So originally this story was part of my ROTG collection of story arcs and drabbles "Winterspell". However, as this arc turned into something significantly bigger than any other arc in that collection, I long ago promised that I would extract it and give it its own story. Several years later, voila. There were 11 chapters of this originally posted in "Winterspell" and in there I said that I would complete the arc when I gave it its own story. I then promptly vanished for, like, two years. My bad. Anyway, finally, I am happy to present Big Four.

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership to any recognizable content or characters.

The mood in Santa's Workshop is unnaturally somber and quiet, the air itself seemingly weighing down on the souls of every being inside. Production has stopped, leaving the Yeti listless and gloomy, tucked away in a lonely room, hiding from the world outside their hidey-hole. The elves, usually so cheery and obnoxious, have stopped their jingling bells and wide smiles; instead, they are standing sentinel in the halls, their small heads lowered.

No sound emanates from the large workshop rooms, or from the single main office where Russian music usually plays loudly. The Workshop seems dead and lacking in its usual gleeful wonder, and one must think it has been deserted.

Hidden away in a lonely chamber is Santa Claus himself, apparently unaware of how depressing his prized palace of joy and wonder has become. Santa himself seems to be the embodiment of everything that is wrong with his home: his eyes are bleary and bloodshot, void of their normal merry twinkle. Nicholas St. North's cheeks are pallid, no longer their jolly rosy red, and his beard is wild and tangled, looking as if it hasn't been properly cared for in days. North's bright red coat is absent, revealing his rumpled, stained shirt and his frayed trousers. Curiously, his boots are also missing from his feet, discarded in a pile beside his chair. North himself is slumped over his desk, his head cupped in his hands and his fingers digging into his scalp. Beside his elbow is a large empty bottle of Russian vodka.

Though hard to tell from his position, North is, in fact, fully conscious. His lacklustre blue eyes are trained on a single wooden doll lying in front of him. The doll itself is not an unusual sight: after all, this is Santa's Workshop, therefore it is full to the brim with toys of all types. Indeed, North has one such doll himself, only his doll's colouring is significantly different. Whereas North's doll has big eyes and a main red colouring, the one currently in front of him has a striking resemblance to a particular winter spirit.

Despite the fact that the doll brings tears to his eyes – though none fall, he has run out long ago – he cannot bring his gaze away from the small figurine. North finally shifts and moves shaking fingers to the doll, brushing his thumb against the wooden boy's cheek.

Suddenly, North sweeps his hand across the desk, sending the doll and several unfinished mechanisms crashing to the floor. He glares at the abused pieces for a minute before breaking his gaze away, unable to bear having the innocent blue eyes of the doll stare up at him in betrayal. As his eyes rise, they land on the empty bottle of alcohol. It takes a moment for what he is seeing to register with him. Once it does, North wrinkles his nose in disgust at himself and harshly pushes away from the desk. His chair squeaks against the floor in protest, but North pays his screaming furniture no mind as he heaves to his feet and staggers to the other side of the room, where a large bed resides.

Immediately, North slides under the covers, staring up at his ceiling blankly. He attempts to shut off his mind enough to fall into the waves of tempting sleep, but he is unsuccessful. His mind buzzes and hums, rendering him unsusceptible to slumber.

Briefly, he considers using the small amount of dream sand Sandy had left them all after the event. The Sandman must have known they would have trouble sleeping tonight. Of course he had, how could they not have trouble silencing their thoughts enough to rest after what happened? North soon discards the notion. He does not deserve peaceful sleep, not when it is his fault this tragedy occurred.

So, North lets his mind absently bounce off random thoughts, all the while feeling a chilling numbness seeping into his very being. Slowly, ever so slowly, his thoughts veer off into another direction than elves and rockets; into a more unwelcome, more miserable direction. North is cautious to let his thoughts wander so, but eventually gives in to his persistent subconscious nagging.

First, North brings the boy's smiling face to mind – the boy's, not Jack's, he cannot think of him as their Jack – focusing on the look of his smile, the sound of his chiming laughter. North carefully avoids thinking of his eyes; he can't imagine those eyes, the ones that he had watched the light fade from. North's own eyes shut as another tear makes its track down his cheek, surprising him with the fact that he does, in fact, have more tears to shed. His mind floats back to that day, to that moment.

-ROTG-

The world seems to slow down, and the air becomes stale and suffocating. North is hardly aware that he is stumbling forwards, lurching and tripping, dropping his swords and falling to his knees beside the pair. The others are close behind him, but North is more focused on Tooth and her precious cargo. Jack is limp in her arms, looking so small and frail that North feels his heart pang with misery.

Tooth is shaking like a leaf, and normally, North would comfort her, but he keeps his eyes trained on the horribly young-looking boy in her embrace. Jack's hair seems duller than his usual brilliant white, seemingly grey against the light dusting of snow covering the ground. His eyes are thin slits, hardly showing his bright blue irises. North doesn't notice when he lowers a large hand to the boy's hair, brushing the stray strands out of his face.

