You bound down the stairs the next morning with a surprising amount of energy for someone who only got five hours of sleep after being awake for nearly two days.

But, they were two amazing days.

You smile to yourself as you reflect on your adventures, and your good mood only brightens when you remember that today is Easter. Because of the power of the holiday, the Guardians must have thousands of lights on their globes now.

With that hopeful thought, you round the corner of the stairs, (d/n) on your heels, and head into the kitchen for breakfast. But, when you enter the room, you stop in your tracks so fast that if you were wearing sneakers, you would have skidded on the wood floor.

Your good attitude deflated as you look at your parents sitting together at the kitchen table. It appears that they've been waiting for you to come down.

You clear your throat awkwardly and walk over to the cupboard to pull out your favorite cereal. You're glad to have your back to them so you can relax a little bit. "Good morning."

"(y/n)." Your mother's soft voice sounds slightly foreign to your ears, and the way she says your name is completely unfamiliar. "Can you please come sit down so we can talk?"

Still keeping your back to them, you pad over to the fridge for the milk. "What about?"

She sighs in exasperation. "Please, (y/n). Let us talk to you."

You close your eyes and silently pray to whoever's up there for strength. This isn't going to turn out well, and you know it when you slam the fridge door a little louder than usual. You set the milk and the cereal on the counter and reluctantly walk over to join your parents at the kitchen table. You plop down in the seat furthest away from your parents and, if you were looking at them, you would see a brief moment of hurt flicker across their features. If you did, you wouldn't care.

(D/n) walks up to you and drops her head in your lap, her tail wagging slowly. You place a hand on her head and stroke her soft fur to gather yourself before looking up at your parents. "So? Get on with it, I have to be at the Bennet's in a half an hour."

Your mother turns slightly in her seat so she's facing you. "(y/n) . . . I know that ever since (b/n) died, we haven't exactly been there for you."

You snort. "Haven't exactly been there for you" is the biggest understatement you've ever heard.

Your mother ignores you and continues: "Your father and I," she reaches across the table and takes his hand, "We want to change that."

That gets your attention.

"What do you mean?" you ask, leaning back in your chair and trying not to look interested.

"We're going to start working from home, so that we can be with you."

"And when we do leave, we want you to come with us, (y/n)," your father adds.

You're speechless for a few seconds. After all these years, they choose now to make this choice? Despite the beautiful gesture they are attempting to make, you scoff. Do they really think you're just going to up and forget years of isolation?

"Why would I want to come with you?" You shout. "You practically left me to raise myself! You may have paid for everything: The house, the food, but I've been practically living on my own for five years, nearly six!" Your parents shrink under your piercing gaze and rant, but you don't back down.

"I was practically a child! You sent postcards for the first year, and then that was it." A bitter laugh escapes you. "Hell, I had to figure out puberty all by myself!" Stopping, your gaze hardens as you glare at the two of them. "I've known the Bennet's for six months, and they've been more like parents to me than you two ever have!"

"That's exactly what we're saying, (y/n)," your father whispers. "We want that to be different."

"Yeah? Well, it's too late." Tension ripples through the air when you stop talking. "You stopped being my parents when (b/n) died."

You stand up abruptly, accidentally knocking your chair backward with a bang. (D/n) scrambles out of your way as you storm to the front door, fuming. You pull on your boots and grab your still slightly-wet winter gear out of the closet, ignoring your parents calls for you to wait. You leave without even putting your coat on, and slam the door behind you and (d/n) so hard it rattles the door frame.

The cold air is perfectly and suffocatingly silent. You stand on the porch breathing heavily, letting your hot-from-anger body be cooled.

Sensing your distress, your golden retriever tilts her head up and licks your hand. With that small gesture, the roiling anger and tension in your shoulders start to subside slightly. You force a smile and pat her head before starting off down your driveway. You pull on your coat, hat, and gloves as you walk, welcoming the warmth it brings from this freezing day.

Once you're warmer, the guilt starts to set in. Your parents may be jerks, but at least they're trying. Pulling out your phone, you send them both a message:

I'll think about it. Happy Easter.

The Bennet's house is quiet, save for Abby and (d/n) playing tug-of-war in the living room to your right. Your eyes are fixed on the ticking clock above the kitchen sink, reading 4:00 in the afternoon. All of the kids are still outside looking for Easter Eggs, but the hunt should have been over hours ago.

