Disclaimers: I obviously do not own Rise of the Guardians in any way, and it is silly for me to even have to state as such. I have not read the books, and this is movie only. So therefore I apologize for any inconsistencies that may go against the books, for I am running under assumptions I have made after seeing the movie. Thank you.

Pairings: None. If you see a pairing, then by all means, see a pairing. Have fun!

Warnings: Not entirely child-friendly, but won't be littered with profanity or gore either. No romance – just some lovely fluffiness and hurt/comfort because Jack seems to always be at the centre of this in the world of fanfiction. Sorry Frost.

Desert Crawl
Chapter 1 : Jack's Staff

It wasn't as if Jack could not handle heat. He could withstand heat just fine – even in his hoodie – and be no worse for wear. Just because he was a spirit of fun and the name that was whispered around winter did not mean that he failed to have any protection against the heat. He was an immortal, after all, and a Guardian at that.

It frustrated Jack that the others would worry when he said that he wanted to breeze through some of the deserts at night, wishing to give those lonely residents there a little frost or possible fun in the rarest of snows. He wasn't the one that dictated when and when it didn't snow – for it snowed long before had ever been Jack Frost – or alive even – but he could command the winds and give frost and snow to those places that he specially chose. Such as certain Easters that certain kangaroos didn't like to forget about.

But it frustrated Jack that he'd get worried glances and looks whenever he wished to help with something. Whether it was sitting out a hot night to aid the sandman with giving cooling and relaxing dreams to children, or flying with Baby Tooth in the collection of teeth just because he wanted to do a good deed; there was always a seed of worry that followed after him, given to him by the Guardians.

'Oh Jack, won't it be much too hot for you?' Tooth would ask, worry striking her features and causing her headdress of feathers to droop in concern.

'Oi, don' cha think it stupid to go out when it's that hot, mate? Or do ya' wanna ruin summer for us?' would be a variation on what Bunnymund would say.

North would seem decidedly neutral on the fact, suggesting that perhaps Jack shouldn't go out in the heat, and just be careful if he did; and Sandy merely looked concerned, and merely displayed these concerns to Jack until the youngest Guardian would tell them all that he was fine and he managed to live for 300 years as Jack Frost without melting, thank-you-very-much.

And it wasn't as if he could melt. Though Bunnymund started to find that concept funny, and insisted on teasing Jack about it until Frost replied with the question of whether the bunny was made of chocolate, and did he melt in the summer's heat as he heard some children rumoring about.

That effectively stopped those taunts.

No, Jack Frost could handle heat just fine. His staff helped, and he was able to keep fairly cold with no discomfort. It was a natural thing; his abilities awarded him the power to be able to pretty much ignore any temperature. His icy magic would always veil his flesh, and would always protect from the heat – but he could still be uncomfortable. He'd only have to worry about taxing himself to stay cold, and perhaps he shouldn't go jumping into any volcanoes any time soon, and furnaces and ovens and generally very hot things was something any sensible person should avoid.

So he was fine in the heat – absolutely fine.

Besides, it wasn't as if at that moment Jack was in the desert per se, it wasn't nearly hot enough to be considered a desert known for heat. Well, not at that moment. It was the middle of the night, and the lack of cloud cover over the barren plains lent to the air being icy and cold whereas during the day the heat would be stifling.

Jack was gently gliding through the air over a breeze of wind he commanded, and trailed his staff on the ground, amusing himself with gentle swirls of frost that he blanketed the ground with. No snow. There wouldn't be water in this area for some time, and it wasn't him to mess with the nature of the weather. It just wasn't his domain.

But he could create just enough frost to enjoy himself with.

He was frustrated, maybe angry – or at least on the border of being so.

Again, he had stated the fact that he wanted to go off to the desert that night and enjoy himself by making harmless frost – it was summer in other areas of the world that he preferred to frequent, and there was just generally less havoc-making in the places he normally frequented.

