Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
A Long Winter's Nap
Chapter One
Today is December 21st, the anniversary of Jack's death and he's not sure how he feels about it. Dying, that is. He saved his sister's life and he's content with that. He will never regret saving her. But dying…it's scary. Lately, the memory seems to haunt him at night, skating in and out of his thoughts like the ghost that he once was, demanding attention, demanding that it never be forgotten. It's never bothered him before but now, all of a sudden, it's constantly whispering at the back of his mind.
Dying, Jack thinks, is something worse than death. It's the shock as your body plunges into frigid water, the battle to move your leaden legs to the surface. You can hear your sister sobbing your name, her voice muddled as you scrape and punch and push desperately at a sheet of ice until your fingernails begin to peel. The taste of blood lingers on your tongue as the last of your breath, your entire life, comes surging out in a stream of bubbles.
Dying is the piercing cold water that fills you up, flooding your lungs, your ears, your nose. The panic. The realization that you're trying to claw your way through solid ice while your father is out hunting for the day and, at home, your mother stands before her stove humming a happy little song as she fries up a batch of your favorite flap "Jacks." Brady, the scruffy old hunting hound who has protected you since your babyhood, snores loudly from his rug by the fire and dreams of his puppy days, fetching ducks and geese for the man of the house.
They love you, but they don't know.
They aren't coming to save you.
You choke on these thoughts. Your stomach heaves, your fingers paw at the ice one last time. The water pulls you down and you fall away from the ice, the light, and into the embrace of a silent depth.
Death is just a matter of darkness.
# # #
No, Jack thinks, snapping out of his daze. He's sitting in the arch under an old stone bridge where a fast, playful creek weaves itself a path through the woods. These memories, these fears seem to have taken on a life of their own. It could be Pitch trying to mess with him. The Boogeyman will always look for a way to poison Jack's heart through even the through even the smallest doubts and uncertainties. Revenge, Jack supposes, but fear is in Pitch's nature and without it he cannot survive. Still, Jack's not stupid and he's not one to give in to fear.
Leaning forward, Jack watches his reflection obscured in the shallow, icy current and feels a new resolve harden in his chest. I saved my sister's life and she believed in me. She was the only one who believed in me for a long time. She was the first.
He picks up his staff, feeling the rime covered bark under his fingers. The ice crystals sparkle in the morning sunlight and he can't help but smile. There are other children who believe in him now. He knows each and every one of their names: Jamie, Sophie, Monty, Cupcake. He loves them all. They're his kids and their little town is well overdue for a decent snowday—okay, so the kids are already out of school for the holidays.
So what?
Even though getting out of a big math test is half the fun of a snow day, today is, after all, the winter solstice. The darkest day of the year, Jack Frost's deathday. And he's pretty sure that everybody in Burgess deserves some good ol' fashioned fun.
# # #
When he does finally arrive in Burgess, Jack is horrified to find the place in perfect order with not even a single snowflake or patch of ice to be found for miles. All of his work from November—the huge snowdrifts, the dangerously slippery roads, the icicles dangling from the eaves of houses have melted. "I leave for Portland and this is what happens?" he demands to the perfectly thawed streets.
Oh, this would not do. This would not do at all. He gets started immediately and calls for his old friend, the Wind. Then he soars through town, laughing, leaving frost all over the shop windows and sidewalks. He skates a path of black ice (his most favorite thing) through the streets and snickers when the people in the cross walk slip and fall all over each other. He stomps on the surface of every single mud puddle he can find until he's sure that it's frozen solid. He freezes Old Man Henry's water pipes until they crack for yelling at a little girl who had just run across his lawn to get her soccer ball, and howls with laughter when the old grouch finds out he can't fill up his hot water bottle.
By the time nightfall arrives, the town's warm weather is long forgotten. The chill in the air is just the right temperature for a good, sticky snow, and the Wind has delivered some beautifully dark clouds from the coast. And now the real work begins.
