Tree-planting really wasn't that common of a tradition where you settled for the time-being about half a century ago, and the one you helped organized was the biggest one yet.

          You sat on top a branch of the tallest tree that overlooked the large clearing, many tents and booths set up as people gathered and cheered. Human chatter wasn't one you particularly enjoyed, but after almost years of isolation you more than welcomed it that day.

          The sky was picturesque and perfectly blue above you, beautifully shaped clouds lining it in a way that looked fake. Birds sung in perfect harmony, the crickets, cicadas and critters around you did all to add to the surreal ambience. It felt like a dream. And it was one.

          You just weren't sure how you knew that it was.

          This day was giving you such a weird feeling of déjà vu, knowing full-well that this dream was more-so like a replay of a distant memory lost to time. Well, sort of. You remembered every single little detail of it, and you hated every second.

          Almost immediately the dread settled in your stomach, breathing heavily and your throat drying up in the panic. But nothing happened, your body seemed perfectly content. You were humming, even, but you didn't at all recognize it as you.

          It was your voice, and it was coming from your body yet—it felt unfamiliar.

          Your feet swayed in the light wind, hair whipping as you twirled your sickle in one hand. Ah, here it was, your favorite part; the part where they actually started planting.

          It started out slow, most of the people who actually started digging and planting looking to just be the employees who organized most of the event. But soon enough everyone else who went there joined, kids and adults alike chattering as they worked under the hot sun and cool breeze.

          More and more people arrived at the event, a sense of giddiness that made you almost puke.

          For some reason, every single little feeling that you felt in this body that was supposedly yours didn't feel right. This was a dream, right? The last thing you remember was being. . . you were. . .

          . . .

          Soon you found yourself standing on the branch now, twirling your weapon back to its rightful place before jumping off the tree.

          You landed soundlessly on the grass below, nothing but a dull thud in your feet that you hardly felt. You were moving, but once again it didn't feel natural. It didn't feel like your body—it was like watching a first person perspective of your memories playing out on a TV.

          Most of those who reacted to your presence were children, happy smiling faces as many of them ran to admire you. Little girls squealed at the flowing nature of your attire, little boys cheered and gawked at your weapon, while everyone enjoyed the way the path you walked left little flowers and small plants.

          Almost as though jumping forward in a scene you found yourself surrounded by the kids, some garbled version of a game song as they danced and circled your form. They held hands and did various things, the only thing you feel for certain being the laughter that came from you and them, faces of the children blurred and movements looking more unnatural the more you looked at it.

          And as you danced along with them, you found yourself focusing on a lone figure in the distance.

          Standing, staring, leaning on a staff in boredom as he watched the events go on.

          There it was again. That feeling of dread. Did you know him? Why did he look so familiar?

          You could only watch helplessly as he shakes his head, a simple gesture with his staff and he was gone. You didn't even see where he went, you just blinked and soon found yourself staring at nothing but an empty forest.

          You didn't know how time worked in this dreamscape, but it didn't feel right. The seconds were too slow, the hours too fast—it felt like being in a constant fight over whether or not you should be skipping or backtracking this little film that played in your head. It was weird, it made you nauseous, and the gray clouds that appeared overhead didn't at all help.

          And with another blink, everything else was gone.

          The once clear and happy clearing was nothing but a thing of the past, thick snow covering the ruined plants and freezing bodies. Were they bodies? You weren't sure. Nothing looked right, not even yourself.

          A shuffle in the snow, and you couldn't even bother to be on your guard.

          The figure stood a few feet ahead of you, in that same, bored, yet amused-looking stance as they leaned on an oversized stick. They said something, but you didn't hear it. Didn't even see his face or recognized any of the features he had.

          All you saw was the moving of his mouth that didn't match the speed of everything else happening around you. You didn't know if he was happy, angry, sad—nothing you would ever recognize as a genuine human emotion showed itself on his face.

          And before you knew it, he was gone.

          You didn't remember much. Some part of you wasn't even so sure of who you are. And yet, there was always one thing clear to you.

          The sounds of wild-life always did calm you, even before.

          Trees lined your vision from where you now sat cross-legged on a rock beside a lake, humming and reading the newest book you got from the nearby library.

          You didn't know how you got here, but the moment felt important. You were reading the book, recognizing and understanding the story it told—yet no matter how hard you tried to look at the pages, you saw nothing but a vague string of sentences that you didn't recognize as words.

          They looked like sentences, even maybe sounded like them. But they didn't look right.

          Looking up from your book it felt like you were dowsed with cold water, gasping as the scenery changes and you were on your feet.

          Kids walked from behind you, following in lines like baby ducks would their mother. And in a way you were, guiding them through a tour in your town's Nature Reserve. You have been volunteering to work at this place all your life, asking for nothing but a roof over your head and food on your table.

          Everything else you dealt with yourself. Clothes, day-to-day life, education—you've been working alone ever since that faithful day some part of you snapped and turned on your village.

         Your village that. . . sat right outside the town you had stumbled into and made a life in.

