A/N:

So apologies ahead of time, first time writing a fic afterall heh. I'll keep this short since we all know that long rambling author notes are annoying so I'll get along with this then:

I own none of the parties included in this fic, all characters from Rise of the Guardians belonging to Dreamworks

This story was inspired by a picture I saw on tumblr; after I saw it on my dash and promptly freaked out at the thought of how the movie would have changed if such a thing happened. Go to my profile to see the image and original tumblr post as FFN is a twat and doesn't let us post links here.

(this may turn into a multi chapter thing if enough people ask, though most likely this will remain a one shot)

The arctic wind ripped at his skin, icy fingers tugging at his sweatshirt, trying to sweep him away from there. White hair was tousled as the strong winds howled about him, their screams trying and failing to communicate with the boy in their hold. They wanted to warn the ward that they had lifted and flown with over the centuries, to warn him of the danger of what he daring to consider. The boy ignored the wind, his old friend, and any attempts of it to tug him away, instead sighing and reaching inside the pocket of his faded, blue hoodie, drawing out the cool metal of the container of his baby teeth; his memories. Mutely he stared down at it, thumb absently tracing over the imprinted face so similar to his own, the expression one that absolutely screamed him, though the brown hair and eyes, so strange, so foreign, so human, it confused him, made him hesitate.

He was torn, part of him wanting so much to find out his past, who he had been, why he had been chosen. Why had the man in the moon left him like this, merely a myth to the humans, just a saying on their lips, invisible and untouched for centuries upon centuries? Had he done something, something that made the man in the moon make him like this? Not for the first time, he wondered if this fate he held was a gift or a curse. Sure, he could create snow with just a wave of his staff, paint frost designs on windows and mailboxes; he could soar high above the clouds and ride with the winds, and all of that was fantastic. But that power, such gifts, they came at a terrible price, to not be seen, not be touched, merely passed through like a common ghost, the feeling giving even Jack chills. He couldn't even remember being touched, being held by someone who cared for him, such things would be locked inside his memories, in the teeth. Sure there was one, bone shattering squeeze from North that the other had given back at his workshop, that had been contact.

Though, Jack quickly realized, North, and all of the other Guardians for that matter, they were just pretending, weren't they? Pretending to be nice to him, to want him because they wanted something from him, just wanted his ice and his frost to beat Pitch. After that they would likely kick him back out, leaving him alone again. Bunnymund himself had openly displayed his dislike towards Jack, how was the boy of ice and snow to know if the other's were merely better at masking their dislike, their hatred towards him? Images arose in his mind, pictures of Tooth looking at him with utter disgust and contempt, even Baby Tooth chirping out in hate before turning and leaving him as well. North scowling down at him, telling him he had no center, that he was worthless and weak, just a misbehaving child with more power than he could handle. Sandman…Sandman was dead, it was all Jack's fault; even if the other was back somehow, Jack was positive that the golden man would hate Jack, hate him for failing, for not getting his back, for leaving him to die at Pitch's hand.

Jack quickly shook his head, gasping in emotional pain as the scenes continued to play in his mind, all the while oblivious to the few, unnoticeable pieces of Pitch's nightmare sand that slowly revolved above his head, fueling the fear-ridden images.

Finally, some of the sand drifted away on the wind, the images in Jack's mind fading; he gasped, slumping to his knees, trembling slightly, hurt with his new found revelation. His fingers tightened on the golden case in his fingers, both hands securely gripping the thing now, his staff having dropped to the snow-ridden ground. He stared down at it, almost fearfully, wondering what would happen if he opened it. Opened it and brought back happy memories? They would only torture him, taunting him with how he had once held love, had at least been touched by others, and how now he had none of that. The Guardians would cast him away and he would be alone again, as he had always been, only this time it would be worse.

Absently he was aware of the fact that all the fear that coiled within him was just feeding, strengthening, his company. Blue eyes slid up from gazing at the container of teeth, instead settling warily on the Nightmare King who stood only a few meters away from him, far too close in Jack's opinion.

He was a thing of shadows, Pitch Black; Jack was well aware of this. The man, no, the creature was a thing composed of trickery and nightmares, and even if he hadn't been once upon a time it did not change that fact that he was now. He fed on fear, and Jack weakly registered that he must seem like an all you can eat buffet with the thoughts, no with the truths that he had figured out. The Nightmare King observed Jack patiently, hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the pale boy in front of him, expression unreadable. The nightmares had disappeared for the moment, though black sand hung in the crooks and folds of the darker man's cloak, the wind displacing a few pieces with every gust.

Pitch's words from minutes before rang in Jack's head, the shadow's offer to rule besides him, to be known, to be seen and respected, it was so tempting. Jack knew that while Pitch was what he had been led to believe to be the bad guy, they were quite similar; few believed in Pitch anymore, and beneath his cruel attitude the shadow seemed to be as desperate to be believed in as Jack was. The pale boy's gaze slid down to the baby teeth container in his hands, a feeling deep within him knowing that if he glimpsed his past he would be choosing an answer to Pitch's offer; if he chose hope, the small hope that his memories would prove to the other Guardians that he had been chosen as a Guardian for a reason, that when this was all over they wouldn't push him away. If he chose that small hope over the nightmare's proposal Jack was certain Pitch's proposition would be revoked, and the Nightmare King would turn around and attempt to kill him, again.

It seemed like an eternity before Jack scrunched his eyes shut, teeth gritting, gathering the courage to do what he was unable to do earlier; his arm flicked back before jerking forward. The container of teeth became airborne, disappearing over the edge of the icy chasm and into the watery depths beyond, the howl of the wind drowning out any splash it could have made. Jack stared after it with an almost empty expression, before turning to face Pitch. "Yes," Jack responded quietly, looking up towards the shadow with a weary expression, as if the act he had just committed had added centuries of weight onto his shoulders.

Pitch's expression twisted, going from the blank, unreadable gaze to a victorious smirk, the man moving to pace around Jack in an almost predatory manner.

"You will not regret this, Jack," Pitch assured his new charge, stopping when he was behind the other and placing hands on either one of Jack's shoulders, the boy straightening with the action, a twisting sensation appearing in his gut. "We will be so powerful together; truly nothing goes together better than my darkness and your ice and cold," the Nightmare King bent slightly, hissing the words in Jack's ear before straightening, the boy of ice and snow unable to see the feral grin that slid into place on the shadow's face.

"Nothing can stop us," Pitch hissed, before his fingers tightened their grips on Jack's shoulders, shadows from beneath them sliding up and twining around Jack. The pale boy didn't move, accepting this, unaware as his crystalline blue eyes shifted to the same, softly glowing yellow as Pitch's. Shadows then swarmed up and around the two, dragging the two out of that plane and into the world of shadows, Pitch taking Jack away.

Soon there was no trace of anything having happened at all, spare for the spiraling, spindled creation of ice and nightmare sand, the looming form reaching up towards the heavens, as if a parting sign, an apology, to the moon for what was to come.