I do not own Rise of the Guardians, or its characters.

The room around him stilled, all smiles freezing on their faces and all their voices choked off. He tried to get himself upright, feeling too exposed and vulnerable lying flat with them towering over him, only to have a sickening dizziness sweep over him, causing black dots to dance mockingly across his vision. His stomach rolled with a sour taste pushing itself onto his tounge. His heart began roaring in his ears as hot agony shot from his shoulder to wrist, crackling across his chest - but he also felt the pull of stitches, in more place than one. A noise sounded, low in his throat on its own accord, and suddenly, he was tilting to the side.

"Bunny! Lay back down this instant! You're too hurt to be up!" Hands pressed into his shoulders, gently but firmly, and he felt himself falling back onto the pillows. When his vision cleared, he saw the boy leaning over him, their faces inches apart. "You're hurt. Just...don't get up, okay?"

He found himself searching the youth's eyes, eyes that looked like the calm and reflective nature of a frozen over lake. He could see so many emotions swirling under that ice, kept conrtolled by sheer determination. And, even though he didn't know this boy, he felt a warm pride reaching twoards him. He was proud, proud for things he didn't remember, for what he was seeing now. He needed to know why. He whispered, "Who are you?"

Off to the side, he saw the others formed in a tight circle, glancing over and not sure what to do or say.

"Its me," that cracked the ice. The boy's eyes welled with tears, his lip quivering. "The bloody show pony. Come on, you know my name. Remember it, Aster. Please."

Blood show pony, he knew, was a clue. But he was drawing a blank, a stark white sheet of nothing. He couldn't remember! It was there, hiding in corners too dark to see, he knew - but he couldn't remember! And this boy, he needed him to do so. He knew that, felt it even. But, he could only shake his head slowly, eyes brimming with an apology he couldn't force past his lips.

The boy crumbled, and threw himself into his arms, crying softly. It hurt his ribs, pressed sharply onto his shoulder, but the noises the kid was making made him want to cry too. And the woman with her wings, and the little version of her, were in fact doing the same. He didn't know what to do, unable to embrace the stranger but feeling the need to do so. He awkwardly patted his back, "Chin up, mate. We'll get dis sorted, just you watch."

That seemed to ease some of the tension in the room, though he wasn't entirely sure what 'mate' he meant. There were two types, he knew and he understood the difference. But, how to ask such a delicate question? No. It was better to just ignore that for now. After a few more moments, the kid pulled back. "You're right, kangaroo."

He flashed a skilled smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was fake, and everyone knew it - but no one called him on it. Then, he felt his brow furrow in concern, "When was da last time ya slept, mate? Ya look like ya've been through da rabbit hole an' back."

The boy sat back, eyes like an owl's again. Then, the big man in red began to laugh, shoulders shaking and eyes screwing shut. "I wish I had a camera! Bunny, actually showing genuine conern! Who knew such feats possible, da?"

Okay, by this point, he figured that everyone knew him by at least 'Bunny'.

Feeling burned, but not know why, he growled. "And you must be da world's only living brain donor! Da kid looks half dead on 'is feet!" That cut through what little laughter there was. Golden symbols formed in front of his eyes, flashing at a rapid speed, but not nearly as quickly as before. He felt a frown twist itself onto his lips. "And where is dat comin' from? Ah ain't a scripture reader."

The smallest person in the room walked up and tapped his uninjured hand, and pointed to himself. A symbol formed above his head; it looked like a rabbit, a kid, a midgit, a mountian of a man and a flying figure all holding hands. With a sigh of equal parts irritation and weariness, he looked to the others for help.

The woman came forward, eyes watering and voice wavering. "The boy's name is Jack Frost. That man made of the golden sand is the Sandman, but we call him Sandy. This," he motioned to the tallest person in the room, "is Saint Nicholas. We call him North. I am Tooth, and this is Baby Tooth."

"Does any of it ring a bell?" the boy's - Jack's - voice was strained.

Jack...Jack Frost...

His head began to pound heartily as they waited for his answer. Frost was from winter, crystalized dew usually found on cars and grass. Dare he take the obvious route?

And what? He asked himself hotly, Give them false hope?

Still...there was hope. There was always hope, and hope was never false. It was pure. It was in the sunlight and the rain, the cyles of life and air and ground. It was everywhere to be seen, and no where to be found. It was felt, and it was raw - and inmpulse for belief so vital for survival that is sang in one's very blood. For, without hope, what was left for a person? Fear. Hate. Anger. Dispair. Hope kept everything moving, kept people alive and healthy.

Slowly, he said, "Frost. Winter."

The smiles were back, and the woman -Tooth, he corrected himself - and Jack were nodding their heads eagerly. Jack muttered, "Yeah, yeah..."

His paw found his brow as he tried to block the pain and think, but that was all the dots he could connect. He just...he had this feeling about ice and snow and water...Especially, the body of water. But, whatever picutre was beginning to form slipped through his mind's grasp like a shadow in the night. Whatever he just thought he remembered was gone, like a puff of smoke on a windy day. Gone, and he didn't even realize it. "Sorry, mate. Dat's all Ah got."

Their faces fell, but the big man - North, he was told - said, "Is quite alright. Now, everyone say goood night to Bunny, da? He needs rest. And Phil and I need to wrap Bunny's ribs. Are cracked and broken, remember?"

There was a slow round of nods, and one by one they said good night. Jack, though, didn't leave right away. He told him, "Bunny, we'll get your memories back. We'll find some way to trigger them. Okay? If you need anything, anything at all, just give a yell. I'll be right down the hall all night."

When he had nodded, the boy hugged him again before leaving. North came up, ace bandages in hand. "Now, Phil help him up so I can wrap."

The big, furry white creature slipped back into the room and saddled up beside him. They eyes each other warily. Bunny hadn't been fond of what had happened last time he sat up, and wasn't looking forward to it. He had the feeling that, maybe this Phil didn't like the idea either - though probably for different reasons. Had they had some difficulties in the past? Obviously, he couldn't remember if that were true or not...but the feeling lingered.