He is speaking, urging under his breath for Jack to open his eyes, to speak, to move, to do anything to indicate he can comprehend what is going on. But the winter spirit remains still, his only movement being the irregular and faint rising and falling of his chest.

It's not until North realizes that Bunny and Sandy are crouched closely beside them when Jack's hand twitches and a tiny groan slips forth from his pale lips. North's mumbles and whispers abruptly cut off, and he leans forward with baited breath.

"Jack?" Tooth breathes as his eyes flutter. "Sweet Tooth?" Her voice wavers, sounding choked as she struggles to stop the tears falling..

A quiet moan emerges from Jack as his head turns to the side. "Wha'…. Wha'appened?" His voice is thick and nearly incoherent. Jack squints up at them, eyes unfocussed and clearly pained. "No'th," he slurs, "No'th…"

-ROTG-

Santa wrenches his eyes open and lunges into a sitting position, breathing heavy and eyes wide as they search around wildly. He peers out the large window opposite his bed, glancing through the slight parting in the curtains. The sky outside his Workshop is pure darkness, blotting out the stars. North can only see a sliver of the moon, and for this he is incredibly glad. Manny must be hiding his face from them – which he should, North thinks bitterly.

Deciding that he doesn't dare try to fall asleep again, in case he dreams of that day once more, North leaves the warm cocoon of his bed in favour of the somewhat chilly corner where he stores his sketches of toy ideas. On a whim, North pulls out a recent design sketch, smoothing out the paper and examining the drawing.

The toy was inspired by the winter spirit himself several months ago; he had been idly playing with the elves, freezing the ones that cheated in their game of tag. North is still mystified at how one manages to cheat in such a game, but Jack had insisted that the unfortunate frozen elves had deserved it for violating the sacred rules of the game. While the boy and elves had enjoyed their fun immensely, North had been struck with an idea. What if he gave children the chance to 'elf bowl' as Jack loved to do?

The concept is quite simple really: it's like a usual game of bowling, only the pins are little robotic elves that try to avoid the ball, and the ball itself is designed like a rough snowball, making it difficult to accurately aim. North hadn't brought up the game idea with Jack, having decided to wait until he made the first prototype.

Now it seems like North shall never get that chance. With this thought, North crumples the sketch in his hand, throwing it angrily to the ground. The paper bounces off the floor before coming to a rest beside his bare feet. North's eyes prick with tears again, and he viciously kicks away the paper ball. Slamming a fist onto his desk, North slumps into his chair, scrunching his eyes shut. It has only been less than a week since the event, and North cannot keep his mind from traveling back in time no matter how hard he tries.

-ROTG-

"Jack, you must open eyes now," North orders desperately, roughly shaking his shoulder.

The boy does as he says, humming in pain as he squints. "Tired," he mutters quietly, eyes fluttering again. "Hurts, No'th. Tired."

Jack's breathing is scarily laboured and rough, dragging in uneven amounts of air and expelling it with difficulty. Jack's hand twitches again, moving up towards his chest. His fingers weakly dig into the fabric of his blue jumper as he plucks at it, so as to unstick it from his chest.

Tooth gently bats his hand away, her teary eyes going to the bloodstain smack dab in the middle of his chest. "No, Jack," she says softly, "you can't do that. Your jumper is the only thing slowing down the bleeding."

Jack frowns and struggles to get a better look, but gasps and falls back with tightly closed eyes. He whimpers in pain, and the sound breaks North's heart. "H-Hurts," Jack gulps, "Bad. Can't – Can't breathe."

"Jack," North begins, growing anxious when he gets no response. "Jack!"

The winter spirit manages to open his eyes and look at him, even forcing a smile that nearly sends North sobbing. "No'th," he pants, "not your fault. P'omise. Not your fault."

Santa feels tears slide down his cheeks as he stares at the injured boy before him. "Jack," he chokes, "you should not have done that! You should not have taken attack for me! I should have – You might – " North breaks off into a bout of choked cries.

"No'th," Jack breathes, expression stern despite his rapidly weakening state and obvious pain. "Not your fault." His face suddenly relaxes, and his death grip on his staff loosens considerably. His eyes gain a peaceful look, and the others immediately panic, demanding him to stay awake and talk to them, look at them. "I…" he trails off, "M'Sorry."

With that, his eyes flick to North, and Santa watches with crushing grief and guilt as the mischievous and lively sparkle leaves the boy's eyes.

-ROTG-

The funeral had been held the next day, after denial had been proven impossible and they had all come to accept the fact that Jack, their Jack, is gone. Accept, maybe, but not forget or move on. North doesn't think they will ever move on, and they will certainly never forget; how can they, when Jack's presence remains in everything and everywhere in their homes?

