Thanks again for the awesome reviews!

A Case of Frost

Chapter 3: They Aren't Grown-Ups

He ran instead of flying. He used the rooftops and powerlines and lampposts under his feet to guide him across town, and he took the long way. He was procrastinating, he knew. He could easily jump into the wind and be at Mark's house in mere seconds. Instead he ran.

Jack didn't even realise just how much he was holding himself back until he passed the house for a fifth time. He skidded to a stop on a neighbouring roof, ice dragging along after his feet. He stood there for a full minute, and the ruffling of his hair in the wind was his only movement. Then he crouched down and leaned his forehead against his staff to think.

"How could this have happened?" he asked again through gritted teeth.

How could he have let it happen?

Jack groaned, so faintly that the sound was almost lost in the wind. If he had been in Burgess instead of picking on Bunny or lazing around the Pole, he could have stopped whatever had done this. He could have saved Mr Greenberg and Mr Jones. They would still be alive, and their children would currently be playing in the snow with Jack himself and the other kids. But he hadn't been there.

"Some Guardian I turned out to be," Jack muttered.

The wind whipped around his thin body, tugging at the blue fabric of his hoodie and messing up his hair. Snow swirled around him, until he told it to settle down. It was enough of a distraction to snap him out of his guilty thoughts, however. He shook his head in shame at his own moping.

What did he think he was doing, feeling sorry for himself? Just next door, there was a little boy who was grieving his dad. Jack could help the boy.

That thought was all it took for him to jump onto the tall fence separating the two houses, and from there onto a window ledge. He peered through the glass, into Mark's bedroom. The boy was in there, sitting in the middle of his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, and staring at the astronaut design woven into his blanket. Or perhaps he was merely staring at nothing.

At seeing Mark looking so utterly heartbroken, Jack couldn't have hesitated if he'd tried. He reached out a thin, pale finger, and tapped on the window. Patterned frost spread out over the glass from where he touched it.

The sound seemed to take a few moments to register with Mark, who then looked up slowly. He blinked once, then twice, and recognition appeared on his face. He scrambled off the bed and across the room to open the window.

"Jack Frost?" he asked, his voice dully surprised.

Jack, almost nose-to-nose with the boy, forced a grin. "Hey, Mark. Mind if I come in?"

"Okay." Mark smiled back uncertainly and stepped to the side so that Jack could climb in.
Jack rested his staff against the wall before taking a cross-legged seat on the bed, Mark sitting back down in front of him.

"I'm sorry about your dad." I'm sorry. "How are you holding up?" He cringed internally at how stupid the question sounded even to his ears.

The boy shrugged. "They all said that. The cops and other grown-ups. I'm okay, I guess."

Jack winced at his words. They weren't a lie. He had spent centuries weaving enough of his own lies to be able to tell the difference. Mark spoke now with dull honesty, and it was much, much worse.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he offered half-heartedly.

Mark looked him directly in the eye, his small hands twisting around the hem of his pyjama top. "The grown-ups said that, too."

"Well, I'm not a grown-up," said Jack, "Would a grown-up be able to do this?"

And he conjured a handful of snow which he blew into the air, and the two of them were suddenly surrounded by crystal snowflakes. Mark watched each speck of snow float around him in awe. What Jack thought was the potential for a tiny smile touched the boy's lips. Mark reached up to try and catch some of the flakes, shivering a little when they landed on his skin.

Jack smiled at the display. He wasn't prepared when Mark lunged forward and hugged him tightly around the waist. He stilled in surprise, unsure of what to do. Mark's face pressed into his hoodie, and his small body trembled. Jack thought at first that he was shivering from the cold. But then he heard the quiet sobs against his chest. Now he really didn't know what to do. He was used to bringing fun to already happy children. He'd never had to actually comfort a crying kid before. The watery gasps brought Jack's arms instinctively down, and he could only hug Mark back.

The boy cried for a long time. After a while there weren't any tears left, and after a little longer his sobs died down as well. Then he was just trembling and Jack realised that it really was from the cold this time. He pulled away and wrapped the astronaut blanket around Mark's shoulders. Mark hiccupped a couple of times and rubbed his eyes with his sleeves. The wet patch of tears on the front of Jack's hoodie had already frozen over.