But the other Guardians expressed concerns, and like usual, he had to convince them that he'd be fine. That it was at night for goodness sakes and that even if it was a blazing hot day, that he'd just be complaining of the heat, and not melting into a puddle. It wasn't going to kill him, and it was angering him that he had to explain that yet again.

He had to tell them once more that his magic was enough to protect him from the typical hot days, and even the desert ones, that it wasn't going to be anything like hot enough to cause anyone to sweat, and that seeing as it was at night, frost was going to form anyway, and he wanted to be in on the action.

He left after they relented.

It frustrated him. He supposed it was the constant nagging that did it, and that he should be endeared that they cared so much. But… that was what bothered him the most; the fact that the others cared about him so much.

Frost landed gently and used his staff to knock an errant rock into the blackness of the night, and he kicked around a few stones, his hands stuffing into his pockets where the staff rest against his elbow.

Where were they 300 years ago when he was first 'born'? Why had he been so alone then? The others were older than him; he was the youngest of all of them. Why didn't any of the other spirits – Guardians or no – take heed or concern for him then? It wasn't as if he had Tooth flittering around him in concern over his health before he had been a Guardian…

He hadn't even known her then, despite when they had first met, she wanted to see his teeth because she had heard rumour they were 'perfect' – so she had known of him.

That bothered Jack too, just adding to his frustrations, how the others in the world that were like him seemed to have known about him. Tooth had heard about his teeth, Bunnymund never would get over the fact he enjoyed making havoc, frost and snow on Easter, the Sandman had seen him on occasion flitting through and probably saw dreams concerning surprise snow days and the like. And North, well, North probably 'knew' him best despite never knowing him.

Jack had 'the record' apparently on the naughty list, and he had been trying for his near entire existence as a spirit to break into the North Pole and the workshop.

It wasn't as if he hated them, he didn't. It wasn't as if he was disgusted with them, he assumed he wasn't. But it was frustrating and anger-inducing to be reminded of this fact every time he wanted to do something and suddenly it was 'too dangerous'. It wasn't as though being worried over bothered him, it was that he was being worried over now. Now. Not before. Not when he was new to the world and not for 300 years of being ignored by spirits and not even known about by humans. Not during that frustrating pain and learning to get over it himself so he could just live and not suffer through confusion and self-doubt.

Only now, now that the Man in the Moon had chosen him as a Guardian to walk alongside the other big four, was he important enough to be worried about.

And that is what bothered Jack most.

Those years of isolation were years that were impossible to forget. And his childish 'hair-pulling' pranks on the others were brushed aside as attempts to just cause mischief, and not as hands reaching out to try and grasp for real friendship; some real substance in the pathetic excuse he had for relationships.

Jack sighed, knowing that he was letting himself angst over nothing. He had friends now, he was loved now, and that should have made a difference. He couldn't turn back the clock or demand to the others that he be paid attention to, and perhaps he never made good enough effort to get their attention before – though that thought just made his stomach twist, and he knew it wasn't entirely true.

He couldn't be angry over the fact they worried about him when he decided to enjoy a cold desert, or even enjoy a nice warm day! He couldn't be angry that they cared now; no matter how late that care had come.

But he was still frustrated, and his heart was still pained, as if this self-resolution of 'understanding' wasn't enough to get rid of the damage that had been dealt over such a long period of time.

Frost sighed again, and he swept his staff in a wide arc, causing bramble-like bushes to freeze with frost, and the pins of cactuses being brought out in sharp-relief by the light of the half-moon with the glittering frost. He smiled.

That was enough of negative thought, and Jack pushed it all aside to be dealt with later – or perhaps never, and he took to the sky again with another whoop.

...

He was enjoying himself properly now, and Jack was doing neat tumbles in the air and properly giving the land a coating of frost, overtaking the natural order of the world that was already adding frost to the barren landscape. He swirled interesting patterns into the dust and sand, and swept off again to bother some nocturnal animal and amused himself with their startled looks as a cold breeze would whistle past them unsuspected.

