Jack, to put it bluntly, sleeps like the dead.

Sandy realizes now that it's terribly ironic that he'd always thought that way, but it is completely accurate. It was a good sixty years into Jack Frost's existence before Sandy discovered him, and this was mainly because the poor boy never slept. It was only purely by chance that the two of them ever came into contact at all, really.

Sandy was making his usual rounds one chilly evening when he noticed an odd sleep signature in the woods a ways from the village that he was dousing with sand. He'd never noticed someone living out there before, but revolution was brewing in these parts and he'd had his hands full trying to bring sweet dreams to a troubled populace. It wasn't surprising that he'd missed one small, trembling signature. It felt so strange, though. It felt like restless sleep, like jitters bursting at the seams, but it also had a strange permanence that Sandy wasn't sure he liked.

He floated through the forest, letting his sand trail out behind him, falling to the ground to become morning dew. It wasn't until he was almost to the frozen lake that he saw him. A human child, probably not more than seventeen or so, was curled up in the snow mounded up next to one of the wizened old trees. Sandy reacted with understandable alarm, immediately floating up the boy and checking his vitals. He seemed all right, but... Abruptly, Sandy realized what these strange mixed signals had to mean. This was a new winter spirit asleep in these desolate woods. Well. That was something completely different. Sandy loved the chance to welcome a new spirit with delightful dreams and a friendly face. This would be fun.

He used his very best sand on the boy, letting it trickle between outstretched fingers and encouraging it to become something bright, something beautiful. Immediately a winter scene sprang up in front of him. Children laughed and played as they skated on a mirrored lake, and golden snow fell as they silently went about their fun. Content with this, Sandy gave the boy a little wave and continued on his way.

The next time Sandy took a detour through those woods, he was surprised to find the young winter spirit exactly where he'd left him. Snow had fallen untouched on top of the boy, and Sandy only noticed him because he knew he was there. He gently brushed the snow away from the boy's face and replaced it with dream sand. Sure enough, snowballs began to dance around the boy's head.

Sandy watched him for another moment, unsure, before he left to continue his rounds.

By the time weeks had passed, Sandy began to fear that maybe he was wrong. Maybe the boy would not wake up. His magical senses told him that the boy was asleep, that his thoughts were drowsy and malleable enough for his dream sand to take root, but his physical ones couldn't help but doubt. Even as his sixth sense for dreamers told him that the boy was just sleeping more and more deeply, his eyes couldn't help but tell him that the boy was no longer breathing. Even more worryingly, the climate in the area was becoming distressingly warm. Aster would probably be pleased to hear it, but that didn't change the fact that it was downright unseasonable. Sandy couldn't help but wonder if the early spring flowers and the bluebirds in February might be linked to the boy in the snow. Especially because in this little nook, the snow never seemed to melt.

It wasn't until almost March that Sandy came to a decision. One balmy evening, he found himself again standing in front of the sleeping-not-sleeping boy and this time, he decided to do a thing he had never done before. Sandy was going to wake him up.

He clapped his hands until they ached, stomped his little feet on the ground, even shook a squirrel out of a tree and on top of the boy, but it wasn't until he physically put his hands on the boy and shook that his eyes finally snapped open.

"Wha-what happened?" The boy seemed to freeze up as he took in his surroundings. "Where am I?" Finally, he focused on Sandy. "Who are you? Can you see me?"

Sandy nodded (what kind of a question was that?) produced a bit of dream sand, rubbed it between his fingers, and set a fresh set of Zs, moons, pillows floating overhead.

"Wait, you're the sandman?" The kids eyes were like saucers and it would have been hilarious had he not been dead minutes before.

Sandy nodded, then put his finger on Jack's chest and gave him a quizzical look.

The boy blinked. "Me? I'm um. I'm Jack Frost," he said, like the words were still unfamiliar in his mouth. "I live here."

Sandy mimed sleeping and a sandy tree materialized above him. Golden leaves formed, then withered, fell. The tree was coated in glittering snow, and then leaves and flowers found their way onto its branches yet again. It had been a long time.

Jack's eyes widened. "Wait, how long was I asleep?"

Two golden moons. Two months.

Jack's face scrunched up uncomprehendingly, then smoothed out into horror when he realized what Sandy meant. "Two months? That's never happened before. How is that even possible?" he asked.

Sandy shrugged. Spiritual homeostasis wasn't really his line of expertise.

"I can't-oh my god, is it spring already?" Jack was pacing now about a foot above the ground. "That's not good. If I can't even do winter right, he won't ever talk to me..."

Sandy tilted his head to the side, the question in his eyes. Him?

Jack caught his eyes. "The Man in the Moon. He put me here. He hasn't told me why, though."

Sandy's eyes widened. The Man in the Moon? Then his first instincts had been right. There was definitely something special about this boy. Before Sandy could inquire further, however, the boy was gone, babbling something about figuring this out. Sandy could only wave weakly and wonder what exactly had just happened.

