A/N: I really shouldn't be posting a new story… but alas, I've written the first few chapters and I like it :P Tell me what you think?

When Bruce was a little boy he had one friend, of course, ironically, his friend was only imaginary. Well, at least that's what they had told him. His friend was the embodiment of fun. His friend was cold, but in a comforting way. He was tall, much taller than he was, and a little strange at times, but always managed to make him feel better.

He could have sworn that one time, while his father- Brian, was beating him down, a snowball had smacked the man square in the nose, causing him to stumble back in alarm and dart from the house a moment later. The next day Bruce discovered that (to his secret amusement) it had been broken from the impact of the solid and most definitely not soft ice. That was a good day.

That was also the day Bruce decided that his 'imaginary' friend could most certainly not be imaginary. No matter what everyone told him, he refused to believe it. He was glad that his mother, at least, believed Jack was really there.

Sometimes, it seemed, she would look him straight in the eye while she was apparently humoring young Bruce and asking Jack how he was. Of course, Bruce would relay his reply back to his mother, oblivious to the odd look his friend would give her every time she did so.

The day of Rebecca Banner's murder was a very sad day. Unfortunately, Jack had not been there at the time. It was only the night before when he had told Bruce he had to go take care of something elsewhere and that he would come back the moment he was done. Bruce had nodded in understanding, it wasn't the first time Jack had had to leave for a little while, but he couldn't help but be mad at his friend for not being there to stop Brian.

After all, he was only seven at the time, but who could blame him? His whole world had just shattered and been cast off into oblivion in a single moment.

A few days later, Jack had returned to Bruce while he was crying in his room. The police sirens could be heard just outside the house, as could Brian protests and final threats to his sons' life.

Jack tried everything he could to cheer Bruce up a little bit, but nothing worked. His grief had shook him to the core, and even Jacks 'Time-to-be-happy-and-have-fun-now' snow did nothing more than stop crying fits and lift a little weight off his chest for a great many weeks.

As the months flew by, soon turning into years, Bruce grew more and more distant from people and wouldn't allow anyone to touch him in any way shape or form. As Bruce advanced into high school, Jack was still his only friend and he soon began to realise that there was something different about the white haired boy.

When he was a child, he supposed he was too happy just to have someone to talk to besides his beloved mother. But now, beginning to become one of the smartest people of his generation, he had to wonder why. Why, in all the years Jack had been with him, had he not aged a single day? Why did the temperature of the room drop several degrees whenever he was near? Why it was that no one else could see him, when he was obviously there and could interact with physical objects. And more importantly, why was he here with Bruce in the first place?

All these questions and more raced through his mind that night, when the familiar cool wind touched the back of his neck making him shiver slightly. He let the smallest of smiles creep onto his face as he turned to see Jack's usual grinning face.

Another question that added itself to Bruce's mind was his staff. It was long and wooden, like a Shepard's hook from the seventeen hundreds. Jack carried it everywhere and there would always be what looked like a thin layer of frost swirling up and around the twisted wood.

"Hey Bruce!" Jack greeted, swinging his staff onto his shoulder and began making his way over to where Bruce was seated, bare-footed as always. "How you doing?"

Bruce merely shrugged and turned back to his work. It was his final year and he wanted to make sure he'd covered everything for the exam next Monday and it was currently Saturday. He knew he was quite possibly smarter than all the teachers, but that did nothing to calm his nerves.

He felt the temperature on his left side drop dramatically when Jack leaned over his shoulder to see what he was doing, just enough to be annoying. Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Jack squint at the writing disdainfully, before pulling away with a pout or a scowl, he couldn't quite tell.

"What?" Banner asked a moment later, unable to keep his curiosity from getting the best of him. Jack gave a start and looked at him sheepishly.

"Well… uhh… it's nothing, don't worry about it" he said, trying to sound unfazed, waving a hand.

"Jack?" Bruce persisted, removing his glasses as to see his friend clearer.

Jack looked at him mournfully, before sighing in defeat and mumbling something inaudible.

"Sorry what was that?"

He let out another exasperated sigh, setting his staff down and leaning on it. "I can't read…" he mumbled a second time, barely loud enough for Bruce to hear.

Bruce's eyes widened and he felt his mouth fall open slightly in pure shock. "You- you… you can't read?! But how- I always assumed you…" he stuttered, earning a light chuckle from Jack who shook his head.

"Well I can't, never learned how."

