at him like he was something to be scraped off the bottom of it. Slowly, he made his way up Jack's leg, using beak and feet to dig into the ice in a struggle that reminded him ominously of Mount Olympus. Still, he persevered, feeling his feet grow cold and numb as he laboriously climbed up to Jack's chest, clinging to his hoodie with small talons and flapping rapidly to get his balance in check before Jack fully stilled, not even breathing.

"Where were you?" Jack gritted out again, somehow accomplishing this feat without taking a single breath more.

Well. It was time to communicate. Pitch ducked his head and pressed it above Jack's heart, huddling his whole body close to that cold chest as if sharing what little warmth he had. There were things he wanted to say, things that might have been more compelling.

I'm here now.

I won't leave you alone again.

I wish I could fix it.

But he was a bird for the time being and talking was not in his wheelhouse.

There was some good to be had in it, since at least he wouldn't compulsively add something like, don't get used to it. And it meant he hadn't been able to say anything when Jack had first started going off on him. Pitch's base instinct was still to cut first, after all.

Yes, there was an upside to being mute.

Jack closed cold hands around him, a little too harshly, and Pitch fought back the flinch.

He usually barely felt Jack's temperature. Pitch was mostly lacking in body heat, himself, so a step down on the scale didn't make much difference.

Now the cold was cutting. Intense. It sliced through to his bones and made his small body quiver, then shake. Convulsions growing in violence until all he could think about was how it hurt.

How it scared him.

A heart in his chest was slowing, despite how the adrenaline in his veins should have it race. Oh, this little spirit quest was going to kill him.

He was going to die here.

Jack couldn't know what he was doing- Pitch had to get it across to him - make him let go!

Seized with newfound will to live, Pitch struggled, beating his wings and pecking fingers and fighting to escape.

"Oh." Jack's hands tightened momentarily. "You want to leave, too." Then the grip loosened, and Jack's fingers spread beneath him, holding him aloft and allowing the warmth of the wind to reach him. The winter sprite's expression was blank, but his jaw was set as he instructed, "Go."

He'd passed the last trial by doing what Jack had wanted.

Still, Pitch hesitated on the edge of Jack's freezing hands, ice pricking his feet as if trying to drive him away.

This wasn't what Jack wanted.

It was obvious, right?

Even if he was still staring Pitch down with a dark expression that, honestly, didn't suit him at all.

He looked ridiculous and they were both being ridiculous.

Pitch turned around and pointedly settled down in Jack's hands.

The cold immediately spiked back up to painful levels, but he was determined to sit it out. He was…

Determined to…

He was going to freeze to death and that was that. End of story. Pitch Black signing off.

Pitch had always been a little different from other spirits - he wouldn't be surprised if he didn't get the benefit of dormancy instead of fading on the spot.

But he…

He wasn't going to leave Jack alone again.

"Okay," Jack said softly, bringing his hands back down in front of his chest.

The last thing Pitch saw was the ice retreating as gold poured over the scene.

As he came to, it was clear he was on the right track as he had leveled up. No longer a small slip of an avian creature, Pitch stretched his long, tapered wings thoughtfully. He was some kind of predatory bird, now, he was sure. And Jack was nowhere in sight. Brilliant. Given his new form, it only made sense to take flight, gliding in half circles over unfamiliar, icy terrain in search of the younger spirit.

It felt much more comfortable than the horrible, 'cute' fluffball of feather he'd been trapped in for the last few… Hours?

Time was probably passing, but it didn't feel right.

It had certainly been long enough for him to feel… hungry. Which he had only felt by extension through his possessed minions before. The sudden appearance of this new sensation was disconcerting, to say the least. Could something be going wrong with the trials?

Then again, he was a bird.

A glimpse of brown caught his attention and a rabbit darted by, yards below him. Pensively, Pitch flexed his talons. He was a bird. Birds had needs. And it looked kind of like Bunnymund.

He dove.

Seconds before he could bind to his prey, a blast of ice separated them, sending Pitch spinning wildly on the sudden change in air currents. With a cry of frustration, he flapped back up into the sky, searching for Jack.

