AN: So I really really love Rise of the Guardians... Jack Frost in particular. I saw a prompt for this at the dream width kink meme (if you want the link contact me and I'll try to get it to you) and I was so inspired I really couldn't resist, even though the prompt has about 5 fills already.
EDIT: First, I'd like to thank all of you for the overwhelming response! I only posted an hour or two ago, and I'm already being flooded in love. I love you all, and thank you for the reviews and favorites! Raver's Spirit asked why I decided to write for this prompt. It already had fills, and they were all very well written. For some reason though, this idea really got stuck with me, and there were parts that the other authors hadn't touched on that the prompt poster had mentioned that I thought could work really well. I figured I'd challenge myself to actually go through with it and write it, and I did. That's partially due to the encouragement of my beta, tom-marvolo-riddle-mcmxxvi, who thought it was really good-and she didn't even watch the movie.
EDIT 2: Hey! Guess what! Someone wrote a piece inspired by this and "Brother Frost" by nekokoban (/works/637738) called "Cold Comfort" (by MutePoetess) (/works/1036028) (both are on archiveofourown, just add the endings onto the end of the org when you type it/copy it into the address)
EDIT 3: Alright, someone wrote a review and I can't reply because their PM was off so I'm just going to point out that Jack helping them out with their suicides is called assisted suicide. It still counts as suicide.
Disclaimer: If I owned Rise of the Guardians I would be making this a book, not a fanfiction, so it's pretty safe to say that I only own the story here, that I wrote. Dreamworks and William Joyce own it all otherwise.
It started out in a small town of long winters. When the snow started to fall more and more, when the winter was just a bit longer, when the kids were throwing snowballs more than fighting, that's where it began . No one was quite sure how it came to be what it is now.
No one is quite sure who heard the name first. Some say it was on the dying lips of a child who had gotten hypothermia and died in his brother's arms, frost dancing over his cheek. Others say it was a little girl, pulled out of a nearly frozen lake that she'd jumped into, her dying words thanking him as she shuddered out her last breath.
Now, it is simply known. A tale, whispered in the dark, on cold stormy nights. They don't talk about it with outsiders, so it never catches on, but they know, oh they know it is true.
The first one to call for him had been a boy. He'd been too old to really believe in any of the childhood spirits, but he'd called the name out into the cold world. It was snowing, and Jack was around. Not right where the boy was-he hadn't even known he was there-but close enough that the boy saying his name had hurt like thorns trying to flow through his veins. He came immediately, found the boy by a stream in the woods, and the boy's eyes -so dark, so dead- lit up just a little bit.
"I knew you were real." He said. And he collapsed forward into Jack, who, almost unconsciously, had held out his arms to catch him. Having been ignored for so long, being touched was almost more surprising than being seen. He felt like his entire body was boiling with an unfamiliar, unpleasant cold. Every place where the boy touched roiled beneath his skin, shocking and uneven, uncomfortably painful. But this boy could see him. This boy wanted him for something. He'd heard the stories before, and his heart had always plummeted at the very thought...but if he could be seen, then he had to do something. If he could help-even in one of the worst ways-then he should.
He held the boy, who was crying openly into his arms. He was a teen who had too much to handle. An orphan, who just hadn't been able to get his feet steady since the deaths of his parents years ago. Too long he had suffered. Jack wasn't entirely sure how he knew this. Some, he heard from the boy's trembling lips, but the rest...he seemed to just know.
"Make it go away..." The boy moaned, "Make it stop...please? Please make it end. I don't want to be miserable anymore."
What was Jack supposed to do? What else, he thought, than grant this boy's wish? It was winter, the middle of the night-the boy was half dead from the cold already-so really, what other choice was to be made?
"Close your eyes." He breathed "It'll all be over in a second." He spreads the cold through the places where the boy is in contact with him, feels as the boy goes completely limp in his arms. He feels the moment the boy dies when there is a sudden emptiness in his blood, like a rush in his head that leaves him dizzy. He gently lays the boy down and looks at him.
