Alternate Summary: In which Pitch may or may not be as scary as he looks, and Jack (being Jack) tries to befriend him as a consequence. Set approximately three years after the movie; bonus overlying plot included.

Notes: This chapter is more of an introduction to the plot material than anything, but it's vitally important and can't be left out. Have fun.
(Also, happy early birthday to chibistar12; let there be cake.)

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of trademarks or copyrights used, nor do I claim ownership of anything related to Rise of the Guardians.

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The Cosmos, in B Minor

1. Flames

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It began with a fire, and it was completely by accident that he was even there.

First off, it was very late Christmas Eve. It could have easily been Christmas morning, actually, but that was a minor detail that didn't really matter to either Nicholas St. North or Jack Frost. It was dark and difficult to know what time it actually was, and therefore it made the fire just that much more obvious.

The date was the rather unique part of the incident, but it was no more important than the second thing: the weather that winter had been incredibly dry and not well suited for snow and ice. That was why Jack was there—North had convinced him to fly alongside the sleigh while delivering presents and at least try to give the kids a White Christmas.

"It really boost their morale, you know?" North had pointed out in his booming voice, back in his private workshop. At the time, he'd been modeling another one of his little ice sculptures; there were already at least ten other beautiful ice toys in motion around the room, and—rather unusually—the yetis hadn't smashed one yet. Jack had been sitting on a tall stool across the table and leaning on his staff, watching the elder Guardian with fascination and occasionally frosting over the edges of the ice to smooth it out. North continued, "The children like their Christmases to have a lot of snow."

Jack only had to remember all the children he played with and the joy on their faces upon seeing snowflakes to know that North was absolutely right. He blew lightly on the sculptures, crinkling the air with cold, before joking, "Maybe I was going to... you know... take a break. Go to a Christmas party instead. Drink some eggnog."

North raised an eyebrow in jest; his belly shook with unvoiced amusement and he set down his small tools. "Oh? And I am not enough party for you?"

Jack almost chuckled, but then his laughter was suddenly caught in his throat as North gently touched the tip of his creation. This time the elder Guardian had carved out a ballet dancer, reminiscent of a music box, and with the slight push of magic she began to dance her miniature routine across the ancient table.

North brushed his hands and sat back to watch Jack's entranced expression as he observed this new plaything. "Now you still think I am no fun?"

The boy barely even blinked, and he subconsciously leaned forward in his seat. "I never said that," Jack corrected.

His eyes never strayed from the ballerina, and North certainly noticed. "I can make you one for your own—if you come."

"...Okay," Jack admitted, "you may have me sold on this one." He knew that a dancing sculpture was hardly worth losing his cool over, especially at his age... but there was a memory connected with this instance. He could vaguely recall that his sister had loved to dance, although it felt like he hadn't remembered that until that very moment. There was a sudden soreness that came upon him suddenly as he could nearly feel her hands still in his and what her laughter sounded like—yes, he definitely wanted a sculpture just like that, so he could keep that feeling close.

"You may be coming? May?" North reiterated, his eyes twinkling.

The young Guardian rolled his eyes, his mouth hinting at a smile. "Fine, you do have me sold. Just don't blame me if I can't force any snow to fall."

Unfortunately, that seemed to be the case.

"Are you even trying?" North joked as he came up a chimney. He seemed to become more jolly by the minute, what with all of the treats he was finding and toys he was dispersing.

Jack, regrettably, wasn't feeling the same way. They were in Ohio then, and he felt irritably unsuccessful. "Of course I'm trying!" Jack waved his staff along the rooftop, but it seemed like a waste of energy. There was barely even any frost as evidence of his efforts. "It's too dry—there's just no water in this air to get moisture from. I'm a cold spirit, you know, not a straight-up element manipulator—"

"Ach," North waved his attitude off. "It's not your fault. Maybe if you fly a little bit ahead, you will have more success?"

Jack considered that briefly before realizing what it meant; abruptly, he was grinning. "Sure thing! Burgess is the next town, right?"

"Hah! It is now!" North was already halfway down another chimney-shoot, but before he completely disappeared Jack swore that he winked. That was enough of a sign for Jack, and after a short victory dance he jumped upward into the wind.

For two and a half minutes, everything was perfect. Jack's eyes were closed as he drifted comfortably along, the biting temperatures not bothering him in the least. He always loved flying at night like this, because it gave him time to think. Particularly since it was Christmas Eve (or early Christmas morning, perhaps) it was imaginative bliss—he'd get to bring Jamie and his friends some snow, and they'd have a snowball fight, and they'd go sledding on that toboggan that he knew was in North's sleigh, and—

...What was that?

