Oh hi everyone.

If you do one thing today, listen to N*Synch - Tell Me Why. Say hello to your childhood ^_^

So here I'm going to say a massive thanks to my new proofer roudyredd, because she went through this chapter for me and fixed all of my 4am ramblings. I read through my original copy after she'd gone through and I'd even made words up where I'd started to fall asleep and my hand slipped and I looked at it and though 'yeah, looks alright.'

I kind of realise how much I need to pay attention and write at a decent hour :D

I also wanna say thanks to everyone who's been reading, reviewing, favouriting and following this fic. You're all awesome, and the countless times I've sat here staring at my screen thinking 'I want to quit' have been squashed by how many times I've glanced at my phone when I have an email to tell me I have a review, or a follow, or fave. You've all managed to keep spurring me on, so you all have my thanks.

As always, enjoy!


Coming back here, when she knew it would be empty, save the elves and yeti was – in Eleanor's eyes – a good idea. She wouldn't be asked about her motives for snooping about, nor would she be distracted by anything. Skirting down the halls, she dodged around the corners, making her way to the elaborate filing system she knew North had, but had never seen before. She had to go down three flights of stairs, and the further down in the building she went, the colder and more foreboding it felt. She knew this was wrong, but she had to find out.

As the jogged down the last corridor to where she knew it would be, she met two very large, very heavy oak doors. They looked worn and battered with time, and the handles were two large, thick steel rings. She grabbed hold of one and pulled the ring. Holding it ninety degrees to the door, she turned it, grumbling at how it stuck and how she had to shove much harder. There was a loud creak as the door gave way, and she pressed her weight against it to open it fully. She tread softly, unsure if there were any traps... but if it hadn't been locked, there wouldn't be any reason for there to be any traps. And she could get out of there quickly if she had to. What she saw made her jaw drop, and then a smile lit up her face. The room was huge. Enormous. There were thousands upon thousands of shelves lining the walls; filing cabinets in neat rows running the length of the room, with just enough room between each one for North to sidle down and open drawers to look in and sort things. She went to the nearest and opened the drawer, picking the folder nearest the front and reading the information there was written there in neat cursive.

'Zach Moreau, 2005, France, Paris, Naughty, believes.'

There was a list of all his offences; stealing his sisters toys, expelled from school, hitting his parents. The boy was only eight, but he seemed to be a little trouble maker. There was a small picture of him clipped to the papers and he looked as though butter wouldn't melt. Bright blue eyes and a mess of blond hair. He looked bonnie, but you couldn't judge a book by it's cover, and there seemed to be a miniature horror story beneath that cute face.

Sliding the folder back exactly where she found it, the Summer spirit walked slowly down one of the isles. She'd started at M, apparently, and she was only half way down the long isle when she finally reach N. Stopping, she pulled out a drawer in one of the cabinets and picked the fifth folder.

'Emily Nair, 1998, Australia, Sydney, Nice, believes.'

Fifteen, the girl volunteered, worked hard at school and stepped up to the plate to act as her younger brothers' mother when their own died. That, unfortunately, seemed to be when she stopped believing. Where it said 'believes', there was a neat line in red ink. It saddened Eleanor. To think that such a nice young girl had been forced to grow up so quickly, and under such terrible circumstances. In her eyes, growing up never meant she'd had to stop believing, but perhaps for others they couldn't hold onto such beliefs and ideals. And not everybody else had the same proof before them as she always had.

She replaced that folder, and turned back down the isle, walking slowly, wondering where in the midst of these millions of folders she might find the ones devoted to the Guardians and the spirits.

It took her twenty minutes, but along the left wall, right in the centre, was a small glass door. It was dark within the room, but she went in anyway and smiled. She'd found exactly what she was looking for, and she went in. She spotted a candle on a candlestick on the desk just within the room, and she lit it with her fingertips, a feeling of excitement and trepidation build within her. There were a great many shelves within this room too, and each different section on a shelf was separated with a thick bookend. Glancing at the walls she saw that there were different categories... firstly, they were separated into continents, then into countries... She looked at Asia first, glancing over the Russia section, her fingers skimming over the folder that had 'Nicholas St. North' written across the tab, before she continued looking through.

Ombric... Nightlight... there were so many she'd never heard of! In Japan there were loads of spirits she didn't know and many she didn't feel she wanted to know. Eleanor pulled out one folder that read Yuki-onna, and opened it up. There was a picture of the most beautiful woman the spirit believed she'd ever seen, with the palest white skin and the darkest hair and eyes. Written beside the photo was a short paragraph, and it made her feel sick. There was not much about her, but from the short written text it appeared the beautiful woman would lead men astray and left them stranded in the snow, where it was certain they would perish. She would breath on them, freezing them and killing them. The woman was a murderer... Eleanor hastily replaced the folder on the shelf and moved on, looking at another shelf.

Europe.

She saw Tommy on the shelf, smiling as skipped past it, not wanting to intrude on someone's life as she already knew them. She was only interested really in those she didn't know and had no desire to meet, like the Yuki-onna woman.

Browsing through, she stopped, her heart leaping into her throat as one name in particular stood out from the rest.

Eleanor Rhodes.

It had been so long since she'd seen her surname. She'd not used it in nearly a century she thought with a gulp, realising how long it had been since her death. She didn't want to touch that folder, didn't want to read about herself, scared what North might have written. But then curiosity got the better of her, and she snatched at the folder, laying it on the table and flipping it open, gaping at the picture there.

It was her when she was about eleven. Her hair had reached her shoulders, she had a darker complexion (which was strange, because she spent so much more time in the sun now) and she was wearing a woollen jumper and a pleated skirt that brushed against her knees. Smiling slightly, she brushed her fingers over the image of her younger self, taking in each and every freckle she'd grown out of, the pimples on her chin that always made her blush, the bags under her eyes that were tell-tale of late nights talking to Aster. She looked at the top of the sheet.