Jack flies himself to the clouds and pauses beneath them. He hovers there for a moment, eyes on the town, admiring his handy work in a way his fellow guardians would never understand. The swirling patterns of fern frost that cover the rooftops, the ice that glimmers with a golden sheen beneath the street lamps. This is art at nature's finest.
Inside the cloud, Jack takes a deep breath of the thick mist, feeling the moisture in the air tickle his throat. He coughs and shudders. Something feels oddly familiar about the darkness . The way it skulks around his shoulders, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirts. It whispers to him, a low snake-like hiss so low that he can barely hear the words. Ignore it, he tells himself. It's time to play.
Then he takes another breath, this one steady and calm. He reaches deep inside of him for that swirling well of light—-his center, the omphalos of his entire being—and exhales, breathing out a little bit of his magic, his soul, into the clouds. The cloud's silver linings flash with a jolts of cerulean light. All at once, the cloud begin to stir from within, their mist condensing, crackling all around him. Jack's hair, wet from the moisture, clings to his scalp, suddenly hardening to ice.
And so begins the birth of a snowstorm.
It will take, maybe, an hour or so for the snow to begin to fall and another hour after that before it begins to stick to the rooftops of Burgess. By morning, not a single patch of green will be seen anywhere near Burgess.
Now, I just have to figure out what to do until snowfall.
He doesn't want Jamie to see him just yet, at least not until snowfall. Jack dearly loves surprises and Jamie will find him in no time because Jamie always finds him. It's like a game now. First, Jack starts a storm and hides. Then Jamie, Sophie and the other kids spend half a snow day trying to find him. It's a wonderful game, this-hide-and-seek, and Jack has wanted so badly to play it ever since it's invention in 1870.
He ends up passing the time dancing along telephone wires. He smiles as the electricity tickles his bare toes with a snappy energy, his mere touch leaving the wires white and crunchy. He thinks about a great many things; the first time his dad took him skating, the approaching deadline of Christmas. He thinks about Jamie and Sofia, how their neighbor's new puppy reminds him an awful lot of Brady. At some point, he sits down on a telephone pole, legs swinging through the air, and watches a young boy with curly red hair help his mom carry grocery's into the house, smiling at how it takes all the boy's strength and might just to carry a couple of gallons of milk. The boy reminds him of North's silly elves and makes him miss Baby Tooth's company. I'd like a helper of my own someday, he thinks idly and then gasps.
Wait a minute. Why shouldn't he have a helper of his own? If he did have an assistant, he could whip up storms and spread the frosts across much faster. He could be in two places at once. It would drive Bunny crazy! Plus, he'd have so much more time to play with the kids.
"I'm a genius," Jack realizes.
Then, uttering a cheery cackle, he leaps into a flurry of cold wind and heads off to find the materials to create his first helper.
# # #
It's Jamie's little sister who sees the first snowflake. "Snow!" she squeals from a chair pushed up to the window. "'Amie, snow!"
Jamie, cozied up in the corner chair with a really good book, looks up. His face brightens. The book drops to the floor. He races to the window, not caring that he just lost his place at the really good part. Sure enough, there's snow. Huge snowflakes, some the size of quarters, ascend from the night sky. It can only be the work of one spirit.
"Jack's in town!"
"Jack!" Sophie echoes.
"Mom!" Jamie yells, rushing to the kitchen. "Mom, it's snowing. Can we go to the park? Please? Please, please, please, please?"
His mother hardly looks up from the stove as she stirs a pot of macaroni noodles. It's Jamie favorite dinner. Polka dot casserole. Mac 'n cheese with hotdogs. "It's already dark, Jamie."
"Please?"
She sighs. "Half an hour," she says, "and you go straight to the park and back. Understand?"
"Yes!"
"Yay!" Sophie echoes.
"And your take sister with you," his mother calls as he races into the mud room, but Jamie doesn't mind. He made extra sure to tell Sophie all about their battle with Pitch, and now Sophie loves Jack as much as he does.
"'Amie," Sophie says as Jamie helps her step into her snow boots. "We go see Jack?"
