Ineffable

This is Day One of BenneFrost month from last year. I’m very behind on it, but I’ve had too many other things I needed to do that had taken up my time. Plus, this is my first pre-slash fan fiction, so I’d like you to please keep that in mind when reading the story!

Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians.

Beta-corrected by: rlb190 on fanfiction.net! Thank you so much, girl!

Enjoy!

Summary: Jack Frost freezes like a deer in headlights, azure eyes opened as wide as they will go and mind utterly silent for the first time in nearly a month. Breathlessly, he murmured, “Jamie..”

“Children do not stay children forever, Jack.”

Ivory fingers clench the wooden staff tightly, knuckles growing paler than his skin. The sudden remembrance of the uncomfortable conversation he had with North just three and a half weeks prior is something the Winter Guardian would like to forget. It is also partly why he is on his way to Burgess, now.

“Children become adolescents, and adolescents become adults.”

At that moment in time, Jack Frost experienced dual sensations of exasperation and unease. Exasperation because it isn't like Frost doesn't know the cycle of life; children become adults and adults make more children. It’s a pretty simple process to follow, especially when he’s had three hundred years to grasp it. Unease because even though he purposely hadn't thought of it in his conscious mind, blocked it out with all he has, a small, panicked part of him had known where the conversation had been heading. The rest of him, however, had expressed his fond bemusement to his friend in no uncertain terms.

North, who had been straight-backed and resolutely turned toward the snowy fields outside his office window, finally faced him. Jack didn't think light blue eyes, always so full of wonder, could hold such solemnness.

“Adults don’t rely on us to give them hopes and dreams, Jack. They don’t need us to remind them of what’s important or to show them the wonders of the world.”

Every muscles in his body had drawn taut, his heart pounding against his rib cage as though it were a rabid animal trying to escape its imprisonment. He hadn't even breathed. Unlike the rest of his body, his mind had been racing, trying to both comprehend what North had been telling him and understanding him all too well.

“Adults don’t rely on us to show them how to have fun.”

It had been a sucker punch to the stomach. He had stumbled back a step, hunching over until his face was almost parallel with the ground. His eyes had widened with astonishment, only to have narrowed in a barely contained fit of rage half a second later.

Jack doesn't remember what he had snarled at the man. What he also remembers is the outrage, how wholly it consumed him, and the wounded look on the jolly spirit’s face. How he ended up leaving North’s workshop and when he ended up in Antarctica—

He hasn't felt the bite of the negative seventy-four degree weather, or the flurry of non-stop snow, since he’s arrived here six days ago. His muscles ache from all the jumping and running and parkour he’s done; he’s passed out twice already from the exertion. His throat’s a bit scratchy from screaming out his frustration, too.

Now, he doesn't have the energy to be so chaotic anymore; guess that’s what happens when he goes all out for nearly four days straight.

The Winter spirit doesn't know how long he’s been staring at this... thing, but he can’t seem to look away from it. At first, he avoided it as though it were the Bubonic Plague; he hated thinking, even for a brief moment, Pitch and him were the same: all alone in the world with no one to believe in them. Now... now, it’s all he can look at.

It’s all twisted, sharp spikes of cold, dark power. The blue of his ice sparkles eerily in the moonlight, which is made even brighter by Pitch Black’s black sand. In some areas, Pitch’s power stands out, like bulging veins attempting to claw their way out of human skin. In others, particularly the spikes at the very top of the structure, it’s as though Jack’s power is the only thing there; pure and out of control like the first time he “woke up” as Jack Frost.

He can see his reflection in the black ice, despite the time of night. A sea of weariness outshines his usual cheer and mischief. Jumping from anger and frustration to denial to sadness and starting the process all over again is taxing on his mind, and it shows. Confusion is etched into every line of his body. His back and shoulders are slumped, a loose hold on his staff in contrast to the tight ball he’s sitting in. the first thing he notices; jumping from anger and frustration to denial to sadness and starting the process all over again is taxing on his mind, and it shows. He can also see the confusion in his eyes. His back and shoulders are slumped, a loose hold on his staff in one hand in contrast to the tight ball he’s making his body sit in.

He doesn't know where to turn! He’s scared. He’s so scared. He doesn't want to be forgotten by any of the kids who believes in him now; least of all by Jamie. But he doesn't know how to stop Jamie from forgetting him without sticking around all year... and that’s something he can’t do.

The black ice before him twinkles brighter at his misery, as though it were happy to witness his inner turmoil.

And suddenly, he’s not looking at his face anymore, but Jamie’s.  A ten year old Jamie’s face which asks, “Who’s Jack Frost?”

Jack surges to his feet unsteadily and, as a cry wrenches itself from his throat, swings his staff around and fires an energy bolt of ice at the structure. It cracks, but isn't completely obliterated.

He can’t stay here, he realizes. Antarctica, and perhaps the combined power of Frost and Pitch, is only fueling the torrent of emotions inside of him, giving him an out so he doesn't have to face his problems.

Jack isn't a coward; he doesn't hide when things get tough or confusing.

Without so much as a backwards glance, he storms determinedly past the twisted structure. He stops at the edge of the cliff.

“Wind.” A gust of air answers him, and he turns to face it. “Take me away.”

—are things he doesn't think he’ll remember, even if he could receive help from Toothiana.

Chapped lips twist into a deep frown at the thought of the half-human, half-hummingbird hybrid. Tooth is a great friend, but he doesn't want to see her, or the other Guardians, right now.

While he only had two encounters with her, one in Sapporo, Japan, and the other in Akita, Japan, it was two encounters too many for the Winter spirit. She was too lively for his current state of mind. She tried to talk to him, to help him come to terms with losing children’s faith, but her enthusiasm of being out in the field, something she strives to be a part of more since the battle against Pitch Black, only proved to be a distraction. A distraction he had taken full advantage of both times to get away.

