Solitude and Darkness

Ch. 1.

A/N~ All SaD chapters have now been thoroughly edited and fixed up to look all nice and pretty! Or so I seriously hope. I often miss little errors and mistakes, even when I'm thorough and actively looking for mistakes. So if anyone finds anything wrong, please let me know!

Enjoy!

EDIT. All chapters are now being thoroughly edited by my new Beta, The Fallen Angel of Pain! Thank you so much once more my dear! You're a total life saver~!

All chapters that have been edited and updated with have the customary EDITED stamped on them bellow the Author's Note. Look forward to more in the future, readers!

Genre: Gen, angst, hurt/comfort.

Character(s): Pitch Black, Guardians (all), Mother Nature, other Spirits, OCs (minor)

Pairing(s): N/A

~S~

~s~s~S~s~s~

His head hurt.

No, that was false actually. Everything hurt! Everything, down to his limbs and torso, to his damn fingernails and eyeballs. It all hurt!

'Why exactly does it hurt to begin with?' he wondered.

No sooner did he wonder this than his aching body started to regain its sense of feeling. His nerves slowly woke up, the chill of – was he on the bloody floor? – the stone floor seeping into his pained limbs. Pitch decided to cast off the indignity of his position and let the chilled floor soothe his aches and pains.

But with the sensation of relief also came the awakening of sharp, jagged pains coursing through the slender immortal's body. The once annoying aches steadily grew into mind-splitting pains and burns, all of which were slowly spreading over his body like ivy. There was now no part of his body that didn't hurt, burn, or sting. It was like he was being swarmed by Toothiana's infuriating little fairies that were somehow using dull, jagged weapons on his skin and bones – while they were on fire.

Pitch twitched a finger, and groaned at the grinding of raw bones in his fingers.

But despite the pain, Pitch was more aware of a few more-pressing matters than his own discomfort.

What had happened to him? Why was he on the floor? Why did everything hurt?

'Get up you bloody fool…!' he mentally snarled.

Swallowing his agonized cries, Pitch shakily lifted his arms and planted his palms on the floor. He was somewhat glad he was already laying belly-down. He didn't want to think of the agony he would be in if he was on his back and had to roll over.

Mentally preparing himself, Pitch pushed himself up, uttering a strangled cry of pain. He could literally feel his joints grinding with every inch he lifted himself from the floor. His arms were shaking with the strain, his sternum felt like it was about to crack in two, and his abdomen felt like it was about to split open from the weight of his own organs. He barely managed to sit back on his knees – a very painful position now that he thought about it – and with his throbbing head cradled in his palms, Pitch asked himself again,

What in the unholy hells happened to him?

'Wait…the Nightmares…' a pained frown creased his forehead.

Nightmares…the Guardians! Those wretched, high and mighty, self-righteous, vile worms! All those decades of planning, of scrounging up mere smidges of Sandy's Dreamsand, of living off of nothing but only the most miniscule of fears. All of it, completely thwarted by four stuck-up wretches! And not only had he been defeated by them, with the help of children of all things, but he was also rampaged by his own creations and dragged back into his hole of a lair!

And Frost…that thrice-damned winter sprite. Pitch had underestimated the little upstart. Or perhaps he had underestimated just how deep the Moon's influence ran. And despite his rage, Pitch felt a slight pang for the sprite. He had gotten cocky – or perhaps desperate. Although that was his first mistake, it wasn't his worst. His worst mistake was showing such vulnerability in the Antarctica, and actually expecting some sort of positive result.

Scorn not the Moon, they say, But its stolen light.

Pitch clenched his teeth, his body shuddering. A pause as he took a shuddering breath through his nose. He groaned from the actions. He could literally feel an artery pulsing in his temple against his fingertip. Each pulse sent a new wave of agony through his throbbing body, and the pain wasn't letting up.

Pitch's hand froze as it grazed gingerly over his forehead, feeling something warm and wet against his fingertips.

He had a theory on what he was feeling, but he didn't want to look. His eyeballs were throbbing behind his eyelids; it felt like needles were being pushed into the gold and quicksilver orbs.