"It's okay." It was anything but okay. Jack repeated himself anyway. "You're going to be okay. Tell you what, Mark. How about a snow day, just for you? To take your mind off things. I know it's only Saturday, but I'll make it a good one. I promise. Do you still have that old sled?"

Mark sniffed and nodded, but didn't look certain. Jack persisted, though. He knew better than anyone what a bit of fun could do for a kid.

"I'll have it ready by tomorrow morning. Bring your sled to the park and we'll have some fun. Your friends miss you, too - Jamie and the others. Sound good?"

"Okay, I guess."

There were voices outside Mark's door, and then a knock. "Mark?" came Mrs Greenberg's voice, "Honey, are you awake? There's some special agents here who want to talk to you."

Mark's face fell instantly. "Just a minute!"

Jack wondered how much of the last three days had been spent talking to cops. He took it as his cue to leave, however, untangling his long limbs and stepping off the bed. He retrieved his staff, which turned blue with ice at his touch, and swung himself onto the windowsill in the same motion. He turned back to Mark one more time before leaving.

"I'll be back tomorrow. Take care, kid."

Mark waved, and Jack leapt out of the window, closing it behind him and leaving a slight fluttering of green curtains in his wake.

There was a car parked outside the house that hadn't been there before. It was shiny, black, and timeless. Jack wasn't usually one to take much notice of most human vehicles, but he was timeless himself and so nodded appreciatively. "Nice ride." It was all the attention he paid it, because he was already moving on. If he had an extra special snow day to prepare, he thought he had better be getting to work.

The brothers arrived in Burgess just before midday, which was much earlier than they expected. Even the ice and snow on the roads - and surely it was far too early in the year for that - did little to slow their journey.

They stopped to check in at the first motel they could find before heading further into the town. Most cases had them spending at least one night in the area, and they didn't think this one would be an exception. The motel also gave them a chance to change into their old but neat suits, giving them the appearance of a pair of Very Important People. The appearance was just as vital as any fake ID or cover story. The one thing the motel didn't provide them with was rest. They had no time for that. After firing up their laptop and utilising the motel's offered free wifi to check the address of David Greenberg's wife, they were back in the car and on the icy streets.

"This is the place?" the older brother, whose name was Dean, asked, pulling up outside a small brick house with a roof that was visibly red beneath the snow. It wasn't a particularly noteworthy house, and had they not been searching specifically for it, the brothers wouldn't have told it apart from the rest of the neighbourhood.

"This is it."

They checked that they had their fake IDs and badges on them and climbed out of the car. Dean immediately shivered in the cold. "Man, it's freezing! It's still just November, right?"

The younger brother, whose name was Sam, nodded, brushing off the cold with a shake of his limbs. He led the way up the path to the Greenbergs' front door, and knocked sharply. When the woman answered, they already had their badges out and ready.

The woman seemed small, and it was difficult to tell whether she really was small or if it was just because of the way she was hunched into herself. Her blonde hair looked to have been tied back hurriedly, and wisps were escaping from the band. She also looked older than she was, as though exhaustion had aged her rapidly in a short amount of time.

The brothers had seen enough grieving widows in their time to know that this woman was the one they were looking for.

"Mrs Greenberg?" Sam asked anyway. He had to try hard not to avoid the sad but sharp eyes that looked up at him. This was always the difficult part.

The woman nodded. "Angela," she corrected him. Her voice was more stable than he had expected, only slightly hoarse. She was a strong one, Sam thought. He showed her his badge, and felt his brother beside him do the same.

"We're from the FBI. My name is Agent Carter, and this is my partner, Agent Reid. If you don't mind, we just have a few questions about what happened the other day."

Angela stared at them for a few moments, and Sam thought for a second that she was going to turn them away. But then she nodded and invited them inside.

"I didn't expect the FBI to take such an interest in what happened," she admitted, leading them to the living room. She sat in an armchair, leaving the couch free for the fake Agents Carter and Reid.

"You'd be surprised what catches our attention," said Sam, offering a small smile, "Mrs Greenberg - Angela - could you explain to us exactly what happened when your husband was killed?"