His eyes are closed, and there is Frost on his nose and right cheek. A smile is on his face, so small, and yet it is the happiest Jack has ever seen this particular child. That is the moment when Jack realizes he doesn't even know his name. He leaves, but not before he creates a single frost flower, and lays it above the boy's head.
When the boy is found the next morning, Jack Frost, the Saint of Suicides, is well and truly born.
Don't let Jack Frost nip at your nose, because if you do, it's likely to be the last thing you feel before he steals the breath straight out of your lungs and leaves a frost flower by your side.
. . .
Jamie's belief is like an island in the ocean, a firm, steady grip amongst the uneven and unpredictable tides of the sea. Jack can understand now, why the Guardians don't mind having believers at all. It feels warm in a good way, when those children believe.
It's so strange, so different, compared to the belief of the saint. The belief of the saint is anything but stable. In that small town that isn't so small anymore, even adults can see him. They tell their children not to spread nonsense stories, but they remember.
They heard about a time when a young couple made a suicide pact and died curled together in the snow, smiling and holding a single frost flower between them. They were there when the little girl who was so disfigured she had been shunned by everyone, without exception, had been found surrounded by frost flowers, frozen into the middle of the river, water rushing beneath her ice encased body as her spread arms seemed to welcome the world, her smile happy.
And they believe. They can lie all they want, but they too believe. Sometimes they catch glimpses of him, see him smile in the middle of a snow storm. It is said that when Jack Frost smiles at you it means that you are going to die with him at your side, and so they all strive to avoid being out when the snow begins, unless they want to see him, unless, for them, it is time. Then they go out into the storm, and call his name.
They come up with other little ideas too, as he becomes more well known. They say he protects them, those who suffer, and will help you when you are in danger. Leave him a gift on a snowy evening and he'll owe you a favor, which you can call on at any time. He can make it so you are overlooked by those that wish to harm you, make it so that animals looking for an evening meal won't think to hunt you. Or he will come when you call, listen if you want to talk through your worries, your problems. Jack Frost will protect you all your life, and he will be there when you end it or if it is ended for you.
Jack didn't really know what to do with these believers, at first. Now though, he protects them as a guardian of things unspoken. Now he listens to the children who tell him of their horrors, and he takes the breath from their lungs when they are too tired or hurt to go on. He has protected those children, taken their gifts and given their favors whenever they call his name.
. . .
He was with the guardians getting ready to return to the North Pole in the sleigh, when it happened.
Jack Frost, please hear me. I'm too tired to live. Come sit with me, please?
The voice echoes in his head, and his blood itches uncomfortably. He jumps up, and doesn't realize that he's startled the other guardians, that they are staring in confusion at the change in the way he is holding himself, in the expression on his face. Never before has he been with other spirits when a child has called, so he doesn't realize that his skin is looking more glass like than usual, doesn't know that his eyes look as empty as the life he knows he will end.
He doesn't even have to call the wind. It is there, dragging him away too fast to follow towards his believer. The itch under his skin hurts more and more the closer he gets, and he knows he is there when it is again like thorns in his blood. He finds the little boy on the street, curled next to the bank building, in the middle of the town. The streets, though normally filled with the homeless at this time of night, are empty from this point, as far as he can see. They have heard the cries of this boy to the wind, and have decided they do not want to die this day, and so they have left.
For a winter night, it really isn't that cold, so Jack knows there is more to this than that. This boy is more than tired. This boy has called to him before, Jack realizes-he had a home, once, but he is no longer welcome there-this boy has given him gifts and has told him the problems of his world. And he is done trying.
Jack learned long ago not to reason with them, at this point. Sometimes, sometimes he can, and when he can he does and sometimes they grow and are happy. Sometimes. Other times, they are like this boy and call to him. And he comes. He always comes. This boy is still fairly young. He knows that he got a little food for Christmas, remembers seeing him shortly after, hearing his cries on the wind for him to come.
