Disclaimer: I own naughta
Warning: The only OC's are the pet, mother, rock, and neighbor…though the rock probably doesn't count…
The Little Things…
Over three hundred years of playing with kids Jack noticed the little things. Took joy in them, took joy in being able to create them and see the minute smile that would grace the children's faces, evolving, slowly, surely, into laughs, and fun. But what are the little things? The delicate design of frost on windows, the fluttering of birds, the glimmering icicles, the sprouting of flowers, the first snowfall, and so many other tiny, little things that many, many took for granted.
But little things weren't all about things the weather created—or Jack created. But other normal things that seemed so very, very foolish to cry over.
For one simply doesn't notice, Jack muses as he watches, hovering, over a crying child, the little things in life.
For the child blabbers, tears and snot streaming down her face as she kneels in the snow, shivering, talking on and on about the one she's lost.
How all others would eventually leave, leaving her in cold dark solitude, but he, her precious lost one, would always remain, eyes forever calling her name and actions forever lighting the cold dark home. And she could recall, she sobbed, how when others would shout and complain, and never, never listen, he would offer his warmth for her tears, offer his ears for her pleas, offer his voice for her smile.
And in those actions, slight, unnoticed by all but her, those small simple actions, those small things that lighted her day, her heart, her laugh, her smile, her eyes, her hamster, Jaden, had saved her.
But no one, no one noticed, no one understood, he was only a hamster, after all.
A small, simple thing capable of no more than small, simple actions, what use was he, this tiny little thing, to the world?
But to Jack, the spirit of winter, the world wasn't anything more than the children; the smiling happy children who played and laughed and joked and played pranks.
So what was this little thing, this small hamster, to him?
It was something that had once brought a smile to a little girl's face; it was something that had done his job for him when he could not. But now, now this little thing was gone, small, unnoticed, and leaving a girl in tears, tears that no one could understand. No one wanted to understand.
For it was such a little thing, and little things will never, ever, be missed. Just like Jack.
"Shh," Jack called from above, fearing coming too close to the girl and freezing her even more, "the little guy wouldn't want to see you cry…I don't want' to see you cry."
The girl did not hear, did not listen. For Jack was not a little thing, he was nothing, and even little children who cried over such small little things could not see him.
"Come on," he whispered, tapping his staff to the ground, "the little guy wouldn't appreciate it if you got frost bite."
And, apparently, neither did the girl's mother, "Martha, stop you're balling and get in here! We'll get you another hamster tomorrow!"
Jack remained, listening as the child murmured, trudging back towards the house, "but it'll never be Jaden, my Jaden, who knew all my secret's, shared in my pain, kept me company in the dark, dark night. But," the child sobbed, "why would anyone ever care?"
"I do," Jack cried out in denial, eyes frantic as he looked for something, anything, to leave one more little thing, just a small tiny thing, to make the child laugh, to make her smile, to let her know someone knew, someone cared.
"I do." Jack whispered as his eyes landed on the grave stone, tilted just so to the side and chosen for it's almost hamster like appearance. "Wind," he called, "stale the kid."
The wind gladly obliged. With a small tug it snagged the child's scarf and sent it flying through the air. Watching silently as Jack carved into the rock the true features of a hamster, making it painstakingly detailed and making sure to cover the whole rock, transforming it to what appeared to be a white hamster with specks of brown. Only after Jack's victorious cry did the wind sweep the scarf into the direction of the grave, Jack quickly jumping back up into the air and away as the child ran to catch it. Only to pause, take a step back, blink, then fall to her knees, trembling hands reaching out to touch the gravestone.
"Jaden?" she whispered, completely missing how her mother called for her a second time.
She sat and stared, trembling hands following the curves of the rock and smiling, ever so slightly, as she noticed the small corn, held in the tiny hands of her hamster, the tip in his mouth as his eyes, black as the gravestones ex-living counterpart, stared up at her.
A laugh bubbled from her throat, joyful, sad, yet no longer depressed, only to fall into soft giggles as she plopped onto backward into the snow, hair spread out behind her. "Mom!" she called, "I don't need another hamster!"
Although the child still could not see him, he was pleased that her tears had come to an end, he may be nothing, but Jack was good at making little things; little things that made children smile, laugh, play. And watching the girl, Martha, roll around in the snow, smile on her lips, he decided he'd done enough, and made to leave. But not before the child sighed, eyes closed, as she whispered, "thanks, Jack Frost."
Stunned, he stilled, staring, watching, as the little girl moved back into the house, "Those people sure are strange." He heard a neighbor whisper, "did you hear the Bennett's son, John, was going to propose to their daughter?"
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A/N: Yeah…my sister's hamster died yesterday, so I decided to write this in tribute. And his name really is Jaden, 'cause he was just as evil yet silly. Beyond that, to clear things up, the little girl is not an OC, she is Mrs. Bennett. I don't know what her name is (in fact, I don't think she has one), nor do I know the name of her husband, so I just made them up. As for why little Mrs. Bennett knows of Jack yet doesn't act on it besides the "Thank you" is because she believes he's the one who made the stone hamster, but she doesn't really…if that makes any sense. Kind of like how you might believe that there is a ghost in the house, but you are uncertain of who it is, or what, and thus just give it a random name. Obviously, as she comments on Jack nipping at Jamie's nose in the movie, I thought she'd just go with it.