When Sandy next saw Jack, a few years had passed. Sandy was going about his business, bringing dreams of a new doll to a young girl who desperately needed one, when he felt something interfering with his sand. The culprit was not far away. Jack Frost was sitting on a neighboring rooftop, idly running his fingers through Sandy's sand.

Sandy gaped at him. No one could touch the dream sand without falling asleep, not even the other Guardians. What was this boy?

Then Jack turned to him and grinned, like he didn't even realize he'd been doing something extraordinary. Perhaps he didn't. "Oh. Hey, Sandy. Do you mind if I call you Sandy?"

Sandy smiled and shook his head. Maybe he would tell the other Guardians about that one. It sounded much more fun than "Sanderson".

Jack kept running his hands over the sand, drawing lazy designs with his fingertips. Honestly, it was kind of giving Sandy the creeps. It wasn't natural to see another being playing with his sand. "You know, I've been thinking. I'm a winter spirit, right?"

Sandy nodded. Whatever else was unclear, that much was obvious.

"Maybe that's why I can't sleep right. I've tried sleeping a few times since you woke me up, but it doesn't feel right. It feels like I'm slipping away, not falling asleep." He looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I'm afraid I won't wake up again," he confessed.

Sandy floated up next to Jack and sat down next to him on the roof, tiny feet swaying over the eaves. He nodded thoughtfully at Jack's words. That seemed fair enough.

Jack looked briefly haunted, but he shook himself out of it, like negative feelings were anathema to his very being. "I've been watching other things sleep during the winter, though. You know, like things that hibernate? But I'm not like them. They don't sleep the same way, and they wake up every so often and go back to sleep." He paused a moment to look at Sandy entreatingly, who nodded again to show him that he was listening. "But then I found the frogs. I swear, Sandy, they sleep just like I do. I think they actually freeze. They go to sleep when it gets cold and they just slow down more and more until they stop. They only start up again once it gets warm again. I think I'm like that. When I go to sleep, I can't wake up because my body gets too cold. I have to wait until it gets warm again to sleep, but I have to stay where it's cold to make sure winter's working correctly." He frowned. "Maybe I should just stop sleeping. I didn't sleep for the first fifty years or so and I was fine."

That? That was a warning signal. Sandy was never going to advocate lack of sleep. He shook his head vehemently, little bits of sand going in all directions as brightly glowing Xs popped up around his head.

Jack through back his head and laughed. "No-go, huh? I don't know what else I can do, though, Sandy. I can't miss winter again."

Sandy sighed, irritated, but he knew Jack was right. He wasn't sure that winter spirits like Jack belonged in a warmer climate, but he had seen what happened when Jack went to sleep with his own eyes, and it wasn't pretty.

Both of them fell silent then, watching the sand swirl around them, merging with the stars.

Sandy still visited with Jack every so often. He considered the boy to be his frozen friend, even if they didn't talk all that much. Besides, the things Jack didn't say with words were clear as day to anyone with eyes. He was lonely. He was desperate. He would do anything for some real companionship and a few kids who believed in him.

Sandy had never wanted to give someone sweet dreams more in his life.

He acknowledged the danger, however, and resisted the urge to convince Jack to try sleeping again. He tried just bombarding Jack with good dreams a few times, but every time Jack would wave his arms, laugh, say "quit it!" and hurl a snowball like Sandy was engaging him in some kind of battle.

And so Sandy was given little choice other than to watch the boy grow older, wiser, and more and more lonely. Until the day that the Man in the Moon chose Jack Frost once again, that is.

Sandy is torn from his ruminations when North hisses out, "Tooth! Sandy! Look!"

Obediently, the two look across North's parlor to the hideous red velvet couch that Aster and Jack had been sitting on. The five of them had gone back to North's workshop to discuss how they would move forward following the fight, and it seems that a long, hard day full of breaks and surges in power, disappointments and triumphs, has finally taken its toll on their two most belligerent members. Jack is curled up against Aster's side, his head buried in the soft, warm fur on Aster's chest. Aster has one long, sinewy arm wrapped around Jack's shoulders, holding him close. Sandy can't tell whether this happened before or after the two of them fell asleep, and he has a feeling that neither of them will ever tell. Truthfully, he doesn't much care. All he sees is that his young friend is finally warm enough, finally safe enough to go to sleep without worries. This is his chance.

Sandy creeps across the room so he can stand behind Jack and carefully, so carefully sprinkle dream sand over his head. To his delight, gleaming shapes instantly leap up beneath his fingers. Golden snowflakes spiral lazily around the two sleeping Guardians, their shimmering trail interspersed with the occasional leaping rabbit. Sandy's grin is so wide that it almost falls off his face. He turns to North and Tooth, gesticulating wildly. Time ticking. A gift box. Gently floating Zs. You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that.

North and Tooth look at each other with shared confusion, but Sandy's attention is on his sleeping charge. Finally they have been able to exchange their gifts. Jack finally has the Dreams he has deserved for so long, and Sandy's heart is bursting with Joy.