Chioniphobia

We've Met Before

"What are you blathering on about?"

Nightmares might have been cowed by the Boogeyman's scowl, but Grim held the advantage of familiarity. Pitch's fearsome expression had long lost any power of intimidation over the Reaper.

"He was supposed to be a neutral party. Mim cheated!" Pitch snapped.

Grim kept a straight face as she answered. "Is it cheating, then, to claim an inevitable victory?"

Pitch's scowl deepened to the point where Grim was sure his shadows were casting shadows. "It wasn't inevitable. I would've won, if-"

"It isn't cheating to hold back some of your cards until it's time to play them," she pointed out. "You had your own 'wild cards,' did you not?"

She doubted the Boogeyman appreciated the reminder, especially since some of his own Nightmares had taken to tormenting him in the wake of his defeat. It was a testament to their...not friendship, exactly, but long held-acquaintanceship that Pitch merely acknowledged her statement with a grunt and not an attempt on her un-life.

"Well, how was I supposed to foresee a new Guardian?" he grumbled, mostly to himself.

Naturally, Grim replied anyway. "You weren't. I rather suspect that was the point."

She wasn't certain whether Pitch's murderous glare was directed at her reply or the smirk she wore as she gave it, but in either case she judged it an appropriate time to leave.

"I see I've worn out my welcome," she remarked as she prepared to make her exit.

"You wore out your welcome decades ago."

Grim laughed. "By the by, would you have any idea where this 'Jack Frost' might be now? I should pay my respects to the newest Guardian."

Pitch's scowl didn't deepen, on account of it probably being physically impossible for it to do so. "Off making a mess somewhere, no doubt."

"Thank you, that's very helpful," she drawled, adjusting her robes.

Briefly Pitch seemed to struggle with some unseen sentiment before choosing to voice his protest. "I could have won if-"

"It wasn't cheating, dear," she interrupted. "Mim was simply being strategic."

Pitch's form of snarling reminded Grim of a dog's- all teeth and menace. "-if you had done your job."

Grim scoffed. "Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Frost is dead."

She stiffened.

It couldn't be. The boy had already been-

"He's been dead for centuries."

Mim did cheat.

Her tears were cold against her face.

You were mine. You are mine.

Why did I leave you?

"Making a mess somewhere," Pitch had said. She'd be loath to admit it to him, at least anytime in the next century, but he'd been right. The boy was causing a snow flurry in the middle of summer. Granted, it was in Burgess, an area notorious for its rather irregular weather. The occurrence wasn't terribly out of the ordinary, but there really was no other way to describe the debacle than a 'mess.'

They call me cruel, but life is cruel too. And I hold none of the hurt that life can bring.

I should've been there for you. You should have never had to face loneliness.

She'd found him in a tree, making a snowball. She'd crept up behind him, watching for a hint of recognition as he caught her out the corner of his eye.

"Pitch?"

She'd been surprised to hear that the Boogeyman had apparently taken a shine to her signature weapon. She'd been less surprised to hear that Pitch had grown no more sociable outside of his time with her. She was just as friendless as he was, but Grim liked to think that she was at least less megalomaniacal.

It hurt more than she'd thought it would when the boy didn't recognize her.

Even immortals tire of living, especially of living alone. I abandoned you thinking you'd come to me of your own accord. And now...

Now he was resplendent, practically glowing in his joy. Now he was powerful. He was beautiful, but he'd always been beautiful. Her beautiful frozen boy, forever a child, because she'd burn in hellfire before she'd let life mar him with the harshness of age and worry.

You're one of them.

You're a Guardian. As long as children believe, you'll never know death.

You'll be forever young. Forever his.

Forever prone to all the hurt and heartbreak of being alive.

He smiles when she jokes, and she feels as if her heart will shatter like ice under a pick. He doesn't know her, because of course he doesn't know her. She never gave him the chance to. There's centuries of distance between this young man and that boy drifting in the water. He doesn't know her, doesn't need her, will never need her now.

But who am I to tell you that? Now you have purpose. You're happy.

I have no claim to you now.

His blue eyes strike her through to her soul. Does she even have a soul?

"So what did you want to talk about?"

Grim can feel her mouth tighten involuntarily. She thinks she'll have to force a smile, but it comes naturally, sweet and gentle and sad.

"We've met before, you know."

There are scars on her back, from a time long before the boy. Twin scars, burning like brands between her shoulders as they talk.

"No kidding?"

"It was after you fell in that lake. You wouldn't remember."

Because of course he wouldn't.

"Huh." His brow scrunches, and she resists the urge to smooth it, to kiss his forehead and reassure him that it's all right, even though it will never be all right, because the chance for that had passed over three centuries ago. He cocks his head, squints, and she sees wariness cross his face. "You're not here to...um..."

Grim jumps in as he hesitates. "No, no. I just wanted to check in on you."

He's surprised. Of course he's surprised. Why would a stranger care a whit about his wellbeing? "Really?"

She shrugs, and regrets the gesture as her scars flare in unison. "I would've sooner, but..."

Her sentence trails, and he picks up the thread. "Reaping season?"

She laughs. It's not as if he's wrong, really- even if she hadn't been forbidden from seeing him, her circumstances would certainly have prevented visiting often. "Something like that."

His smile is genuine, and she half-expects the havoc he's wreaked around them to melt at the warmth of it. "Well, nice to meet you- or see you again, I guess."

Her scars throb. She ignores them. What else can she do? "Good to see you too."