Disclaimer: all rights go to DreamWorks and William Joyce. However, I claim this particular story line.
The moon shone brightly overhead that winter night, bigger than the locals had ever seen it. It painted a canvas of sparkling snow and silver branches, dispelling the darkness that was common in the depths of the surrounding woods. The soft breeze whistled through the village, scattering a dusting of snow and whispering sweet nothings in the children's ears.
It had been a difficult winter thus far; a drought late in the growing season left many crops to whither and hardly any time to replant; the vegetables which they were able to salvage were stunted at best; last but not least, the early cold spell did not mitigate the hunger that closely followed. In these troubling times, winter was synonymous with the unknown, darkness, and death. It was common for a family to lose a member or two during the unforgiving season. A blizzard may leave stragglers in the hands of the Fates, casting their hope in the dwindling prospect of finding shelter, warmth, comfort. A select few are lucky, but the majority is lost to winter, the cold seeping into their lungs and limbs, the wind pelting exposed skin with frigid needles. All in all, the advent of winter was not one to be desired. If anything, it was to be feared, despised, and regarded with caution.
But in the midst of it all a young boy gazed up at the stars that winked back at him. One of his favorite pass times as of late was watching the night sky tilt until the first vestiges of the sun's rays painted the atmosphere in beautiful pinks and oranges. As he beheld the moon's glory and absorbed the peaceful white landscape, a crisp breeze wound around him, playfully tousling his snow-white hair in the hopes of extracting a little chuckle.
Boreas wished he could communicate directly with the sullen boy and lift his heart. He'd noticed that his young charge held an air of solemnity more and more these days. All he did was cocoon himself into the bark of a tree and, for all intents and purposes, contemplate life. A boy should not have that shadow befall his eyes, should not have to close himself off from the world. A boy should not have to experience pain or disappointment or loathing.
The North Wind deflated as he received only an ephemeral side glance, so he instead decided to stir the snow crystals collected in the branches above Jack's forlorn head. To the wind's content, Jack's eyes softened and shone with wonder as the diamond shards floated messily onto his hair and brushed his cheek. Unwittingly a light chuckle escaped his chest and warmed his heart. Stretching forth his hand to capture some of the white powder, Jack gave a small, sad smile before breathing, "Thank you."
Times have been equally tough for Jack. Twelve years into his existence he continued to wander around the globe, attempting to "experiment" with his powers, in his own words. Everything was still so new. He discovered that his season preferred to be boisterous and run amuck wherever it pleased, thus causing chaos and death in its wake. When Jack first attempted to rein in the white monstrosity, the storm became absolutely livid. That was the worst winter storm in the past century. Jack did all he could to ameliorate the storm, softly direct it toward uninhabited areas. For the most part his latter effort paid off. However, he could not erase the painful screams and whimpers of children who huddled into themselves, calling out for help. Jack, despite coming to terms with his invisibility, cried for someone -anyone, really- to find the shivering bundles. He tried to comfort them, only to retract his hands when they fell through the child and a piece of his soul was violently ripped out. He was useless. He was the cause of the children's misery, of their death, and of their families' anguish. If only he were stronger. If only he knew how to direct the raging beast.
If only he could have saved those kids.
The guilt was smothering him again. After the arms that had unknowingly constricted his waist unwound, Jack looked at his hands, just as he had the first day he awoke. That time, he was filled with unending joy and curiosity. He could not wait a single second to try out these amusing powers. Now, now he could only look on them in disgust. These hands had failed to save the children and now were drenched in their innocent blood. He snatched away all hopes and dreams these children held for a future.
He pounded his fists on the branch, a distressed gust of wind swirled about him.
Solitude was a heavy burden to bear. Yes, Boreas and the other winds surrounded him with all the comfort they could at all times, but for Jack... it wasn't enough. He hated the fact it sounded selfish, but spying through the windows of homes chiseled at his heart. The humans had a saying that home is where the heart lies. It was a place where a family sat together and shared stories and loved one another. There was a warmth there that melted Jack's heart. But what did this all mean to Jack? Jack didn't have a home or a family to return to after a long day of delivering snow. He can talk with the winds, but it always felt very one-sided. He realized there was no one that warmed his heart.
Why couldn't anyone see him?
Br'er Groundhog was the first person -well, spirit- to see him. To say Jack jumped when the little woodchuck popped underneath him and began a scathing tirade was the understatement of the century. Jack nearly keeled over from a heart attack.
"You..." Jack cleared his throat from disuse. "Y-you, can s-see me?"
The strange animal barely paused before spewing, "Of course I can see you! And I see that you are messing with my predictions. My predictions! By Gluck, who do you think you are?!"
