A/N I don't really know what this is. But it was fun to write.

Jack has PTSD and Pitch takes an interest in him long before the guardians ever do.

If Things Were Different

His hair fluttered softly as the wind blew around him. His eyes were closed and he raised his face upwards, welcoming the gentle breeze.

It was twilight. The sound of running cars was an unlikely occurrence. There were no people here and most of the animals had long since retired to their beds, their songs and lives ceasing as the day came to its close.

The world was his.

He ruled the night – like the skies, it had become his plaything over the centuries. The weather was his to command on whatever whim he decided to indulge that day and no one in their right mind would ever try to cross him.

Freedom. It was a gift he had learned to treasure and not one he was ever willing to lose – and he'd made sure that everyone else was well aware of how highly he valued his new freedom. He would never allow anyone to take it from him. Never again would he let his life – his every action – be ruled by the sadistic desires of another.

The hand not wrapped around his staff tightened minutely at his side and for a small moment he brought it up to softly brush the old scars that were visible on his opposite arm. Phantom pains flashed for the briefest instance across his mind.

He was a loner – an outcast among an already small community. But he preferred it that way. The others saw him as an unruly season, something that needed to be disciplined and tamed. They simply wanted to control him, to use him, and keep him under surveillance.

But they valued their lives… and so they all eventually learned to leave him alone.

"Jack Frost." All but one.

"Pitch." Jack greeted simply, his face still turned into the wind. The dark spirit was the only one among their kind he would dare to call a friend. They were each solitary beings – Pitch was sly like a fox. Manipulative. Powerful. Dangerous.

And despite his past experiences, Jack was completely at ease in his presence.

Their relationship was based on respect. They both understood what it was like to be alone – to truly be alone – and that in itself was enough. They didn't question each other's motives – they took each other at face value and no questions were asked.

He liked that.

Pitch understood what pain – what real, torturous, agonizing pain was. He understood what it did to people, how it could change someone so completely.

He understood that there were things that couldn't be fixed.

There was no pressure. No oppressive feelings of being supervised – of being observed by an opposite party that was simply waiting for him to burst his top so they could deal with the problem and be on their way.

Their relationship was friendly. And so Jack let him stay.

"Scaring children?" He asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Of course." Was the cool response. "Not here, obviously. But I find extreme pleasure in keeping people awake at night. If I can't sleep, neither shall they."

He opened his eyes to give Pitch a sideways glance. He was more of a shadow with form, not quiet tangible yet. "The children who believe in you or their parents who tell them you're not real?"

The nightmare king simply shrugged, his arms folding behind him. "Why can't it be both."

Jack hummed slightly in response. He didn't care that much about humans anymore, except as a form of temporary, fleeting entertainment. They neither saw nor heard him – never had and never would. They were a source of pain if they walked through him and so he now tended to avoid them more often than not. But Pitch relied on them as a power source so he supposed he understood the interest the older spirit had in them.

"You're far from nowhere." Pitch commented quietly.

Nowhere was an interesting thing to call a national park. Here, in a place where man did not try to dominate nature and build cities with towers and buildings that reached the sky, the world was at its rawest and most natural form.

"I like the view." He replied easily. "You can't see things like this anywhere else."

Darkness could provide its own kind of beautiful. The stars at night were exceptionally gorgeous and the mystery of the universe made him feel as though nothing mattered at all. In some ways, they provided an escape from the now.

Pitch glanced upwards, solidifying himself as he observed the view with quiet thoughtfulness. The older spirit seemed to be content – and as far as Jack knew, he enjoyed the company that they offered each other. But he wasn't naïve. As friendly and uncomplicated as their relationship was, Jack was aware that some of Pitch's interest was fueled by the streak of darkness he felt that Jack had inside him.

It wasn't even a secret between them. Pitch had admitted it freely on one of the earlier meetings they had between them, when Jack had aggressively demanded to know why he kept coming around.

You'll do whatever it takes to survive – you don't mind getting your hands dirty. Not like they do. He'd said passionately. Whatever you were before… it's not who you are now. You don't have to play by anyone's rules except your own – there is light inside you, yes. But there is darkness also – and you aren't so single-minded as to be held captive to either one.

It was an attractive idea to not be held to any one standard. For there to be no guidelines to follow or rules to obey. It was… liberating to be in control.

Jack wasn't going to tell Pitch that. But he also suspected that he didn't have.

