Hey, so this is my first ever Rise of the Guardians fanfic. It's a bit different from a bunch of the RotG fics that I've read, but I hope that's okay. I also hope that Jack isn't OOC, but I guess you guys will be the judge of that.

Anyway, I don't own Rise of the Guardians, and I hope you guys enjoy!

WARNING: abuse and the one-time use of a curse word

Monster

It was cold in New York during the winter, which Jack Frost definitely appreciated. As a winter spirit, he tended to roam all places that were cold rather than hot, for the obvious reasons. Here, in a small town several miles away from New York City, it was as if the town were attempting to tell him, "See, I can be cold when I want to be. You don't have to keep going to Alaska and other places each winter. I want snow, too!"

As such, Jack delivered. He had arrived in Bailton early that morning, and already there was a white blanket draped over the town, with even more snow in a continuous fall. Jack was utterly determined to deliver a white Christmas to Bailton, regardless to whether the news reporters had said there would be snow or not (they hadn't). This, he believed, was the time for Bailton to get more snow than it had ever gotten before.

Time that day had passed quickly, as it always did when Jack visited children, and as such the silver-haired, 300 year old teenager wasn't surprised to look up from his fun and find the sky a pinkish purple with orange streaking through it. While it was only about five o'clock, dusk had finally found Bailton, and Jack wasn't keen on missing what he had been waiting for all day. That something was the fireworks that he had heard about. Apparently, despite being a rather small town, Bailton always illuminated the night sky with fireworks on Christmas Eve, right after dusk. And it was Christmas Eve, so Jack Frost found himself zooming through the streets, following the laughing children to the large hill that welcomed people to Bailton.

The thing that bugged Jack, over and over when it was all said and done with and the winter spirit was back with North in the North Pole, was that it was unlikely that he would have gotten involved if he had been any earlier or any later. One less snowball thrown, or even one more, and he would have flew past that alleyway none the wiser. He wouldn't have heard the sobs of a small, eight and a half (the half was always important at that age, Jack remembered, and so the half was included) year old boy. Any earlier and he would have mistaken the growled words of the mugger as someone just a bit too tipsy (just a bit too drunk, actually, but it was a detail that could probably be left out). He wouldn't have heard the sound of the knife sliding across the young woman's throat because knives don't make noise and how could he hear something that wasn't there? Any later and he was sure that the silence would strike again, this time taking down the boy because surely he would recognize them later and persecute them - them being the muggers, of course, because who else would he recognize?

But instead Jack flew by and then careened to a halt in midair, doing an about-face and turning into the alley from which he had heard sobbing. There in front of him were a small boy, a woman who was likely the boy's mother, and three large men. All five were bundled up against the cold, and the boy was familiar enough for Jack to recognize him from the snowball fight that he had begun earlier that day. He and his mother had likely been on their way home when they ran into the men blocking their way.

Said men had the two innocents cornered, two armed with knives and one with a switchblade. All three had scowls marring their faces. Jack guessed that the leader was the one apparently addressing the mother and son. The man may have been handsome once upon a time, but since then a scar had been added, going from the man's left ear up over his nose and ending below his right eye. The other two men were, in Jack's opinion, just naturally ugly. Each of them, however, didn't appear to be enjoying the snow like everyone else. No, they had cornered the two people with the intent to do harm - something that, Jack was beginning to realize, he would be unable to stop.

From his position, he watched as the woman pulled her wallet from her purse and offered it to the leader, who yanked it from her hand and shoved her against the wall at the same time. At that Jack started forward, finally broken from his shocked daze.

"Hey!" He yelled, "Leave them alone!"

But no one turned. The woman's face twisted with pain, the boy gave a cry of "Mommy!", and the three men laughed. But not one of them acknowledged him. He was like the very air that all of them breathed - invisible, not noticed, and certainly the men didn't appear to believe that the woman needed it, because they had begun to beat her.

