~Never and Always~

"W-wait…" Pippa suddenly stammers. "Jack." At the sound of his name, he turns gracefully in the air, and all he sees is a flash of brown before he is tackled around the middle. Tears continue to fall, and they dampen his frost-adorned hoodie as she buries her face into his chest, pulls him toward her, and mumbles incessant apologies. His bare toes once again brush the dominion of the Earth and settle there, and immediately, he kneels in the last of the melting snow and draws her into an even fiercer embrace.

The Spirit knows that the Wind is anxious, that the Wind is blustering around him with a weak murmur of come, come, because his time is limited here, but he can't leave her. Not yet. Not like this. Not when she's finally accepted that this is real, that he's here for her.

"It's—it's you," she sobs. "Really and truly you."

"Really and truly," he echoes.

"You're here."

"Not for long, I'm afraid," he says, "but I had to see you, and even though I don't have nearly enough time…I wanted to try."

Jack does not know how long they sit there in silence, clinging to each other and weeping, but eventually, the tears stop, and as much as he wishes he could stay here forever, the full realization that they need to make the most of their time is inevitable. Pippa is the first to speak. "What will I do without you, Jack?" his little sister whispers into his collarbone, her fingers fisting into his hoodie. "And what about you? Will—Will…?"

"Hey," Jack says softly as he strokes her hair. "Hey, Pip, look at me."

The sniffling girl reluctantly pulls away and stares at him with wide, innocent eyes, and he brushes away tears with his thumb. Surprisingly, Pippa doesn't retreat from his natural chill this time. She doesn't once flit her gaze to his unnatural white hair or to the ever-present shepherd's crook in his hand or to the frost that now coats the budding blades of grass at their feet. She doesn't look at him as though she's torn between treating him like a stranger and treating him like the brother she once knew…

She is looking at him like the older brother he is and always will be.

"I'll always be here, Pippa," Jack says. "Always." Tapping her nose with the tip of his staff, he adds, "Whenever cold nips at your nose, you'll know."

The girl brushes her fingertips across her chilly nose, but his reassurances do not seem to be enough. "But I'll never see you again."

"No," the Guardian corrects, his voice cracking in pain. "You might see me—so long as you believe in me, you probably will see me; I still call this place my home, even in the far future—but…I-I'll never know you." Frosty blue eyes slide closed in an attempt to disregard the crushing weight of the centuries of loneliness he felt tearing at his heart. "I can't know you until the time is right. Do you understand, Pip?"

"That's—Jack," she sobs breathlessly, "Jack, I'm so s-sorry. It's m-my fault. It—It's all my fault."

Jack's eyes fly open, and depending on his shepherd's crook to keep balance, he lowers himself into a crouch and grasps one of her shoulders firmly. "Pip—Pippa, no, no, never think that. What happened to me—saving you…"

"It should have been me!" Pippa nearly screams, her voice tearing. "It should have been me!"

"No."

There's an authority and ferocity in his tone is so uncharacteristic of him that she is momentarily stunned into silence, and after blinking at him, she adds in a small voice, "If it weren't for me…"

"If it weren't for you, I'd be lost, Pip," Jack asserts. "Iwould have died in spirit without you, and it's because of you that I'm still here, that I'm still me. I always will be. It's not easy, being what I am, but this is what I am now. I'm proud of that."

"You—you're thanking me," she realizes aloud in a dazed tone.

"Yes. I am. I'm thanking you for all the good times, bad times, and all times in between. Even though I regret that I missed watching you grow up, even though I regret that I can't be here for you when you need a goofy older brother to pick up your spirits…or when you need a thoughtful older brother's shoulder to cry on… even though I regret missing all the Christmases and all the Easters and all the family suppers and all the laughter and stories that are yet to come, even though I regret that I didn't remember it all until recently—what I do have of you, Ma, and—and Pa…" The hint of a wistful, melancholy smile begins to touch his lips. "It is everything I could have hoped for in life, and it's been an amazing ride, Pip. God, I can't thank you enough."