But he knew he had to survey his injuries, not to mention see if any of his traitorous Nightmares were nearby. He would have to figure out how to either reclaim control over them and lock them up, or worst case scenario – destroy them. Though he doubted he could accomplish the latter. Prideful as he was, even Pitch knew he wouldn't be able to take them on in his condition.

Slowly, the Nightmare King cracked open his eyes, and his sight was immediately met with inky black darkness.

At first he thought his eyes were still closed, or perhaps they were more damaged than he thought. But he could feel his eyelids fluttering over his eyes, and he was able to make out a few vague shapes in the darkness once his sight adjusted.

A sudden sense of dread crawled up his spine, wracking his broken body with a shudder. His senses were suddenly on high, and a strange sense of confinement, like the room had suddenly gotten smaller. What was this? Why was he getting this odd feeling? Yes, he was likely going to be stuck in his lair for some time now that he was at his lowest point in power – again – but this… he had never felt this before…

"Tch…" Pitch scoffed, and seeing a stalagmite to his left, used the sharp stone to carefully hoist himself up onto shaky legs.

The Boogeyman's knees groaned in protest against the weight, the muscles in his calves and thighs clenching spastically. He internally groaned at the position he found himself in. He never thought he could fall so low. Honestly, it was bad enough being defeated by The Four Halfwits, plus one aggravating winter sprite. But no, he also had to be dragged back into his hole, by his own creations, wake up on the floor, and now find himself clinging for dear life onto a stalagmite.

'Shall I jump off a plateau and impale myself now?' He certainly had enough ledges to choose from.

Tempting as it was though, he knew it would only waste his time. If he could just get to his personal chambers, he could treat his injuries – and hopefully his pride – and spend a few months licking his wounds to regain himself. You can't kill fear, after all; he'd be back on his feet sooner rather than later…

He just had to get into the main part of his lair first. Judging by the gaping black hole above him, he was in the small cavern that led to the connecting tunnel into his Globe Room. The mentioned tunnel, unfortunately, seemed to have caved in, leaving no direct way in or out of the cavern pocket. Though for Pitch, this obviously wasn't a problem. It was dark as his sense of humor in there, after all. He could just travel through his shadows and spontaneously travel to his chambers. And with time, he would regain control of his rogue Nightmares. Though for now, he was going to leave them be.

Let them have their fun. Hell, the more fear they instigate in the world, the sooner he could regain his strength. Let the insufferable Guardians have their victory, let them laugh. They couldn't keep him down forever. As long as there was fear, doubt, and shadows in the world, Pitch wasn't going anywhere.

Releasing a choked chuckle, Pitch let go of the stalagmite and let himself collapse over a shadow…

And promptly met with the solid stone of his floor. Painfully.

The Nightmare King swore loud and long in various languages before painfully scrambling onto his hands and knees. He pushed the loosened hair in his eyes back against his head, and snarled at the floor like it had committed some unjust act against him. Though he had to frown at the strangeness of the situation.

He ran a bony hand over the shadowed floor, a very slight spark of dread crawling into his gut. He shook it off as quickly it had come. No, this wasn't a big deal. He was obviously weak and still a little disoriented. Perhaps his mental command to be taken to his chambers was a too much of a jump for him right now. He'd have to settle for the main cavern of his lair then.

What's one slight fluke?

Pushing himself up onto his feet again, Pitch limped over to one of the uneven walls. He paused in front of it, deciding to be a bit more tactical. He pressed his hands onto the shadowed wall.

Nothing happened.

No cool, comforting shade wrapping around his arms. No gentle tug or pull from the darkness. No beckoning pulse. No eager shadows reaching out for him. Not even a ripple against his fingers!

That tiny seed of fear he had swallowed not even a moment ago seemed to sprout and root itself into the pit of his belly. An unnerved sensation spider-webbed from his stomach up into his chest, which was suddenly feeling tighter. It was getting harder to breathe…

Aghast, Pitch withdrew his hands and held them against his chest, his palms clammy. He bit his lip and swallowed around the lump – when was there a lump? – in his throat. He was completely oblivious of his shaking hands, as well as his ragged breathing.