          You tried your best to ignore how your past was just a little too close for comfort, a part of you that was left and locked behind the deepest depths of your mind threatening to crawl right back into your life and haunt you with it.

          The voices of the children behind you were garbled once again, their schoolgirl and schoolboy chatter sounding like it was recorded under water with a broken phone. Not a single word sounded like how you think they should sound like, and when you looked back their appearances weren't any better. Blurred, moving unnaturally and beyond unrecognizable.

          By the time you looked back in front you were on a bridge, a large mountain to your left and a slope to your right. The trees were either leaning or just grew like that, and some part of you urged you not to pay them any attention. And the one that you did pay attention to was the pebbles by your feet.

          They shook, clacking against one another as some outside source forced them to that. You yourself didn't feel the shake as badly as the rocks had, but that feeling of dread returned and it was stronger than ever.

          This. . .

          You blinked, and a rock had already descended from the top and hit you.

          Like another jump in time everything was ruined, the sounds of screams muffled and one of them you recognized as your own. You screamed, and screamed—hands gripping rock and debris and fingernails getting clogged up with dirt. Each inhalation felt like putting stacks of sand through your nostrils, whenever you opened your mouth to ask for help you were choked with rocks.

          Goddammit. . . Goddammit! Why was this happening again?! This was a dream! A dream!!

          But why did it feel like you were dying all over again. . ?!

          Your entire lower body was hugged stuck by rocks, something sharp stinging in your leg and warm liquid running all over. Your arm was in an unnatural angle and it hurt, your other leg had lost feeling in its entirety. Oh God, you were supposed to be dead by then. Your lungs had filled with dirt and another rumble sent the rock above you to finish the job.

          Yet why were you still here?

          It was like your immortality as a Guardian had come back to bite your ass, making you relive your most physically painful memory yet with the added inability to die. Was this your hell? Was this karma for. . .for. . .

          . . .

          You closed your eyes as a tremble escaped your lips. This time you actually recognized it as yours, and hope rose to your chest that maybe things were going back to natural.

          . . .it was, right?

          You steadied your breath, but when you inhaled, instead or rocks you were met with the sharp winter air.

          You coughed as you felt all tensions in your body release, choking as sand and dirt and blood vomited out of your mouth. It stained the snow, your young hands gripping the icy cold terrain. You coughed, and coughed—and when you opened your eyes to look at the result. . .

          You found nothing.

          No dirt, no pebbles. Just white. . . white snow.

          The only thing that was left was the blood, but you found it odd that went on a trail further and further away until you saw it pool around an arm that stuck out from beneath. . .a collapsed house?

          From that realization fire rose, staring indifferently at the flames that engulfed the collapsed building. And it appeared in your peripheral, and everywhere else—and soon all you saw were the orange lights of the destruction. Nothing was left but the ashy remnants of the village, and your young self was almost forced to turn back to the house nearest you.

          The sight of the flames in front of you sent an unnatural shock and memories flooded back in realization, your self-awareness heightened as everything started to go hazy. Sandy! You were knocked out by Sandy! This was supposed to be a dream. A positive one! You don't remember Pitch ever laying a hand on you in any moment prior to you passing out.

          Was this a trick? Were you somehow given a nightmare when you thought Sandy was incapable of that? Maybe it was a mistake. . .maybe he meant to give you a dream, but somehow all he made you do is relive memories that you were more-so content with just remembering.

          "My, fancy seeing you here, dear." That voice grated on your nerves as you turned your head back, the previously dense, snow-covered, burnt forest now an icy clearing with the annoying fuck standing with his arms behind his back.

          "Pitch! What the fuck did you do to me?!" You found yourself back in your current body, hand reaching over to your sickle but finding. . .nothing.

          You were back in your body as a Guardian, but your clothes were back to the ones you wore that day you were buried alive in a landslide.

          "I didn't do anything!" He laughed, voice echoing and unnatural as he nodded to the destruction behind you. "Good job on that by the way, really impressed that a seven year old managed to do all that." You narrowed your eyes, but some pang of guilt hit your chest. God, you really did do that, huh? Some part of you kind of wished that it was just a dream. . . and that—

          You paused, staring at the grinning manifestation of nightmares.

          "How are you here?" You mumble, foot digging into the snow in any case you needed to take a break for it. "If this is just a replay of my memories. . .how are you here?"

          That last sentence made him laugh, echoing in the cold and empty snowy terrain. "I was always here, darling,"

          "Don't call me that."

          "After all, who do you think told you what they did to your oh-so beloved forest?" He chuckles, "Or the one who asked you to get your revenge? Who, oh who did you think was the voice in the back of your head telling you, ordering you to get them to taste their own medicine?!" His voice rose to a dangerously loud growl, laughing as he disappears into the shadow that lay in the snow.

          "Who. . ." It came from behind you, turning back to see him standing beside your young form. Your own small back to you, him by your side smiling as he pats your head, "Helped you start the fire?"

          . . .

          You shook your head, all the while he nods. "No. . ."

