ABSOLUTE ZERO

CHAPTER ONE: IN WHICH THERE IS A BABY AND BLOOD, BUT NOT PARTICULARLY IN THAT ORDER

Nicolas St. North was a guardian, through and through. He liked to consider himself a guardian of all things,not just the children he held so dearly, but to anyone who needed a friend, who needed help. The large Russian was no stranger to being cast out in the cold, and thus had long ago pledged that no one would ever have to go through the same while he still stood.

However, there were certain people he'd never, ever, in a million years even think would ask his help. Not because he wouldn't give it, but because of pride and (dare he say) vanity stilling their hands.

The Winter Court was chock full of these people.

So, with Christmas only a few short weeks away, when North was at his busy and stressed, the frantic call for help he received by way of North Wind, he could hardly believe it. Winter's soldiers were considered the strongest, led by their king, General Winter. The Court was a figurehead for many magical communities, yet it was a very tight knit group that hardly ever accepted outsiders, let alone beg for aid from them.

Yet here he was, sitting precariously out of his office's open window, one hand holding fast to the windowsill while the other was cupped around his ear, listening as the wind screamed and hollered in a way that made it seem almost human.

Help them, help them, help them, help them, they're falling, they're falling, help them, help them, so much blood, they're falling, HELP THEM!

The mantra was repeated over and over, the wind shrieking at a breakneck pace, even as North moved back inside and carelessly slammed the window shut in his wake. The Russian stormed down the halls of Santoff Claussen, barking orders at the Yetis as he went. Somehow his swords came to him, as did his massive red coat, as he at last got to the main room of his workshop.

The Globe spun as it always did, its presence domineering, though North never failed to notice that the lights had been much less in number than pervious centuries, damn these dark ages. Pitch would be having a field day, North muses, spreading his nightmares with the same amount of self control as a child with candy.

The wall of a man tugged on his beard in contemplation, trying to figure the situation out before he went barreling into General Winter's realm with weapons drawn.

Something was wrong with this, North thinks, very wrong. Winter's Court was strong, with every man, woman, and child being taught to fight from a young age. It's king was a seasoned General, and a fellow Russian, and it's Snow Queen was as deadly as she was beautiful.

For them to be calling for help... either they had finally met their match in fair combat, unlikely, or they had been caught so off guard that they had been swarmed by whatever had attacked them.

Or it was all a trap.

But if it wasn't, then an entire kingdom of people needed help. Vain, stuffy, prideful people, yes, but still souls in need of aid. Thus, his final decision was clear.

"Prepare ze sleigh!" He calls to the nearest yeti, who groans and drops the toy he had been painting. "We have emergency!"

And with that he quickly walks out of the room, grabbing one of his latest inventions on the way out. The small globe of glass sparkles in his hands, the inside shimmering like freshly fallen snow when shaken.

When the sleigh is finally launched, the wind pushes it from behind, urging it faster than it really should be able to go.

They've fallen, they've fallen, there's so much blood, they've already fallen, help them, faster, faster, they've fallen, go faster, help them.

The tone of the wind is mournful, but the haste is still there, still pushing the sleigh as fast as it will go, until North is finally far enough from Santoff to try out the snow globe. With a shake and a toss, the portal is opened far enough that North has enough time to shout "Anartica!" in his accented way, before both he and the sleigh disappear to the literal other side of the world.

Antarctica is cold and desolate, not to mention almost impossible to navigate due to the massive expanse of white that it is, but somehow North manages, guiding the reindeer towards where he really hopes the Ice Palace is. It's so cold in this wasteland, nearly freezing on a warm day, but North knows it's the perfect temperature for the Winter Court.

Now it was just a matter of finding said Court when North could barely tell one glacier from the next.

Eventually North sighs with relief as he spots a black mass on the edge of his vision and spins the sleigh towards it. Eventually the spot changes to the shape of towers jutting out of a structure, and as details begin to form the closer he gets, he can eventually see that the entire structure is created from ice, lovingly crafted to the tiniest detail.

The wind continues to moan in North's ear, quieter now that he's close to the ice castle but still present. As he lands the sleigh it goes completely silent, North unable to hear even a whisper from it as he jumps out of the sleigh swords drawn. A quick look around shows him to be in the front courtyard, surrounded by glass like trees carved in ice and snow. Usually this would be the hub of activity in a place such as this, but the circular ice garden is silent as the grave.

