Death for Pitch, Hittite decided, should come in a crawl. It's rare, to see a spirit die. Really die. It should be something savored. While her and Furor don't agree on much, they agree on this.

They've gotten better at that, agreeing.

Furor watched, because of course he would however, Hittite doesn't mind doing most of the work. While Furor only cares about the result, Hittite prefers the process. Learning what works best and what doesn't, trial and error, that's where her talents lie.

When she's done, there's nothing left. Nothing of Pitch, that is. Just as planed, his Night Mares stayed. 

They watched, too, with empty eyes.

That was also an experiment, to see if there was any sort of consciousness, any sort of awareness. Any lingering or split loyalties. Given how they weren't even fazed with Pitch's death, there was no question that they had no loyalty what-so-ever.

"So," She says. "They'll do their job and they'll do what they're told. But only that."

"That's all we need." Furor tells her. "As long as we can turn them to a pile of sand, if the worse occurs they won't be any harm to us either."

As if to demonstrate, he turns them all to dust, only to build them back up again. He tries to get them to move, but frowns when nothing happens.

"That was my half, remember?" She tells him. "You build them, I move them." A easy split, and better, it left no room for betrayal. She can't attack him and neither can he. Equal leverage as well, she can't move the Night Mares if they're formless, he can't attack with them motionless.

"I remembered," he scoffed, "it was a matter of testing it."

Hittite watches as Furor's long, oddly elegant fingers, pull through the Night Mare's dark sand that mimicked a mane; the light shifts and the black showed sheens of a dark blue and royal purple. "I can't believe it was so simple," she says, "to take this power."

Furor nods. "And now we have an army. One that never tiers, one that never eats or sleep." 

"When Humanity does not."

Furor grinned. "No. He doesn't. And, quite conveniently, the machine is done. Suggesting a coup, are you?"

As if they weren't planning this. Waiting. As if they weren't wanting this. 

"No more waiting," She says instead of playing along with the game. "We can finally start." 

Furor grinned wider and Hittite matched it.

                                                                                        )*(

It happened in quick moments.

As soon as Danny shut the door to his room his chest exploded in a burning pain. He lands on the floor in a hiss, as a molten heat spread from his sternum as though poured into his veins and arteries; boiling his blood in the process. The lines in his face deepened to a pained snarl as he swallowed a groan and looked to the window, just a few yards across. 

There was no logic, no internal dialogue. Just instinct, a knowing to get to somewhere cold.

The muscles stretched across his ribs screamed and throbs as he uncurls -  too fast, too sudden. As though Danny was solidifying in stone. Regardless, he opened the window and the wind greets him with a howl as the room tempiture drops. Snow flurries swirl across the hardwood floor and the stale air turns crisp. And then -

- He hangs over the frame with deep breaths; hand over his chest. The heat retreated and  diminished. Danny doesn't know how much time passes, but when it's finally gone he's left feeling empty with the taste of ash in his mouth. Slowly, cautiously, he stood and stepped away from the window. The corner of his eye caught the mirror, and Danny made the simple mistake to turn, and look. His face was gray, like he was bled out of life. The blue curtains and hair pushed and pulled with the breeze like the tide.

Shit.

Danny tears his gaze away and tugged at his hair.

Shit.

He made the mistake of looking once more at the reflection. With his watery, sickly eyes, trembling body, and fearful, startled visage.

Fuck.

Maybe it's a one time thing. Maybe it's like when a stomach ache goes on for too long - too sharp, and you make the erroneous, dramatic assumption that death and such is around the corner. Maybe it'll dissaper and it'll turn out it was just food poisoning, or hunger. Maybe - 

The ground trembles. 

Danny's brows furrowed. His hand goes to his forehead. Perhaps the best course of action is to lie down before something embarrassing happens, like fainting.

The ground trembles again; as the snow the the roof rains down in dense chucks and a book tumbles off the nightstand, his eyes widen.

"An earthquake?"

Danny squints as a new sound emerges. Deep and low rumbling. 

Something blue and white moved at the corner of his eye and there was Jack Frost himself. Eyes focused and jaw set. Though there was no mistake that it was nothing more than a confident façade, a veneer made to comfort and avoid panic judged by how Frost swallowed and how Danny could see Frost physically steeling himself: the clinched fists, the frost covered staff close to his chest, how Frost's gaze constantly flickered to the window; as though making sure no one followed him.

"Hey, what's going on?

"Danny. I saw them while flying overhead. They're coming to Burgess."