"Well," she began, and then took a moment to apparently collect herself, "it's like I told the police. I went to bed early and David stayed up to watch tv. I didn't hear him come to bed, so it was probably late. And then on Wednesday morning I woke up and he wasn't in the bed. It was barely dawn, and David's never up that early. So I got up and saw him just lying there." She broke off with a choked gasp and held a shaking hand to her chest. Sam nodded encouragingly. "I thought at first that he'd fallen out of bed or something. So I got closer to try and wake him. And that was when I stepped in the blood. The blood - it was everywhere." She closed her eyes as though to block out the images.

The brothers gave her their best sympathetic looks.

"And you said you didn't hear anything?" asked Dean.

She shook her head. "No, nothing. You'd think I would have, though, right? I mean, I'm not even a heavy sleeper, usually. We had to take the clock out of the hallway, because the ticking used to wake me. And surely, he would have screa-" A shuddering gasp and hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." The brothers exchanged glances and Sam continued. "You were taken into police custody for thirty-six hours. Do you know why the police let you go?"

Angela clenched her hands into her woollen cardigan. She looked suddenly defensive. "Couldn't you find this out from the police?"

"We just want to hear it from your point of view."

"They said that the coroner found something. A DNA thing?" She shrugged, still holding onto her cardigan tightly. "They didn't say exactly. Whatever it was, it put me in the clear."

The brothers glanced at each other, and communicated silently that they would pay the coroner a visit next.

"Thank you, Angela. Just a few more questions," said Sam, "Did your husband have any enemies?"
Although her body had relaxed with the change of subject, her answering tone was confused and somewhat alarmed. "Um, no. No, I don't think so. He would have told me if he did."

"How had he been acting before he died?" asked Dean, "Did you notice anything strange about his behaviour?"

"No," Angela said again, "I mean, since the first killing a few months ago he was a little on edge. But so was everyone. That kind of thing just doesn't happen here."

"Did you or your husband know the previous victim?"

"William Jones? Not really. I mean, we saw him around town every now and then, but we weren't really on speaking terms."

"Can you think of anything at all that might have connected them?"

Angela thought hard, and chewed on her fingernails. "I guess our kids went to school together. There's a year between them, though, and Mark never mentioned interacting with Leah at all. Poor girl," she added sadly, "She was the one who found the body. If it was anything like what happened to David… It's not something a child should see. I can only imagine - Mark's been bad enough as it is. Barely left his room, even when he was staying with my mother."

Sam coughed uncomfortably. "Would you mind if we talked to your son? Ask him a couple of questions?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "But don't expect him to say much. He's been dealing with police coming in and out of the house constantly over the last few days."

Angela led them into the hallway, stopping outside the room at the far end. The brightly coloured plaque on the door loudly proclaimed it to be 'Mark's Room'.

"Try not to upset him, and keep it quick," she told the brothers, before knocking. "Mark? Honey, are you awake? There's some special agents here who want to talk to you."

"Just a minute!" replied a young boy's voice dully, followed by some shuffling and squeaking of bed springs. Then, "Come in."

Angela pushed the door open gently and went in. The fake agents followed her, into the bedroom that was typical of any ten-year-old child. The child in question was huddled on his bed, a thick blanket around his shoulders. He was staring out the window on the other side of his room when the three adults entered, but soon looked up. His eyes were puffy and watery, a telltale sign that he'd recently been crying.

"Honey," said Angela, going over to him and smoothing his hair off his forehead, "this is Agent Carter and Agent Reid."

"Hey, Mark," said Sam, "We just want to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?"

The watery eyes looked him and his brother over. "Okay," Mark said quietly.

"Mind if I sit?" Sam gestured to the small blue chair under the study desk by the wall. At Mark's nod, he spun it to face the bed and lowered himself onto it, feeling far too big with his legs squashed up almost to his chest. Dean didn't sit, instead opting to hover by the door and look at the toys on the shelf.

"Do you like space?" he asked, prodding a small figurine of an astronaut.

Mark seemed surprised by the question, but nodded slowly. "Aren't you going to say that you're sorry about my dad?"

"Why would we say that?" asked Sam.

"Everybody says that. All the other cops and grown-ups."