Jack's eyelids fluttered. Something suddenly felt very... off. The air didn't seem quite so cold, nor quite so pure—but whatever was strange didn't seem to register. He glanced around and righted himself as the wind carried him, frowning. His surroundings in the covering clouds didn't look abnormal, but when he breathed in he abruptly realized he could smell it.

Smoke.

There was a fire somewhere—somewhere close. And it must have been big, because the stench of it abruptly hit Jack like a slap to the face. There was a fire? Could it be a house, or another important building? He felt his immortal blood pounding in his ears as it occurred to him that the children of Burgess very well could be in danger—his friends could be in danger!—and without a second thought he ducked below the clouds.

Shortly above a telephone pole, he caught himself in the air—and the fire only took a split second to find. He slid gracefully along the wires, trying to analyze the situation and get a better look. It was a home fire, and he subconsciously hurried forward on his toes as his stomach dropped. Yes, it was in the residential part of town; the house was almost entirely encompassed, terrible beacon in the night, and Jack's eyes widened when he realized that he knew exactly which city block it was sitting on. Was he seeing things correctly? That wasn't Brady's house, and it wasn't Cupcake's, nor Emily and Kate's, but rather it was—

"NO!" Jack sprang off of the phone wires faster than a rocket. "JAMIE! SOPHIE!"

In seconds he was there, and, upon arrival, he almost plunged into the ground when an explosion came from the garage and startled him. Righting himself rather breathlessly, he suddenly realized that he wasn't the only person there, either; there was a small crowd of horrified observers, many of whom Jack recognized as neighbors and close friends from around town. They were all standing a good distance away from the blaze, and Jack rightly followed their example as he felt the extreme heat.

But where were Jamie and Sophie? Where were their parents? Jack felt that he could barely be heard over the roaring fire, but he had to try. "JAMIE!" he nearly screamed above the people, frantically turning in all directions and looking for any member of the Bennett family. "JAMIE! SOPHIE!"

Nobody heard him, and nobody seemed to see him; Jack had to fight down that flare of loneliness he'd felt for 300 years of his life. His gaze swept over the crowd again, and again and again, and—there! He swooped in closer, almost entirely silent compared to the hideous cackling of wood and insulation. There were Mr. and Mrs. Bennett without a scratch, holding to each other tightly, and there was Jamie looking absolutely terrified, but—

"Oh no," Jack whispered in horror. He turned around and faced the blaze. "Oh no!"

Sophie was still trapped inside. Sophie was still trapped inside! It was like her known life suddenly flashed before Jack's eyes: she was about seven by now, and she loved to play with dolls and make snowmen with her brother and Jack, and she had been the saddest when their dog Abby had died the year prior, and—and if she were to die, it would be devastating.

And who was Jack kidding? She wasn't going to die on his watch—Guardians weren't meant to interfere in situations like this, but he didn't care whether or not saving lives was a part of his job description! He was her friend!

But what could he do? What were his choices? He briefly considered the logical options: fight the fire with ice, call for help, or go into the inferno himself... But he couldn't make ice in this weather! The air was too dry already, and there wasn't a chance in the world that he could find moisture in the air next to a fire like that. He also seriously considered calling the other Guardians for help, but it took a mere moment before he realized that they would arrive far, far too late to make any sort of difference.

So Jack Frost, a winter spirit, then made the logical deduction that he was going to have to dive headfirst into searing hot flames to save Sophie Bennett.

Well, crap.

Letting out a rare curse under his breath, Jack sprang into the air, flew over the house, and wasted no more time hooking his staff in a pine tree; he didn't want to risk losing it in the flames, and he was almost certain that it wouldn't be of any use once inside the fire anyway. As he looked over the engulfed home, he analyzed how to get in and get out immediately, because he knew it was not going to be fun. Sophie would most likely be in her bedroom; quickly identifying the correct window, he cleared his head, breathed in, breathed out, breathed in one last time, and forcefully propelled his body forward into the fire before he could change his mind.

Three seconds later—after he broke the glass, hit the hardwood, and inhaled all the smoke—he started to realize a bit too late that his plan was incredibly stupid. He derived his strength from the cold, but the intense heat was a stronger punch to his gut than he could have ever prepared himself for. He sputtered and coughed for a moment, keeping his body low on the floor, and once his throat was cleared he shouted, "Sophie! SOPHIE!" He couldn't see much, but he could see that her room was a mess of melting toys and sparks and smoke and shadows—where could she be? Jack heaved out the smoke again with more violent coughing, hitting his hand on his chest to try and help his lungs expel the poison air, and he crawled forward and searched for her in vain. "SOPHIE! SOPHIE!" he yelled into the fire. She couldn't be dead! She had to be there somewhere—

He heard weak coughing in the corner. "J-Jack?" a small voice gasped.

