Two hundred and fifty-six years is a long time to be alone.

Jack Frost had been alone for his entire life. Or for most of it, anyway. There had been a few… occasions where Jack had searched out and met other spirits. None of these meetings ever went well, though. Some spirits were simply too busy for a random teenage spirit, off with daily jobs, like the Sandman or the Tooth Fairy were. Some just didn't like him; seasonal spirits disliked Jack for his powers, the Groundhog hated when Jack brought winter against his predictions, older spirits found Jack annoying and immature. It didn't help that tales of Jack's blizzards and chaotic storms traveled ahead of him, creating a reputation of a volatile and reckless child. The majority of the spirits Jack met, though, just weren't interested in making friends. Jack was the youngest in every way; the youngest when he became immortal, the most recently created spirit, the most immature. By the time Jack Frost came along, all of the other spirits had their friends and their social circles and routines. Routines that didn't include interference from a meddlesome winter spirit.

There were three types of encounters Jack Frost had with others. The first was open hostility. Spring spirits, such as Eastermund and the Groundhog, openly hated what Jack did. These spirits were Jack's favorite to talk to because they talked to him and yelled at him directly, reminding Jack that something he did or caused directly affected the lives of others. It was nice to be openly acknowledged and addressed, even with anger, because it reminded Jack that he existed. Someone actually believed that he existed.

The second type of encounters was with spirits that were too busy for Jack. Seeing Toothiana or the Sandman on their daily rounds, waving and being brushed off, were some of his more common encounters. Attempting to break into Santa's Workshop was another one, though he never got to actually see the famous icon before. He was always stopped by the Yetis. But the Yeti's, at least, fell in the first category, seeing and hating and interacting with Jack.

The last category was by far the worst. Humans, and more specifically children, could not see Jack. They could not see or hear or touch him. They literally walked right through Jack Frost. That was the worst. This type of interaction also happened to be the most common, the one Jack dealt with every day, the kind that occasionally made him question whether he actually existed or wasn't simply the figment of his own imagination.

Most days, Jack was content, or happy even. He loved being able to bring snow and ice to the world, loved being able to fly, loved the freedom his powers granted him. Maybe he didn't know his purpose, or maybe he didn't even have one, but that didn't mean Jack couldn't enjoy his life. He didn't know why the Moon brought him back, but on the days where the snow fell thick and light and the children came out to play it didn't really matter all that much.

Sometimes, there were bad days. On the days when Jack's control over the snow was as loose as his control over his mood, Jack would scream. He would scream at the Moon, asking him why, why him, what possible thing could he have done in a past life he probably had and couldn't remember, what could he have done that was so horrible and evil that he was cursed to an existence of perpetual loneliness, left unseen and unheard and unloved for all of eternity? What sin could he have committed that was so bad that he deserved this?

Those were the days where the blizzards raged fierce and long, smothering the people under a blanket of snow, silencing the world for a while at least. Those were the days that Jack would quickly begin to regret, as reports of power outages and car accidents and freezing deaths reminded him that his snow was not good, his ice not beautiful. His cold meant death to anything exposed to it too long, draining the warmth and life that Jack could never touch.

That was why Jack had taken such care in preparation for today. This storm would not be the result of a bad mood, an unexpected and uncontrolled accident. No, Jack had spent weeks prior to today thinking and rethinking his plan, and whether he even wanted to do it at all. Then he had spent days preparing, shaping the clouds perfectly, scattered and spread over many major cities and small towns where his perfectly crafted, thick, light, snowball-worthy snow would soon fall. Enough to cover the ground in a few inches of snow for several hours despite the typically warm temperature of the season, but not enough snow to put out the power or ice the roads too much. The perfect snow day, at the end of March, the beginning of spring. Easter Sunday.

Jack watched from the top of a roof in Burgess. The predicted clear, sunny, irritatingly warm day was met instead with clouds from which fell snow. It began a few hours before dawn, long after the Easter Bunny had hidden his eggs. Jack watched as the Easter eggs were covered, first in a dusting, then a sprinkling, and finally a coating of snow.

He meant no ill will towards Bunnymund, not really. It was just that, well… Jack was really desperate, see? He knew it was wrong, knew he shouldn't mess with Bunny's one day, but he couldn't help it. It had been two hundred and fifty-six years, and Jack couldn't wait one more. Besides, he reasoned, it wasn't like Bunny would lose any believers over this. Any kid who was willing to brave the cold and snow for the eggs would find them perfectly intact, if a bit chilled. And even if a few kids did stop believing, it wasn't like Bunny didn't have a few believers to spare.

