(A/N): Because all I can take out of a kid's movie is angst. Imagine if I ever watched something more mature.
This is a mini-project, I suppose, and I'd love to say it's about each of the Guardians and their personal moments of fear and weakness, tied into how Jamie and occasionally his sister Sophie counter that with their faith. But unfortunately I can't think of anything for Santa, and to an extent Sandman. Sandy I could probably swing, but Santa is a real stretch.
But Jack is reallyyyyy easy to think of. And anyway he's like, JACK FROST. THE SEX SYMBOL FOR WINTER. HOW CAN HE NOT BE FIRST.
Jack's reaction might be a bit exaggerated and dramatized, but I personally think it's warranted as I feel that Jack's hurt from being neglected and ignored for THREE HUNDRED YEARS is much more painful that he ever lets on. I mean, think about it, being invisible when all you are trying to do with all your heart is to be seen and noticed must be like a continuous slap in the face with a bunch of cold fish. Horrible.
Enjoy! I do not own Rise of the Guardians.
"Jack!"
"Jack!"
"Jack!"
"Ah!" Jack yelled as he nearly collided with a telephone pole, swerving around just in time to avoid being smashed like Jack-pudding. Out of habit, he twirled his staff, his way of regrouping himself from his musings. He had had been having way too many daydreams these days.
"Jack!"
Jack didn't know whether he wanted to keep that voice in his head or not. Sometimes it helped to soothe the hopelessness and loneliness he felt, remembering his severed past. Sometimes it hurt to remember that past, as reality would often sit its unforgiving self right on top of his fond reminiscences and remind him of the stark contrast between three hundred years ago, and now.
Sometimes he just crashed into things from thinking too much. Which hurt.
With a twirl of his staff, he alighted onto his frozen lake, which, despite his light-footed landing, creaked angrily at the weight that was being placed onto it. Easter had definitely passed, and though it was not the great success the Easter Bunny usually enjoyed, spring would be marching round the corner now the day of beginnings and of hope had come and gone.
His job would be taking a backseat soon. No more new snow until December, or even as early as November, if he could swing it.
Oh, back in '68's Easter Sunday, Jack mused, fondly touching on one of his favourite tricks on his three hundred and seventeen years of existence. That blizzard was a masterpiece. Bunnymund threw a fit when he saw it.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Jack Frost wasn't as immature as he had been. Being a Guardian came with a sprinkling of wisdom, and some responsible thinking, as well. No more surprising Easter-welcoming children with a blanket of snow. Jack was learning that his idea of fun-as much as he hated to believe it-was not everyone's idea of fun. It was definitely not Bunnymund's, at least. How that Pooka lived in his hideout with all that grass and...other green stuff, Jack didn't know. He shivered at the thought.
"Shut the window, dear," a mother said soothingly, ringing in his ears as he took his usual aimless walk around Burgess. "Don't let Jack Frost nip your nose!"
"That's silly, Mummy!" a boy's voice, about twelve years of age by Jack's reckoning, replied. The cynical verberations of his voice made Jack's very center quiver in painful anticipation. "Jack Frost doesn't exist."
Jack gasped as a twitch ran through his body, from the nail of his toes to the back of his brain, tingling angrily, making his body convulse on the spot. He nearly lost his grip on his staff.
Being a Guardian was wonderful. Jack was glad he had finally accepted the offer. But sometimes he was reminded at just how much it hurt to not be believed in. And now, being a Guardian meant this was the most important thing in his life.
As long as the children believed in you, you would continue to exist, kept alive by their imaginations and faith. But as soon as they forgot...
This is silly, Jack scolded himself half-heartedly as he sent a thick sheet of ice over the offending child's window, sealing both sides shut from the outside. No one believed in me for three hundred years. I should be used to it.
But becoming a Guardian seemed to enhance the usual ache of desperate loneliness, making it very real. Now, whenever Jack heard himself being disbelieved, his whole body seemed to twitch and stiffen, just slightly. He wondered if this was how Santa had felt, times by a million, when children all over the world began to fear, to lose the wonder in their eyes, to forget the great miracle of every little thing. He couldn't even handle one child saying he didn't exist out loud.
Jack Frost doesn't exist, the words echoed in his head, making him cringe in annoyance and fear.
Jack Frost doesn't exist.
Jack Frost doesn't exist.
"No, no, no, no!" Jack cried, subconsciously breaking into a run as if to escape, to flee from the taunting, heart-wrenching words. "I'm right here! People believe in me!"
Jack Frost doesn't exist, was the only answer he had, vibrating in his brain so much his teeth began to chatter. He didn't get cold. He was scared.