His eyes are misty by the time that she looks up from her boots and bites her lip. In a small voice—almost as quiet as the snowflakes that drift pass her face, almost as silent as the tears that roll steadily down her cheeks—she whispers, "You—you truly don't blame me?"

Pippa's brown eyes are too old, too torn and broken, and she looks lost, so lost and tormented by grief and guilt. It breaks his heart to know that he is to blame for the added years in her eyes, for the emotional burden she bears, and holding her gaze, he says, "No. I never once blamed you."

"You said you didn't have your memories, though. How could you know?" she points out shrewdly.

"I didn't need to have them," Jack says, and the moment he says it, the truth of that statement hits him. Hard. Like a seven-foot wall of stampeding yeti.

Because it is true. For centuries, he suffered loneliness and rejection. The humans who knew his name hadn't known him—not like they had known Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny—and even his fellow Spirits scoffed, sneered, and whispered of his uselessness and his troublemaking whenever and wherever his reputation as a mischievous nuisance preceded him. When they weren't complaining of his tricks and pranks, they were murmuring of all those whose lives were lost to the cold… as though it was his fault that, though he was a winter sprite, his powers would only allow him to do so much.

He never appeared bothered, but some days, he believed them. Some days, he pulled up his hood, neglected the company of everyone but the Wind, his first friend, and drowned himself in a blizzard of his own creation in the seclusion of the Arctic, where his pain would hurt no one. No matter what, however, he would return. He would put a smile on his face, he would play with the children who couldn't see him, and he would pretend.

Some days, he actually was happy and thrilled to be Jack Frost, but on the down days, he couldn't help but think it was all an illusion of his own making…and he never could stop wondering why.

So when Tooth had told him that she possessed his memories just weeks ago…he thought that they had been the key to everything. Nothing had been more important than discovering what those memories contained because he didn't understand. He never understood. Why the Moon chose him, why he had to live through the years upon years of self-doubt, isolation, and feelings of inadequacy and depression…

In the end, it never mattered. Now that he did have his memories again, now that the dam had broken, Jack realized he had always, on some subconscious level, known exactly who he was. He was true to his Center even before being named a Guardian and even before discovering just how deep his Center permeated him as both a human and a Spirit.

He lived and breathed fun in both lives, and God forbid anyone, or anything, dare harm a child under his watch.

And that was the last piece he needed. Memories as human Jackson Overland and lonely winter sprite Jack Frost finally reconciled in his mind, and now—now he knew exactly who "just Jack" was.

"I didn't need to have my memories," Jack repeats, his grin broadening, "to know that I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant that you would live. This is why I made the wish I did—to tell you that I will be alright, to show you that I'm alright and that you shouldn't feel guilty for what happened. Because it's no trick, Pip. I don't blame you. I love you."

Thin arms wrap around his neck, nearly squeezing the breath out of him, and Jack returns the hug with equal pressure.

"Ma always said you were so irresponsible. Pa always said you were so unreliable," Pip murmurs into his back. "I would throw their words at you when I was angry at you. The village—the village used to shake their heads at you, but we—w-w-we—"

"Shh," Jack tries to console. "You don't have to say."

"But I do," Pip asserts fiercely, looking up at her brother and rubbing at her eyes. "We were wrong, and we know now, Jack. We know that you're truly the best of us all. I—"

Touched, Jack swallows a lump in his throat and grins lopsidedly as he musses her hair, causing her to scrunch up her nose and swat at him. Like old times. She always hated it when he did that. Chuckling at her response, he is seized by a sudden impulse and asks, "Do you want to hear a story, Pip?"

Her face immediately brightens, for despite what the villagers might have said about Jack, not a single one of them could deny that he was the most engaging and animated storyteller they had ever had the pleasure of listening to. Their children crowded him whenever he came in from the fields with Pa before he passed on, and even the adults found the excuse to hang around the town square whenever Jack amassed a small following of eager kids and began to speak, weaving life and energy into his words and becoming his characters.