"How did you find me out here?" He asked after several minutes of silent contemplation.

Out of nowhere it seemed, a hand closed itself around his staff, the section it gripped dimming with shadows. Pitch's eyes glinted intently in the moonlight, ignoring or perhaps not noticing the way Jack stiffened minutely.

"I've become rather good at sensing your presence and your magic acts like a beacon out here. I couldn't help but notice as I was passing by." Pitch replied smoothly, letting go and allowing what little light there was to return.

Jack thought about that for a moment, glancing down briefly at his staff that glowed softly, illuminating the dirt and grass beneath him. "I guess I hadn't thought about that." He admitted, relaxing. "But I think I'll be alright. No one bothers me anymore."

Pitch smirked an unkind smile. "They wouldn't, would they?"

Jack didn't want company. He used to want it – had needed it desperately and was refused so many times for even the most basic form of acknowledgement. And he never truly understood why.

He didn't want it now. It was in large part because he was angry – so very angry at everyone who had ever rejected him and at those who had dared to harm him in ways that he couldn't recover from. But Jack wasn't above admitting that he was also afraid.

His list of social shortcomings had been impressive before but after everything that had happened, it had only expanded and where he once thrived on attention for however short the time, he now recoiled at the very idea. His first instinct wasn't to investigate potential company anymore. It was to make everyone leave and ensure that they never, ever came back. Conversation with anyone other than Pitch was a foreign concept to him – and he only learned to speak to and eventually tolerate him because the bastard always returned no matter what Jack did.

"Well, no one except you." Jack amended.

Pitch only smiled in wry amusement. But just a few seconds later, his smile vanished and his body language shifted into something more guarded. The change was small but noticeable enough that Jack felt somewhat wary. "You should know that that might change very soon." Pitch said carefully. His shrewd yellow eyes watched him intently, observing his reaction.

Jack stiffened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"There is a storm coming – a battle that has the potential to change things around here."

"I don't see why that would bring anyone to me."

The darker spirit shrugged. "You're dangerous. Neutral parties can swing either way and others will either want to try and recruit you to their side or ensure that you stay out of the game. In your case, there's really only one available option."

"I don't want trouble." Jack said coldly, even as a familiar, heavy feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. The quiet surroundings he'd enjoyed all evening suddenly seemed oppressive and dangerous – and he could imagine the unseen eyes boring into him as they waited for his moment of weakness so they could drag him back….

Screaming. The scent of burning flesh. Wailing and crying and begging for an end to it all. Pain… oh god, the pain….

Pitch pursed his lips. "Sometimes you don't get to choose." He said quietly, breaking the dangerous train of thought that he'd so quickly fallen back into.

Jack shook his head and released a deep, controlled breath, throwing those horrid thoughts to the back of his mind. "No one tells me what to do." He said shortly.

Pitch raised his hands. "No need to get tense. I was merely passing along the information." The older spirit said simply. He began to fade somewhat and Jack sensed that their conversation was coming to an end. "I would hate to see you put away again simply so others could feel in control."

His breath hitched slightly.

No… never again. I am in control! I AM in control!

Jack hid the sudden tremble in his hands by gripping his staff tighter. "What's this fight about?" He demanded, just as Pitch faded completely from view. Jack spun around in an attempt to see where he'd gone and saw nothing.

"Adieu for now, Jack."

Jack closed his eyes, groaning in irritation. He didn't bother to reply, sensing that the older spirit was long gone. And he had effectively taken Jack's pleasant mood with him.

Damn him. Jack thought savagely, swinging his staff over his head and releasing a chaotic and explosive burst of ice into the night around him. It slammed loudly into something a good distance from him after a few moments, the sound of it like an exploding cannon.

Turning swiftly on his toes, Jack stalked off, abandoning any ideas of a quiet evening.

No one would dare come after him, not unless they had a death wish. He'd made sure that everyone knew – that everyone understood that Jack Frost wasn't going to be used ever again. He wasn't anyone's pawn.

And it would be a very cold day in hell before anyone "put him away" for their own peace of mind.

Let them try, Jack seethed to himself, launching himself into the sky that he'd admired so much earlier. And I swear I'll give them a fight the likes of which they've never seen.

A/N Poor Jack. He's so desperate for control of his life that he can't see a little manipulation happening right in front of him. And Pitch sure doesn't miss a good opportunity when he sees ones. XD

Thanks for reading – and please leave a review if you can. I'd really love some feedback.