"Yeah, if he we can find him. But we have to hurry and get our stuff on. Mom's almost done making dinner. Here, don't forgot your coat." He pulls down a puffy hot pink coat from a hook near the back door and helps his little sister get her arms through the sleeves.
"And Bunny?"
"I don't know," Jamie says. "He's probably busy getting ready for Easter next year."
In no time at all, both children are bundled head to toe in fleecy scarves, hats and mittens. Jaime can't remember ever getting dressed so fast. Opening the door, Jamie takes his little sister's hand and says, "Remember, Jack's in town so it's going to be icy outside. Just hold my hand and try not to fall, okay?"
"Okay."
Jaime opens the front door and together they step out into the falling snowflakes. "Stay safe," their mother yells and Jaime, only half listening, laughs and yells back.
"Sure thing, mom!"
The park is only just across the lake and Jack is surely waiting for them. He almost always hides there and he will always protect them. What's the worst that could happen?
# # #
Now that he's a guardian, Jack's power over the winter elements has doubled. He suspects that Sandy has been planting his name into the children's dreams because suddenly, kids all over the world now believe in him. He knows all of their names, too. When you spend three centuries wandering the globe, following the seasons, you end up watching thousands of kids grow up and when you watch them grow, when you long for their acknowledgement, and find yourself attached to their laughter….well, it's impossible for Jack to forget the ones he loves.
But the best part about being believed in? Double the power means double the fun. He can do things he never could before, such as call forth bigger, badder blizzards with little effort. He makes snowmen spring to life (such as a puppet moving to however its strings are pulled) and either chases the kids around the park or sing funny songs to them. He can even freeze seawater without exhausting, which was impossible for him to do before because of the salt.
But Jack's not sure if it will be enough to bring a living, breathing creature into existence. It's gotta be hard, right? It's life, the greatest energy force in existence, and the only way that he can think of pulling it off is by going the power of the children's belief. He will have to rely on the raw that he had to rely on for the past three hundred years.
He will have to share a little bit of his own life force.
He does it all the time, lends a just a dash of his soul to those who have forgotten how to have fun and be a kid. He's used that sparkle of magic with Jamie, Bunny, cranky teachers and tired parents alike. It won't be much different when he creates his assistant, except that he'll pouring out a stronger dose of his magic. This, Jack realizes, could be dangerous and irresponsible for, well, himself. But part of him feels that he should take the risk anyway.
Really, why hadn't he thought of this before? Why hadn't it occurred to him after centuries of loneliness and isolation that he could just create a companion of his own? Wouldn't he have been so much happier with someone with his own sense of humor to play with?
Jack goes the lake, the place of his rebirth, because he thinks that being here will somehow lend him an extra dose of good mojo. Plus, it just feels right to be there. The lake always felt like home, the place where he's supposed to be when he's not spreading the autumn frosts or getting kids out of midterm exams.
He starts with the ice covering the lake. It's thick enough to skate on (he always makes sure that it's thick for when the kids want to come skate), but not as thick as he needs it to be—and by thick, he wants the lake froze solid, from its shining surface to its muddy bottom. With a single tap of his staff and rippling wave of blue light, the task is done. He continues to work, not once pausing to rest or play in the snow.
With the butt of his staff, he races across the lake and carves a long rectangle into the ice. The ice snaps and pops as the outline of the shape glows with a familiar sapphire glow, casting strange shadows across Jack's face. Then he steps back and, with his bare foot, stomps on the drawing. The lines crack, the lake groans and shifts with a loud crunching, din.
Stepping back, Jack pulls the block of ice out of the lake. He grins, satisfied at the sound of ice grinding against ice. When the giant block finally comes free, he sets it aside and glances down the hole, whistling at the depth of lake's darkness. He finds it hard to believe—but not impossible—that the Man in the Moon had pulled him out of this very darkness and gave him new life. And now he's about to use that same water to create a new being.
Before he can get started, a voice cries, "Jack!"
Jamie lets go of Sophie's hand as she runs, slipping and sliding on the ice. She nearly stumbles, but Jack catches her just in time. She hugs his legs, crying, "You're here! You're here!"