Jack paused in mid-air, hovering about a metre off the ground, and regarding a spot with amused delight. "Huh… Who would have thought I could make a snake jump in fright?" he snorted to himself.

Jack surveyed the area around him, admiring the swirls of frost that adorned the natural coating that the weather provided, and satisfied, he called upon the wind so he could take off from the ground.

He was stopped.

His leg was snagged, and Jack jerked – stopping in mid-air – as something gritty had grabbed his ankle, not hard, but enough so that it kept him from taking properly to the air and kept him from wrenching It free. Whipping his head around in surprise, he tried to catch sight of what had him held so firm.

It was hard to see, but melding out of the blackness, and attached to the black sandy grip, a form started to develop, and it unfolded and unfurled until features as colder than Jack's own appeared.

"Pitch," Jack snarled in instant recognition of the cool grey features and colourless expression.

"A pleasure, I am sure," replied the boogeyman with a simple smile. "Miss me? Or did you think you really had defeated me once and for all; you and those other Guardians of yours."

Jack wriggled his leg in a message that the black spirit should let go, and the end of his staff crackled warningly as he held it up. "Of course I knew we couldn't destroy your ugly mug as easily as that – though it seemed really promising at the time. What do you want?"

"I want to win, naturally. But that is not what I am after right now, for that clearly won't happen for some time yet," Pitch casually stated. "Mostly, I just want to have some fun."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Fun - you want to have fun?"

"Yes, fun; and might I add," the man continued, his soothing voice cutting more sharply through the silent desert night than any ice that Frost could conjure, "that I am touched that you didn't believe me dead. You see, as long as there is fear in this world, I will always be here. No matter what you guardians do, there will always be fear and nightmares."

Jack spat off to the side, "I know that. Let me go, I'm not here to amuse you. Go melt away in the darkness and nurse your wounds."

Pitch's face darkened slightly, but the shadow passed as quick as they came. "How could I do that if you came so willingly into my domain?" He swept his other hand to the surrounding desert.

"You live in a desert? That's pretty depressing; for you. Not very scary though."

"No, you idiot boy," Pitch's grip tightened, but still wasn't painful, and Jack remained floating where he was, caught in his grasp. "This land is rife with darkness and fear. It sometimes is a place I like to go when I need to think, and I can wallow happily in all the fear that had fallen from man's breath when they themselves fell in this place - this place without proper life."

"You're disgusting."

"Am I really?" Pitch made himself look complemented. "How touching. But you are in my domain right now, dearest Jack Frost," he ignored the look of disgust that Jack had made, and the wriggle to release himself from the steadfast grip, "And I cannot let go of opportunity."

Jack pushed his staff forward warningly, the tip crackling once more. "Don't you try anything - I'm warning you."

"You warn me?" the Nightmare King laughed, "Oh how very lovely. No, no, I have no intention to follow through with any plans I had before – yet. I told you, I want to have… fun," his hand swept sharply, and a stream of black sand crashed into Jack and sent him – and his staff – flying through the air.

Jack went wheeling to the ground, and landed against it with a harsh thump that kicked up some sand as well as arrant particles of frost. Jack pushed himself partially up with a snarl, only suffering a bruise or two and being no worse for wear, he glared death up at the man before him; that man who so desperately wanted to rule and control all fear.

And fear it was that crossed Jack's features in an instant when Pitch approached his staff, and picked it up from where it lay.

"No!"

The Nightmare King turned it over in his hand, and he looked down the length of it as if appraising its worth. "I daresay, I wonder what would happen if I were to break it?"

"I can fix it. I've done it before." Jack grit through tight teeth, and he pushed himself upwards, dusting the sand off of himself, and he held out his hand sharply. "Now give it back."