You knew something was wrong when they couldn't find any eggs in the yard this morning, and your fears only grew when you travelled to the park, then to the other kids' houses only to find nothing.

Something went deathly wrong with the Guardians last night, and you don't know what. You've been kicking yourself all day for leaving—You hate being in the dark about things, especially about a situation so obviously dire.

A cup of hot cocoa sits between your hands as you look out the kitchen window, watching Jamie climb up the ladder. Is he checking the gutter again? His determination causes the corner of your mouth to twitch up. Thank the stars that boy never gives up.

You gasp and jump to your feet when the ladder teeters over and falls with a loud crash. Jamie is hanging from the gutter by one hand, and you scramble for the door, reaching it just in time to hear the gutter break loose from the house with a metallic creak. Jamie goes flying and lands in a mound of snow with a soft crunching sound and a shout.

You wince and are about to throw open the door when you see the pink and purple tennis ball bounce innocently across the lawn. Your heart sinks as you watch the kids' shoulders droop. You can practically see the last bit of hope drain out of them. You take a quick survey of the group and notice that not one of them has even a single egg in their baskets.

Jamie gets up and squats himself off from his fall with a frustrated frown. You push the door open a little bit so you can hear what he says: "Let's go check the park again."

Caleb scoffs. "Really?"

"For what, the Easter Bunny?" Claude adds. He crosses his arms and fixes Jamie with an annoyed stare.

"Guys, I told you—I saw him!" Jamie yells. "He's way bigger than I thought, and he's got these cool boomerang things—"

The other kids chorus their disbelief, and your heart sinks even further. Caleb's voice carries the furthest, saying: "Grow up, Jamie. It was a dream. You should be happy you still get dreams like that, and not . . ."

Cupcake puts her head down, brown eyes clouded over and haunted by things you can only imagine. "Nightmares."

Oh, no. What happened, Jack?

You watch helplessly as the kids turn away and filter slowly out of the yard. Pippa's the lone straggler, and you watch as she walks over to Jamie.

Her under-eyes are dark with exhaustion. She looks nothing like her usual self, and is too sad for any child to be. She hands Jamie his fallen basket and smiles softly, though it quickly fades back into a frown. "Forget it, Jamie. There's just no Easter this year."

Then she walks away, trailing after the others and making her own way back home. Jamie hangs his head and looks dejectedly into the empty basket. That's the last straw for you.

You snag your coat off of the hook by the door and pull it on as you step outside, closing the door behind you with your foot. The sound of the door closing gets Jamie's attention, and you approach the young boy slowly. "Hey, bud," you say gently.

"He really is real," Jamie whispers, too distracted to even greet you. "I know he is." He looks up at you with wide eyes. "You saw them that night in my room! They're all real."

You purse your lips sadly. "I know."

Tears well up in his eyes. "Then why aren't they here?"

You swallow the lump in your throat and plaster a smile on your face instead of answering his question. As much as you want to tell him what's really going on, to share your fears, you can't. He doesn't need the truth right now, he needs inspiration. "Why don't we go check the park again, like you said?" you ask him. "I'm sure there have to be some hidden in all this snow."

"I don't know, (y/n)..."

"Aw, come on!" You shove him gently. "It'll be fun."

A flicker of hope flares up in his brown eyes, but it disappears just as quickly as it came. "Okay," he mumbles.

You smile. "Jack Frost just had to give us all this snow Easter week, didn't he?"

Jamie wipes his nose as you guide him toward the fence. "You never told me who he is."

You step through the loose fence post and hold it open for Jamie. How do you describe Jack? The two of you start your walk, and you look down at Jamie, who is still frowning at his shoes. You look up at the sky with a smile. "Well, you need to be excited if you want to hear the story."

"I'm excited!"

You look back at Jamie with a smirk. "Then smile." He offers you a half-hearted twitch of his lips. "That's not a smile."

Jamie's "smile" morphs into an irritated scowl. "Yes, it is!"

"No." You hum and stroke your imaginary beard in your best impression of North, pretending to think. Then you grin and reach over, tickling Jamie's sides for a few seconds. A beautifully natural giggle bubbles out of him, and you smile at the sound. "That's a smile."

Jamie rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. So . . . Jack Frost?"

The both of you turn a corner and the trees around you grow thicker—You're almost there. Everything in Burgess is so close to each other. "Where should I start, kiddo?"