"But when I was a kid you-"

"I made it up. I told you the first thing that popped into my head from the pictures and pretended it was what the book said. I didn't think it mattered too much anyway, you enjoyed it all the same before you got your glasses"

Bruce continued to gape. All these years and… "Well, this will not do at all. How are you supposed to get anywhere when you're older if you can't read?" He told him, giving the table a short slap. "Come on then, it's time you learnt to read!" He exclaimed with a determined expression, quickly packing his things away neatly.

"Oh- uh, no, Bruce! You don't have to-!" He said frantically, backing off slightly with his free hand outstretched slightly.

"Nope, I'm teaching you and that's that" With that he grabbed his friend by the arm and dragged him over to a shelf full of books, forgetting his studying for the time being.

Jack smiled triumphantly to himself, it wasn't going exactly as he had planned, but he got Bruce to take a break either way, tonight is going to be a long one…

After many hours, and fifteen different books, Bruce had successfully found a book that Jack found interesting, and one that he could read without too much hassle. It was purely by coincidence that it was one of his mother's favourites.

"The whole… shack? shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring… at the door. Someone… someone was outside, kno- knocking… to come in." Jack read slowly, stuttering slightly as he read on, but never the less, finished reading the third chapter. He sighed with relief and shut the book with a clap. "Thank god that's over"

Bruce smiled, "Well, now you can read. Don't you feel smarter?"

Jack groaned and rubbed his temples, squinting his eyes shut just to be dramatic. "Never again… I swear you broke my brain…"

Bruce gave him a playful slap to Jacks shoulder with the back of his hand, with a smirk. "Don't be such a baby, you should have learned this when you were little" Bruce paused, suddenly realising something. "Jack… did you ever go to school?"

This made Jack look up, with slightly wide eyes, so Bruce quickly explained. "Well, I mean, when I met you, you looked- well you still look- like you're at least seventeen, and I don't know where you go when you're not here with me, but the fact that you couldn't read, it just got me wondering…" He trailed off, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

Jack sat there for a few minutes, nervously fidgeting his hand around his grip of the staff, with his gaze focussed on the floor.

When he finally answered, he took a deep stuttering breath. "Uhh… well, I guess… I never got the chance to, even if I've been around for a while… it just didn't seem important. I don't know if my…" he trailed off and hugged his knees to his chest.

Bruce's expression became one of concern as he crouched in front of his friend. "Jack… do you… do you have a family?"

Jack hesitantly gave his head a small shake and buried his face in his knees, crossing his feet over each other.

"… A home?" Another no. Bruce sat there staring. He had never before considered that maybe his friend was homeless, he was too caught up in having a friend to think about where Jack went when he left. "How long?"

"As long as I can remember" He replied honestly, looking up at Bruce with sad eyes.

Bruce was silent. Jack had been on his own all his life? But how has he managed to survive all this time? All he had was his hoodie, old and tattered brown pants and his staff. He doesn't even have shoes!

"Where do you go?"

"Around, anywhere really. Don't need a permanent place, I like traveling. I was in Burgess for a while though, closest I got to a home until I met you" He said with a small smile. "I know what you're thinking, Bruce. No." He said firmly.

"But-"

"No." Jack smirked and placed a freezing hand over Bruce's mouth before he could protest again, making him flinch. "I'm fine, Bruce, really. All I need is my staff and my friends, and I'm all good!" He grinned, pulling his hand away when Bruce's expression turned pouty in defeat, only succeeding in making Jack laugh.

"How are you so cold all the time? I swear it's not normal!" Bruce exclaimed playfully.

"Because I'm a cold hearted son of a birch" He smirked, standing up and leaning on his staff again. Bruce rolled his eyes and set himself back down at his desk, going back to studying.

Jack glanced around the room and his eyes landed on the digital clock sitting on Bruce's bedside table and his eyes widened.

"Bruce! It's like, what is that? A two? Bruce it's like two a.m!"

"It's what?!" He exclaimed, looking towards the clock. "Dammit, I have work tomorrow" he grumbled, but Jack didn't point out the fact that tomorrow was a Sunday and the little shop Bruce worked at wasn't going to be open, in favour of getting Bruce to actually sleep for once. He was too much of a workaholic.

Jack idly sat himself on top of his staff by the window as he watched his friend rush around to sort out his notes into their piles and get ready for bed. Jack snickered at his frantic pace. It was about ten minutes before Bruce had finally gone into his room, shut the door, and completely forgotten Jack was still in his small apartment.

Jack stayed silent for about an hour before he did anything, just to make sure Bruce was asleep before he set to work.

Jack jumped down from his staff and lifted it high, tapping it against the bare wall and willing the intricately designed swirls of frost to form his intended pattern. He smiled as he worked.