It is for this reason that North hasn't left his chambers since the funeral. He has allowed the Yetis a period of rest from working, giving them a time to mourn as well. No matter how much of a nuisance Jack had made himself out to be for them, all of the furry winter creatures had loved and cared for him in their own way, especially Phil.

The elves are something North is somewhat unsure of. They are grieving also; a surprise, considering North was unaware they knew what was going on and who was who. Perhaps they are smarter than he thought they were. Jack had played with the elves every time he had been at the Pole; which had been frequently, since he later decided to take North up on his offer of moving in. North understands now that Jack just had something about him that made everyone that bothered to spend time with him love him, be they spirit, child, or some other mythical being.

For the first time, North briefly hates this about Jack. If the boy had been just a little more unlovable, a little less child-like and wonder-filled, then maybe North wouldn't have cared as much, and maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad now that he's gone. Of course, this thought doesn't last long. His childish wonder and fun spirit are some of the things North loved most about Jack, he couldn't really hate him for possessing these qualities. Even so, this doesn't help the fact that North has no idea how to go on without Jack in his life, waking him up in the mornings with the sound of his laughter and the annoyed grumbling of the Yeti, watching him eagerly as he sculpts his toy designs, making his life so joyful and fun. Without Jack, without his son, North's world seems bleak and unimaginative. He no longer sees the lights in the trees or the wonder in the air without the winter spirit, and he has no idea how he had lived without Jack for so long.

The Easter Bunny's Warren is a place of hope, of new beginnings, of life. E. Aster Bunnymund is supposed to be the embodiment of all these things. He is supposed to nurture hope in all living things, to discreetly assure them that things will get better, and that all is not lost. His Warren, his home, is supposed to be lively and bright, able to instil hope in even the deadest of hearts, and awaken the dreams in those who have long given up. The plants are supposed to burst with a variety of colours, forever in full bloom. The grass is supposed to always be emerald green and inviting, a perfect canvas for the streams of beautiful paint and googie-flowers. New born egglets are supposed to be romping around in the meadows, splashing each other with colours and running around on spindly legs.

These are all things that the Warren should be, and usually is. These are also all things that the Warren currently holds none of. The plants are wilted and dulled, the grass sad-looking and sick, the paint streams almost dried and still, and the egglets look lonely as they solemnly gather around a thicket of trees, in which holds the entrance to their master's rooms. The egg golems stand guard outside, their stone faces seemingly remorseful as they stop the eager egglets from going inside.

Deep under the thicket is Bunny's biggest room, where he sleeps. This is where he currently resides, although he is definitely not sleeping. He is curled in the corner, ears pressed against his skull and his eyes particularly blank. He seems to be studying the wall opposite of him, though his eyes seem to be staring off into nothingness. Only one egglet is with him: the only egglet he has granted access to. The googie is clutched protectively in his grasp, his furry paws cupping it gently.

This egglet is specially painted. Bunny had made it only a few weeks ago as a surprise for Jack. It is light blue, the colour of a cool winter sky, with a few dustings of white spread across it for a snow-like effect. It really is beautiful, and Bunny had been really proud of it. Now it only serves as an agonizing reminder that their youngest Guardian is no more. Bunny would have left the little egglet outside, forgotten, if in doing so hadn't reminded him of Jack: the egglet really is a winter googie, and for Bunny to discard it outside his home and leave it all alone is just like the first three-hundred years of Jack Frost's existence. It would be cruel.

So Bunny cradles the googie close, ears drooped and eyes blank as his mind sucks him unwillingly into the events of a few days ago.

-ROTG-

The fight is going well. Pitch's rather pitiful nightmares are easily dispersed, even though there are many. The Guardians are clearly winning, and Bunny is feeling confident. Until it happens.

Bunny looks up, a smirk in place as he prepares to gloat about his rather impressive attack. His boomerangs are clenched victoriously in his paws, trails of nightmare sand falling loose from his weapons. "Oi, North! Didja see that?" he calls out smugly, eyes catching on the jolly man as he chops at the swarm of nightmares with ease. Bunny would have called out to Frostbite if the kid had been in sight, but North had been located quicker.

Santa raises his head and searches for the source of the shout, letting out a bark of laughter when he notices Bunny. "Ah! Good one, old friend!" he congratulates, even though it's clear he hasn't seen the attack. "Very good! Fight shall be over soon, no?"

That's when it happens. While North is distracted talking to Bunny, Pitch discreetly rises up behind him, a long silver dagger already in hand. If it wasn't for Bunny initiating North in conversation, the Cossack would have noticed and prepared himself. As it is, North doesn't realize until it's too late.

"Ah, North!" Bunny cries out in warning, even though he knows it won't do any good. "Behind ya! Bloody coward sneaking up behind people!" He dashes closer to North on all fours, but doesn't arrive fast enough.

Just as North spins around to face Pitch and Bunny reaches the large man's shoulder, Pitch's dagger is halfway to its target. North tenses beside Bunny as he waits for impact, knowing that it is too late to defend himself.

"No! North!"