This was the reasoning Jack used to assuage his guilt over sabotaging Easter. Plus, the pros really did outweigh the cons, right? Unpredicted blizzards all over the United States and England, after weeks of increasingly warmer weather? That couldn't be written off as a freak accident, could it? Somebody, somewhere had to figure this out. Something this big couldn't be written off as random, they must know somebody created it.

And if they didn't, well. Jack didn't know what he would do, then. He was completely out of ideas. If this didn't do something, if this didn't earn him at least one believer, then he was pretty sure nothing ever would. He just needed this to work.

The children had started coming out about an hour ago. Some were excited by the snow; most were annoyed at having more cold after a long winter. Almost all of the kids ventured out, looking for eggs in the snow. They didn't stay out as long as usual, gave up faster and went inside to escape the chill, but they still believed in the Easter Bunny.

What they didn't believe in was Jack Frost. The adults wrote the storms off as weird weather patterns, which wasn't unexpected, but the kids didn't really give it much thought. The children were too preoccupied with eggs and the Easter Bunny to give the snow much thought besides vague annoyance or temporary amusement. They certainly didn't think to connect it with Jack Frost. After all, how were they to connect it with someone they had barely heard of?

Jack was getting ready to fly away, to spend some time in Antarctica. He could already feel his mood worsening, and he didn't want to make the snowstorms any more dangerous. He had learned, through 256 years of bad experiences, when he needed to leave before his blizzards got worse.

But just as he was about to leave, he found himself face-to-face with a six foot talking rabbit. Well, Jack thought, at least I get to talk to somebody today.

"What in the name of all that is Easter do you think you're doing, you bloody drongo?" Bunny started, glaring accusingly.

"You know, you can only look so threatening with a pink Easter basket in your hand," Jack said with a smirk. Bunny shook with barely controlled rage.

"Look, I don't have time for this. It is Easter. Easter! I get one day a year kid, you get a whole season. Now stop the bloody snowstorms and rack off!" Bunny said heatedly.

Jack grinned. "Eh, actually I think I'll hang around here a bit. Who knows, maybe it'll start snowing even harder soon." He suppressed a laugh at the horrified look on Bunny's face.

"Don't. You. Dare. And what do you mean by 'no'? That wasn't a suggestion, it was a demand, you irritating twit."

"Oh I know," Jack said casually. "But I don't want to. And you can't make me. But anyway, while you're here, you might as well relax. The kids are finding the eggs, you know. You might as well have some fun while you're here. Hey, maybe we could start a snowball fight!"

Jack knew Bunnymund wasn't going to accept his offer, but it was still hilarious to see the shocked look on Bunny's face.

"Are you kidding me? Today is Easter, the beginning of spring, of hope and new life. And you're killing it with your bloody snow and cold. The last thing I want is to get involved in it." Bunny was too busy watching the nearby children search fruitlessly for the remaining eggs to see Jack's grin slip. Not that it particularly mattered; Jack didn't smile for others, they couldn't see him anyway. No, Jack smiled for himself, to remind himself to stay happy on even the worst days.

It looked like today was turning out to be one of those days.

"Look," Bunny continued, half turning to face Jack. "Just lay off on the snow for today. You can cover the Earth in the stuff any other day of the year for all I care. But not today." Bunny turned to walk away.

"Wait, where are you going?" Jack asked in surprise. "You just got here, you barely even yelled at me."

"I don't have time for this today, you bloke," Bunny said, not turning around. "I've got to make sure enough kids find their eggs."

As he walked farther away, Jack yelled, "What do you mean, 'don't have time for this'? I did this, I ruined Easter, and you're just leaving me alone, after all that?"

"I told you kid, I don't have time. I'm too busy cleaning up your mess."

Bunny tapped his foot and disappeared in a rabbit hole before Jack could think of anything to say.

Even from Antarctica, Jack's blizzards got worse, covering the land with snow and ice; the lingering remnants of a forgotten boy's pain.

Two hundred and fifty-six years is a long time to be alone.

I feel like I gave some people really high expectations with my last story. I got a lot of followers based on that story. But that wasn't really my normal writing style? This is. Long rambling abstract analyses with next to no dialogue. Sorry. Also, I still only do oneshots because I still can't seem to continue stories, so sorry to anyone that requested a sequel.