Where I come from, food is a hot commodity. It's something that you stare at in the window of a shop, something you check the trash for, hoping the carelessness of someone would keep you alive for just one more day. I've seen people fight for food, the blood on their knuckles a crimson symbol of victory.

Where I come from, cold is an under exaggeration. Bodies line the alleys at night, huddled around trash cans, their fire casting an eerie glow on the gaunt faces surrounding them. People aren't cold here, they are freezing.

Where I come from, almost everyone is an enemy, waiting for the opportune moment to steal the shirt right off of your back.

Where do I come from?

Poveri Perso, which in some dialect of Italian, literally means 'poor' and 'lost'.

Who am I?

I'm Jack. I am poor. I am lost.

I don't have a real last name. I'm sure I did at one point. Doesn't everyone? My birth mother told me for years that 'some sorry prick' just didn't care he had a son. I think it bothered her more that she was stuck with me...that bitch.

I know what you're thinking. I'm cold, callous. Wouldn't you be? Maybe it's best to explain some things about me.

I was born on the coldest day of the year in this dead town, in a small one bedroom apartment on the West Side, to a woman who preferred a man in between her legs than a son in her arms. I hated her from the moment I could form a thought. She wasn't a mother, she was a whore.

I think I must have raised myself, I don't know, I've tried to block most of it out. There's a few things your mind can't ever erase though, like the smell of molding floorboards, rotting beneath my feet. Or the feel of roaches in my bed when I slept. I didn't eat a lot, just whatever I could find that wasn't completely covered in green fuzz.

Don't pity me though, I hate pity.

Some people call me Frost. I don't feel remorse. I don't feel pain. I don't feel, and I don't want to.

I don't remember when I became so skilled at evading people, but as my feet carried me through another back alley, I assumed that it might just be a natural gift. I didn't wear shoes, and my feet were killing me, but I knew if I stopped I would be considered a thief, and would be thrown in some grimy jail cell downtown.

We had two rules. Don't get caught. Don't let them follow. I never got caught, and I never let them follow. It was a joke to even think I could get caught, and a business owner knew that when I walked through the door, I wasn't walking out empty handed.

Running out, I reminded myself.

It seemed all I did lately was run, and my feet were the calloused proof. I probably could have found shoes by now, but they weren't exactly at the top of my list of priorities, when every day was a struggle for food and water. I was more than content to have to sit with a bucket of water each night, soaking my feet until they became numb from the pain.

"Get back here! I'll find you! I'll fucking find you!", were the yells I heard behind me. He would never find me, and he was stupid enough to leave his shop empty-handed for the time he chased me. I was the one who was always chased, I was the one who was fast.

The door was close, close enough for me to feel a sense of relief that I could soon rest.

I finally reached the building I was looking for, and after being sure I wasn't followed I looked at the door, that graffiti covered door, recessed in the wall of a brick building. I knocked six times. Why? Because people don't ever knock six times. Even the police, they don't knock six times. It's always 'BANG BANG BANG'.

The door opened for me slowly, and I saw a bright set of teeth glowing from the shadows. Toothiana. In I went into my home - our home - my band of misfits and I.

I think Tooth must have been beautiful once. Her faded multicolored hair must have been vibrant once, her smile real. Now, it was just her eyes that gave us hope. Purple in color, and bright in spirit. Apparently she 'suffered' from something called 'Alexandria's Genesis', and apparently she had a hell of a time finding the right makeup for it.

"What'd you get?!", she exclaimed, and I couldn't help but wonder how she was always in such a good mood. Sometimes I thought she could make me smile, and then I remembered what she left to go do each night, and how no one should have to show their skin to make an extra buck.

I opened up my blue jacket, assorted fruit dropping to the floor and rolling out, followed by a loaf of cheese covered bread.

"I couldn't really grab much," I mumbled wishing I had a bigger jacket, watching as she bent over, picking up each treasured piece of food. "I'm sure Mund was able to pick up more. The idiot chased me almost all of the way here." I dropped onto my recliner. The suede against my skin felt heavenly, and it made me completely able to ignore the smell of must.

As if on cue, a knock on the door came six times. Tooth, anxious as ever - the poor girl - jumped to let one of ours in. I turned my head to see who it was, but was momentarily distracted by the tattooed wings peaking from the top of Tooth's top. Being lonely was an awful curse.

I watched as Mund walked in, and I knew to turn my head because for at least two minutes, him and Tooth would be swapping spit. Was I jealous? Of course I was, and it had nothing to do with Mund, or Tooth.

Mund was a strange fellow, and I can't say we actually liked each other. Cared about each other's well being? Sure. Stay in the same room alone with each other for more than five minutes? Hell...no. He was from New Zealand, or something like that, a tough looking guy with black slicked back hair, slate grey eyes, and a shit load of tattoos. I'm pretty sure the only time I've ever seen him not look like he was about to knock the shit out of someone, was when he was looking at Tooth. I bet it was good for her though, to feel cared about.

I heard the drop of food again, and knew it was safe to look around.

"Jack, you look like shit.", Mund said to me in his deep accent.

I rolled my eyes. He always said I looked like shit, and he was probably right. I wasn't ugly, but I sure as hell didn't look great. My hair was almost white, always had been since the day I sprouted some apparently, but from the tanned tinge in some areas, you could tell that it wasn't clean. It didn't help my case that I was so pale. The sun barely ever come out in Poveri Perso, and when it did, it was almost too blinding.

Tooth and Mund weren't the only two in my crew. There was Nick North, who unlike the rest of us, actually had a reputable job. He was an older man, and had practically took me in when he saw me hiding in a blanket near a stoop, on his way home from the factory. I liked him, you could even say I loved him like a father. He was nurturing, and he looked it with his grey beard, and kindhearted face. You would have never known by the way his smile touched his eyes that his wife had been murdered ten years ago.

Like most of the people in this hell hole though, he never made enough money, and just covered the rent and electricity for this place.

Then, there was the Sandman. I don't know where he got that name, because his ID card says Albert. Must have been a street name given to him, and it was a street name that got him thrown in jail. I'm not even sure for what exactly, but it probably had something to do with the drugs he was selling people.

Yeah, we weren't exactly the kind of people you'd take home to meet the parents, but we were family, and that was something...right?

AUTHORS NOTE (From now on, I will just write A/N):

Well, hello there. This is my first fanfic on this wonderful website, and I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter. Yes, I understand it's not happy. And yes, I understand this is not how we've generally viewed our 'guardians.' However, fanfiction is about doing your own thing with a story featuring characters from something else, and I've had this idea for quite some time. (Yes, there will be some Elsa here soon.)

I would love some reviews, and I will gladly answer any questions! Updates will be as often as I am able.