A:N/ Hi everyone!
Jack. That's all I have to say about this story. Anyway, that is how this story was inspired. I was just poking around on DeviantArt when this idea just popped into my head.
Disclaimer: I don't own. If I did, Jack Frost would have his shirt off for half the movie.
It was just three days past Christmas. North's yetis were excitedly bustling around the workshop and the rest of North's enormous castle, carrying leftover toys that were supposed to be for the last-minute naughty children.
It was also finally time for the Guardians to head home after the three days of partying. Bunnymund was the first one to leave, using his magical earth powers. Just before he disappeared from sight, he muttered something about 'The Little Frostbite' making it far too cold for him this year on purpose.
Toothiana was also rather antsy to leave, considering her countless tooth fairies were slowly flitting out of order without their leader around.
Sandman also left without a word, returning to his sandy castle in the vast deserts of Egypt.
That just left Jack Frost, the newly appointed Guardian of Fun, alone with North, (or, to the children of the world, Santa Claus).
Jack was hovering around North's private workroom, watching the old man etch intricate designs into his ice train. The room was filled with assorted toys that were each magically animated to preform various tasks, which was doubtlessly enough to keep Jack occupied.
North slowly pushed back his chair and rose. "Jack," North said in his thick Russian accent. "I think 'tis time for you to head back home."
Jack froze midair. He hated flying to where he turned into Jack Frost on a moonless night. This just happened to be one of those accursed night. "Can't I stay here tonight?"
"Sleep with yetis, of course. If not, you head home. Elves do not appreciate you crushing their beds," North said. He slowly turned around, his colossal arms crossed over his chest. His ruddy red robe sleeves were pulled back, revealing his 'Naughty' and 'Nice' tattoos.
Jack growled. Sighing, he involuntarily clutched his staff closer to his chest. Still levitating, he backed away from North. The old man was giving him a death glare as Jack sank to the ground, still trying to pull off the puppy-dog eyes.
His back hit the ground and the act dropped. Literally.
He fell to the ground, his eyes narrowing as his hand not holding his beloved staff groped behind him for the doorknob. The moment he heard the dials click, he threw the door open and dashed off.
North was a fellow Guardian, but he scared the snowflakes out of him.
Jack quickly fled the castle. It was perfectly cool outside; twenty below. The perfect time for him.
The night felt empty without his close Moon Man there to glance down on him, guiding him to safety.
Why he was scared... was a senseless reason. Babytooth was snoozing contently in his sweatshirt pocket, which was the fairy's favorite spot to roost. She was a tiny, pathetic little thing compared to him, the Great Guardian of Ice, yet a small fairy was braver then him.
He was terrified... of being forgotten.
Pitch was nothing to him anymore. Pitch was nothing more than a shadow and a fearmonger.
Being forgotten was something far worse. He would forever be invisible to anyone but the Guardians, and since he and Jamie had grown so close, it would cut him so deep if he suddenly became nothing more than an illusion.
He had only been a Guardian for three fourths of a very short year and he was already having to fret about being forgotten. Becoming a Guardian meant that he would have to always make sure the kids loved him, and he was already fading to a few who had believed him after the incidents of Pitch.
Although he would be real as long as Jamie and his friends were alive, he knew that the kids were only human. And those who were only human died. They died and he would remain a living being.
He was unnatural. He was like an immortal. Immortals were not normal. So he was a freak.
Jack Frost... was a freak.
The Man on the Moon was always there to tell him otherwise. Since the defeat of Pitch, he and the Man on the Moon had some sort of telepathic link. Moonless nights were comfortless nights.
All of the Guardians agreed that the Moon Man was, in a way, their counselor, and they were rather different without him around.
Jack was anxious. Sandy's dreams weren't as sweet. Toothiana's feathers were ruffled. Bunnymund was much more irritable. And Jack had seen North's first moonless night just tonight, and the Wonder Guardian... didn't see so much wonder.
This was the kind of night that always unraveled Jack from within.
Finally, Jack arrived to his iced-over pond. A small, serene place. Even when the Moon Man wasn't there to guide him, the pond was strangely comforting to him. It was like his sister was there with him again.
Jack sighed as he slowly sank to the ice. The cool air was now surrounding him, caressing him in a sweet, cool casket.
His feet hit the ice, and within a moment, life was once again normal, moonless night or night.
He just stood there for a few moments before walking over to a bank of snow, thinning it out with his tyranny over all things snow-related. He fell asleep on the soft blanket, dreaming contently of his former life. It was then that he decided he needed a fort of his own, right there.
A snow fort like he used to make when he was little. Only bigger, and smooth enough to reflect the stars, making the area bright enough, even on a moonless night. Jack fell asleep with this thought on his mind.
And, from behind the shadow of the world, the Man on the Moon smiled down on his child.
Yeah, just a lil' drabble. I like angst. I love angst. It's pretty much my equivalent to fluff.
Please review. If you like it, please just let me know and I'll try to write another Rise of the Guardians (Jack) story. Bye bye, my lovelies!