'Eleanor Rhodes, 1899-1916, England, London, Nice, believes.'

There was no red line over her believe status, something she took pride in, and the fact that she was on the nice list made her feel giddier than she had in years. She scanned over the page, grinning as she read over some of the nicer things she'd done that had gotten her on the nice list.

'Frequently supports family in financial matters. Acts as carer to younger sister and niece, during raids, bombings and fights. Assumed status within household to encourage belief – Easter Sunday 1916.

Saved sister from house fire, died in said house fire.'

Gulping slightly, Eleanor wondered if she wanted to carry on, but there was more on the sheet, and she blushed red to see a short list of things she'd done in her lifetime that had earned her naughty points. That list was considerably shorter than the nice list, but there were things there that she had done that when she read over them she felt guilty.

'Fighting with siblings over trivialities, use of 'I hate you'.'

They were just simple fights she'd had with George and Mary, but she bit her lip and flushed red as she remembered that one night she'd fled the house screaming at George that she'd hated him, and he'd come running after her with their dad. That was a lot worse than the fights, she accepted that.

'Assaulting Martin Dingle with wine bottle."

In all fairness that had been a last ditch attempt to get away from him, and she had apologised for that she thought with a huff, thumbing down the page.

'Destroying Easter eggs in the Warren."

She was stunned. Did North really know everything that went on, because she had the feeling Aster wouldn't have told North she'd kicked a basket of eggs over in her fury, so he must have some way of knowing things.

"I bet he knows I'm here right now," she muttered, putting her file down to the side with every intention of moving on and looking for Old Man Winter's file – but she knew there was still a lot more about her in that folder, so with a low moan she opened it again, and looked closer.

The next few sheets were her letters to him throughout her childhood. She'd stopped writing a Christmas list when she was eleven, because in her eyes she had seen more than enough to believe, and there were more children world over that could do with that extra gift during the Winter holidays. Then there was a note she'd written when she was fifteen and the war had broken out, and George had gone abroad. She'd written to North asking him to spread cheer abroad, to make the soldiers happy.

That was the year that on Christmas Day, on the front line in France, both English and German soldiers got out of the trenches and celebrated the holiday. From what she was told, they'd played football and sung carols in their native languages, taught the others their's and gotten the words mixed up. They'd sat and talked about their families and drank and shared what little they had for their Christmas dinner.

She'd asked North not to get her a present that year, but to spread joy to those fighting, who had little to be joyful about. She'd not known he'd done that until months after when those soldiers brought the story home, and she'd cried with happiness when she'd heard it.

Smiling slightly, Eleanor leafed through the papers, before she looked at her spirit sheet.

'Eleanor, 1927

Charge: Summer

Residence: The Warren

Alternate forms: Phoenix'

It listed basic details about her. How she'd come into existence ten years after dying in the fire, how she took charge of Summer and what her basic duties were. It was all simple stuff that basically let North know what she usually got up to so he could spot her if she did something completely out of the ordinary. Smiling slightly she closed the folder and put it back on the shelf, returning to search each of the continent shelves to see if she could find the tag 'Old Man Winter'.

But he was nowhere to be seen. Then, she turned slowly and looked at an eighth shelf. One not labelled with a continent, no names of cities. She approached slowly and looked at the three folders that were there.

Pitch Black. Man in the Moon. Old Man Winter.

They were the three that were not of Earth, she assumed. Slowly she pried the folder off the shelf that was emblazoned with the Winter mans' name, and held it in her hands. It was comparatively thinner than the others, and lighter too. When she opened it she was disappointed to find there wasn't a photograph, but a sketch, and very little information.

'Old Man Winter, unknown

Charge: Winter, terminated

Residence: Unknown

Alternate forms: unknown'

The description beneath the crudely drawn picture of Winter was one that made Eleanor bite her lip. This ancient being had caused ice ages, had blown blizzards over towns just to kill people and had taken it upon himself to weed out humanity. He would pick off the weak and elderly, leaving the younger and stronger folk left to run the land. Since he was forced out life expectancy doubled and the world had managed to progress.

Now he was back, would he try plunging the world back into ice again? What would happen if it were Winter all year round.

Then is clicked.

"That's what he's doing," she murmured, her eyes focusing to the candlelight, watching the flame is it flickered and spat. "Winter all year round..."

It was worse than what Pitch was after. There would be no more Spring, Summer and Autumn, that means Tommy, Aster and herself would no longer be needed. If the old man had control over the eternal season then Jack wouldn't be needed. Even North would be shunned out because people wouldn't look forward to Christmas if Winter was year round. Christmas would only make up one day of it. She didn't know what Tooth would do, but if people stopped believing in the majority of the Guardians then they would eventually stop believing in her.

They would all fade away. She'd lose those closest to her. Her friends, her family... the love of her life. They would all fade away. And would she be left? Because she'd been there nearly a century and she'd never been seen or heard and she'd never had anyone believe in her, but she still existed.

"Will I be left alone?" she whispered, clenching her fists and crumpling the paper in her hands, tears springing to her eyes.

"Oh no," a voice croaked from behind her, octaves deeper than anything she'd heard before, as if the sound was something old as the Earth. The sound was an echo of that age.

Turning quickly, Eleanor looked into those steely grey eyes, felt the cold radiating from him, and her heart stopped in her chest, her lungs stopped taking in air, and the world around her swam. She felt like she was falling into some abyss; like she had no control.

Cold fingers grasped her throat, and suddenly her heart leapt back into action again, her lungs sucked in a breath of air before those freezing fingers tightened around her neck.

"I'll destroy you with the rest of them."