A/N: Okay, I know that most of the Guardians already have a back story from the books. But this fic is based solely on Tooth's quote (which perked my curiosity: "Every one of us used to be somebody before we were chosen."), the movie, and my brain. Read if you want.
Side note: North will be some weird mixture of my brain and all the Santa Claus origin stories I've heard.
Every child, anyone who has been a child, has wondered about the man in the red suit. The man with the long white beard, belly that shakes like jelly when he laughed, and a strange hankering for cookies. He's St. Nicholas, Father Christmas, Santa Claus!
But before he was Santa Claus, North was just Nick, the village carpenter. Though large in stature and a bit clumsy, Nick was quite clever with his hands. He coaxed gentle creatures from blocks of wood. Small ships and little soldiers dotted his work table, ready for battle. Astounding towers adorned the edges, turning the small room into a small world.
Each year, in the heart of darkness, hopelessness, and boredom, otherwise known as the middle of winter, Nick personally gave each deserving child in the community one or two toys, delicately wrapped in plain paper. Those he deemed naughty would pout, but reminding them of their actions (and perhaps inciting them with the possibility of a later gift) always set them right. Well, almost always. Occasionally, to make his point, he had to hand them a lump of coal. It was a gift in its own way, being quite useful as fuel. But not very fun as a toy, which was a child's focus.
Nick loved the way each child's eyes lit up, their hope for life renewed as blizzards raged outside their rickety abodes. He loved their wonder as they held the wooden creations, their hands exploring what had been just a chunk of wood. That was his favorite part. The children's wonder. Their eyes lighting up with each new thing, whether it be a new year, a new flower, a new child, a new toy. They always wondered, never closing their minds.
He wondered too. He wondered if he could light up the eyes of children around the world with his gifts. He wondered about love. He wondered about different kinds of cookies. Sometimes, outside, he wondered about the Man in the Moon.
Nick had been able to expand his gift-giving to a few communities outside of his own, but he never dwelled too long on the idea of expanding even farther. He wasn't magic or superhuman.
Nick had also found love. He had lost love. And then he found it again. The pair never thought about having children of their own, loving the children of their village far too much.
And the children loved him, baking Nick all sorts of cookies to the point of him needing a new belt, pants, shirt... well, everything really.
One evening, many years after his love had gone and the dexterousness of hands replaced with a slight shaking, when Nick sat outside, his white beard glimmering like snow in the moonlight, a voice whispered to him. It whispered of joy, of hope, of wonder. It whispered of love and children. It whispered of a dark force that threatened to snuff out everything. It whispered of a chance to stop it.
That evening, Nick the village carpenter died, the loss echoing across miles of land, across generations, across the lives of hundred of children.
Next year however, the presents, the trees, the lights all appeared. As if nothing had happened. The children would continue to wonder as the scent of cookies and the smoke of a pipe lingered in the air, the echo of a familiar, jolly laugh ringing in their ears.
A/N: (I don't usually put this many author's notes.) Well, hope you liked it. I did, for the most part. Updating will be iffy.