But Pippa realizes that this story—this isn't just any story. This isn't a story that Jack would weave himself or a traditional story that he would twist and contort beyond recognition. No, this was his story, and their Pa…whenever they would squabble about one of Jack's tall-tales gone too far and Pip demanded that he tell her the truth, Pa would always settle any dispute they had by saying, "Jackson, be careful you don't fib yourself into a trap of your own making. You might lose yourself there. And Pippa, truth is like a rose. Approach cautiously because while it may be beautiful from afar, it may yet have thorns up close."

After Pa died, those words died with him, and yet they still had a profound affect on both of them. After that…Jack never lied to her, not even to prevent her pain, and Pip—she loved to learn, to know and discover hidden truths, but since Pa's death, she handled those truths with more care than she ever did before. This alone is why Jack isn't surprised when a battle between curiosity and reluctance rages on her face.

He doesn't press her, and eventually, she nods. "I think I'd like that."

And so Jack begins to tell his sister of a child of the winter, who was awakened by the Moon's song, who first learned to fly and to dance with the Wind, and who wanted nothing more than to share his laughter and joy with those who did not—and could not— recognize him. He begins to tell her how the unseen and unheard child tried to share his gifts with them anyway and how his free spirit was nearly shattered and ravaged beyond all reckoning by time, loneliness, and rejection.

For the most part, however, Jack tells her about the Others, those who protect children and thrive on their belief and the power of their imagination. The collector of memories, the rider of dreams, the warrior of wonder, and the keeper of hope—they are the heroes of his story, and every hero has its villain, so he lowers his voice and tells her of the bringer of nightmares, who nearly destroyed everything the Others held dear, and how the child of winter, once a nobody, was given the chance to be a somebody.

He tells her of battles of black and gold, of darkness and ice. He tells her of how the demon manipulated, cheated, and hurt the Others and the children under their protection and how he tempted the winter child. He tells her of the Last Light and how he was the true hero, for he was the first to believe in the winter child and the first to prove that the children protected the Others just as much as the Others did them.

"In the end," Jack concludes, "the darkness was banished, and the child of the winter realized he had possessed the essence of the Guardians all along."

"Fun," Pippa breathes. She was rather shaken during the first part of his story, but now, her eyes shine with pride and affection. "You found it. Your purpose."

"Every child, every Light," the Guardian said. "I protect. I was chosen to guard their sense of fun."

"They couldn't have chosen better," Pip says, her tone suggesting that any argument made was an argument lost. "D'you—are you happy, Jack?"

His face falls slightly at the loaded question. She understands that he is frozen in time, that despite his gifts, despite his Center, he's cursed with an eternal life. "I am now," he admits slowly. "I love what I do. I love making children laugh, and I love reminding them that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

Pippa starts to snigger, recognizing the proverb. (1) "I doubt that! You could never be dull!"

Jack was laughing when the Wind suddenly shoved him lightly from behind and ruffled his hair. He turns out of reflex, but the message is clear enough. His shoulders drop, and he sighs, turning his eyes downward as a lump rises in his throat.

"You have to go."

Jack's gaze snaps back to his little sister—his Pip, to whom he owed everything and whom he could never let go—and he can't trust himself to speak.

"You can't stay?" she asks, hesitant hope blazing in her eyes.

He shakes his head. "I can't."

Swallowing roughly, she nods and takes a deep breath to calm herself, but her voice is still steady, strong… and almost resigned. "Then this is goodbye?"

"No, not goodbye," Jack denies fervently. "When you say goodbye…Goodbye feels like forever, and forever means…there's an excuse to forget. (2)"

She hugs him tightly again. "I could never forget you," she whispers. "Never."

"Nor I you, Pip," Jack responds. "I'm glad I got the chance to see you again. To explain. So glad. I couldn't live…"

This time he's the one brushing tears from his cheeks and Pip's the one comforting him. "I'm glad too, Jack, because now I have the chance to say that I'm proud to have you as my big brother," she says, "and that I won't ever stop believing in you, in what you do. And Jack… I don't think I ever said…thank you. Thank you for saving my life. For everything. I'm—I'm going to miss you."