It started when the leader peered into her wallet and, even after shaking its contents onto the frozen ground, discovered only a couple of one dollar bills, some quarters, and one lonely penny. He shook his fist at her, yelling something about "stupid woman", "can't she see we need it", and "the stupid bastard son who probably took all o' the dough". Within seconds, though, his shaking fist turned into a swinging fist, and she crumpled to the ground in the snow. After that, the men began to kick her, ignoring her cries for help and her son's wails.

Jack watched in horror, still unable to do anything because they didn't believe in him. He turned to the alley's entrance, rushing out into the crowd of kids still coming to see the fireworks, and wondering how nobody heard the people in the alley. But the crowd was too loud, and the fireworks were beginning to go off, and those people in the alley probably wouldn't be discovered until later that night when the men when were all gone and the mother and son murdered.

"Please!" He screamed, beginning to shake as person after person after person shoved their way through him. He looked back at the group in the alley, and he saw something that he would never forget. The little boy reached into his pocket, still screaming for the men to let his mother be, and pulled out some change. It wasn't much, likely just a couple of nickels and maybe a dime, but he pushed it toward the men and didn't cry when he was hit, the coins knocked out of his small, mittened hand. The coins joined the other money on the snow covered ground, and then the men went back to beating the woman. The little boy, just like Jack, was being ignored.

"Don't let this happen!" Jack pleaded. "Please, they need help!" He continued shaking, soon realizing that there were goosebumps rising on his arms, but he knew they weren't from the cold outside. He couldn't get cold. His goosebumps were from the cold inside, the cold that came when he glanced back and saw the leader raising his knife to deal the final blow against the woman. His goosebumps were from the cold inside that came when he saw that the man was getting ready to slit the woman's throat and murder her in cold blood.

"Please…" He begged again, feeling a lone tear beginning the lonely journey down his cheek. It didn't get far, instead freezing on his cheekbone.

Jack glanced back again, desperate, and then he saw the snow. He almost froze again, but saw the knife and he dove. But he didn't dive for the knife. He didn't dive for one of the men, or the women, or even for the little boy who was still wailing because he was about to lose his mother to someone who simply didn't care. He dove for the snow.

He scooped it up in one hand, packing it in one motion, and threw it at the teenaged boy passing the alley. The teenager turned, frowning, as if wondering who had just hit him - with a snowball, of all things. The first thing he saw, though, wasn't Jack. No, his gaze went straight through the Guardian and landed on the scene farther back in the alley. Blue eyes went wide, and he gave a yell as he rushed into the alley. Behind him came two more boys and a girl, most likely all friends of the first teen who had noticed him run into the alley.

Jack leapt out of the way of the four teens, watching with relief as the first boy tackled the leader, effectively saving the woman's life right before her neck was slit. The girl and the other boys tackled the other two men.

The Guardian stayed for a while after, watching as the police, a firetruck, and an ambulance all wailed their way up to the alley, pushing people back. The teens were all questioned, the mother and son taken to the hospital to be properly examined, and the three men snapped into handcuffs and loaded into the back of a police cruiser.

Even later, when the alley was empty except for some police tape blocking the alley, he stayed. He waited on the rooftop, watching the skies until a large red sleigh landed on the roof. Jack didn't say anything, only stepping into the sleigh and settling back, staring down at the place that had changed his definition of 'monster' for the rest of his life - however long that would end up being. He ignored North, ignored the large man's greeting, and his shock at seeing the police tape, and his question of, "Jack, vat did you do zis time?"

He stayed silent, and remembered how, once the teens had been questioned and were exiting the alley, the boy that he had hit with the snowball had met his eyes and given a tiny wave and a smile. So maybe his gaze hadn't gone straight through Jack the first time. No, maybe he had simply seen the full picture and recognized which one needed to be addressed first - and, for once, it wasn't the strange kid standing barefoot in the snow. He had done what was needed, though, and he had whispered a "Hi, Jack Frost," as he passed.

Jack stayed silent, and realized that it had not just been his definition of monster that needed to be reevaluated, but also his definition of faith.

So this is the end! Again, I hope you all enjoyed, and please review!