Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians and don't receive any monetary reward for this story.

Yes, I will update Rise of the Great Pumpkin, but I wrote this oneshot since I was missing my sister. She came back for Thanksgiving and "alpha" [beta] read this story.

Posted November 30, 2015 by Nursing Student

"Jackson!" His mom called, "You get back here right away! You still haven't weeded the garden."

Jack sat lazily in the crook of the tree, long limbs dangling precariously off the tree branches like a willow. He knew he had to get to work, but it was so tempting to stay in the tree, letting the cool breeze that reached him there cool him off from the summer sun.

'Five more minutes,' he thought to himself, closing his eyes. There would always be work.

Twenty minutes later, he climbed down the tree and walked over to the garden, carrying the hoe. But when he turned the corner, the weeds were as tall as he was. They waved in the wind, thorny tendrils grabbing his feet. He chopped at them with his hoe, but more and more came, and he was pulled into the green writhing mass of weeds as if they were alive. He had failed.

Jack suddenly sat up, staring at the embers still glowing on the hearth. He was on a sofa in a cozily furnished room, the walls lined with mementos from around the world, from hockey sticks to ancient Kenyan warrior shields. The ceiling glowed in the light of a thousand fireflies. It was North's lounge room and it took Jack a moment to remember why he was there as he took deep breaths, trying to separate his newfound memories from his nightmare.

After they defeated Pitch and Jack took the Guardian's Oath, they retreated to the North Pole. The Elves and Yeti had cooked Easter Dinner and everyone sat down for the feast. And if Jack Frost had thought that Bunny, Tooth, North, and Sandman were fun to be around during their adventure, he was unprepared for their celebration during peacetime. The conversation waded through a thousand jokes; and games were waged, from guessing games to impromptu championships of checkers that the Yeti always won. But, as hungry and excited as Jack was, his long days of fighting Pitch had taken their toll, and the last thing he remembered was slumping in his chair and Phil carrying him to a sofa in the lounge room.

By now, the room had grown chilly and the window showed a bleak wintry landscape. The only light in the room came from the glowing embers and a lantern far at the end of the hall that opened into the lounge. Jack sat up and silently sank his toes into the carpet, lifting himself as quietly as he could. He felt as if he did not belong there, and he turned at shadows, briefly thinking a portrait was a face in the dark. But he was wide awake now, and he felt restless, so he tiptoed down the hall, inching down it slowly, feet gingerly making contact with the wooden floor. On the hall walls hung portraits, some were of animals, some of people, and some Jack thought might have been of North in his mortal younger years. In one, North stood next to a young woman, was she his daughter? His niece? Jack did not know.

He peered through one doorway: it was a kitchen, but the most unusual Jack had seen. In the middle was a large wooden table, but it had narrow staircases running up to it, and lining the walls were small, Elf-size tables and pot-bellied stoves. Jack figured that the Elves and Yeti worked together. It had been that way in Jack's house, with the whole family working together, as he now remembered. At the time he opened the tooth box, a he had relived a few of his memories, but now he realized there were many more. He could remember the scent of apples baked in a buttery crust, his mom helping his sister add cinnamon to the mix. He could remember his father helping him with the butter churn during the blizzard, the way the handle squeaked as they pulled and pushed it up and down. He remembered trying to teach his sister to milk the cow, only to have their father find them one hour later, playing hide and seek, while the dog lapped the milk out of the pail. Making a meal was different back then; the whole family had to help or they wouldn't be able to get everything done.

He walked down the hall to the next door, inside it was a staircase, leading down. A lantern sat in a nook by the doorway, and Jack lit the wick before he followed the staircase's circling path.

