I've always had in mind what the hell happened to Jack's cape before he got his hoodie, and suddenly this wormed its way into my mind and Ta-Da! Awfully short and bad written fic, also, taking in account a review I got from another fic, this time I decided to respect laws of nature about seasons in the different hemispheres—I'm South American so it kind of annoys me to turn around seasons when writing something that happens up there, but whatever. Enjoy losing your time with me!

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People have always had their own ideas about spirits; some believed they were insensitive creatures who only cared about doing their jobs, others, that their main objective was to cause mischief at expense of people's wellbeing, a minority didn't think about them at all, and the big part that was left absolutely refused the existence of something so ridiculous as an intangible, non-scientifically explainable entity.

But luckily there were a handful of people who believed them to be kind, gentle spirits who tried to give their best at their jobs, while still having time to have a good time of their own.

Jack Frost was one of those spirits. Even if he have never received more recognition from humans apart from the occasional blaming for a really cold day or unwanted snow day, he still loved to go around the globe, discovering new kinds of humans and their ways of having fun, adding them to his own ways (and, sometimes, leaving one or two games of his own for them).

It was at the beginning of the second trimester that Jack decided to travel up north; the southern hemisphere was in Fall, , while Spring warmed the northern lands, so he really didn't have anything to do, apart from the occasional wind current here and there.

There was a charming little island in the middle of the sea, a place of permanent Winter yet full of life in ways he had yet to see in other lands. From what he had heard, the chunk of ground was called Berk, and was home to a fairly big population of Vikings; brute people who loved to feast and fight, probably the only humans with enough willpower to survive in this area forgotten by God's hand (or gods, in their case).

The winter spirit arrived to the middle of a mountain range, his arrival bringing forth a light snowfall to the already white hills. Accommodating his brown cape over his body, he sat down to admire the way the sunlight refracted on the untouched snow, creating beautiful colored paths for anyone who knew where to look. Looking up, he noticed a flock of equally colorful winged creatures, way too big to be birds, and way too scaly, also.

A loud scream tore his mind away from the snow and the weird animals, focusing on the form of a human falling from who-knows-where, almost parallel to the snowy wall of a close mountain. He observed, first horrified at the imminent way this human—a kid, now that he got a better look—was about to end his days; changing to fascinated when the boy got hold of a piece of bark that was luckily falling next to him, somehow managing to step onto it and sliding sloppily downhill.

Jack released a breathy laugh when the boy looked up, laughing at his own luck, starting to cheer while moving side to side, jumping and controlling the piece of wood like it was an everyday thing.

"Damn, the kid's got good moves" thought the icy spectator, getting excited at the sight of a new way of entertaining his adrenaline addictive self, getting on his feet and leaning forward on his staff, trying to get a better look. The kid made a complicated maneuver full of sins in mid-air, landing and sliding down a fallen tree trunk, causing two by standing Viking women to swoon—one even fainted, mind yourself—, going to an upwards curve, where he stood elevated for a moment—enough for one of the winged creatures Jack had seen before to bite down on the wood, keeping the boy stranded over it for a few seconds, just for it to move its head sideways, causing him to free-fall down into a deep crevice, screaming as he did so.

"Holy shit!" the young spirit flew as fast as he could to the place he saw the kid land in with a loud 'thud', he hoped the snow had reduced the impact; he wouldn't be in peace knowing that a human had died in front of him without being able to act. Setting foot on the snow at the bottom, he ran to the heap that was the boy, who was thankfully just unconscious, breathing evenly the cold air. Noticing the kid—a teen, actually—wasn't in any danger and would most likely wake up in a few hours, Jack took a moment to actually look at him in detail.

He was sprawled on his back, way-too-skinny legs set straight over the floor, equally thin arms resting at the sides of his head, an auburn haired head slightly tilted to the side, his face and neck completely covered with freckles and a small, almost invisible scar over the right side of his chin. He was wearing warm looking, but too big clothes, making his already small body appear even more so. Looking around at the tall walls, Jack noticed there was no way for this one to hold his own weight trying to reach the top. Gently handling the brunette, the winter spirit carried him with his arms holding his head and under his knees, taking off and flying to a spot near the trunk the women were at a moment ago, forming a sort of bed with snow, placing him slowly down onto it, brushing his bangs away from his freckled face as he did so.

But there was one other thing bothering Jack; he didn't know how long would it take for the boy to wake up or for someone to find him, and with the corporal mass he had, he wouldn't survive a long time exposed to the cold.

"Great, another thing I will be responsible of" he sighed, thinking about what to do. He couldn't carry him to the village, the teen would be confused about how he got there—suddenly a breeze surrounded him, causing his cape to flow around him, and he gave a soft laugh. "Of course, you always have the answer, Wind" untying the cords around his neck, he took of his coverage (not that he needed it, anyway) and covered the little Viking with it, tucking him and making sure he would be visible.

He jerked his hands back when the boy shifted under the cover, getting a little comfier, a sigh leaving his lips as a small smile pained his sleepy face. Relieved the other was alright, Jack flew back to his initial spot at the mountain, guarding the place until a blonde Viking with a fake arm and leg appeared from a nearby forest patch, grabbed the teen—with the cape still on—and carried him back like it was an everyday occurrence; after that, he left to another area of the island, still thinking about the way-too-lucky boy.

The little brunette would wonder where that cape had come from, adjudicating it to a kind spirit meaning to help him, keeping it safely stored in a small chest under his bed.

Jack would realize later, while staring at the full moon, that he had carried the kid in his arms—he didn't went through him like everyone else.