          "Yes," The smile on his face widens, cocking his head to the side condescendingly as your young form starts to stand. She doesn't take notice to either of you, walking straight past, a slight limp as she goes to disappear in the dark forest behind you. You hadn't even noticed it appear again.

          "Quite the yes. If it weren't for me you'd still be stuck in this place, rotting, suffering as they ruin the only parts of the world you truly love," He snickers, shaking his head as he disappears into the shadow again, "It's funny, really, how you downright refuse the fact that I'm quite literally a part of you."

          "I don't know what you're talking about—" You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale, cold hands gripping onto your shoulders, nails digging into your skin. It was colder than anything you've ever felt, colder than the hands of the manifestation of snow and ice itself. Pitch's hands were downright freezing.

          "Oh but I think you do," He chuckles, voice a little too close for comfort, "The only reason I'm here is because of that fact. Why, you're not wondering how I got into your dreams in my original form?"

          You've had enough of the shivers that kept going down your spine, forcing yourself away from him and stumbling to do a turn, glaring at him with your fists held at the ready. "Sorry, dear, I'm afraid that won't work in this realm."

          You tried to speak, but you were once again in the same state you had been earlier. Your body didn't move in the way you wanted it to, and it felt like your voice wasn't yours. Hell, it literally didn't work when you tried to fucking use it!

          "The only reason I'm here is because I was already here back when you had this memory," He whistles, elaborating on what he had said earlier, "The only difference is that now, I have a proper, stronger form. The last I was here I was a lot weaker than I was now, so all I could do was influence you to do my bidding. And goodness," He laughs, louder, cockier, as he gestures to the burning village behind you, "It really worked, didn't it?

          "I needed a way to get into your head, and now, I'm glad that I managed to have us be in this form. A civil conversation was long overdue, don't you think?"

          "Get. . ." Every inch your body hurt as you tried to speak, your teeth grated together and your jaw locking in an attempt not to scream, "to the fucking. . .point." You stumbled, the pain hazing your gaze and nausea quickly settling in, "What. . .what do you want with me?!"

          "I want you to work with me."

          "Like I'd ever—" You hissed, a steadying breath as he starts laughing loudly. "I don't think you have much of a choice, love. It's either that or being stuck in eternity. . .here. . ." He trails off, some look settling on his face before he nods to himself. "So sorry, it seems someone's causing trouble with my nightmares. We shall end this conversation for now, but do contact me if you ever cha—" There was a lot of things Pitch didn't expect. And one of them was your fist colliding with the side of his face.

          He looked visibly taken aback, your shaking and pained form grinning with all the triumph of an athlete finally winning a long and grueling race. "I. . . will never, work with you."

          He stays there with his head still turned to the side, a forming bruise on his cheek. Funny how he was wrong when he thought you couldn't hurt him physically. So funny you forced out a pitiful laugh.

          What followed was another round of agonizing silence, before he scoffs. "Alright. Be that way." And before you could react he had sent you flying back with a flick of his wrist, your body falling and engulfed by flames as he shakes his head.

          Waking up was a lot easier than you expected after that, gasping and panting for whatever scrape of breath as cold sweat drenched your entire form. Thank God you didn't smell, maybe that was the bonus of being a Guardian you should be thanking.

          For a second you laid there in confusion, disoriented and wondering where the fuck you currently were.

          "Y/N! Y/N, get up, Jack and Sandy aren't here!" You didn't even have the energy to be startled when Tooth's face came from nowhere, staring at you as she floated with her body horizontal over yours, "They might be in trouble!"

          "Would it really be that much of a problem if Frost got into trouble?"

          "Y/N!"

          "Okay fine."

          You made a mental note to not get hit by Sandy's dream sand ever again, because even after you've slapped yourself how many times and got into North's sleigh you were still drowsy and on the verge of constantly passing out.

          You hit Bunny's shoulder and jolted awake, but the steady swaying of the sleigh and peaceful night breeze didn't at all help your drowsiness. So you ended up passing out again, snoring quietly until the next disturbance.

          Which was the crushing weight of Bunny's heavy ass landing on you.

          You yelped and collapsed into a pile of leaves, still getting crushed under his annoyingly fluffy weight before you managed to push him off. You would've berated him more and maybe fall back asleep, but the sounds of clashing and nightmarish neighing made you instinctively reach for your weapon and strike blindly.

          The black dust quite literally exploded as you sigh, stepping on the edge of the sleigh before jumping off.

          On the way down you destroyed another one of them, throwing your sickle at a particularly more angry looking one and grabbing for the vine that extended towards you. Just as that one dispersed another arrived, yanking the vine and hitting it on the way back.

          Grasping your weapon you watched about a dozen more of them arrive, sighing as they go to circle you. But upon finding yourself bored you turned into a pile again, rushing through and hitting each of them one by one. Turning quickly back into a human you body slammed into two of them, a rush of adrenaline as you laughed victoriously.

          There was a huff from behind you and you struck, pushing yourself back and gaining distance from the three