Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or realities (unless otherwise stated). I do not make money off of this.

The prompt for this come from profilore on rotg-kink dreamwidth and this first chapter is only slightly changed by me but mostly profilore's work (the person implicitly stated that a writer could use their first chapter). The next chapter(s?) are mine, thank you very much.

The prompt basically says what is provided here.

This is not betaed. If you see any mistakes, I would love for you to kindly point them out.

The first to go was, strangely, his voice. He used to laugh, to shout. Speaking to himself, the wind, the Moon, the children, the whole world. He used to try and destroy the silence, the stillness, which seemed to follow him wherever he went. He used to hate that silence. But that didn't even last a decade.

Every time he opened his mouth, he had to fight a sense of hopelessness deep in his heart. He had no choice, but to admit, again and again, that he was alone, and no one would hear him, no one would answer. Eventually, he found he didn't have the strength to try again. He stopped in his tracks, his mouth half-open, lips trembling. Silent tears falling and freezing on the way down as he swallowed his words. The kids he had been watching kept on laughing and playing. It made no difference.

None at all.

After he gave up, it was only a matter of time before he lost himself. That didn't happen in a day or two. But half a century into his existence, he just noticed that when he let himself go, his instincts would take charge. He didn't actually need to think about what his magic needed to do next – it was as easy as breathing, shepherding winter. When Jack stopped trying to consciously control his powers, he suddenly didn't have to. Instead, he let winter rule over him, like it ruled over half the planet twice every year. When he was in this state, he did not see himself as something separate from his season – he was just another snowflake, tossed around by the wind. He did not have to look at human settlements with longing, or make a pointless spectacle of himself, trying to play with children, like they could see him. Like he had a purpose.

Jack knew what he was losing. Somehow, even though he didn't remember anything before his awakening just outside his lake, he had a strong personality, and some things just seemed wrong to him. His magic killed people, sometimes. He didn't like it, and tried his best to stay in control of himself enough to stop it. He knew that children should be happy and cared for, and made an effort to play with them and protect them however possible. He knew that not caring was wrong, too. But it became too much to bear.

And so twice every year he would forget about everything else and become winter. He would essentially disappear, vanish into thin air, letting his powers spread over great distances and allowing his body to stop moving. The wind would become his body, the cold – his breath. In that state, he only occasionally remembered his own name, waking up only long enough to take a short breather or when his powers were about to do something he greatly disapproved. Sometimes, he could stop himself just in time, but sometimes he only awakened after the deed is done, looking at his victims from the sky, suddenly halfway solid and caring again. He did not return to his body until he was finished with winter, however.

If he was lucky, he would not awaken until spring came to the hemisphere he was in. Only then, between southern and northern winter, he was himself again, tugged back to his body by his own magic. And it was torture. Sweet torture, but torture nonetheless.

Actually, in hindsight, the other guardians were very lucky to meet him exactly when they did – early spring, and the year during which he was more aware than usual. The reason for that was a small boy with a kind soul and a shining pair of brown eyes which reminded Jack of something he couldn't quite recall, but cherished anyway.