It twisted round and round and Jack began to wonder if it was merely a path to the base of the mountains. He was alone with his thoughts, and now that he remembered his family he blinked back tears: he'd never gotten to say goodbye. He didn't even know what had happened to them, and he desperately hoped they could see him, that they could understand how he did miss them, but how he was happy that he could do what he did best – keeping children happy and safe. It was so dark he felt safe crying, and his eyes were so watery that he almost tripped when he found there were no more steps but flat ground. He'd finally come to a large cavern. It was the largest room he had seen, larger even than the toy building room. All over the room stood fireplaces, lining the walls, many in the middle of the room, all stretching their chimneys to the cavern's ceiling. It was almost as if the chimneys were stalactites and the hearths were stalagmites; and many were already caked in limestone. There was nothing else in the room, except for windows opening to look out of the mountainside and a small door leading to a balcony. Even though the room was dark and lonely, he felt conspicuous in the openness of the room.

Impulsively, he crawled into one of the fireplaces – it was unlit – to hide himself and look up into the chimney to see if he could see the sky, but before he could blink, a draft was pulling on his jacket, his hair, and everything else, and he felt himself falling up like smoke wafts out of a chimney. Coughing and blinking, his strange ride suddenly stopped and he crawled out of another hearth, looking around. All he could see were a few armchairs, seated by the hearth. He gasped after seeing someone in one of the chairs; the Sandman was staring back at him.

Jack could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Technically, no one had given him permission to explore the North Pole, and he'd just barged in on Sandy. Sandy set down the paper, above his head, he shaped a miniature bed out of sand.

"I wasn't sleepy." Jack said.

Sandy looked at him quizzically.

"Well, I had a bad dream… I know, it's expected since we just faced the Nightmare King, but this felt more real."

Sandy's eyes opened wide in alarm.

"Oh it wasn't like it was really real," Jack struggled to explain. "But it had some of my newfound old memories, and so it was hard to tell what was real and what wasn't."

Sandy relaxed, sinking into the chair.

"I just - I miss my family – especially my sister. Now I remember them, but I don't know what happened to them. All those years, I didn't understand what I was missing. Now I remember; I remember how good my family was, but instead of that being a comfort, it just makes it worse." Jack scrunched his face, still sitting on the floor but looking away from the Sandman.

"I know what I lost, and that makes it so much harder; and since I'm immortal, I might never see them again." Jack bit his lip 'till it bled slightly.

Sandy nodded, but his nod also shook a little dream-sand at Jack. Before he knew it Jack was asleep.

It was warm day, and the gulls were crying overhead. Jack looked around and saw the shoreline. It was like that week, many years ago, when Jack's family had gone to visit their relatives at the port town. They had travelled two days long ride by wagon because they were also bringing bushels of corn and furs to sell at the market. Now, he didn't see his family, and he was Jack Frost. People milled about, and he busied himself finding seashells in the shivering water.

"Jack?" Came a woman's voice. He turned to see a young woman with brown hair, wearing a bright blue colonial dress.

"You're all grown up?" Jack asked, because she looked like his sister.

She laughed, "Of course, Jack." He felt very conspicuous, he could see his white hair in the corners of his vision.

"You see me, you recognize me." Jack sputtered.

"Well, are we not in a dream so that anything may happen? Come here." She gave Jack a hug.

"But I'm just dreaming." Jack muttered.

"Yes, but now you remember me and you know what I would tell you." She grinned knowingly.

"But you can't tell me everything." Jack said, "I don't know if you – the real you – even knows I'm Jack Frost."

"Jack, I don't need to know your name to know who you are. You are a hero, you are my big brother, and you showed me how to enjoy the world. I trust that you will always be that."

"I just - I miss you." He hung is head down.

"I do too," she said. "And there is no shame in that."

"But I feel so alone."

"Oh, Jack, you're only as alone as you choose to be. Find new friends, live life, and perhaps we'll meet for real at the end of the world." She turned, stepping towards the dock.

The dream could not satisfy Jack's gnawing loneliness, but it reminded him why he was there, and now he was certain that if his family knew what he was doing, they'd be proud. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start. And that was enough.