It was winter. It was usually winter wherever Jack Frost was. Winter or autumn. Or a particularly chilly spring. But, now, it was winter. Frost on the windows, ice on the roads, hats and scarves on the people, and the school children praying for snow.

Soon, Jack would answer those prayers. High above the clouds, snow drifts danced, waiting to be directed down on towns and cities, but, now, Jack was content to wait. It was winter. It was his time. He didn't have to hurry. He wasn't trying to chase away the scorch of summer or doing battle with the hazy forces of spring. The Kangaroo in particular.

Now, Jack could relax. His chosen spot was far from his usual haunt of Burgess. He had dropped into a motel parking lot earlier today when he had spotted a crowd of children playing on the thin ice on the ground.

Jack had sprinkled a few inches of snow on the ground and spent the day basking in their delight as they played with each other. Bringing laughter to children was Jack's favourite thing to do. He loved watching them have fun. It made him feel a part of it. He could pretend that he belonged, that it didn't matter if no one could see him. If no one believed in him.

Jack had watched, sadly, when parents poked their heads out of motel rooms and called their children back inside. He watched as, one by one, the children trickled away, leaving only one pink skinned pair of boys.

He watched, interested, when the older of the two scooped up the younger and carried him into a room. Curious, Jack followed him, slipping inside as the door shut. The older of the two boys - brothers, Jack assumed - dropped the younger one on his bed and started pulling off his wet clothes and letting the little brother try dress himself in his pajamas.

Once he was dressed again, he left him on the floor to play with a scattering of toy cars and trucks on the ground. The older brother disappeared into another room, probably a bathroom, Jack decided. He found that he was right when, a minute later, a shower turned on.

Jack was alone with the little boy. For lack of anything else to do, he sat down on the floor beside the child, and he watched him play with his toys.

"Vroom! Vroom!" The little boy cried, crawling around on the floor as he rolled the cars on the ground.

Jack smiled. It wasn't playing in the snow, but it was cute. He didn't have much reason to spent time with very small children, but he aged this one at around two or three.

"What's your name?" The boy asked suddenly, not looking up from his cars.

Jack froze and sat up straight. "What?" It almost sounded like he was talking to him. He had stopped making car sounds anyway.

"What's your name?" The boy repeated. He rolled a car on the ground and then looked up at Jack, tilting his head curiously.

Shocked, Jack stared into hazel eyes. Eyes that were staring straight at him, not through him or behind him. At him. At him.

"My name's Sammy," the boy said. "Do you not have name?" He asked. "Or do you not have a voice? My big brother sometimes doesn't have a voice."

"I'm… I'm Jack Frost," Jack said, his voice was hoarse. He hadn't talked to - at - anyone for weeks.

"That's a Christmas song!" Sammy squealed in delight and then he began singing as loud as he could.

"Sammy!" Someone shouted from the next room.

"Sorry Dean," Sammy yelled back, giggling. Jack laughed with him.

Sammy held up his toy car. "Do you like my car? My daddy has one like this. And my Uncle Bobby has loads of cars like these."

"Sammy," the older boy said, poking his head in the door. "Who're you talking to?"

"Jack Frost," Sammy answered turning back to Jack. "This is my big brother, Dean. Do you have any big brothers?"

"Ehh, I don't think so. I don't remember."

"What do you mean you don't –"

Sammy was cut off when he was scooped up by Dean.

"C'mon Sammy." Dean quickly left the area carrying his baby brother towards the kitchenette, and casting a suspicious eye around the room.

"Bye-bye, Jack Frost," Sam called, waving over Dean's shoulder.