Who else could it be?

There- movement!

But not Jack. Some other manner of rodent.

He couldn't see Jack anywhere and this form was exceptionally gifted in regards to sight.

Pitch's stomach grumbled and he dove again, wanting to stop the strange, gnawing ache in his gut before he spent another fruitless period searching the white and grey plains for his similarly white and grey companion.

He was stymied, again.

By Jack, again.

And still he was nowhere to be seen.

Another piercing cry, but Jack didn't reveal himself. He seemed more focused on saving the helpless woodland animals from the circle of life than on helping Pitch to figure out this latest trial. Honestly, that was just like him. For a moment, Pitch wondered if the trials had lost their hold on the sprite.

But Jack would have shown himself by now, wouldn't he?

He would have groaned, if he could. Why were these trials intent on making him question points Jack had driven home repeatedly? Of course Jack wouldn't hide from Pitch.

Another blast of ice, another rodent saved.

Unless he thought it was funny, Pitch amended grumpily.

For a seemingly interminable amount of time, the pattern continued.

Hunger gnawed, Pitch dove, Jack interfered.
Again and again.

Finally, Pitch had had enough. He knew what was coming, and he would simply avoid it. At this point, he had sufficient practice with this form to execute the maneuver, and he merely had to do it.

Pitch dove, and at the last instant snapped his wings wide, pulling up and missing the flash ice before continuing his aborted dive and finally snatching up what appeared to be a ferret of some sort.

"No!" Jack cried, melting out of the scenery and running over to Pitch and his catch. He fell on his knees beside them, repeating more softly, "No."

At least Jack had seen fit to show up, now that Pitch had reduced the strange land's vermin population by one. It was just an animal. Barely even worthy of the time it took to kill it.

In spite of the aching cramps of his stomach, however, he didn't fight when Jack slid the creature out from under his talons, holding the limp being in his hands.

Maybe seeing it up close would help convince Jack that it wasn't all that important, after all. Maybe that was the trial, this time.

He had helped Jack overcome doubt and loneliness so far. Now what- regret?

Though, Isis had phrased it a little differently when they went in.

"I hate you," Jack said, quietly, and the words took Pitch aback. It was just an animal! Just-

A child lay sprawled across the ground, half in Jack's lap and deathly still.

And Pitch was, abruptly, hearing his own voice exit what was still definitely a beak, "Jack, you don't mean that."

"Of course I do!" The sprite met his gaze with blazing blue, fury and tears mingling. "You're a killer! How many have you killed, Pitch? You said you've snuffed out star systems - destroyed worlds of people!"

"I'm- this is what I am!" He flapped agitatedly, stopping before he could overbalance, "Fear is- it's predatory and cruel, and people can go mad. I can't help that! I can't just curl my hands into myself and- and do nothing! Be nothing!" As he spoke, he felt his tone settle into an angry certainty, resolve firming as the words felt right. "I can't do anything else!"

"You could protect!" Jack shouted back, bringing Pitch's newfound resolve crashing to the ground like so much glass. The following silence rang with the accusation, and Jack spat, "You told me yourself. Showed me. Fear can save, too. You had a choice. The whole time."

"They wouldn't- they wouldn't accept me. They pushed me into corners and closets - under beds! No one listens to fear unless it takes them over!" Pitch's chest heaved and his feathers puffed in the stinging breeze, "I had to get stronger! I-"

Abruptly, Pitch stopped.

Was that all he'd been trying to do?

When he'd first started out… He could barely remember. Time and Sanderson had stolen much from him. As he'd grasped desperately for power, he'd always wanted to be believed in, yes, but he'd begun to revel in the power, itself.

Until Earth had ripped it from his hands and a haze had lifted. One he hadn't noticed before it had dissipated like fog under the noonday sun. Under the weight of Jack's existence, really.

Pitch had argued with Jack over possession because he had always thought he needed it. Needed the original Fearlings and Nightmare Men, and so he'd wanted badly to get those abilities… that power back.

Something had changed.