The boy looks at him now with lifeless eyes. Jack doesn't speak, doesn't always need to. He sits next to the boy, and the boy curls into him. It's just as painful and as uncomfortable. That never changes. It always hurts. Still he brings the boy in closer. He knows what the boy wants. There are no words between them as the boy lets several tears slip by, and Jack fills him with the numbing cold that will kill him. That final breath, that emptiness, comes back. He leaves the boy curled against the building, the sputtering of his blood subsiding as he feels something in his blood strengthen. He looks up sharply.
A little girl, barely ten (maybe younger) is staring at him. He knows she was looking for him since she is holding something and isn't surprised, but she isn't here for death. She's well dressed for the cold-his believers don't really bother with coats and boots when they are ready to die-and she doesn't look scared.
"Jack Frost..." she whispers, as she plays with her lip, walking slowly to him. She holds out a small orange, and he takes it quietly. "Thank you." is all she says before she turns and darts away, back home where she can sleep in a warm house.
"Jack what's going on?" Tooth's voice startles him so much he nearly drops the orange. He turns, and looks at the guardians, who must have felt the demise of the little boy. That was probably how they'd tracked him, he realized. They probably knew where they were when they died just as he did. Why wouldn't they? And with Bunny's tunnels they had probably made it there in less time than they would have had to take in the sleigh.
"That isn't something that should be discussed here." He turns back to the body of the boy. He doesn't have the time to make the flower, so instead he gently closes the boy's eyes, which are barely parted, and allows frost to curl off of his fingertips, rapidly going through the boy's hair and creating patterns across his dirty clothes. When he removes his hand, the boy is entirely covered in frost.
He goes to the Guardians in silence, not looking at them. He looks around-just to be sure there are no others- and sees a small girl curled against the chest of an older teen. The teen saw him and the boy, he realizes (no wonder her eyes are so wide) but she barely moves. Jack can see that she wishes to say something to him though, so he stops, really looks at her. She stays where she is, eyes dragging over to the body, not registering the guardians. She's haunted, but less so than the boy he saw tonight, more similar to the girl who gave him the orange.
The other guardians notice her when Jack stops, the girl doesn't notice, and is still uneasy. She looks at him again, eyes flickering down to the orange in his hand.
"He was a friend." She says abruptly. "He told me he would, you know." Yes, he knows. "Happy you could make it. Made it better for him." She looks off to the side, then at her sister. "...thanks. You know. Thanks. And..." she dug into the cloth the little girl is wrapped in, a blanket covered in snowflake patterns as well as real snowflakes. "...Rasia made something for you. Let me..." She pulled out a wood carving. "Said you probably got a little sad with no color and only ice. I didn't argue with her. Hard enough, you know, without the arguing." She looks up at him, really looks at him, and he can see she's already too close to where her friend was. "Already too hard you know. She's only three, you know. Hard to argue with."
She's babbling. Jack steps to her and takes the wood carving from her hand. They stare at each other for a moment, and she just nods, knowing.
She shifts away, backs into the crevice of a building where he sees a small fire burning. The wind swoops in at his command, makes it a little brighter, a little warmer, and the girl smiles at him as she settles in and closes her eyes, sleeping lightly.
The Guardians are staring even more intensely at Jack. Jack doesn't look at them. He closes his eyes, and just breathes, once. He feels the belief in the air. It is crisp and fragile, like a thin flake of crust, barely holding on to something too heavy for it.
"Let's go," is all he says, because really, there is nothing else to say. Bunny takes them back to the sleigh, and they ride back to the pole in absolute silence.
. . .
Sandy, strangely enough, is the first to broach the subject. They are sitting in the workshop, not talking, trying to find a way to bring it up. The others all have hot chocolate, but Jack has nothing. He leans on a window sill with his hood up.
Sandy goes over to him, taps him on the side and asks in picture form about the boy.
"He called for me, so I came. He was tired...so I took away the pain. It's just one of those things I have to do."
"What do you mean?" North is looking at him, his face more serious than when even Pitch was around.