Bunny hears the yell a millisecond before Jack comes into view, barrelling towards them, his face determined. "Frostbite? What are ya – " Before Bunny can finish, the dagger strikes. Only, Jack falls to the ground instead of North.

"Jack!" Bunny cries, freezing as terror and horror crash over him. Tooth is the first to reach him, skidding on the ground as she tries to stop beside him. Bunny remains frozen until he hears the morbid, soft laughter of the Nightmare King. "Ya bloody ratbag," he whispers in disgust, his eyes blazing with fury. "Ya'll pay fer this, Pitch!"

-ROTG-

Bunny remembers the moment when he watched Jack fall from the sky perfectly. He clearly recalls every emotion he had felt, every fear and horror. He also remembers watching the life leave Jack. That was the moment everything he stood for seemed to crumble. What good is hope now that Jack's dead? No amount of hope will bring him back. How can they even think of new beginnings, a new life without Jack Frost, their own personal Guardian ankle-biter? And life? What life? Jack has no life in him! He's dead! He's gone! How can Bunny bring hope to kids when he doesn't even feel it anymore?

Bunny doesn't know how to carry on anymore. With Jack dead, nothing is happy, nothing is hopeful, nothing is fun. The Warren is lifeless and lonely without the familiar sounds of Jack's light footsteps on the grass, the faint crackling of frost forming on Bunny's flowers, the whistling of the Wind as it encourages Jack's pranks.

It certainly doesn't help that it's Bunny's fault he's gone. If he hadn't called out to North, then the Cossack would've been able to defend himself against Pitch's attack, and Jack wouldn't have had to sacrifice himself to save the man. However you look at it, it always leads back to Bunny. In a sense, Bunny killed his little brother. He killed Frostbite.

The thought makes Bunny curl into a tighter ball and hug the egglet closer to his chest. He refuses to cry. He will be strong. He will bottle it up so as to help the others grieve. He doesn't deserve the chance to cry over Jack's death, not when he caused it. He will suffer in silence, because that's what Jack deserves. The winter spirit deserves to be respected, especially by his killer.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bunny knows his thoughts are irrational. He hadn't been the one to throw that dagger: it had been Pitch. Pitch had made the fatal strike against the boy, and Pitch is to blame. But that doesn't change the fact that Bunny will now have to live the rest of eternity without the young Frost child, all because he had wanted to gloat.

Bunny straightens and determinedly stands, gently setting the special egglet on the ground and pushing it towards the door. The googie travels to the exit unsteadily then hesitates. It turns around and seems to watch the pooka curiously. Bunny stills and stares at the egglet – it even acts like bloody Frost!

"Go on," he tells it. "Shoo! Go be with the others. I wanna be alone right now."

The egglet bobs its body and spins around, marching out of the room. Bunny sighs and sinks back down to the floor, resting his head against the wall. "I can't do it," he whispers to the walls. "I don't know how ta go back ta how it was before Jack was a Guardian. I don't think I can do that again. Not now that I know what it was like with 'im a part of the team. He helped us become closer – become a family. I dunno how ta forget that. I don't think I wanna forget that."

-ROTG-

"Hey, Bunny," Jack laughs as he swings his staff at an oncoming nightmare. "I bet I can defeat more nightmares than you!"

Bunny halts in his assault and snorts. "Yeah, right. Yer a scrawny little spirit whose only weapon is a thin stick! I can totally beat more than ya."

Jack grins in excitement, lazily swiping at a nightmare as he pretends to consider. "Is that a challenge, Kangaroo?"

Bunny bristles. "How many times do I haveta tell ya? I am not a kangaroo! 'Sides, it's not a challenge when there's no competition. Like I said, I'll totally flatten ya at yer own game. Prepare to be beaten, Frostbite!"

Jack whoops, thrusting his fist into the air as he cheers. "You're on!" he exclaims happily. "When we get back to the Pole you can announce me as the winner in front of all the others! And when I win, you have to agree that you are a kangaroo! Deal?"

Bunny thinks about it. "Eh, why not? Yer gonna lose anyway. Deal!"

"Yes!" Jack shouts before plunging into the mass of nightmares and out of Bunny's sight.

-ROTG-

Bunny mulls over the fight in his mind, even though it makes him nauseas and strikes him with grief once more. He swallows with difficulty and chuckles humorlessly. "I'll be," he murmurs. "You win, Frostbite. Ya got more nightmares than me." Bunny breathes deeply, lowering his head. "Sorry I never got the chance to carry out our deal. Guess I am a kangaroo, after all."

Sandy is huddled on his dream cloud. He wishes he were home, or maybe at the Pole, that way he wouldn't have to be alone, but he still has dreams to grant children. The things the young ones' imaginations dream up almost make him want to cry. Some of the children are as creative as Jack, and imagine big snowball fights, swimming with dolphins, or even battling Captain Hook. The mere act of thinking up happy things to put in dreams exhausts Sandy.