This is what unnerves the Cossack the most, is the silence. Thus, with not even the wind at his side, he advances towards the castle and proceeds to enter.

What he is met with is, in layman's terms, a massacre.

The front room, which was something of a main hall if North were to guess, was littered with bodies, numbering somewhere around three hundred. All of them are mangled in some way, in that many are missing limbs and/or have holes stabbed straight through them. Blue blood, a trademark of the Court, coats the floor, still wet in its recentness, some of it even dripping from the ceiling from some poor bastard who'd gotten impaled on the chandelier.

North has seen worse.

So it is with heavy heart he lets his swords fall to his sides and strides forwards, intent on finding and eradicating whatever enemy had managed to wipe out such a warrior based society in such small time.

But the presence of black sand on each and every body and body part gives him more than a clue as to the perpetrator.

"Pitch." The Russian calls out into the silence of the halls, North knows he'd still be here, feels it in his belly an-

"He's not here anymore. Bugger cleared off as soon as he heard your jingle bells coming."

North whips around with the speed of a man twice his age, and gets his swords out in half that time, only to have the two sharpened metal pieces point at a figure in a dark cloak who is in actuality the only one who's supposed to be there.

"North." Death says calmly, holding up a boney hand, "We both know it's not your time yet, so why not put those away and we can talk like adults?"

North does just that, letting the swords once again drop to his sides. "What happened?" He asks, advancing further into the room and trying not to step on anything... or anyone for that matter.

"Pitch." Death replies casually, every once and a while stopping and sinking to their knees next to a corpse. "Pitch happened. He hit while they were all distracted. It barely lasted an hour before almost everyone was dead."

"Almost everyone?"

"Caught that did you? Yes, there's two survivors, though one's just about dead. But the other, he's not under my jurisdiction today, not for a long while actually. He's only about one and a half see."

"One and a half centuries?"

"Try days."

Needless to say, that hits North like a ton of bricks. Death wasn't exactly the easiest person to talk to, but North always made an effort in order to keep them, well, sane. They may not have spoken very much, but the skeleton was usually more tight lipped than this, and tended to keep the cosmic plan very close to his ribcage.

"I don't want to walk all the way back up those stairs," Death says, as monotone as always as they gesture behind them at a set of spiral stairs leading upwards. "So I'd recommend you go before the kid dies from exposure. Just saying."

And with that the Russian is barrelling towards the staircase, hoping to the moon he isn't too late.

As he runs higher and higher into the tower, North ignores the slight burn in his legs and the soreness in his lungs, because there is a child in danger and damn if North would let that continue for any longer.

Eventually he does hit the top, and almost takes the ice door off by slamming into it by accident. Gasping slightly to force air into his lungs, he slowly opens the door.

The room is obviously a bedroom, and from the care put into it it's most likely the bedroom of the Snow Queen and General winter. The large bed is ruffled and messed, and almost all of the furniture is upturned or broken. There's also another body, but this one is not nameless to him.

The Snow Queen lies on the floor as if she were a puppet with its strings cut, a pained expression and tears marring her usually pretty face. Blue spreads out from an obvious stab wound in her abdomen, staining her white robes. She's shaking slightly, forcing her hands onto the wound to keep the blood from leaking. However, when she looks up at North, all he sees on her face in hopelessness and sorrow.

She sobs quietly as he rushes to her side. He brushes a lock of her waist length white hair out of the way and helps her to sit against a nearby wall. She groans at the movement, and the wound gushes even more blue blood as she begins to slump.

"Nicolas St. North." She says with a voice like the chiming of bells, "You're a little late, dear. But I ne- ow shit that hurt- need a favour of you."

North nods, keeping her upright with one hand and helping her staunch the bleeding with the other. "Anything." He says in response. She's so small compared to him, not that she's short, just... dainty is all. Delicate. "What is it?"

"Check under the bed, and you'll have a better understanding."

He does so, making sure that she'll still be upright after he turns his back, and reaches under the bed, pulling out a small roll of blankets. A moving roll of blankets. He brings it back to her, gently placing it in her arms. She undoes the blue cloth with care, her eyes brimming with tears as a tiny sleeping face is revealed. North watches with wonder over her shoulder as she holds the sleeping child close to her and smiles sadly.