That was all the encouragement he needed; Jack was moving in a flash, scrambling towards the little voice and—oh, thank the heavens, it was Sophie! She looked like a mess, with soot and bits of ash all over her blonde hair and pajamas, but she was alive!

"Sophie!" Jack's brotherly instinct took over and he gathered the girl up in his arms. He coughed again before hoarsely adding, "Let's get you out of here!"

Sophie clung to him tightly, her eyes so wide it looked like they could fall right out of her skull. She didn't fight his attempts at burying her into his shoulder. "You feel so cool," she muttered into his clothes.

Funny. Jack was feeling nowhere near cool at the moment. It was far, far too hot in the fire, and he felt like collapsing any moment from the heat. For the first time in his whole immortal life, he felt sweat crawling down his brow and back. And his feet—his feet alone felt like they were aflame, and he was almost certain that they would be badly burnt if he were to look at them in that moment. Cool? Jack knew he was anything but cool, and they were running out of time. He didn't respond to Sophie but rather groaned, as his muscles seemed to become weaker and weaker as his power drowned in the flames. He still held her to his hoodie as closely as possible, and he used his other limbs to sluggishly backtrack towards the window. He was not going to let her die that night, although his body screamed in protest.

Then, the worst nearly happened.

He heard the cracking before he saw it; completely on instinct, he wrapped his limbs around Sophie just as a burning chunk of the house came crashing down nearby. Adrenaline and fear coursed through his veins as it missed them by a few inches, and with a yelp Jack backed them into a wall. One second later, as the immediate sparks died down, he squinted through the carnage and came to a horrible conclusion. They were trapped—the path to the window was blocked, and Sophie was openly sobbing on his shoulder, and Jack's brain was going numb from the smoke and heat—

"JACK!" Sophie suddenly shrieked.

For a moment nothing registered as being wrong, but then the blatant answer came to him as he realized they were being lifted into the air. He expelled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, grabbing onto Sophie tighter as it really registered that they were suspended above the hot floor. Some increasingly slow part of his brain realized that this was not a normal thing, but before he could really ask himself what it meant, they were literally being tossed forward and flying out the window, through the air, and straight towards a pine tree—

"HOLD ON!" he ordered, twisting them midair and curling into a ball around the little girl. Sophie somehow did hold onto him even tighter, and he thought he heard her scream over the air rushing past his ears.

With a dull thud, Jack's spine hit the tree's upper trunk some 20 feet above the ground; he may have accidentally gasped in pain, but he was too preoccupied with suddenly grasping at the branches to notice. They were slipping and sliding downward through the prickly needles, and Sophie was going to fall out of his arms at any moment and hurt herself on the ground—

There! Jack had suddenly managed to clutch onto his familiar old staff, and their descent came to a complete stop. For the first time since getting out of that house, he allowed himself to gulp the night air down like a drug, and he abruptly felt woozy from the temperature change. "Down," he whispered to the night wind, and he felt them slowly drifting closer to the grass. Gently, he held onto the staff with one arm and cradled Sophie with the other as he closed his eyes with exhaustion. They were safe and a good distance from the fire, thank the greater powers that be.

Even as his feet touched the ground (the stinging that came with it confirmed that yes, he must have badly burnt his feet), he didn't fight the feeling and instead let his whole body go limp onto the grass. It was much harder to keep his face neutral and free of pain than he'd anticipated. Yikes, he must have hit his back with more force than he'd thought; it hurt terribly, even as he lay there in the cool dirt.

Sophie's ragged sobbing calmed down after only a short time, although she was still coughing violently; she shook him a bit, and Jack's eyelids fluttered. "Jack!" she said. Her voice was awfully loud in his ear, and her throat sounded incredibly scratchy to him. "Jack! A-are you—you okay?"

He tried to swallow some more of the cool night air; abruptly he felt more tired than he could ever remember in his long life. "Go find your parents," he mumbled, focusing his half-lidded eyes on the dim stars far above them in an attempt to stay awake. "I'll... I'll be fine."

Sophie gasped and coughed again. "Mommy! Daddy!" Jack heard her stumbling away, still breathing raggedly, and he vaguely wondered if he should call out to her again—but his initial fear was calmed when he heard shouts of exclamation and joy nearby. They'd found her; she was safe.

His momentary peace of mind was interrupted as his own cough rattled his lungs and hurt his spine. He grimaced to himself, and he briefly considered trying to get up and move somewhere less exposed. But then again, North would probably arrive soon... and it couldn't hurt to try... and sleep for... just a... few minutes...

Perhaps it registered to Jack that there was a pair of golden eyes watching him from the shadows before his eyes closed—but if it did, it was too late to stop the exhaustion he felt as he succumbed to the dark world of dreams.