Danny froze. His head felt dizzy an his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Too fast everything was going too fast. Hand on his head, he asked, "'They'? As in - "

"Hittite. Furor.  Their alleys. Their prisoners. And Night Mares, of course they have the - ."

Danny held his hands up and squinted his eyes closed. "Wait, wait hold on. I thought Humanity was in charge?"

"Not anymore, apparently."

"But why? Why now, why-" Danny's eyes widen as the dots suddenly connected. "Oh gods." He looked at Frost, really looked. "Oh gods. Humanity figured it out, didnt he? He made the machine, spirits can be seen now, that's why they're coming." Of course Humanity, a misguided but well meaning inventor was struck down so quickly after the completion of his invention. If a spirit's power is measured by how many people can see them then he practically invented a new currency, an instant gratification and guarantee of power. 

Whatever spirit got ahold of it would be practically granted godhood.

Of course there was a coup. Of course this was happening, how else was going to go? How else was this going to end?

Frost obviously understood this as well and somehow knew of the conclusion that came to Danny's head. One thread, however, didnt connect.

"Why Burgess? What - what makes Burgess so important that it's the first place they strike?"

"It doesn't matter." A pause. "If I had to guess, I'd say that it was because they knew it would get our attention. Danny, listen, they're coming, and they'll not be kind. You all need to leave - "

"Jack - "

"Listen." Jack Frost grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes wild. "Listen, these beings will not hesitate to kill you. They will not hesitate to kill the people you care about just to see you suffer and live with that suffering. They will not hesitate to kill children, they will not hesitate to kill all of you if it fit their mood." Frost's fingers dig deeper and clinch onto Danny's hoodie and Frost pulled him closer. "Right now? They're not aiming to slaughter the lot of you. The point they want to establish is that they have power. Their goal is not to harm the people, but rather disturb and frighten the spirits. Whoever tries to get in their way today, they will try to cut down. Their focus is to show the world they have the power by any means necessary. They're not focused on you so use that. Run. Get out, and take the people with you."

Danny's face twists and he wants to scream, and yell. He wants to stay. Wasn't he supposed to me the hidden ace? The final weapon? Is he not supposed to be the very thing that somehow ends it all?

And if he ran, then what? What are they going to do after? If Jack Frost lose, if whoever takes arms today against the army loses, they wont just stay in small, homey, Burgess. They'll follow. They'll follow until they've swallowed the world. And Danny will have to live with leaving. With losing the only home he remembers and losing what they have. Live with running. He'll have to live with that, how dare he ask him to take that risk.

But just as his lips, teeth and tongue start to form and shape the words, just before he can bite and spit them out, he sees Frost. How resigned and how, even if also stubborn, afraid he looks.

 Danny realized then, Frost didn't want to ask him to leave, either.

Danny clinched his hands and let go. He's not strong, either. Hell, he almost fell out of the window. And if what Frost said was true, then the town could be easily used as leverage against the spirits who came to protect them. In fact, it's guaranteed to be a part of the plan.

Jack Frost just looked at him in silence, as if he knows exactly what he's thinking. As if he though about all of this too and he's only waiting for Danny to come to the same awful, sickening conclusion. He's staring at him so patiently, with so much understanding and, dare say, forgiveness, that Danny can not help the unexplainable pit of rage that fumes in his chest.

"... I'll go. And I'll evacuate as many people as I can." Danny tells him. "But as soon as I do that, as soon as they're out of the way so they can't be used as bait or leverage. I'm coming back. I'm coming back for you, for this stupid little town, hell or high water."

"I know." Jack Frost said weakly.

Danny closed the distance and wrapped his arms around and tightly as he could, resting his head on the junction between Frost's neck and shoulder. "I love you."

"I know." Frost said, softer still. "I love you too."

"I'm furious too."

"I know." He repeats. "I know."

"We're going to make it."

Frost doesn't say anything, he only buries his head in Danny's shoulder and Danny holds him all the tighter.

"We have to go," Frost said, softly, "we don't have the time to stay like this."

"I know." Danny says as he lets go.

They slowly start stepping back, not taking their eyes off each other, not completely letting the other go. Frost held his hand, tightened his grip for the last time. Then let go.

Before Danny's hand could even drop back to his side, Frost is already leaping from the window frame.

Danny turns to the bedroom door, breathes, and leaves, too.

They have work to do.

Authors note: ... Yeah, I have no excuse. But there should be three chapters left? Mayyybe two? I was going to make this much, much longer but I figured that I would break it up to fit my earlier formatting and also because I already made you guys wait, like. Three years. 

Ta-da?