"My time has come, Nicolas, king of bandits." She says it frankly, acceptingly. "I am unable to fulfill the role of mother as I wanted to."

And then she pushes the baby at North which surprises the hell out of him and he's honestly lucky he didn't drop the little thing and –woah its eyes are open. The baby blinks up at him and fixes North in their gaze, before gurgling and smiling as babies are prone to do. The child is so small, and cold! If the Russian didn't know and better he'd say the child was an ice block from his body temperature!

The Snow Queen smiles softly and pats his beefy arm, her hand barely covering half of it. "His name is Jack Frost." She says. "After my husband's good friend."

Jokul Frosti, North remembers. A good man. He'd fallen to Pitch a few years ago. It had been brutal, and North knows that was the point that the Winter Court had truly sunk into itself and stopped almost all outside contact.

The baby –Jack- ceased his giggling and began to wiggle around, but North just continues to stare at the little thing, the little life that is so small he could hold the child in one the palm of one hand and still have room to spare.

The Snow Queen pulls him from his reflecting with a pained gasp, and her hands that have gone back to holding her wound tighten around it.

"I need someone I know will care for and love him." Her voice is small but forceful. "And I trust you to, Bandit King. You have always wished for children but are unable to have any."

It was true, North had always wanted to be a father. So badly. But he thought it impossible with his immortality and magic to truly have a child of his own to care for and love and to be loved back an-

"Please." The queen once again cuts him off. "I don't have much time before I pass. I need you to raise him, raise him well. Keep him safe from Pitch. If that bastard knew Jack existed..." She leaves the horrors unsaid. If it's to save herself the breath or North's ears, it's unknown. "Please, North?"

He looks into her blue eyes –so much like those belonging to her son- and then nods, slowly at first, but then with more vigor. Her face breaks out into a wide smile, and she thanks him with a kiss on the cheek.

"Keep him safe, or I will haunt you to your grave." She smiles, before her final breath leaves her and her gorgeous blue eyes glaze over.

And just like that, the Snow Queen is dead.

North bows his head in respect, ignoring how the wind suddenly picks back up with fervor, launching a mournful tune all across the world as the final adult of the Winter Court dies.

With a sigh, North raises the hand not holding his new charge and closes those glassy eyes.

"Well, would you look at that." Comes a monotone drawl from behind. "North's a daddy. Congratulations."

North can practically hear the smirk but he's caught up once again in the feeling of a tiny, wiggling, cold, little thing falling back to sleep in his arms.

Death peeks over his shoulder, and North can barely keep himself from curling his nose as a wave of brimstone reek assault him.

"Well, he is kinda cute." The skeleton says cheerily. "I'd never have expected the first immortals to actually pull off immortal child birth to be the spirits of winter. Good on them."

North chuckles at that, standing from the ice floor and curling his arm further around Jack, tiny, cold, little Jack. "I must return to ze Pole." North says, "Must inform ze Guardians of what has happened."

"But of course." Death says, bending over the corpse of the Snow Queen, and drawing out a small blue smoke from her mouth. Death guides the smoke around for a few seconds before dispersing it, sending the Snow Queen's soul to its well deserved rest.

North takes his leave, hiking down the stairs as quietly as he can as to not wake the child. The wind, once they exit the main building of the castle, is ecstatic at meeting its final surviving child, though it still keeps its mournful dirge. It gently wraps around the child, and Jack flails a bit in his sleep, a small smile adorning his face.

The winds tone changes ever so slightly and the wails of mourning and sorrow, though those elements do stay, are slowly drowned out by the sound of celebration and the tiniest glimmer of hope.

Child, tiny child, so tiny must protect, you helped them, they've fallen but you got him, tiny child, perfect tiny child, so cute, must protect.

North troops over to the sleigh only to find his reindeer sleeping soundly, apparently having gotten bored in his absence. The Russian gently wakes them up and before too long the sleigh is headed homewards.

North throws a second snow globe, whispering as loud as he can for the North Pole before tossing it.

Jack is quiet for the trip, only waking once when the wind got a bit too loud. North can relate, as after so much excitement and change the Cossack could use a nap himself.

Yeah, a nap would be really nice right now.

But first there was business to attend to.