He has trouble thinking of happy things for the children that don't have enough of an imagination to think up their own dreams. He constantly thinks that Jack would have millions of brilliant ideas, and his eyes would be sparkling with excitement as he rattled off a list of things kids would love to dream about. Sandy tries to stop this train of thought, but he can't get the image of Jack's grinning face out of his head. So he sends the image out to the children, giving them dreams about a young boy who was all about fun, and loved to play tricks on unsuspecting victims.

When this seems to work, Sandy starts to give out dreams of his memories of Jack. Children start to dream of a spirit who argues with the Easter Bunny, who laughs with Santa Claus, and who urges the Tooth Fairy to have more fun and work less. Sandy can feel the happy contentment coming off the children in waves as they sleep and dream, and he wishes he can feel like that.

Instead, Sandy is filled with pulses of grief and loneliness. Jack would usually accompany him on his nightly rounds, bouncing ideas off him, or recounting the fun he had that day. Sometimes they just sat in companionable silence. Sandy misses this the most, he thinks. The other Guardians have trouble understanding what he says most of the time, and usually just push him out of the conversation. They don't do it to be mean, and Sandy doesn't really mind, but it does get a little lonely.

Jack was the one who really tried to understand his symbols, and directly spoke to him in a conversation. Jack was the one who seemed to be okay with the fact that Sandy sometimes preferred not to converse, but just enjoy each other's company instead.

But now he's gone, and the world is wrong. No more frozen power lines and cheerful greetings. No more silent companionship. No more pranking together. No more snowball fights. No more teasing. No more joy, no more fun. No more Jack.

It's only then that Sandy realizes how quiet, and lonely the world can be. It's awful, and Sandy hates it. He wonders how Jack could've stood it all those years – and then he realizes. Jack had no choice. It's not like he could talk to somebody to break the spell of loneliness. There was no one. Jack had been completely alone.

Out of all the Guardians, Sandy had thought that he had known what it was like for Jack the most. Sandy had certainly been the one who had interacted with the boy the most – and even that had been rare occasions. Only now does he know how little he understood Jack's first three-hundred years of existence. Now he believes he is all too aware of how terrible it had been. Yes, Sandy still has the other Guardians to be with, but he knows things will not be the same without their energetic Frost boy. The only reason they have grown so close and become a family is because Jack had been made one of them and brought it on. Without him, what is the reason to gather at the Pole every other day? Why should they have dinner at North's every week? Why should Tooth and Sandy drop by the Workshop just before they start their rounds so that Jack may accompany them? There is no Jack anymore. No Jack to play tricks on Bunny as he complains about the cold, no Jack to exclaim in awe over the amounts of delicious food at North's table, no Jack to help Tooth gather teeth or spread dreams with Sandy. He's gone, and Sandy knows he has left a permanent, lonely Jack-sized hole in all their hearts.

The Sandman stops his dream creating, knowing that his despairing thoughts are making the sleeping children below uncomfortable and uneasy. With a silent sigh, Sandy prepares to leave and give up on his rounds – the children can go without a night of dreams, especially since there is no Pitch to worry about any longer.

-ROTG-

It's one of those times where Sandy wishes he isn't a mute. He watches with enraged anguish as the silver dagger leaves Pitch's hand and flies in an arc towards the awaiting Cossack. Sandy wants nothing more than to call out, to stop that knife, but all he can do is observe as a blue blur zips in between the Nightmare King and Guardian. From his position in front of it all, Sandy can see everything, even Jack as he stops in his flight, intentionally getting in the way of the dagger. He sees the weapon sinking through the fabric of the boy's jumper and into his chest, tunnelling in to the hilt.

Jack's eyes widen and his hands fly up to his chest, his staff still in his grasp. But the Wind loses its grip on him, and the winter spirit begins his fall. Beside him, Tooth screams out and shoots after him, but Sandy remains where he is, mouth open and eyes horrified. All he can see clearly is the growing, vivid red stain on Jack's jumper and the insubstantial, shadow-like hilt protruding out of his chest.

He doesn't awaken from his shocked trance until Bunny's growled threats reach his ears. Sandy jerkily turns his head, spotting the Easter Bunny a few feet away. The Guardian looks utterly furious, his paws clenched at his sides even as they shake. Sandy can easily detect the pain and panic behind the fury in the rabbit's eyes, indicating that even though Bunny wants nothing more than to be at Jack's side and make sure all is not lost, that there is still hope, he believes that Pitch is to be dealt with first.

Sandy thinks he is right. Jack will not be able to properly rest unless they can assure him that Pitch Black is not a threat anymore. With this thought in mind, pushing back the awful memory of seeing the dagger sink into Jack's chest, Sandy forms his sand-whips, purposely making them longer and thicker than normal.

