So, I'm back. I'm not sure how many chapters this will be but let's hope for the best. Also to the utterly AMAZINGLY AWESOME people who follow me, I am planning to update my Reading the Life of the Lost Hero, as well as the Beginning, hopefully I'll have both updated by the twelfth. I do not own Rise of the Guardians, no matter how much I wish I did.

His hood was up today. His usual bright, fragmented, joyful eyes were even more broken. Worse, they were empty, dull. Dead. He didn't speak, not even to say hello, and Sandy knewthat the Guardians would be hard pressed to get him to utter a sound. Sandy hoped that he wouldn't put on his usual façade; that he wouldn't mask his feelings. And so far he hadn't. It was just the two of them and the proverbial elephant in the room.

It was nice, Sandy thought, even if the two of them avidly avoided talking about his feelings. Then the others came. And a switch was flipped.

It was frightening, watching Jack's face morph from his true brokenness into a perfect plastic mask, complete with the hollow thousand-watt grin that completely fooled Tooth. His eyes took on a fake gleam, so much duller than his normal playful/mischievous glint. It was like a cheap rendition of the original, yet no one else seemed to notice. Or maybe…maybe they had but chose not to say anything.

And that was truly terrifying to Sandy. To be the only one who saw Jack's slow drag into the abyss of further despair and loneliness and have no way to help. To be the only one cognizant of the desperate state Jack was truly in; or worse. To be the only one cognizant and cared. Only when it came to Jack's precarious situation did the old guardian truly fear something besides the well-being of children. He was terrified to be so completely helpless because those who could help, refused to acknowledge it or were ignorant to the gravity of the situation.

He blinked back to reality. North was bickering over which holiday was the best Christmas or Easter with (and this came as no surprise to the ancient guardian,) Bunny. Tooth gave directions to her baby teeth (Baby Tooth was on duty in the Southern Hemisphere, much to Sandy's disappointment. He had been hoping she would get Jack to open up, if only minutely.) and occasionally addressing (scolding) Phil over the annual amount of sugar they give during Christmas, and "don't get me started on Easter". He shuddered and pitied the poor yeti. He wouldn't wish Tooth's obsessive/borderline hysterical rants on sweets ruining perfectly good teeth on anyone; not even Pitch. Well…maybe Pitch. But only when he and Jack were present. With a camera.

Speaking of Jack, where was he? Sandy frowned. He wasn't on the ground with the others, not even in the corners watching with wary but slightly amused eyes, like he normally did. Then he felt it. A gentle brushing against his sand robes, a freezing chill that had it had been anyone else they would have shivered profusely. Jack's Wind. He followed it to the source until he found himself in the corner looking up to the rafters. There, hidden in the shadows, and on the rafters looking like he was coming up with multiple escape plans, was Jack. His eyes were still burdened. They were glazed with grief. And that's when it clicked.

Jack was winter. Jack Frost was the Spirit of Winter. There had been a blizzard today, Jack had told him excitedly.

"It's gonna be huge Sandy. Up in Alaska. It'll last for a few days then move to the upper regions of Canada before reaching the North Pole. Don't worry, it won't hit Santoff Claussen. It'll pass just south of there before finally dying out."

Despite what Bunny and the others thought Jack was a hard worker. Having winter to shepherd in both hemispheres, as well as having to deal with the winter sprites or the Yuuki-onnas of Japan, and let's not forget adding enough snow to mountain peaks to prevent horrible landslides or muddy runoffs that will sure to end in many deaths, added to his guardian duties and playing with Jamie and friends. Well, busy was an understatement.

Yet, Jack loved making snowflakes. He made them by hand in his spare time, crafting each snowflake uniquely so that there was never two of the same snowflakes that year. He loved how children would perk up when they saw his creations, how they squealed in delight as they caught some on their tongues. Even back when winter meant struggling to survive, many smiled at the mere sight of his delicate creation. Maybe, Sandy once "told" Jack, they can feel your love. Maybe they could tell a gentle soul created them.

He remembered hearing about the blizzard on the radio from a shop's open window somewhere near London. They had said a family had been camping too far out and out of season. They had found the bodies of the parents, but they didn't know where the children's corpses were.

They didn't believe for a second that they could possibly be alive. Today, though, there had been an update. They found the children. Two kids, seven and eight years old respectively. A brother and sister. The oldest was the boy, his name is Jack. The little girl, was named Charlotte. They were found curled up together in some church miles away from their dead parents. They only had slight hypothermia, nothing serious; and very early stages of frost bite, so there would be no damage, but they were alive. It was a miracle.

Unfortunately, now they were orphans. They didn't have any immediate family. Just their now deceased parents. They had to be put into the system. Placed in an orphanage, and possibly separated. Their entire lives were ruined by a single blizzard.

Now Sandy could see why Jack was so upset. Jack blamed himself for the deaths of their parents. How could he not? Winter had taken them. He was winter incarnate. His own snow, the very snowflakes he spent hours painstakingly perfecting, had buried them in a deadly blanket. It broke the sandman's heart how Jack's own kind heart would be the very thing causing him pain. But he had to wonder: did the others know about this?

Taking a chance that yes they did, but were just waiting for him so they could plot ways to cheer Jack up. He went up to them. Reality, he concluded, had just backhanded him.

All Sandy would receive was curious and confused glances (North and Bunny), a look for help (Phil), and an irritated "Not now Sandy." (Tooth).

Sandy was upset. He was heartbroken. He was disappointed. But most of all Sandy was enraged. Furious.

How could they? How could they ignore all the clues? All the signs? Why did they ignore all of the facts? Everything about Jack (save his despair) was fake today, so why did they overlook it? Why did they forget about Jack this way, and continue with their (pointless) conversations? Why would they do this? Didn't they…didn't they understand that being overlooked (ignored, forgotten) was more painful when the ones who did this actually know you?

That was it. Enough was enough.

When the "meeting" (really it was more of a social gathering than an actual meeting) finished, Sandy flew (faster than he'd ever gone before) over to Jack and pulled him to a corner so they could talk. Well, relatively speaking.

"Hey Sandy? What's up? 's something wrong?" Jack asked as quiet as the morning after a snowstorm.

Sandy shook his head, and started signing, hoping that Jack would understand.

"You wanna go…flying? Like together?" Jack sounded so bewildered, that Sandy swore he felt his heart break a little bit more (and he tried hard not to frown and possibly upset Jack). Instead, he nodded with a hopeful smile.

"Are you sure?" Jack queried quietly. As if speaking would make Sandy change his mind, or even disappear.

Sandy nodded grinning, desperately hoping that Jack would agree.

"Why not? I've still got time before winter, and the blizzard (Sandy doesn't fail to notice how he momentarily tenses) has pretty much calmed down. So what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Jack rambled, his eyes brightening with excitement. In that moment, Sandy had hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to pull Jack out before he drowned. And his fears finally calmed down, if only for the moment.

So he smiled at the large (real) grin on Jack's face, and together they raced out of Santoff Claussen, with Jack's joyful laugh following, closely behind.