"Well, I know that I can break it, I have done that before." Pitch didn't seem to hear him, he was on his own train of thought, and he took a light step backward, and dodged a strike that Jack made in an attempt to get back his staff. "No, I don't think I should break it -"

"Pitch!"

"- That would be foolish -"

"Give it back."

"- The others would surely know immediately -"

"Pitch."

"- Now that you're an official Guardian and everything that goes with it -" disgust of his own coated Pitch's voice.

"I said -"

"I heard you." Pitch cut him off. "I have no intention on just simply giving it back to you."

"PITCH."

"You will have to get it."

And Pitch tossed the staff into the air, too high for Jack to reach in a jump; though he made a desperate attempt to, but his neck was caught by a noose of sand, and it stopped him from even coming close. As the staff made a glistening and near slow-motion arc in the air, another torrent of sand shot out of the shadows, enveloping it, before it disappeared into the distance – carrying the staff along with it.

"There," Pitch stated, shading his eyes as if it were daylight as he watched the staff wheel away in the force of the sand's toss. "Ah," Pitch sighed, "That is far much better." He turned slowly to speak to Jack, "It is still within the desert, Jack Frost, and I would have to say you will have to walk some miles to fetch it."

Jack snarled, and moved forward to make a grab at the man, but the sand around his neck stopped him from making any sudden movements. Frost could only stand where he was and glare.

"Now, now, now," Pitched mockingly soothed as if Jack were a small pouting child, "I have been nice. I could very easily have instead-" and a knife was in Pitch's hand and before Jack knew it, the knife was dangerously close to Jack, pointed between his eyes.

He swallowed thickly, any demeanor of strength had vanished - his large blue and near child-like eyes gazed upwards at Pitch in fear.

"- well." You get the idea, don't you?" the blade disappeared as quick as it came, and Pitch drunk in that flittering expression of fear as if it were the liquor of his life.

"Why…?"

Again, Pitch ignored him. "I'd say it'd take you more than twelve hours to find that bloody staff of yours," he idly commented, and the sand began to fall away from Jack. "The sun is rising soon." Pitch started to collapse with the sand, fading away into the endless shadows of the desert at night.

"Good luck."

And the king of nightmares disappeared.

Jack made a movement forward, as if he could grab the Nightmare King from where he had last stood, but he was alone. Not even a mocking chuckle remained behind, just silence – and solitude.

Jack Frost swallowed, and he looked around himself warily, feeling naked without his staff, and his hand reflexively clenched and unclenched as his other rubbed his upper arm warily.

His eyes flicked in the direction of where his staff had been thrown – the sun was peeking the barest amount on the horizon, a sliver of blue and gold that would soon take over the sky – and he sighed.

"I better get started," he relented, knowing there would be no use in raging silently in the dark for Pitch to return his staff. That man was long gone by now, having decided the lingering would only jeopardize his ultimate plans.

So Jack Frost stepped forward, and waited for the blistering sun to rise.

He only hoped that his staff would be easy to find.

Author's Note: I am entirely unsure of how many chapters this will be, though I don't think it will be any longer than five or so – if it reaches that many at all. I am trying to run with ideas that I've seen over and over again (eg. Jack suffering in the heat) and taking a new angle on it. I figured that he might be better-protected against it, or have found always to protect himself seeing that he has managed to live for 300 years more-or-less completely alone. I've had this sitting in my files for a week or more since I've seen the movie, and decided to finish it up and post it! :D

And again, I haven't read the books, so if there are any inconsistences that don't match up, I'm sorry, I've only seen the movie, and this will be exclusively movie-verse.

Please comment and review! – It's always lovely, and it helps for me to know what you all like so I can keep giving you what you like. Thanks!

Next Chapter: Jack Frost. Stranded in a desert without his staff has to find it again before he gets perfectly overwhelmed in the heat. But he's tougher than that… isn't he? Jack struggles to retrieve the object he channels his magic with to warn the others of Pitch's vindictive nature. For if he sought to do harm to Jack, then who else was on his list…?