His teeth dug deeper into his dry lower lip.

Something…something wasn't right. Something was wrong, very wrong.

Out. He needed to get out. There was something wrong, and he wasn't safe here. He had to get out now – right now.

Trying to calm his hyperventilating, Pitch rushed for another wall and slammed his palms against the dark wall, ignoring the sharp sting it brought to his wrists. Nothing happened. The shadows were not yielding to his command.

Pitch fervently tested every single inch of the cavern, touching each shadow to try and gauge a reaction, a sign, anything to prove he was not trapped…!

By the time he had scanned every wall, rock and the floor, Pitch felt the crushing seed of fright starting to grow larger. Its vines, barbed with poisonous thorns, were starting to constrict his heart. He didn't understand why this was happening, he couldn't be that weak. It wasn't possible! Even at his worst, he could still use the shadows and darkness to hide and protect himself. And that foreboding sensation…

'The hole…I can try there.' he thought frantically.

The Boogeyman limped to the hole in the lower part of the ceiling. Panting with anxiety and sheer oppressive doubt flooding his veins like a toxic disease, he reached up to try and grip a rock to haul himself up and-…

Eclipsed eyes grew impossibly wide as they stared up into the hole above them. The once slowly suffocating vines of terror suddenly became a deadly constrictor around his heart.

'No…'

The large, faintly glowing white circle above him was quite possibly the most menacing thing he had ever seen in his existence. The circle was flanked by five shapes, all of which sported different colors; a green triangle, a purple diamond, a red square, a yellow circle, and a blue hexagon. All of them surrounded the familiar 'G' in the circle's center, slanted lines dividing the shapes and connecting to the edges of the sealed hole in a mock impression of a spider web.

The symbol itself would have meant nothing to anyone else. But not to Pitch, not when he could now clearly feel and identify just what that uneasy feeling was.

It was an imprisonment seal.

And there was only one group of spirits who were capable of such a seal, and only one person who could lend such a spell…

'They…they imprisoned me…?' he thought.

The Guardians, the Man in the Moon…they all willingly imprisoned him…? He…he was now a prisoner for wanting to be seen? To be acknowledged? To feel like he actually existed?

'I'm…I'm being punished for wanting to exist…?'

For wanting to protect?

Cold. It was so cold now. There was ice in his veins. The constrictor around his heart suddenly became a venomous serpent. It sunk its fangs into his frantic heart, spilling ice-cold poison into his blood. His nerves were numb, his senses hot. It felt like the floor had suddenly vanished under his feet. Yet at this point, he would have been glad if it had if it meant he could get out…

Pitch never even noticed that he had fallen to his knees, his gaze still locked onto the seal above him. His lips parted and eyes wide, the Boogeyman was completely numb, as if his senses had left his body. He was in a personal limbo of numbing sensations, and deafening silence. He was far past shocked and frightened. No, he was terrified…

You will never be seen again…

Pitch's body jolted and locked into solid granite. He felt his poisoned heart drop into his stomach as he slowly turned his head around. His eyes locked onto the dozens of amber glowing eyes peeking out at him from the darkness.

His breath hitched as manic laughter filled his ears.

Poor, poor Boogeyman…

Such a pathetic creature…

You will never be acknowledged now!

Forever trapped in your own darkness…

No one will ever love you…

The Nightmares and Fearlings emerged from the shadows and surrounded the petrified spirit. Their whispers taunted him with sickening pleasure. Never in his entire existence did Pitch wish so badly that he was actually alone. But no, he was surrounded, there was no escape – he was trapped in a literal lion's den.

His mouth gaped open in a silent scream. A large Fearling loomed over him and caressed his pale cheek.

For who could ever love a monster?

To be continued…

~s~s~S~s~s~

A/N~ Due to popular demand (even by my Beta!) I will be re-installing those little factoids and notes for OCs and small explanations for other small items, below the A/N. All bits marked with a * will have a resulting fact at the end of the chapter! Enjoy, folks! (No little facts for this chapter.)

~S~