Jack found himself running, stumbling, tripping in his haste to...go somewhere. He didn't know where exactly, but his feet seemed to be taking him some place.
Jack Frost doesn't exist.
"No!" Jack half-sobbed, half-screamed in retaliation. Nearly mad with fright, he dashed cold droplets of tears from his eyes as his feet continued to carry him somewhere.
Someplace safe, Jack thought desperately. Please. Where the words can't follow me.
He ran up into a garden, a vaguely familiar garden, its blades of grass crisply decorated with his best handiwork (he always saved his most artistic self for his hometown), and leapt suddenly in the air to grab and clamber onto a windowsill and rap desperately on the glass.
"Jamie!" he snivelled, hands gripping the windowpane until his arms quivered with exertion.
Jamie sat up in bed immediately, blinking the sand from Sandman's caring dreams away as he awoke. He would know that voice anywhere.
"Jack?" he whispered delightedly, seeing the crouching figure in the window, casting a shadow over his bedroom. He padded quickly over the floor to fling the windows open, expecting a icy-cold smile of mischief shining back at him. "Jack! You came back-so soon! I-Jack!"
Jack slipped into the room with a barely controlled step, falling to his knees as he grabbed Jamie in a forceful hug, eyes wild and rolling, like a horse when it smells fire, panicking.
"You can see me," he muttered, rocking back and forth on his knees. "You still believe."
"Well, yeah," Jamie replied, not understanding why his Guardian friend was being so-out of it. "Jack, what's wrong?"
"People don't believe," Jack said into Jamie's shirt, closing his eyes to block the tears. Now he had tasted the unbridled joy of being seen, being reminded of the many other disbelieving children in the world made him feel lonelier than ever by contrast. "Jack Frost doesn't exist."
"But I believe!" Jamie hastened to reassure his Guardian, patting the winter sprite on the shoulder. Jack seemed to tightened his grip as he drew in a tearful breath.
"But what about when you're not around anymore?" he whispered. "I'll still be here! Who will believe in me then?"
"We kids will always believe in the Guardians," Jamie insisted. "They protect children. And even adults believe, sometimes. I'll never stop believing." He extricated himself from Jack gently, who sat on the floor on his haunches. Jack's staff lay dejected on the floor of Jamie's bedroom, by the window.
"Why do you believe in me, Jamie? How can I make other children believe in me?"
Jamie hopped backwards onto his bed, looking down at his Guardian. He looked thoughtful.
"It'll take time," he told Jack, who at that moment felt as if Jamie was the three hundred and seventeen year old, and he barely ten. "You make winter fun! You make everything fun. You can do it. People who don't believe in you, don't believe in having fun. So you teach them how!"
Jack shifted himself into a cross-legged position, looking up at Jamie in wonder. How did such a young boy possess such quantities of wisdom? Jack had been on this Earth for a long time, and he had never, ever, had the fortune to see things as clearly as Jamie did. For three hundred years he had gallivanted across the world, with no clue what he was meant to do on it. But Jamie knew.
"Jamie," he finally said, voice gruff from the earlier flood of tears blocking up his throat. "You are a special kid."
Jamie grinned, intuitively knowing that was supposed to be taken as a compliment. He crossed his legs up onto his bed.
"Can you tuck me in now?" he asked hopefully. To be sent off to one of Sandman's dreams by Jack Frost himself, would be a great honour indeed.
Jack smiled as he got up, grasping his staff from behind him as he did.
"'Course, kid." He waited as Jamie threw the covers back and snuggled down, shifting to find the best niche in the mattress, then drew the covers over him. Leaning over Jamie, he ruffled the boy's brown hair and twisted his lips in a fond smile of farewell. Jamie's eyes were closed and as Jack watched, his breathing deepened quickly and the golden shimmering sand of beautiful dreams came curling in through the window, ready to take Jamie wherever his vast imagination wanted to.
Jack slid a hand over the stream of gold, approving of the Sandman's gift to the saviour of the Guardians, and followed it out to the windowsill before he looked back at the young boy's sleeping form, his first believer.
"Thank you, Jamie," he whispered, and left a deliberately unsymmetrical, abnormally large snowflake framed in the window before he took his leave.
Something to remember him by.
LET'S SAY IT TOGETHER NOW AWWWWWWWWWWW
Jack and Jamie are brothers from other mothers. That's all I have to say.
I think I'm going to do Bunnymund and Sophie next. They're dynamic is just-so-*SQUEEEEEE*
Can't you just feel the soft spot Bunnymund has for her? I bet SHE'D get to scratch him between the ears and under the chin.
Please tell me what you think!