Epilogue – Twenty-three years later

"I see you've gotten all the green back."

Bunnymund looks up from his painting. Pitch is leaning against a tunnel entrance cast in shadow, looking uncomfortable.

"Right you are, mate," Bunnymund says, casting an appreciative glance over the warren, "Took some time, but it was worth it."

It took more than just 'some time' to coax even the strongest shoots and buds through the salted earth and fill the streams and flowers with colour again. The warren still hasn't fully recovered, but Easter's well on its way to being back on track, even if Bunnymund had to base himself out of North's workshop for the first couple of years.

And hadn't that been a riot of laughs. Bunnymund still shudders to think of it. He's still ridiculously grateful that he hit his usual six-foot-one a decade ago.

No one's seen Pitch properly in all that time either, not as anything other than the instinctive worry of dark places or unknown noises. The voice that whispers of terrors living under the bed to children.

If Bunnymund had the time, he'd consider asking about it, but time's not available right now.

"Park ya arse and grab a brush," Bunnymund directs, turning back to his own painting, "It's two days 'til Easter and there's a coupla thousand eggs still to go."

He keeps an ear on Pitch, just in case. It tells him that Pitch approaches slowly, cautiously. Bunnymund gets through at least a dozen eggs of his own before Pitch picks one up along with a spare brush.

"Black's alright, 'slong as there's another colour with it too," Bunnymund comments, being careful to keep his eyes down. He's biting his tongue to stop himself from saying anything anything that could be taken the wrong way. This is going to be delicate and, despite what certain other Guardians might believe, Bunnymund is pretty good at delicate if he makes the effort – painting eggs requires a light touch after all.

It seems like Pitch is also doing him the same courtesy, since there hasn't been any nasty comments from him so far.

Another dozen eggs make their way through Bunnymund's quick paws before a black and green stripped egg trots into Bunnymund's line of sight. As an artist, Bunnymund can see that the stripes are uneven and the black's smeared into the green in places. As the Easter Bunny on a first-time egg-decorator, it's perfect.

"That's a beaut alright," Bunnymund says, giving the egg a nudge to join the others crowding near the tunnels, "Fancy a go at another?"

He waits for Pitch's anger or betrayal or something. Being the spirit of hope and new beginnings meant that Bunnymund learnt a hard lesson about trust early in his career. The quicker you welcomed people and forgave them for their past mistakes, the quicker they turned on you and used you for their own ends. Only recently, with Jack becoming a decent Guardian and the uprise of Easter, has Bunnymund started to let down some of the barriers he put up to protect his centre.

Along with that, he's been working on seeing the faint signs of hope against the colours that light his world. Bunnymund doesn't think he'll ever manage to tell what's inspiring the hope, like Pitch had suggested, but when he'd talked about it with Jack, the kid had mentioned being able to cause joy with a snowball of white and silver sparkles. Each to their own in the end.

Pitch says nothing, but starts on another egg. There's a silent cheer and sigh of relief from Bunnymund as he picks up another egg of his own.

"You know," Bunnymund starts, sometime later, "Frost's been talking about this Halloween being a big one, it bein' full moon an' all. I usually try and keep an eye on the blighter, make sure he doesn't get up to too much mischief. Might be your scene if you'd like to come with."

"I'm rather busy that night," Pitch replies.

"Shoulda guessed," Bunnymund shrugs, "Well, me and the kid'll be around if you want to say g'day."

Bunnymund knows he's going to regret inviting fear to join fun on Halloween of all nights, but he'll be there for damage control and it's about time Pitch got back in the game without trying to destroy the board.

"I'll see," Pitch says, closing the matter.

The blue spark of hope dances, the brightest it's ever been against the shadows, as Pitch takes an unpainted egg from the clutch and wets his brush with azure pigment.