He advances on the Nightmare King, eyes narrowed and face set. His usually bright, welcoming round face doesn't hold even a glimmer of his usual kindness. Sandy hadn't been this furious since Pitch loosed an arrow at the Sandman himself, and even then Sandy hadn't been like this. It's different: this is Jack. Pitch hasn't struck Sandy, or North, or the other two elder Guardians. No, he has struck Jack, the child, the youngest, the baby of the group. Like it or not, Bunny and Sandy aren't going to let him go unpunished. Not even close.

-ROTG-

Sandy is quite confident that Pitch will not dare show his face again for at least several centuries. Not if he has any sense of self-preservation. If he does, Sandy will happily loose North and Tooth on him – goodness knows they deserve to have their chance at ripping him to shreds. No, Sandy decides, they won't have to deal with Pitch for a long time.

Sandy packs up his streams of dream sand, dispersing them in his hands. Then he warps his cloud into his preferred plane and forms goggles to snap over his eyes. As he does so, Sandy catches sight of a sliver of the moon, and stills.

Manny had been the one to send them out to fight Pitch. He hadn't told them that Pitch had the intent and gall to kill one of them. Unlike North, and perhaps Bunny – maybe even Tooth – Sandy doesn't blame the Man in the Moon, at least not completely. Sure, Sandy isn't at all happy with his old friend, and maybe he does harbor a little bit of bitter feelings for Jack's sake, but he knows Manny is just doing his job. Perhaps it had been unavoidable, therefore pointless to inform his Guardians that Pitch had a dagger and was willing to use it.

As Sandy flies his plane over the Atlantic Ocean, he allows his mind to skim over his memories of Jack's funeral.

-ROTG-

It's a quiet affair, with only the Guardians, Yeti, elves, and a few bucket-loads of Tooth's fairies attending. The Guardians had informed Jack's seasonal friends of his passing, and had offered them an invite, but they had declined, preferring to have their own service for Jack. Secretly, the Guardians are pleased with this development.

Sandy knows that they would find it awkward, mourning alongside Jack's friends, who had known him for far longer. At the same time, Sandy is also aware that though the Guardians and Jack had only been together for a few years, they were more like family than friends.

Jack's staff is laid out on the floor, on top of the Guardian mural, the crook resting on Jack's space. His body is not here: since he was an elemental, Mother Nature has laid claim to his lifeless shell. She has allowed them to keep his staff, though, despite the fact that she doesn't quite understand the sentimental meaning behind it.

Candles surround Jack's picture on the floor, and Sandy learns that it was the same way for his funeral. North's elves look forlorn as they stand in a large circle in front of the Guardians, the little bells on their heads sounding incredibly sad as they slowly ring them in sync with each other. The Yeti stand behind them, heads lowered and hands clasped.

The only sound is the depressing chiming of the elves, and the occasional sniffling from Tooth's fairies. Baby Tooth is the only one sitting on Tooth's shoulder, her tiny cheeks shining with tears and her feathers dull. Tooth herself is not much better, standing on her feet instead of hovering in the air like usual. Bunny stands opposite of her, his head bowed and ears drooped. He hardly moves. North, beside Tooth, is silent and hunched, eyes oddly blank as he keeps them trained on the staff.

Sandy has his hands clasped in front of him, eyes closed and a sad frown in place. A single elf toddles forward and kneels beside the staff, lowering his pointy hat to his chest and tugging on the bell with tiny hands. It comes off suddenly, falling through the elf's fingers and bouncing against the ground, making broken jingling sounds. The elf clumsily reaches for it, grabbing hold and clutching it protectively. He scoots closer to the staff and lays the bell beside it, patting the stick slowly before clambering to his feet and skipping away.

North nods to the elf as it passes, forcing a weak smile as the elf waves up at him. Baby Tooth then pushes off from Tooth's shoulder, dropping down beside the staff and laying a single tooth and miniscule feather next to it.

"Jack's first baby tooth," Tooth whispers in a choked voice, a fresh wave of tears cascading down. "Baby Tooth thought it was a-appropriate since the l-last time we fought Pitch he g-got his memories. She also wanted to put something for herself, so that's one of her first feathers."

Sandy nods in understanding and places a gentle hand on the fairy's arm. Tooth's frame shakes as she takes a deep breath. A gruff sound is heard behind him, and Sandy turns to see Phil. The Yeti shifts, rubbing his face and stepping backwards. Sandy sends him a sympathetic look, sending a gentle, discreet, wave of soothing dream sand throughout the whole room.

-ROTG-

Sandy arrives at his home quickly, eager to be alone and away from things that may remind him of Jack. But as his sand-plane evaporates into different streams of sand, one particular strand catches his eye. It breaks off into several clumps, two of which that form into dolphins. Sandy is frozen as he watches the sand-dolphins swimming in the air. Then he swipes his small arm through the figures, leaving them shapeless. Sandy sinks back down to the ground, scrunching his eyes shut as thin trails of tears made of sand fall down his cheeks.