Shifting his grip on his staff and glowing with her approval and blessing, he grins. Impulsively, he threads the Wind through his fingers, and with a delicate twist of his wrist, a single, intricate snowflake forms between them. As tiny and fragile and beautiful as a baby's first breath. He blows on it gently, and in infusing his breath with the power of Winter, the snowflake glows blue and grows, hardens…and crystallizes.

When he is done, the trinket falls into his waiting palm, and he offers it to his little sister, who watched the entire process with awe and wonder.

"It'll never melt," Jack explains, placing a kiss on her brow. "And it…I want it to help remind you that though I may not be here, I'm with you. Every step of the way."

"I love it," she whispers, her fingertips tracing the pattern of the enlarged snowflake. Brown eyes rise to meet his. "What am I going to do without you, Jack?" his sister asks for the second time that day. This time, however, there are no tears in her eyes, only acceptance, love, and sorrow for what could have been but would never be, and her astute eyes flash, searching, searching…

She waits for something more than just an answer.

And for a moment, Jack can't speak. He can only retrace her face over and over and commit it to memory again. Every freckle and curve, every feature and every emotion that passes through her eyes, he sees and takes note.

Before he can accept that the reason he is doing this is because he will never see her again, a mirror image shines through her, and the resemblance strikes him with utter finality. There is no denying it, no mistaking it, and perhaps he's known it all along.

He sees her in Jamie Bennett and Jamie in her.

Despite everything, a bright grin begins to spread across the winter Spirit's face, and after releasing a mildly shaky chuckle that soon transforms into a genuine laugh, he takes one of her hands in his as he bounds upright. "You will live life, Pippa," he finally exclaims, and hefting his staff, he spins her around and gently pulls her into the air with him. "You will live, and you will have fun living."

The Wind helps him keep her aloft, and he laughs and twirls her in a tight, fast circle, not necessarily aware of the flurry of snow that leaps around them in his joy. Pip's delighted giggles peal like sleigh bells, and oh, how he's missed that sound. Naturally, he smirks and spins faster.

"Stop! Stop!" Pippa eventually squeals, gasping for breath and making a swipe at him with her free hand.

Jack throws out his staff, and they come to a dizzying halt. Hair wild and untamed, tears streaking down her face from a combination of the Wind's bite and from the force of her laughter, Pippa hops the short distance to the ground. When she catches her breath, she looks up at him… and flashes him a blinding smile.

He does not land. The Wind will not allow him to do so again because it is time. It is time to go.

"Live, love, laugh," Jack advises, and pointing his staff at her, he adds, "and try not to get into too much trouble, you hear?"

"Did I hear you correctly?" Pippa teases, cupping her ear dramatically. "You've always said—"

He smirks and joins her in reciting, "There's no such thing as too much trouble."

The Wind tugs at him more forcefully, and before the pair of them, a swirling portal of mist spirals and spins into existence, its soft glow beckoning and calling. On the other side, Jack can sense more than see Jinny's presence.

"There's my ride," he sighs. Turning back to his sister, he says for the final time, "I love you, little Pip."

"I love you, too, Jack. Always."

"Always," he repeats softly. "Thank you, Pippa." Jack flashes her a final smile, and just as he turns to enter the portal to return to his own time, he hears her respond, "No. Thank you, Jack Frost."

The mist cocoons and swallows him, but not before he has the chance to turn back…

He'll never forget the smile she gave him at that last second—bittersweet, brave, proud, hopeful…and peaceful and free—and he, too, smiles and closes his eyes, allowing the mist to seep into his skin and transport him home. The dam was broken now, and there was no rebuilding it, but Jack finds…he doesn't want to rebuild it. Not now and not ever again.

Thank you, Jack Frost, she had said, and his spirit soars.

Jack never once told her of his adopted surname.

(1) According to Wikipedia, this proverb first showed up in a piece of literature in 1659, so it is plausible that it was recognized and used often in the early 1700s in colonial America.

(2) Idea for this line adopted from a quote from J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan

AN: And that is the end! I hope you guys enjoyed it! :D

Oz out