"I've changed," Pitch said aloud, slowly. "I don't want to do that anymore."

"You can't take it back," Jack gripped the child closer to his chest, their indeterminate features blurring further as more of the face was hidden. "You've still done terrible things, and I've ignored them." He ran a hand over the child's hair, "I'm a monster, too."

"No, Jack. You didn't ignore them." Pitch hopped awkwardly forward - despite the larger form, he was still not made for walking. He peered up into Jack's eyes, "You forgave them." After a second's thought, he added offhandedly, "I hope."

It surprised a snort from the younger spirit, which could only be a step in the right direction.

"You're- you changed me. Even when I couldn't remember you, you still…" It was hard to swallow. Pitch had been himself for so long, and Jack had bumbled in and just… Ruined him. Now Pitch was sentimental, and careful, and he had to keep talking about feelings he was forced to actually acknowledge as his own.

He still wanted to be believed in.

He still didn't care about the inhabitants of this planet.

But maybe he didn't need to hurt them.

He didn't really want to, anymore.

Maybe it was better.

Ah, that was what Isis had said when they started the trials. Not that Pitch would overcome - but that he would need to accept.

"You're needy and morally uptight and probably codependent," Pitch said aloud, drawing an offended look. "You drive me actually insane when you carry my Fearlings around, and I want it to continue. I will… accept whatever terms you need it to come on."

"Are you proposing to me?" A glimmer of familiar mischief had sparked to life in Jack's eye, and the child had somehow disappeared.

"Sure," Pitch agreed, unwilling to quibble about semantics and hoping this would be enough to end the trial.

"No more killing," Jack put forth, "ever again."

A sniff, somehow, despite Pitch's distinct lack of a nose, preceded his acceptance, "I'm more than intelligent enough to work with that."

"Alright," Jack nodded, half a smile growing on his face. "And no possession?"

"No… permanent possession?" Pitch tried, but the sudden tightness to Jack's smile made him backtrack, "No possession. Though I can't help if people give themselves over to fear without my interference."

Jack shrugged, "I understand."

At that, Pitch knew the trial had to be streamlining this. Given free rein, Jack would have at least shot a glare his direction. He almost missed it.

But he could just get the whole conversation over with now, without all the hassle, so that was a plus, wasn't it?

And it wasn't like they hadn't talked about… part of this before.

"If you can follow through with that," Jack was saying, "I'll stay with you."

Pitch felt a slight sinking in his gut as he realized this was, in a way, taking advantage of Jack's state. He should stop.

But it was so much easier.

Of course, he'd nearly died in the last test, but it had still been easier than a real fight with Jack.

Somehow, those hurt more.

Besides, he had to keep going to pass the trials, right? And it wasn't just selfish- sure, Pitch needed a body, but Jack was possibly in actual pieces.

Isis had said-

The last words she'd murmured finally came back to him.

Jack will be fine.

Dual feelings of regret and relief battled in his chest like a storm front.

Only Pitch was on the line, here.

He looked up at Jack, who smiled at him, "Well, that's that, isn't it?" He held out an arm, "Hop on. I have a feeling the trials are over."

Pitch took a half step back, "I think you would hate me."

"What? Don't be silly, Pitch." Jack gestured at his arm, "Let's go. Your body awaits."

"This isn't you, right now, not really," Pitch explained awkwardly. "You're being influenced. You can't agree to anything. Not yet."

"Pitch, just come with me, and the agreement will be sealed. Argument over. Trial complete." Jack shot back with some impatience peeking through at the edges. "It's that simple. You'll get a body and I'll be at your side."

Pitch had a sinking feeling he knew what he needed to accept here. Even if, ironically, it might lead to him failing the trial. The test was for him to accept Jack's morality, his conditions, but in practice, he had to accept something else.

Jack had a choice. He would always have a choice. And it might be to leave.

He couldn't force Jack into a promise like this- could he?

"No, I can't," Pitch shook his head, answering himself aloud. "We'll have to find another way."

Jack crouched down, anger diminished as he balanced on the tips of his toes with a sudden curiosity, "You're saying you want to fight again, with me - the real me, even if it's not guaranteed to turn out your way?"

