Disclaimer—because I know how important they are. I don't own this shit. This story is my personal fancy because I have all of these winter, Christmas feels that I don't know what to do with.
I was inspired by someone else's story that I read last night whilst I was farting around amongst the Jamie/Jack fandom.
Thank you to Electric Plum and your very tasteful story, "Thawing Frost"
For as long as he could remember, he couldn't remember anything from his past, just that moment, that one moment in the forest so many decades ago.
If Jack closed his eyes, he could recall a memory of crisp snow and pine trees. He could see the face of the moon as he peered down with sympathy, leaning on his walking stick for support. That heavy burden of weight bounding to him and cleaving to his crooked back. The moon was always hard working, silent and understanding.
Jack had a very good memory, you see, but he just couldn't think of a time before that moment out upon the frozen water in the midst of winter. His body was cold and ridden with frost and bite. His mind was crisp and even.
He had always thought it was because he didn't have a life before, but that couldn't be. He was made of flesh and bone, though it was frozen. He breathed, required food, comfort.
He didn't know his purpose. His task had always been the duty of bringing winter to the world men and women. It was simply his duty: to freeze the ground and make the snow, or at least that's what he thought. He didn't know it was his duty to watch over children, to become a guardian. To become the watcher and safe bringer to all, and any, and especially that one boy who first spoke his name and saw his frozen face.
Jack trotted through the forest, kicking at the snow beneath his toes, occasionally stopping to lean on a tree and stare off, listening to the sounds of the chilling wind as it brushed through the proud trees. It carried the scent of pine. Jack closed his eyes and breathed.
He came every year, around the holidays, right when the laughter and warmth was the strongest. It was the best time for family and songs. He breathed in and lifted off of the ground. He could hear the soft singing of silver bells as people opened doors to the tiny shops and stores, and the reindeer bells, too, joined the chorus from every street corner as each happy, fat Santa wished a merry Christmas. Carols sang bright and loud. It was his time, his element. He rubbed his hands together and slipped off into the dawning darkness, plotting new ways to impress the crowds of children, while also thinking of ways to make the elders gripe. He dashed along and touched his icy fingers upon the windows of cars and faces of houses, casting off extravagant displays of encircling, frosted lines and wisps of feather like pictures across the smooth surfaces.
It was his handy work; and every year, the adults took it for granted except for around Christmas. No snow before, or after, but please bring the whitening, laminating weather for the holidays. And Jack did. He laughed and rolled in the air, filling his lungs with his own biting cold, exhaling a chilly wind across the streets. The snow leapt at his attention and danced for joy, rolling across the blackened tar in erotic displays of dance and design.
The snow mounds rose higher and so did Jack, climbing to the swollen gray clouds that loomed over the city's sky line. He kissed at the shy clouds, willing them to release and pour soft curtains of silken flakes.
He sighed and landed on a lamp post, looking down at the pooling golden light. Casts of golden ambiance reflected in the water of the snow flakes. How they sparkled with a crisp clear wonder. Jack leaned back, dangling a foot off of his perch, content with the growing frost that creaked and cracked along the streets throughout the city.
How glad the children would be when the opened their tiny eyes and rose their little heads up to the widows; oh, to look out on that fresh, even snow. He reveled in that thought and swelled with pride. They knew his name, these children, and thanked him for their frozen wonders.
Off in the distance, illuminating Christmas lights twinkled in frosted darkness. The bells stopped as the people grumbled and receded into their warm cars, or houses; and the world around muffled as the snow blanketed and swallowed up all sounds. Silence.
Just the soft sound of the wind as it whispered a lullaby that Jack knew all too well. The snow gathered in his hair and on his clothes. Jack looked about him, recognizing the street that he had come to, the lamp post that he had landed on. He looked down passed his icy toes and saw the house which his Jamie resided in.
The house was silent, still, at peace and gentle strands of golden sand now began to dash through the snow and encircled the house, breaking through the closed windows and doors and giving the tenets a gift of dreams. Jack's eyes rose to the sky; though he could not see his fellow friend and guardian, he knew he was there, off in the distance, conducting the jubilant sand, and joys of dreams; his golden glow outlined the base of the clouds.
In that moment, the city was incased, closed off. The clouds provided a roof; and the light of Sandy provided a blanketing security. Jack rose from his perch and twisted around with the sand that descended down onto the Bennett house, gliding with it as it carried the dreams to slumbering heads. He closed his eyes and heard it: a soft sound, a whisper, a murmur, carried along the ever-shifting folds of glittering gold.
