Pitch Darkness or just another grimy street?

Jean-Louise was bleeding from her nose from the open back-hand across the face and tears blurred the grimy  back-streets of the American city of Sin she called home. It wasn't broken, she had had a broken nose before.
The men chasing her had no qualms about beating a child to death; breaking every bone and making her scream before slitting her throat.
No-body cared about her, she was just an homeless, orphan upstart who had pissed off their Boss.

JL, as all the other kids of the streets referred to her, was Queen.
Every-one knew it.
She was but 12 years old and she had 18 year olds beating on kids that didn't do as she said.
Every-one feared her.
She knew that without fear she would loose everything she fought so hard to get was gone.
She had to be cold, ruthless, and she hadn't been a child since she was six.
Her close partners in crime  called her Jelly for short.
This was a term of affection but also a warning, as Jean would fly into fits of furious jealousy.

Yes, Jean-Louise was well on her way to being the new rising Gangster Boss of the city if she played her cards right.

And if she survived that long.

Her breath was high-pitch, terrified and ragged.

The men were bigger than her; faster too.

She had bought time by squeezing through a chain fence that had scraped her side painfully but it had bought her time.

It wasn't enough.

They were closing in and  Jean knew that she couldn't escape or fight them off.
No-one would save her.
No-one in this area would even call the cops once they heard a child screaming for mercy or God or the mommy she never knew.

She took a wrong turn in her panic.

Dead end.

Her end.

She pressed her back to the fence.

"No." She sobbed quietly to herself. "Please, no. Don't! Please don't oh God please-!!!!"

The three brutish men advanced.
One had brass knuckles and the others pulled out switch blades.

She felt humiliated she was begging for her life but the tears kept streaming and she fought to control herself, wiping her eyes angrily and, eventually, scowled at them and then spat. Twelve years old and about to die and she clung to her dignity better than some soldiers.  

"You got some nerve, kid." It was both anger and respect.
"Little bitch!!!" One of them grabbed her by the throat and flung her against the wall.
She gave a startled yelp and slowly managed to pick herself up from the concrete ground.

It was then she saw it.

The darkness moving just down the ally.
It was darkening like the sun was setting, and she gasped.
The men failed to notice her little eyes weren't fixed on them.

"What do ya think the stupid bitch was thinkin' stealing from the Boss like that?"
"Whaddya care? Let's jus' kill her and leave." This guy sounded squeamish and nervous.
"Never killed a kid before Bill?"
A  pause.
"No."
"You'll get over it, we all die some-how."
"Can I at least ask her?"

"Ask me what?"

All eyes went to the girl who now stood defiantly before them, voice far stronger than before and noticeably less afraid.

They did not notice the turbulant inky blackness behind them.

"What ya were thinkin' by stealing like that? Every-one knows not to steal from the Boss."
The other, who had killed kids before, Jean recognised him from the murder of little Bobby down on 8th street, laughed and it was the sound a rat personified would make if it felt amused. "There's only one thing to believe in in this City kid, an' that's the Boss."

"I believe in one thing...." She stated, little hands curling into fists as the swirling mass of night started to swim forward.

"Whatsat then?" They all smirked but 'Bill'.

She smiled as the darkness receded and rose like a tidal wave and then started to fall forwards.

"Fear."

The pitch black washed over her in an icy scream of skin-tingling terror, but she was use to that.
She froze to the spot and smiled like a demon as the men were dragged back into the darkness and it was their screams that filled the alleys, not hers.
Bones broke in a horrible cracking scrunch, blood flew, screams turned into death gurgles and the alley sat still.
Still and silent as night.

Jean lifted up her grubby T-shirt and saw the bloody scrapes the fence had made and she wiped  her tears angrily from her eyes.
She didn't want the one person she admired  to see her weak and crying.

He strode languidly out of the darkness of the ally and bent down onto one knee to her level.

He was so tall.

He looked concerned and annoyed and he wiped her tears away with a long slender finger.  

"Thank you Mister Pitch." Jean mumbled, trying not to further cry and Pitch sighed.

"Why did you go and get yourself in trouble Jean?"

"....we needed the stuff for a jacking, Mister Pitch." She replied petulantly.

Pitch rarely touched her but today he scooped her up and she, not use to the contact, squirmed a little and then suddenly, like an instinct which never had the chance to kick in, she clung to him desperately, flinging her arms round him and crying and Pitch smoothly walked past the bits of men whom had threatened the girl and kept walking. He made no cooing noise, or any words of comfort. If he even remembered that was what he was meant to do, he did not anyway.
Perhaps it was because he knew she wanted- no, needed, to be able to pick herself back up to some degree so she did not feel weak.
Barely tall enough to reach things on a high counter and already so proud and cold and strong.

She stopped crying eventually and sighed into his neck, little rough hands bunched into his robe as if terrified she'd be torn from him.

"Mister Pitch?"

"Yes Jean-Louise?"

"....when I am older......will I still be able to see you? All the other old people can't see you."

There was a long, grave pause that made both of their tired, worn, broken hearts thud sadly in their hollow chests.

"I don't know Jean."

There was another pause as the child absorbed what she already feared.

"..........Mister Pitch?"

"Yes Jean?"

"......please don't take me home yet."

Pitch stopped his walking and then nodded gently, his grip on the girl increasing and he walked for ages holding her to him.

She napped almost immediately and he dropped her at the hospital to be patched up.

She was angry and afraid but she did not push away the fear.

She snuck out that night, all bandaged up and found the tall figure waiting for her.

She had not expected that.

She looked at him silently, eyes meeting in a silent acknowledgement that something had thrown them together and she was carried away from the big scary building that smelt of bleach and death on the back of Fear itself and she laughed as he pointed out the stars to her.