"I don't know if you'd quite understand, that even in the beginning I had to take life. I'm a seasonal spirit. People got caught in the wrong weather, they end up dying. Animals not being able to escape fast enough, that sort of thing. It's always been a part of my spirit life. The other seasonal spirits as well, from what I know of them." Which isn't much, not much at all, if he's honest.
"What you saw tonight though-that started as something different. I'm not even entirely certain how it happened. But the children who died in a way connected with water, for a little bit, they could see me." He gives a hollow laugh, "I didn't understand why before. I do now, but before it was just one of those things. I remember all of them. Some only stared at me. But there were a few who actually bothered to talk to me. A little boy who had taken a dip in a freezing pond and lay in the snow waiting to die asked my name, a girl who had jumped into a nearly frozen lake asked if I would make sure no one would save her in time. I think she heard about what the other boy called me, because she thanked me, by name, even though I didn't do anything. Couldn't do anything."
He grips his staff and taps a finger against the window, watching as the frost forms.
"From there, the rumors just skyrocketed. I become the saint of suicide. They believed in me in a way that is... very unpleasant. Still is. There is nothing pleasant about what I have to do. There is no not doing it, either. None of you have that, I don't think." He looked back at their perplexed faces and gave a twisted sort of smile. "It's a lot different from the sort of belief the other kids give, that's for sure. When they call for me, I hear them, and I must go to them. Sometimes, they just want to talk. Other times, they give me gifts in exchange for favors. But once they've given up, and they call...I can always tell." He sighed and just looked back out of the window.
"It stops mattering, after that, how much better their lives could be, possibly, someday. Once they decide to die, that is all I really know for them. I know why, and I can sit with them and bring them the peace they want. Ever wonder where the phrase 'Jack Frost nipping at your nose' came from? It's because I leave just a bit of frost on the nose of every child who dies with my help. I make them a frost flower too. There was this one girl, who thought she was so ugly. She'd been born deformed and then was in an accident that killed her parents that just made it worse. She said she wanted to become a part of the beauty of the world. I froze her into the river on a bed of frost flowers. She died smiling."
He leaves it at that. The guardians are all staring at him, dumbfounded and silent.
"How long?" Bunny's voice cuts through the air unexpectedly. Jack made no move to turn to him.
"At least two hundred years, probably closer to two fifty." His voice is low. He didn't ever really want to have to explain this. They were the protectors of childhood, could they really accept this as part of that? Could they really agree that what he did was to help these children, who suffered needlessly? Could he really convince them, or would they kick him out now, tell him he shouldn't have ever become a guardian in the first place? The very thought made him shudder as he rarely did. He couldn't lose the family he'd just gained because of this, please no...
"That must have been very difficult." Tooth spoke softly, fluttering closer to him. She reached out to him, and he didn't move, almost scared of making her jerk back. She hesitated a bit, but when he didn't move she touched his shoulder gently. He did not relax, didn't dare, but he didn't tense up either. He remained as frozen as the ice he commanded, waiting... "Being all alone and then the only people who see you are the ones who are suffering, who want to die."
His throat felt tight. He couldn't speak for a minute. "Yes," he finally managed, "Yeah, it was really strange. I didn't really know what to do, at first. Was it right to do it? Should I really end the lives of these kids? But there really wasn't any point in trying not to. If I try to avoid it, it's...difficult." So painful he might as well be repeatedly setting himself on fire while rolling on hot coals. The other guardians seemed to sense that it was more than just 'difficult'.
"Oh Jack..." Tooth smiled sadly at him before pulling him into her arms. He stiffened automatically, but forced himself to relax in the unfamiliar grip of a hug. Suddenly all the guardians were around them and Jack had to force down a quick shot of panic at the sensory overload. Instead he focused on the comfort of their embraces, on the fact that none of them even seemed to be repulsed by him, by what he'd done, by what he'd had to do...
He sunk into the giant hug and was finally relieved. He needed to get used to this. He finally had a family. He wasn't alone anymore.