"Well, when you put it like that," Pitch said wryly, "it doesn't sound so appealing." Bright blue eyes stared at him silently, and Pitch admitted, "Yes. I guess I do."

A smile spread over Jack's face and he tapped the top of Pitch's head.

"That'll do."

Golden light suffused the scene.

.

Pain.

"That's him, right?" The voice was dim, muffled, but clear in its urgency. "What's happening to him?"

"Did you think growing an entire corporeal shell was a painless experience?" A female voice answered with an edge of amusement.

Tingling, spiking pain arced through Pitch in waves. The air itself hurt.

When Jack spoke again, his voice sounded amplified, sending another spike of pain through his- his head.

Ignoring whatever they were saying took some doing, but Pitch was able to slowly take in the influx of sensation after being nearly blind and deaf in the trials for who knew how long. It wasn't just his Fearlings, though.

Pitch twitched fingers and toes and ran his hands over his face.

It was different.

Sharper.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows as the pain began to ebb, throbbing on the edge of his perception as he pushed it aside.

"Pitch!" Jack was hovering at his side, having crossed the room in little more than a second at his movement, "Take it easy!"

"What do I look like?" Pitch croaked, and Jack hesitated. Shaking off Jack's help, he was suddenly gripped by the urgent need to see himself. He stood, and noted that Jack just came up to his ribcage now, feeling a strange lump in his throat at towering so far above his companion before he turned his attention to Isis. "Is there…?"

Seemingly plucking the thought from his head, Isis nodded understandingly, and unhooked a belt of metal disks polished to perfection. She handed him the item, meeting his gaze for a moment before releasing it and stepping back.

He held up one of the disks and froze.

Inhuman.

He'd never looked quite like other spirits - many of them held humanoid forms of their own, closely resembling the species that believed in them, or else the creatures they were meant to echo. He was a shapeshifter, in a sense. Black tar and shadow. Yet, this form was meant to be his, alone. Not a borrowed body, not a convenient shape.

And it was cruel.

Tapered fingers and claws, teeth sharp beyond a doubt, features sharp and… off. Inhuman.

He kept repeating it in his head.

Jack could pass for a teenager on the street.

Pitch had never looked more like a monster.

There were echoes of the body he'd stolen for so long, his coloring the same and his features following the template as if they desperately wanted to blend in, but didn't know how to hide his true nature.

He had accepted Jack, fully. And he'd thought Jack could do the same for him.

But that was when he had promised to stop. To be better.

And his form betrayed him.

Pitch closed his eyes.

"It's not that bad," Jack started with a hint of an uncertain tease. "You're very tall. You can talk down to North, now. Literally."

Despite himself, Pitch felt a smirk curl the edges of his lips.

"Ah, right there!" Jack's hands slipped up onto his cheeks, "See, that looks just like you. Besides, I guess we couldn't expect you to come out looking exactly like you did, I mean, it wasn't even your body. And it's not super different! Your nose is still atrocious." A thumb slid across his cheekbone. "You're still you."

Was that what Jack was worried about? Not how this made his attempts seem like lies?

"I was always going to be me."

"Well, I mean," Jack stumbled over the words, not releasing his hold on Pitch's face, "I know it might be weird looking in the mirror and thinking that you're not seeing yourself, but it's- uh… This is probably more you, anyway. Not that you weren't you before-"

Jack trailed off as Pitch began to laugh.

"You're not wrong," he said, drawing Jack into a hug that the winter sprite gratefully returned, glad to stop talking. "If that's what you're thinking, then I'm alright."

"Oh, good," Jack murmured, voice muffled in Pitch's chest. He nestled in closer, "That was intense."

The hug didn't seem likely to end any time soon.

Silently, Pitch handed Isis her belt over Jack's head and tried to convey his gratitude. She nodded with a bittersweet gleam in her eye, vanishing in a flash of golden light and leaving her temple colorless.

"...You know we have to leave eventually."

A cold hand whumped his side painlessly, "Don't be a prick."