Jack was gob smacked with his eyes wide in awe and mouth scraping the floor. This animal was talking to him and acknowledging his existence... Either his imagination was phenomenal or he was going nuts.
He rubbed him eyes.
"Are you even listening to me?!"
A shout tore through the air and Jack snapped his wide glacial eyes open. HIs throat felt funny and his eyesight was blurry and his head was fuzzy. What just happened? He groaned and the bleary image of, what was it again? Groundhog, his slightly more focused mind supplied, materialized.
"I've put up with your—your immaturity for these past twelve years. The first few years, yeah, you annoyed the fur off of me, but I was going to be the bigger guy and take it. But NO, you ruined it this year. No snow was in the forecast, at all! Not even a flurry three weeks after February Second. Hundreds of faithful believers depend on my weather predictions every year to know when to begin planting their crops, and every year I have introduced the beginning of spring correctly. That is, until you came along!"
Jack leaned on his elbows motionless under Br'er's intense gaze. "Your mischief was tolerable for a while; I didn't mind the little flurry on Easter, but that bloody blizzard of yours cost me believers! Not to mention all the people you killed. It's your entire fault. You crossed the line, you lousy knave!"
Jack flinched back to reality as Br'er's unspoken accusation surfaced: he's a murderer. Tears budded in his eyes only for them to freeze and shatter on the ground below.
When spirits were not scolding him, they generally took off in the other direction.
WHY did the other spirits that he saw blatantly and callously ignore him? ... Why couldn't the others see him for who he was on the inside? Why didn't they see that all the destruction and death wasn't his fault? He had given everything he had to stop the blizzard! Yet they cast all the blame on him. No, don't think that this boy is innocent. He's just as bad as all the other winter spirits before him. He was nothing but a troublemaker, not even worth a single glance or a friendly hello.
Clouds unbeknownst to Jack had conglomerated in reaction to his rising emotions. Jack could feel the ice crystals roiling in the heavens. Jack harshly exhaled and closed off his heart. He will not lose control, he can't. As Jack quickly grasped his shepherd's staff, it crackled with winter magic. Channeling his power through the conduit, the Four Winds suddenly coalesced around him. Jack glared at the clouds casting darkness on the earth below before gently imploring Zephyr, the good, West wind, to whisk him into the sky.
One thing the Spirit of Winter discovered over the twelve years was that Weather did not like to be controlled. Not one bit. It had a mind of its own. After the horrid blizzard, it became so very clear: Weather had existed long before the world ever introduced young Jack Frost. Why should they obey this upstart? Old Man Winter met his demise when he attempted to rule with an iron fist. Would this boy be any different from his predecessor?
To the weathers' astonishment, he was.
Jack spoke softly to them, never in an authoritative tone. He didn't try to wield that staff of his anymore, but rather took to kindly placating and negotiating. He was so very humble in the ancient beings' presence.. The winds, especially Boreas, absolutely adored the lad, took him in and called him their own. This never ever happened. No one had ever been able to claim the title "Rider of the Winds". Yet here this gangly young teen with mussed white hair had. Weather admitted it: the boy was pure and full of life and joy and innocent mischief.
In the following years, Winter wasn't as horrible as it used to be. The season no longer dragged over the months, prolonging the people's misery. The cold no longer stung, but nipped. The delicate layer of snow in the rising sun's rays shone with the colors of a thousand rainbows. And wherever Jack Frost went, children frolicked in the snow. The air was filled with innocent, candid laughter and the big, bad winter was no longer.
Jack was the inventor of the snowball, go figure. But what really caught his eye was when his first clump came in contact with the boy. The same twinkle in Jack's eyes reflected in him and soon enough the air was filled with sparkling white.
During times like these, Jack forgot his invisibility. His laughter floated gaily on the wind's back before it became a shout of joy. The wind loved to play with its winter child. But when the days come to an end, he is reminded that besides the winds, his only friend was solitude. Jack occassionally found himself snuggled into the side of a tree, battling the Groundhog's harsh words. But now Jack realized that the overgrown fur ball's opinion didn't matter, because that simply was not who he was. Jack knew his own heart and would not allow anyone to trample it. He can guard his own heart, but it did not stop the fact that the other spirits always feared, despised, or regarded him with caution.
Author's notes: hey, all!
The Groundhog has many names, but he was originally called Br'er by the German settlers. Also, Gluck is a German composer. I've played a piece by him before...
Anyway, this is my first published fan fiction. I've finally succumbed to actually posting something. I'd always feared looking back and discovering that the story is just plain absurd, but the Guardians taught me it's okay to dream and improve. Constructive criticism and or comments are always welcomed. Hope you enjoyed it :)