Tooth has locked herself away in the room full of children's memories. Golden canisters line the walls, reaching up to the clouds in the sky. This room has no ceiling – her whole palace lacks such a structure. The walls, however, reach so high that penetration from above is practically impossible, though not entirely. Pitch had, of course, been able to break in and steal all of the memories. Since then, security has been heightened considerably. Currently, Tooth is sat in the corner, the only one without the stacks of canisters.

In her hands are two cylinders, one of the brightest gold, and the other the palest of silvers. Both have pictures on front, both depicting a young boy. The first, the golden one, has the drawing of a boy of about eight-years-old, with unruly brown hair, bright matching eyes and a trouble-making grin. Tooth clutches this one close to her chest, while the other one, in the other hand, is held in front of her. This one is minimally bigger than the other, with a drawing of a young teenage boy. He has unruly white hair and sparkling blue eyes, but with the same mischievous smile as the other canister.

The two cylinders are memory holders, both for the same boy, but one holding mortal memories, and the other holding immortal. Tooth refuses to release either of them, instead opting to study every nook and crevice in each of them, and the effect every tear has on them when they fall from her eye and land on the canister.

Tooth knows her fairies are outside, deeply concerned for her. She knows they are grieving as well, and she wishes she could give them all a time to mourn, but there are thousands of teeth to collect and they cannot risk missing a night's work. All she can do is give Baby Tooth time off – goodness knows the little fairy needs it. Tooth hasn't seen her little fairy – no, Jack's little fairy – since the funeral. Tooth is worried for Baby Tooth, but she knows she won't be any good, not when she can't leave this room herself.

The best she can do for her mini-fairy is give her space and a chance to grieve in her own way, much like the Guardians are all doing for each other. Tooth vaguely thinks that they are going about mourning Jack in the wrong way: surely he wouldn't want them to suffer all alone, in silence? They all know how he hated being isolated from everyone, being lonely and sad and having no fun at all. At the same time, Tooth can't help but think that being together without him will be unbearably painful. His absence will be all the more obvious and the get-together will achieve nothing but strike them with more grief and pain.

Tooth exhales softly, catching a tear in her palm. She stares at it for a moment, watching as the light reflects off the droplet in bright sparkles. Then she flings out her hand and the droplet goes flying through the air, and Tooth shakily gets to her feet, not even bothering to try and fly. So she walks to the other end of the large room, counting the steps as she goes. When she gets to one-hundred-sixty-three, she stops in front of a large column of teeth canisters and runs her fingertips over the cylinders.

Her fingers stop at a small hole, which usually holds a single memory box. Juggling both cylinders in her right hand, Tooth gently takes the golden one in her left hand and slowly slides it back into place, after casting it another sad look. Left with only the silver box, Tooth mentally debates as she stares at it. The light catches the picture on the front, and Tooth's eyes are drawn to the image.

It's obviously Jack. That colourless hair and trouble-maker eyes are impossible to forget. Tooth's other hand slowly floats up to it and traces the outline of his face and she sinks back down to the floor. She curls her legs up to her feathered chest, keeping the canister close to her face. Tooth's wings flutter briefly before stilling, and she rests her head against the wall of canisters. Her fingers dance over every surface of the memory container in her grasp, memorizing every corner and dent, every shape and scratch.

Usually, Tooth's memory containers are incredibly well cared for and loved, and there's hardly a scratch on any of them. Jack's immortal memories, however, were always at the back – so much so that Tooth had almost forgotten them completely when Manny chose him to be a Guardian. Tooth feels immensely guilty for this, and hugs the cylinder tightly to her heart, shutting her eyes and bowing her head over her hands.

As she cries, she feels a tiny, warm form snuggle into her hands. She brings her head back to see one of her faithful little fairies. The birthmark under her eye gives Tooth a way to identify the fairy as Baby Tooth. The bigger fairy tries to give the little one a weak smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. Tooth gently shifts the memory cylinder into her lap and cups her little fairy in her palms.

"Hello, little one," she says softly, her voice quiet and raw from crying. "Where have you been?"

Baby Tooth leans into Tooth's hands, chirping sadly and closing her odd-coloured eyes. Tooth sighs and runs a thumb over her little fairy's head, smoothing back the tiny feathers. "I know," she whispers. Baby Tooth opens her eyes and peers at her curiously, but with strangely blank eyes. "I know," Tooth repeats, "I miss him, too."

Baby Tooth nuzzles into Tooth's hands, curling into a tiny, tight ball. Tooth covers her with her other hand, slowly bringing her hands back to her chest and resuming her former position. "I miss him," she says again. "He was in my arms, and he died. I miss him, too, Baby Tooth."

-ROTG-

Tooth is crying without reservation, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks and her air getting caught in her throat. She is unable to speak; all she can do is clutch the winter spirit in her arms even tighter, burying her face in the fabric of his jumper.