He heard his name and stopped, straightening as the gentle words called out and sang his name so beautifully.
Dreaming of him? The frozen spirit could hardly believe his ears, so he left it for his eyes and slipped closer to the quiet house.
He could hear the sounds of rustling sheets, soft words. A tiny breath, and quiet gasp. Jack floated closer and pressed his frozen nose to the window of the house, daring to peer inside onto that personal display. He wondered what kind of dream it was that caused that face of Jamie's to scrunch and blush like that. He squinted, wanting to make out the figures in the sand as they danced over Jamie's head. Two people played, prancing along, one with a wooden staff and the other bundled tight in bounds of sweaters and coats. Jack laughed and leaned his elbow on the cill of the window, balancing his chin on his open palm as he watched.
He was glad to see that his dear friend still thought of him, even in his older age. Jamie was molding into a fine young man now, not that much bigger that Jack himself. He often pressed his nose in to see him on nights like these. Occasionally coming in to visit the boy when he was awake. This night, though, Jamie had let the pleasures of slumber grasp him too soon. He watched as the dancing, sandy scene unfolded, curious to see just what it was that held the teenager's sleepy thoughts.
The sand mixed and morphed, twisted and joined. What Jack could assume was a representation of himself grasped the bundled Jamie and lifted him up, holding him close—Jack had done that often when Jamie was smaller. Grab him and toss him in the air, catching him on the gusts of cooling wind. Their joyous faces laughed silently and the little Jamie's coat evaporated into golden dust. He lowered and grasped onto Jack's figurine. They moved and swayed, holding each other close.
Outside, the sand molded around Jack. It caressed him, and he pressed his ear to it. Jamie's voice whispered again. He spoke his name in his dream and sighed contently.
There had been times where Jamie had sang out Jack's name in clear joy, but never did it sound like this, so dreamy. Content, like Jamie had been dying for this opportunity. For a brief moment, Jack's eyes closed as he listed to the simple sounds of Jamie's breath and he heard it. A faint moan, so soft, so sweet. Jack opened his eyes and pressed his face in on that private scene again. The two glittering figures knelt across from each other, lips pressed to one another's. Jack swallowed and pressed his nose against the window pane, frost gathered where frozen breathe escaped his mouth.
This was entirely personal, and Jack should have respected that. When his own little image flew above Jamie's body and pressed him down, Jack turned and looked away from Jamie's display, knowing it to be unfair to see something like that.
His heart was hammering, racing and clattering in his thin chest. He could feel it as it pressed itself up against his bony ribs. He clutched his chest, gripping his fingers into his shirt. He shouldn't have seen something like that. Why had Sandy allowed him to hear that sound of his name on the drifting waves of sand?
His mouth was dry and his stomach felt oddly empty. He slumped against the side of the house and kicked his feet through the air beneath him. Jamie was young, too young to be dreaming of things like that; why would Sandy even concoct such a scene? He was aware that even adults dreamed, and that perhaps their dreams included mature scenes of such a pleasure, but it was all too startling to think that Jamie had grown and desired such things.
It was easy to forget. Jack was stuck in his age. He was three times the age of the oldest man in the world, but he was forever young. It was so easy to forget how one could grow and change when he, himself, stayed the same.
A gripping fear took hold of Jack and he turned, looking into the window again. Jamie tossed gently in his bed and his lips motioned the sounds of pleasure. He was growing up; no longer a young boy, sitting alone in his bed, beseeching his stuffed rabbit to show him the proof of magic and wonder. This obviously meant that Jamie would no longer need him.
His chest suddenly ached with a sickening, clamping grip. He looked away, feeling anxious and eager to dash off through the air, fly away from Jamie's house. He turned and he heard that sweetly warm voice again. "Jack."
It did not take him long to realize that the golden ribbon of sand had evaporated and dissipated off back to Sandy's ultimate will. Jamie was awake and laying in his bed, chest heaving, eyes wide and astonished. His hands lay limply at his sides. The young boy stirred and rolled, turning his head to the window and taking in the sight of Jack floating off in the distance.
Jack looked back to him and their eyes met through the darkness. Jamie looked extinguished, satisfied; he was not embarrassed, and his bright blush seemed to make him glow.