The brunette's eyes widen as he thinks. "What does he look like?"

"Oh." You hadn't been expecting that. Usually the kids just like hearing your stories, but Jamie's different. He likes details. And, you guess that because he's never even heard of Jack before you told him, he would want to know what he looks like. "Well, he's about my age. Physically, I mean. He's actually been alive for about three hundred years."

"Wow."

"Yeah, I know. He's oooold." Jamie laughs, and you smirk as you think about what Jack would say if he were here. "Anyway, he has hair that's as white as the snow, and he wears a blue sweatshirt that has the prettiest frost designs across the top. His pants are brown and wrapped at the bottom, and he doesn't wear any shoes."

Jamie frowns as the two of you enter the woods. "Wouldn't he get cold?"

"Would a Spirit of Winter get cold?"

He grins. "I guess not."

"Exactly."

"What else does he look like?"

You laugh at his newfound enthusiasm, helping him over a rock blocking the path. "He always carries around this wooden staff with a hook on the end, like a shepherd. That's his source of power, which means he can't fly or create snow and storms without it. You grin to yourself as you continue to talk about Jack. "And the Tooth Fairy always says that his teeth 'sparkle like freshly fallen snow.'"

Jamie laughs again and then frowns. "What color are his eyes?"

"Oh." You can't believe you forgot that. "His eyes are the brightest blue you've ever seen, and when you look into them . . . it's like you never want to look away."

Jamie looks up at you but you're distracted, eyes fixed onto the path ahead. "Do you know him?"

His question snaps you out of your trance, and you blush at being caught daydreaming. "Yeah, actually. I do. He's my best friend."

"Oh." You look down at him and see his gaze is fixed on the sidewalk, indicating to you that he obviously doesn't believe you. "Cool." Jamie frowns and looks back up. "So, how did he get his powers?"

You smile and point ahead, noticing that you're approaching your favorite spot in the park: Jack's lake. "He actually got them right here."

"Really?" Jamie asks. "How? It's just a lake."

"All he can remember is he came up and out of the water right in the middle. The ice broke just enough for him to come out, and he floated up into the sky. Then he was set back down on the ice, and the moon told him his name was Jack Frost."

"The moon?"

You hum in confirmation. "He found his staff on the ice, and he's been Jack Frost ever since."

Out of nowhere, your heart seizes up with fear, and you take Jamie's arm. You start to question what made you so afraid all of a sudden, but the realization of what that means hits you like a truck. Whirling around, you scan the trees for the now-familiar black figure.

"What's wrong?" Jamie asks. You don't respond, still scanning the trees as you push him behind you. "(y/n), what is it?"

You ignore him for a second time. "I know you're there, Pitch!" you yell defiantly.

The shadows that lurk under the trees in front of you melt together on cue, and you glare at the figure they produce. Pitch's golden eyes smirk at you through the trees before the rest of his body forms, and you narrow yours in return. "Very good, (y/n)," he praises, voice silky smooth yet sinister at the same time.

"I can sense assholes from a mile away," you respond. "What do you want?"

He bares his teeth into an evil smile and two nightmares appear out of thin air to flank him. You gulp and squeeze Jamie's shoulder tighter. "Jamie, run."

The boy's eyes are wide with fear. "Who is that?"

You don't respond, just push his shoulder in the direction of another path through the woods—the one Pitch isn't blocking. "Run!" you repeat. The nightmares take off towards you just as Jamie starts to flee, and you have no choice but to scramble back and out onto the ice to avoid their snapping teeth.

After years of being friends with Jack, you've almost mastered the ability to run on ice without slipping. But you forget that these horses are not living things, and their hooves don't slip on the slick surface. They catch up to you easily and one of their huge heads hits you in the back. You're thrown to the ground and slide a few feet across the ice. You wince and roll onto your back, clutching your right shoulder, which took the brunt of the fall.

Your vision is blurring from a hit to the head you didn't know you took, and when your eyes finally refocus, it's to see Pitch looking over you. He smiles down at you and twirls a stream of black sand between his gray fingers. "Sweet dreams, (y/n). Or should I say . . . nightmares."

Then he flicks his fingers, and everything fades to black.

Mua-ha-ha cliffhanger! What will happen next? Please Review!

Btw, all of you guys are the absolute best. I love reading your reviews and seeing your thoughts on the story. I worked really hard on this, and I'm so glad you're enjoying it so far. Thank you so much!