She carefully avoids looking at the steadily growing red stain on his chest, instead keeping her eyes trained on his face. She has one arm wrapped around his waist, and the other under his shoulders. She had caught him as he fell, just before he hit the ground, and had refused to release him. The sight of the hilt in his chest makes her sick, but she can't bring herself to look away from him.

North is on his other side, murmuring something desperately under his breath. Tooth lets out a breathless cry as Bunny and Sandy kneel beside them, and Jack moves. His groan physically hurts Tooth, and her grip automatically tightens on the boy.

His eyes flutter open, and Tooth shivers at the look of pain in his bright blue eyes. "Jack?" she says, hearing the fear and tears in her own voice. "Sweet Tooth?" She tries to continue, but the words get lodged in her throat as Jack's eyes finally focus.

He hums, shifting in her arms. "Wha'…" he mumbles, eyes sliding around as he squints upwards. "Wha'appened?"

Tooth nearly sobs, choking on humourless laughter. Apparently Jack hasn't noticed the dagger sticking out of his chest. "No'th," he moans. "No'th."

The fairy lightly strokes the back of his neck in a futile comforting manner, her tears dripping down on Jack's form.

As Jack's breathing hitches, his chest jerks and the dagger is moved, making Jack cry out. He breaks off, breathing heavily and scrunching his eyes tight. Tooth quietly shushes him, whispering soothing words in his ear. Out of the corner of her eye, Tooth sees Bunny move.

The rabbit reaches out a cautious paw, and wraps it around the hilt of the dagger. Jack moans as the slight movement digs the weapon deeper into his chest, and Bunny winces. Tooth raises her head and nods at him, eyes hard. The Easter Bunny shares a long look with her before taking a deep breath and taking firm hold of the hilt.

Before he can lose his nerve, he yanks the knife out of Jack's chest, quickly dropping it to the ground as if it had burned him. He practically snarls at the weapon until a soft whimper emits from the winter spirit.

"Oh, Jack," Tooth breathes, "it's okay, Sweet Tooth… Shh, it's okay…" The lie tastes bitter on her tongue.

-ROTG-

Tooth's cries subside until they are nothing more than pitiful whimpers. Baby Tooth wraps her small arms around her thumb, and Tooth cradles her closer protectively. After a moment, the mini-fairy moves and crawls out of her mother's hands, instead making her way over to the memory cylinder still in Tooth's lap.

Baby Tooth lays her tiny head against the container, patting it absently with her hand. A faint smile ghosts across Tooth's face, even through the flood of tears. "Jack loved you," she says quietly. "He cared for you very much, little one."

Baby Tooth nods and tweets back at her carefully. Tooth shakes her head, but Baby Tooth is persistent – she insists that Jack loved her too, as well as the other Guardians.

Tooth's eyes grow distant as she reflects, her thumb idly stroking Baby Tooth's head again.

-ROTG-

Tooth's arms are still tight around Jack when the boy tries to assure an inconsolable North that none of this is his fault. Tooth sniffles and cradles him even closer to her person. She tunes out for a minute, the tears fogging her brain.

When she comes to once more, Jack is blinking rapidly, as if to clear spots from his eyes. "Jack?" she tries to say, but the sound is lost and it comes out as a croak.

"I…" he mouths, jaw working. "M'Sorry."

A sudden chill seems to descend on Tooth – not Jack's kind of chill, not the good type, but an ominous, devastating chill that's filled with foreboding and dread. The air grows heavy and presses down on Tooth's lungs, making it hard to breathe.

Jack inclines his head towards North, his breathing growing more difficult. When North meets his gaze, Tooth watches as Jack – even now – forces a smile for the man. Then his eyes stray upwards and his face relaxes, gaining a serene look. Tooth gasps as Jack's eyes grow dull, losing their usual, lovable twinkle and fading into blankness, leaving him staring at the sky but seeing nothing.

Tooth releases her grasp on Jack, but keeps her arms around him. She lowers her head and finally succumbs to the wracking sobs that have been waiting to overtake her. The sobs are rough and loud, and they tear through her throat painfully as she chokes on her tears.

Her whole body shakes with the cries, and her feathers bristle, feeling damp. North lifts a hand to Jack's hair, but Tooth snaps her head up and hugs the boy even closer. Santa looks broken, haggard and miserable. His eyes look lost, and his air of hopelessness makes Tooth break out in a fresh bout of tears. She feels like her tears will never end.

-ROTG-

Tooth is snapped out of her trance by a rough sob, and her eyes burn with tears as she realizes it's her own. She raises her free hand to her mouth, covering it as tears fall. Baby Tooth chirps and tweets while itty-bitty tears of her own line her little face.

Tooth tries to calm her turbulent emotions, and manages to plug her tears and silence her sobs. But she can do nothing to alleviate the crushing feeling of grief that suffocates her.

The Guardians had gone from a team of four distant friends, to a family of five. Now they've returned to being the lonely, solitary Big Four.

I'm hoping for updates once a week, maybe once every two weeks. With my track record, however, that's variable.