She's always seen them, drifting between the lines of reality and dreams, but she says nothing- children always treasure some things better when they believe it's their little treasure alone, a pearl untouched by adults. Jamie's mother isn't insulted by this. She was a child once, and she knew what the untainted belief felt like when she bubbled on about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, not noticing the half-smiles the adults can barely keep hidden. There are some things children should keep to themselves to let grow, and Jamie's mother is all too willing to let it be so.

She finishes folding the last shirt, a red one of Jamie's, and places it on top of a green-striped dress of Sophie's that had hot chocolate stains all down its front a few hours previously. Jamie's mother hums as she walks down the house of their hall, feet making soft thuds on the carpet as she heads up to Jamie's room, ready to deliver the clothes. She gets upstairs before her face softens through her tiredness at the sight of Jamie's door. It's cracked open just as usual- Sophie was probably paying a late night's visit begging for one last story before she fell asleep and Jamie had to carry her off- and Jamie's mother tiptoes to the door, quietly shifting the laundry basket to her hip before she cracks the door and peers in.

There's nothing but soft darkness and the sight of clumped snowflakes floating down through the air outside, the wane light from the moon giving some illumination to the childish and messy lay of toys and posters that's Jamie's little nest. Jamie's mother was wrong; Jamie didn't carry Sophie away. Both he and his younger sister are crammed into the same bed, already having a drowsy and semi-conscious fight over covers. Sophie's hair is splayed messily over the side of the bed and glued to part of the pillow like silky blond briers. Jamie's round nose- previously red from the outside and hours of snowball fight- is upturned so that he doesn't have his face in his clingy younger sibling's hair, dampened snores already beginning to punctuate the air.

Jamie's mother smiles at the sight. But she remains unmoving, a statue in the hallway with the clothes basket still balanced on her hip, and waits for what seems like hours watching the milky-white inside of Jamie's room before the monochromatic lighting is broken by drifting sparks of golden sand that slip through the window like the glass is liquid. Jamie's mother lets loose a quiet breath she didn't know she was holding when the plump and floating figure that accompanies the dream sand appears, sliding through the window and hovering over the sand till it forms dreams of loping bunny rabbits and sleighs speeding down hills.

Just like before, the figure leaves like he arrived, passing through the window panes like a less hallow ghost of Christmas past with a smile on his face. The entourage of golden sparks follows, seeming to warm the air they pass through. Jamie's mother has the same smile on her face when she carefully pushes the rest of Jamie's door open, tiptoeing over to his clothes bureau and laying the filled basket next to it. She watches the tiny careening sleigh and leaping golden bunny over Jamie's and Sophie's heads. If the dreams mash again like before, Sophie is going to have an interesting tale to chatter about in the morning while she's throwing her cereal around.

Jamie's mother can't help but feel amused as she leaves the room and closes Jamie's door behind her. Jamie is always on the search for the Tooth fairy, Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny (along with Sophie) but there's one guardian he doesn't quite know exists under a concrete name and has never tried to pursue- the Sandman.

She doesn't think there's a guardian or spirit she's never seen guiding her children.

She is wrong.

When Jamie reaches the peak of his obsession with the guardians that winter, bringing home one dog-eared and stickered and laminated library book after another, he begins to babble about Jack Frost. It's not the first time he's ever come across the name of Jokul Frosti, but his childish enthusiasm is caught by an old picture of a wicked and pointy-nosed elf painting designs of frost on leaves. It becomes his next ethereal legend to chase. He does so with a gusto... and Jamie's mother can't help but feel like she's missing something for once. Something in the way Jamie pours over all the pictures and words about the frost spirit makes it seem like he's heard about them before; as if they're only extra snippets of a song he's already sang.

Jamie's mother, as always, sees Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and gets a promise to see the Tooth Fairy once more that year when Sophie trips over the dog's outstretched legs and knocks out a front tooth. She sees the glowing Sandman every night. But not once does she catch a glimpse of the icy guardian Jamie seems to be fascinated with like a long-distance pen pal.

It's when Jamie's mother peers into the door one night and sees the Sandman floating over a giggling Sophie, who's grabbing at his golden sparks before they disappear and her eyelids begin to droop- a tattooed and boomerang-bearing rabbit appearing over her in golden sand- that she sees her daughter's eyes visibly flick to the empty space next to the Sandman and see something there. Sophie's eyes begin to glaze with sleepiness, but she takes her last moments to gave a tired, tooth-gap grin at the empty space and wave before she slumps back on the pillow. The Sandman smiles back, a small musical note appearing over his tufty hair as he too cocks his head to the side and grins at something there. He stares at the empty space a bit longer, shapes flashing over his head, before he melts out of the frost-coated glass as usual (since when was there frost?)

Jamie's mother leans out of the doorway and presses her back against the hallway wall, clutching her heart as she tries to calm her breathing and reassures herself that she can still see the guardians, her belief's not fading, she can still see them, she can still see them.

She climbs out of the bed at the middle of night to creep over to Jamie's room in her robe and peer through the door crack, watching the tiny fluttering form of the Tooth Fairy take Sophie's tooth before wriggling back under the pillow and leaving a quarter before she buzzes away. The twisted relief she feels as she clutches her heart before she tiptoes back to her and husband's room is worth his muttered question and sleepy eye-rubbing. She kisses him on the eyebrow and reassures him that she was just thirsty; no, the dog hasn't gotten into the garbage again.

To keep her peace, Jamie's mother- over the course of the winter and watching her children- slowly comes to the conclusion that there is, indeed, another guardian out there. Just not one she can see. She arrives at the conclusion that it's the elusive Jack Frost himself, the invisible boy that Jamie spends nights up talking to when he believes his mother is ignorant, and the playful flitting spirit who has a pale hand in every snowball and drags his fingers through every line of frost. Perhaps her two little children aren't as shortsighted towards the guardians as she believed they were before- it's her with the sight difficulties now.

At first, Jamie's mother is wary; fearful, even. The fact that she can't see this guardian scares her. Things that fit between the lines of who can and can't see them scare her. Oh, her children have eyes wide with wonder, but they're wrong if they believe that the five (or six) bright guardians are the only ones out there. Jamie's mother has seen worse than the spindly-legged black horses made of dark shifting sand that crawl out from under from her children's beds on occasion. They are only conquerable images of fear; in a way, they are like puffed-up urban legends, caution for actual pain disguised under mostly harmless bravado. There is no real pain when it's all done.

As an adult, Jamie's mother can see guardians and spirits of things her children are blind to, they not noticing how the darker and more warped shapes above their comprehension slip through every day life representing and guarding things that Jamie's mother would rather stay hidden from her children for many years to come. Things that are limited to the sight of either adult or child- not based on the belief level of either one in question- are usually not good.

But though the elusive Jack Frost shares this similarity of limited sight with the shapes of... other things... he doesn't appear to carry their necessary vehemence. As Jamie and Sophie and their friends come in red-cheeked and lively-eyed from the snow each winter day, babbling on about whatever happened or still shrieking and pawing at each other with joy, some of Jamie's mother's suspicion slips bit by bit.

And one day, even though Jack Frost is just as invisible as usual, something only for the children's eyes, Jamie's mother trusts him.

"Wherever you are out there... I think I can trust you now," she whispers into the winter wind, her voice barely audible as she pulls her scarf away from her face and watches the falling flakes against the blue sky as she prepares to go to the car for grocery shopping.

Jamie's mother gets a frosty nip on the nose in response.