"Sure am," Jack replies with a laugh, freezing the pom-pom on her hat with a flick of his finger. "What are you guys doing out here so late?"
"We came to see you," Jamie says. "Where have you been? It didn't snow for a whole month!"
"West Coast, kiddo. They don't get snow there too often. Too wet, too rainy, too close to the sea, but the conditions were just right so I figured I'd hang around for a while."
Jack grins, satisfied with himself. It's fun to play in regions where snow is normal between Thanksgiving to March, but the best freak blizzards are the ones that happen in places where even one inch of snow will shut down an entire town. And Toledo Oregon is one of them.
Jamie points to the ice block. "Hey, what's that for?"
"That's ice," Sophie states plainly.
"A project," Jack explains. "Like…uh…an ice sculpture. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I can't think of what to make."
The three of them stare at the ice for a moment, thinking. Then Jack kneels down, brushes the hair out of Sophie's eyes and asks, "If I had a helper, like Santa's elves, what would it be?" Jack hopes she understands. She's only two years old, but Sophie is a clever girl and her eyes brighten with delight.
Cupping her hands around Jack's cheeks, she says sweetly, "Bunny!"
And as much as the very idea thrills Jack, as much as it would kill Bunnymund, Jack doubts that a two-ton ice bunny would be very practical in spreading the joys of winter. He laughs and then turns to her brother, "What do you think? What sort of helper should I have?"
"Seriously?"
Jack relishes in the look in Jamie's eyes, the excitement, the wonder when he says, "For once in my life, seriously."
"A helper?" Jamie repeats. "Like to help you make snow and stuff? Do you even need a helper?"
"No, but who cares? I can't be everywhere at the same time and somebody has to keep an eye on you two rascals when I'm away."
Again, the three of them stare at the ice block, each lost deep in thought, until Jamie fidgets nervously and asks, "Anything?"
"I'm fresh out of ideas, kid, so shoot."
"Well," Jamie says slowly and it's obvious to tell that he's holding back on his enthusiasm. "I'm reading this book and it…I think the ice is long enough that you could almost make it into a dragon. Like…like Smaug!"
"Smaug?"
"Maug?" Sophie echoes.
"From the Hobbit, duh! It's only the greatest book ever written and now they're making it into a movie. Oh, man, I'm so excited! Dad said he'd take me to see it. You have to sculpt a dragon, Jack. Please?"
Aside from the word 'dragon,' Jack doesn't seem to understand what he's talking about. He's not even sure what a 'hobbit' is and says, "Don't take this the wrong way, Jamie, but dragons breathe fire."
"Maybe it's nothing like Smaug. Maybe, he's an ice dragon," Jamie enthuses. He can't help it. He's never been able to control his imagination. "And instead of fire, maybe he breathes magic snow or fog. Or both!" Jamie waits for a reaction, but when Jack says nothing, he hangs his head. "Or not."
"No," Jack says. "I hear you, buddy. I'm just trying to work out how I'm going to do this."
"You mean, you don't know how?"
Jack smiles, running his hands down the ice's perfectly smooth surface. There is no such thing as a natural ice free of bubbles, fissures and other imperfections. Only Jack can make perfect ice. It was, in fact, a bubble that had killed him. A weak spot formed in the ice from just one little globule of air no larger than a quarter, caught in limbo between water and sky.
"Well," he says, "I have an idea of how to do it, but I don't know if it's the right way. Should we find out?"
Jamie hesitates, looking suddenly concerned. "What'll happen if you're wrong?"
"Let's find out," Jack says, unable to resist the mystery.
Raising his staff, Jack swings it around once, twice, and gives the block a gentle tap. With a crackling sound, hundreds of thin cracks web across the smooth surface. A small portion of ice breaks down and falls to the ground in waterfalls of snowy powder, covering the tips of Jack's toes. He shares a laugh with Jamie and Sophie, and taps the ice again. Another crack. More powder falls to his toes.
