The sun was an hour below the low-laying, hilly horizon, and the stars were just beginning to appear through the blackening sky. Starkly contrastable to the dark and eerie night were the glittering golden tendrils venting through the windows and wafting above the streets gently. Forming fantasies borne of young and curious minds. Mostly indistinct swirls occupied the air, few forming coherent dream plots so soon.

Two figures, as paradoxical to one another as the glowing snakes through the bleakness, danced above the town. A boy, tall for his age and unbelievably thin, with a washed-out crop of hair splayed about in the wind he rode. Jack Frost's mischievously piercing blue eyes followed the Sandman below, short and stout and lustrous as he spun like a top through house after house.

It was that time of year between winter and spring, when the ground hadn't yet thawed out—despite the warm weather of daytime—due to the nightly frost that came as the moon rose. Jack would have to bid the region farewell soon, at least until fall, but for the last couple of weeks he and Sandy had settled into a comfortable routine. The Sandman arrived just as the sun set, and Jack followed on a North wind with the moon.

It's more of an unspoken agreement between the two. Even though Jack was now a Guardian, he was still alone most of the time. North and Bunnymund holed up in their separate realms most of the year, and Tooth was busy managing her fairies. Sandy though, he was out, himself, every night. And so was Jack. They'd meet up and make some rounds together as long as it was convenient for the both of them. More often than not, it was only an hour or so, but Jack appreciated the company.

Frost was a wanderer. Any child, whether they believed in his existence or not, could tell you that. North and Tooth and even Bunny—though reluctantly—had offered him permanent residence with them, and though Jack politely declined, he agreed to visit in their offseasons. While he was alone a lot of the time, it was nice to stop by and see the others. He had to, or he started to think that he'd been dreaming. Two years and it was still surreal to him.

A granulated wing brushed against his shoulder, dragging Jack back to the chimney he rested against. He blinked a couple of times, dreary from the sand's touch, and cast his eyes around the town. No sign of Sandman. Suddenly alerted, Jack leapt from the rough fiberglass underfoot to the air and looked around frantically. The other Guardians never worried about anything, it seemed. Of course, the glass went two ways, and they all thought Jack was paranoid. They said he was a neophyte, that he'd calm with time. Becoming a Guardian as Pitch was launching his campaign had left its mark, especially where the Sandman was involved. Guilt still hung over Jack's head from time to time with what he'd allowed to happen to his friend, and he liked to know he was safe. This wasn't the first time panic wracked his frame like shivers no longer could, but it would lift as soon as he rounded a corner and Sandy would be there, spinning magic sand in his hands above a child's bed, a whimsical smile on his mute lips.

Jack was swept over block after block on a soft gale, no sign of the Sandman. He rose even higher, to a bird's eye view, and clutched his staff tightly as his head swiveled desperately. His anxieties lessened as he saw a glowing orb near a window on the very outskirts of the small city. The slim spirit dove for it and noticed the radiance was less than normal, meaning that Sandy was trying to be discreet. Meaning, that whoever he was watching through the window was awake. Jack's feet touched the side of the roof and instantly froze to the siding as he tried to gaze through the window without frosting it over, a curious expression displayed across his features.

It was a girl and her father.

She was no more than seven, with disheveled ebony hair and a flushed face. The child wore a flowery dress despite the sharp edge to the air, and looked like a doll someone had thrown in the corner and forgotten about.

And she looked terrified. Even as Jack watched, she took a step back, hands inching upward defensively.

The man who could only be her father (or a very older brother, or an uncle, but father just seemed right) took a matching step forward, an angry and menacing sneer contorting his face. He said something about how many times would he have to tell her? Why couldn't she just remember? The girl spit a phrase back at him, but Jack missed the words exactly, he was too busy being proud of the way she took a step forward, squaring her shoulders and balling up her fists. He made a small 'cha-ching' motion in the air and turned to share a smile with Sandy. The Guarding wasn't smiling; his ears looked like they were drooping, in fact. Like a dog's might. Had he processed a tail, it would have been between his legs.

Baffled, Jack turned back to the glass just in time to see the man's massive hand propel forward and strike the porcelain cheek like thunder. By the time the doll-kid picked herself up and looked back at her father after repeated threats ("Look at me. Look at me now! Or so help me God…") blood was trickling from the corner of her mouth and dripping from her chin.

She backed up again, this time all the way to the corner where she slid to the floor. When she didn't respond to threats, he stormed over and drug her up by the collar of her dress.

Jack looked back to the Sandman. His eyes were narrowed, but his gaze was slightly averted and he looked resigned.

Why the hell wasn't he doing something?

Jack nudged his friend's shoulder. When the golden eyes reluctantly met the intense blue, Jack motioned indoors and voiced his question. Slowly, Sandy shook his head defeatedly, not wanting to even attempt to explain in pictures. Instead, he gently pulled on Jack's hoodie sleeve and tried to get him to follow him away from the house.

"Do something," Jack insisted instead, shaking him off.

The mute sighed, and shook his head for a second time.

"But—" Jack was cut off as a whimper interrupted him. His eyes quickly found the pair inside. The father said something about the bedroom…no, scratch that, about the bed itself. And then there was something about 'daddy's little girl' and 'show you to respect me,' and he was dragging a crying, screaming, pleading girl off to the wooden door.

After another pleading look was shot at Sandy, it became evident to Jack that he was unwilling to help, Jack threw the window open thrust himself across the room, straight for the man's throat.