Tooth wasn't the only Guardian to contact him.

Sandy seemed to pop up wherever Jack did, and while on the surface that wouldn't have been irritating (he’s Guardian of Dreams, after all), the smaller spirit went out of his way to communicate, in his own golden version of black and white movies way, with the Winter spirit. Every. Night. Jack ignored him the first couple nights, but the little man was persistent and would not be shaken off. It was practically impossible to avoid him, too. On the fifth night, while in Canada, Jack snapped.

“If I so much as see one speck of dream dust come near me, Sandman, we’re going to see how frost mixes with gold sand.”

Sandy had taken the hint and left him alone after that.

That hint did not extend to Bunnymund. The Guardian of Hope—the Winter spirit privately thinks of him as the Guardian of Kangaroos—had cornered him in Colorado for the first and only time three days ago to talk plainly with Frost, but as conversations often do when speaking with Aster, it quickly formed into an argument.

“Jamie Bennett’s thirteen, mate! The kid is doesn't believe in you anymore!!”

A violent explosion of breath escaped his mouth as the Wind finally sets him down at the center of his lake, the water freezing solid beneath his bare feet. He wills away the memory of Bunny’s aggravating voice.

Jack Frost knows Jamie Bennett is too old to believe in him anymore. He knows. But he just... can’t accept it. The brunette was able to believe in the Guardians when no other kid in the world could! Surely someone capable of believing in their childhood protectors against all odds could continue to do so beyond their years of childhood?

Yet, Jack’s greatest fear now is of Jamie one day forgetting him. Jamie was his first believer; he made it possible for other kids to believe in Frost. Without Jamie, Frost is sure he’d still be invisible to the world; still be lonely.

He doesn't know how to confront his fear. He isn't sure he wants to.

A garbled sound, deafening in the silence of Jack’s home, reaches the Winter spirit’s ears. His head snaps up so fast he very nearly experiences whiplash.

A bundle of blue and burgundy is huddled off to his right, unmoving, against the tree closest to the lake’s edge. Without conscious thought, Jack’s bare feet pad cautiously toward the anomaly, ice trailing behind in his wake.

‘It’s a kid,’ Jack realizes just three feet from the edge of the water. He takes in the navy and white striped beanie that doesn't quite rein in the bird’s nest of chestnut brown hair, pumpkin-colored mittens that seem two sizes too big clashing endearingly with the Harlequin green scarf, burgundy coat that seems to almost swallow the child and the black boots peeking out from under denim blue jeans.

The spirit doesn't know how long the child’s been sitting there, but from what little of the pale complexion he can see on their face, Jack guesses it’s been at least an hour. This weather, while not terribly cold, still isn't suited for napping outdoors without camping equipment. So he calls out to the kid, hoping they haven’t developed hypothermia.

For a worry-filled forty-five seconds, there’s no response. Jack takes another step forward, mouth open to call out to the child louder, already wondering how he could get help for this poor kid who should be at home with their family—

The multi-colored bundle of clothes and flesh twitches, then slowly begins to uncurl from its ball, arms reaching up to the sky and legs spreading out in a stretch. So much movement causes the scarf, which had been previously wrapped securely around the kid’s neck and face, to fall, revealing their face to the Guardian.

Jack Frost freezes like a deer in headlights, azure eyes opened as wide as they will go and mind utterly silent for the first time in nearly a month. Breathlessly, he murmured, “Jamie..”

He might as well have hollered the name with how the teenager’s head shot up. Quickly, mitten-clad hands pawed at human eyes, rubbing away the crust gathered there.

When dark honey eyes meet sky blue, the white-haired spirit feels a lump form in his throat. Can Jamie see him now, or is the teenager looking right through him? Does Jamie still believe in him, or did he write off the past two years of snow days and fun with Jack as just a made-up game to pass the time during his childhood?

Excitement sparkles in the teenager’s eyes as a brilliant, elated smile spreads from ear to ear.

“Jack!!”

Relief nearly overwhelms the Winter spirit, but it’s kept at bay with the desire to be closer to Jamie. He crosses the remaining couple of feet to shore as Jamie scrambles, clumsy in his haste, to get to the Guardian. Less than a foot away he trips over his own two feet, sending himself sprawling into Jack Frost’s hastily open arms. If Jamie worried about falling, with Jack, into the lake, he need not have. The spirit had braced himself for the impact of mortal flesh and is only forced to take a step back.

The spirit smiles for the first time in what feels like forever. He can’t hold back the chuckle as he mock-exclaimed, “Whoa there, kiddo! Where’s the fire?”

The teen looks up at him, cheeks and nose rosy from the cold, his grin becoming impossibly larger. It’s the open delight in seeing him that has Jack’s cheeks growing slightly warmer and a weird, almost fluttery feeling roll around in his stomach.

Jamie plays along with Jack’s game, puffing his cheeks in a mock-pout. “I can’t help it, Jack! You’re two weeks late! Where were you?”

The spirit’s smile dims somewhat, but doesn’t go away completely. “The other Guardians...” he trails off, unsure of what to say, if he should say anything at all. But the teen’s pouting face is morphing into confusion and concern, and Jack would rather see him smiling. “It doesn’t matter. I believe I owe you and your friends a couple snow days, don’t I?”

The beaming grin is back full force, a much needed shining ray of light for Jack’s immortal soul.

Maybe one day Jamie Bennett will forget about Jack Frost and the other Guardians. Maybe Jack will have to come to terms with that. For now, though, all is right in the world.

Thank you for reading.