His feet shuffle, restless. Another tap, another crack, more and more powder. Jamie gives him detail after detail of what this ice beast should look like. Soon, Jack's dancing furiously around the block to keep up with the boy's imagination.
A long, snake-like neck. Barrel chest. Four legs, no wings. Moon-shaped claws and long icicle fangs. Scales shaped like honey combs. A pair of twisty horns curl out of its skull like a pair of corkscrews. Instead of spikes, Jamie wants a mane of pale hair running down the beast's spine all the way to the tip of its tail. So Jack carves that, too, and gives the dragon a matching beard.
By the time Jack's done, he's panting.
"This is so cool," Jamie gushes. "But there's just one more thing you have to add."
Jack raises an eyebrow. The sculpture pretty looks pretty complete to him. Its diamond cut eyes gleam in the moonlight. "What's that?"
"You have to make him good," Jamie says. "Most dragons I've read about eat people. So it has to be fun."
"Oh, it'll be fun," Jack promises. "Like playing with your dog." He lays a hand across his chest. "Like my dog."
Sophie tugs on his pants, looking hopeful. "Doggies?"
Jack picks her up. "You like doggies, huh?"
"You had a dog?" Jamie asks.
"He was a good boy. I had him my whole life." The winter spirit pauses. His voice softens and he murmurs, looking away as he puts Sophie back down, "He lived longer than I did."
"What do you mean?"
Quickly, Jack changes the subject. He doesn't want to think about his deathday anymore. He's supposed to be having fun with Jamie and Sophie, not getting sick to his stomach every ten minutes. He pushes the memory away, burying at the bottom of his heart where it can't bother him anymore, and says, "So, I guess there's just one thing left to do, right?" Jamie grins, nodding. "Maybe you should step back a bit. Careful, you two." He catches brother and sister as they both slip on the ice. He motions to the bank. "Actually, I changed my mind. I need you to go sit on the bank and watch. There's a huge hole behind this thing. I don't want you to fall in."
Once Jamie and Sophie are sitting safely on the bank—seated upon a snow-covered log, nonetheless—Jack turns his attention to the sculpture. This is it. He's going put his magic to the test and see just far he can go. A little part of him warns (metaphorically, of course) that he's treading very, very thin ice here. You're not supposed to be thinking about that, Jack reminds himself, shaking his head. Jamie believes in you and so does Sophie. Just like my sister did. That last thought brings him an extra booth of strength and relishes it. Then closing his eyes, he lays a hand on the sculpture's snout. He takes in a breath, reaches deep inside of himself for a familiar glowing chill, and whistles a note. It's a high, shrill note, both pure and beautiful. He pulls out his energy, all of it, and channels it into the sculpture until the ice glows an eerie blue. That's enough, he thinks and severs the connection.
Or, at least, he tries to.
No matter how much he commands or thinks, stop, stop! the energy keeps pouring out of him. At first, it's just the extra energy given to him by Jamie, Sophie and the other kids who believe in him. The power of belief. But when that's all gone, something deeper comes out of him. Something older, something that he's always had. It's the source of his power, a concept that he was aware of but had only taken as metaphorical.
A spinning, sphere of cold blue light.
His Center.
It's all coming out from his Center, the very core of his entire being from which all of his magic is born.
Jack cries out, unable to stop the leaching of his soul's aura. He hears his heartbeat throbbing in his ears, so loud that it drowns out Jamie's voice. It's too late. He went way too far. He gave up too much of his energy. His vision flashes black, then blue and finally, nothing.
# # #
When Jack collapses, his head hits the ice with a loud smack and Jamie's mouth drops open. Sophie gasps, horrified.
"Jack!"
They expect him to get up, to laugh at himself for slipping and being clumsy, but he doesn't move after that. He lies on the ice, very still. Very silent. Like he's asleep, or worse.
Dead.
Jamie has watch a lot of TV, but he's read even more books. Mostly fiction, but he likes non-fiction, too. In fact, he reads pretty much everything he can get his hands on, whether it be a book, blog, cereal boxes, or even the Wanted Ads in the newspaper. He reads enough to know that when someone falls down limp as rag doll, like Jack just did, it's never a good sign.