Sam saw Dean smirk and poke at more of the kid's toys. "Who says we're grown-ups? Do grown-ups like playing with spaceships?" And he took a model of one off the shelf and waved it around his head to prove his point. A bit of plastic promptly broke off and he hastily shoved it back, withdrawing his hands so that they hung safely by his sides.

Despite one of his toys having just been broken in front of him, Mark looked somehow happier. But only a little. "Mom," he said to Angela, who was still stroking his hair, "you don't need to hang around. I can talk to them by myself."

She looked surprised, pulling away instantly as though electrocuted. "Are you sure, Honey?"

Mark nodded and Angela left the room, but left the door open wide. Sam heard her retreat to the kitchen. He was about to ask the boy his first question, but was beaten to it by Mark's own small voice.

"It was my fault."

The brothers started in bewilderment at the tiny-voiced confession. They were quick to collect themselves, but they both stared more intently at the boy than before.

"What makes you say that, Mark?" asked Sam.

The boy hugged his knees tighter, the blanket slipping off his shoulders slightly. "I made him angry."

"Who?" Dean asked quickly, "Your dad?"

"No." Mark shook his head. His voice was quieter than ever now, barely a whisper. "The monster."
Sam's body tensed and he saw Dean's hand twitch towards where his gun was concealed. "What monster?"

Mark looked nervous. "You two aren't like the other cops," he said, "You're nice. I don't want the monster to get angry at you, too."

"Why?" asked Sam, "Is the monster here?"

"Not anymore. It went away. I don't know where it is. But…" He swallowed and looked at them with nervous eyes. "Leah told me at school that she used to hear it at night, too, before it hurt her dad."

Sam stood up so that he could move over to the bed and place a comforting hand on Mark's shoulder. "We won't let the monster hurt anyone else, okay? Agent Reid and I - we'll stop it."

The boy's eyes were worried, as was the way he chewed on his bottom lip. "You'll make it angry."

"Yeah, well," said Dean, "it made us angry first."

Sam wanted to ask Mark more questions, but he also didn't want to distress the kid any further. "Thanks for your help, Mark. And if the monster comes back," he added, digging a small business-like card out of his jacket pocket, "give us a call. Any time, day or night. Okay?"

"Okay." He climbed off the bed and went over to his desk, where he tucked the card into a safe spot under his lamp. There was a photograph of him and an older man - his father - next to it. "Um, I need to go to the bathroom. I think Mom's in the kitchen if you want to talk to her."

He hurried out of the room, almost tripping on his long pyjama bottoms in his rush. The brothers were left alone.

"So," said Sam quietly, "what do you think?"

"What do I think? I think there's definitely something weird going on. Two different kids talk about hearing monsters and then end up with dead daddies? Sounds right up our alley."

"No, what do you think caused it? Ghost?"

"Could be. Kids are supposed to be more sensitive to ghost activity, right?"

"It makes sense," Sam agreed, "But it still doesn't explain why Mrs Greenberg didn't hear her husband have his feet ripped off right next to her."

"So you think it might be something else?"

"I don't know. Maybe. But it doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard of before."

"A brand new, limited edition monster, then," said Dean, "Awesome."

Sam sighed, already seeing the piles of research ahead of them. Or rather, ahead of him, while his brother kicked back with a beer. "So, we talk to the coroner next?"

"You got it. Find out exactly what this 'DNA thing' he found was."

They started to leave Mark's room, but something caught Sam's eye before they could make it very far. It was on the bed, inches from where Mark had been sitting, and the pale light streaming in through the window glinted off it. Sam nudged his brother and pointed at it.

"What's that?" asked Dean.

Sam bent over the bed to inspect it. It was shiny and bluish-silvery, and when he tapped it, it was cold to the touch. "It's…frost," he said in surprise.

"So what? It's a cold day."

"Inside?" asked Sam sceptically, "You don't think Mark's monster could have left it behind, do you?"

"A monster that targets kids, kills their dads by ripping their feet off without waking the Mrs, and then leaves frost on the kids' beds? Right. Awesome," he said again, "We'd better be off to see the coroner soon, then. You're gonna need plenty of time to research."

A/N: Once again, reviews and critique welcome! You guys have been great with it so far. Please remember to tell me if I'm doing anything wrong!

Thanks for reading - I hope you're all still enjoying it!