"This is bad. This is really bad. I mean, this is the worst thing could ever happen in the history of, well, ice sculptures!" Jamie paces the banks, talking furiously to himself. "I have to go out there."
Swallowing a lump of fear in his throat, Jamie kneels down to look Sophie in the eye and gives her the extra flashlight. "Wait here, Sophie," he tells her, trying to sound brave. "I'm going to help Jack, okay?"
"He's hurt?"
"I don't know," Jamie admits. "I have to go see, but you need stay here where it's safe. If you fall down and get hurt, we can't help Jack. Got it?"
"Okay."
Carefully, Jamie steps onto the ice. His shoes slip and slide across the ice, making even the slightest step a battle to maintain balance. He does finally lose his balance and falls smack down on his bottom. Afterwards, he gives up walking and, with a flashlight hanging out of his mouth, crawls over to Jack's limp form.
. He puts a hand on Jack's shoulder, shaking his still friend. "Jack," he calls. "Jack get up." He waits, but Jack doesn't move. "Jack? Stop playing around. This isn't funny. You have to get up like, right now. Okay? It's dark and Sophie's still on the bank and…and I don't know what to do!"
He waits and waits and waits for Jack to open his eyes, to sit up and apologize. To say something witty and cool. But Jack just lies there, just still and silent as the ice sculpture he failed to bring to life. He's still breathing, which is a good sign, but no matter how much Jamie calls his name, the winter spirit does not respond. A minute later, he hears Sophie calling his name over the lake.
"Jack," he repeats. "Don't you hear Sophie? She's scared. I—I can't you leave here, but I can't leave her over there either. She's too little."
Even as he speaks, Jamie knows that he will in fact, have to choose, and he knows what Jack would want. But is it the right thing? Jack is pretty much his best friend ever. He can't just leave him. What if something's horribly wrong with him? Taking a deep breath, Jamie looks up to the firmament, to the moon that he can't see because of Jack's snow clouds.
"The Man in the Moon has all the answers," Jack had once told him, although he had only spoken to Jack once, to give him his name. "He's always there, always watching, and even though he almost ever talks to me, you're a kid, Jamie. I'm pretty sure he'll help you out if you ever need it."
Now, staring pleading at the clouds, Jamie bites his lips. "What do I do?" he pleads the darkness, clutching his flashlight. He hopes for an answer. The Moon really does talk. He believes that's possible.
Then, just when he's about to give up and accept the silence, it happens.
Jamie can't explain it, but he has this weird feeling that somewhere hidden behind the clouds, somebody's up there watching over him. Talking to him without actually talking. He doesn't understand how that's even possible, but the answer rings through the night, clear as crystal: Take Sophie home. Eat your dinner, but give the Brussels sprouts to the dog. Don't let your mom see you sneak back out.
"But that's what Jack would expect me to do," he mumbles to the clouds. This time, however, he only finds silence.
Well, Jamie rationalizes, Jack did say that the Moon has all the answers. And if the Moon wants him to skip out on his Brussels sprouts, then he must be a pretty wise man and Jamie's not going to argue with ditching his mom's steamed Brussels sprouts.
"Okay," he whispers to the clouds, determined. "I'll do it."
A/N: This fanfic is proof that I have ADD. One minuet, I'm writing a very focused one shot about Jack moping about the anniversary of his death. The next, my little ficlet is 10,000+ words, Jack's in a coma, unresponsive, and the children of Burgess are besides themselves with panic. It's over four chapters long and still going strong. See? This is what happens when you let your imagination run wild. The ideas start multiplying. Like bunnies. Well, not the Bunny, of course! It's probably riddled with errors and mistakes that I missed, but my beta reader hasn't been online lately and I have nobody to proof read for me. So, sorry!
Also, I apologize for the Hobbit references. I couldn't help myself. One minuet, I'm considering wolves and the next I'm watching a trailer for the new Hobbit movie and I'm like, "Smaug!" (See more proof of ADD!). R&R please!