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Published:
2013-01-06
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2013-01-13
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2/?
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Superguardians

Summary:

"So, what, we're looking for a killer Jack Frost?"

"Hey." The boy seemed indignant.

"Dean, can you just be realistic for a minute?"

"Hey!"

Notes:

I've had this saved for a while, but here we go, I'm committed now. Expect sporadic updates with no discernible pattern and the occasional rant about how I really ought to be revising.
Which I really ought to be doing, now I come to think of it.
Enjoy~

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

"What you got?"

Dean Winchester folded his arms over his chest, eyeing the chief of police. Superintendant Greg Landers was a short man, with prematurely greying hair and a frown permanently etched onto his features. He hadn't been pleased to hear that the FBI had taken an interest in his case, and had so far been less than welcoming to the pair of 'agents' that had shown up in his town three days before.

Still, he was an honest citizen, and what he lacked in courtesy, he made up for in information.

"Same as the other three." He replied in a curt tone. "Full bill of health, no psychiatric problems, no evidence of bullying or narcotics. This one jumped out of the second floor window."

"Any signs that someone could have pushed him?"

"None. No signs of a struggle, no blood. No self-defence wounds on the body, either."

Dean nodded at this news, sharing a quick, meaningful glance with his colleague.

"Mind if we take a look?" The taller man - Sam - added.

"Be my guest. Upstairs, door on the left. Photography's finished up already." Greg shrugged, gesturing to the door of the picturesque, semi-detached house. He turned to leave, before pausing and glancing back. "One more thing. There was one difference between this one and the others."

The Winchesters raised their brows in twin expressions of interest, silently encouraging the Superintendant to continue.

"This was a kid."

"Not what we thought, then." Sam sighed as the pair entered the deserted crime scene. The rooms downstairs were pristine, untouched - save for the boot prints on the carpet, obviously left by some inconsiderate officer or other.

"Nope. Not gonna be a succubus if it's killing kids, too." Dean ran a hand through his hair, allowing the other rooms a glance before starting upstairs. The door of the room indicated by the Superintendant was ajar, the bootprints focussed in that direction.

The room itself was clearly a child's bedroom; crayon drawings and posters were pinned up to the walls, toys scattered the floor, and a rumpled bed stood in one corner, occupied - though neither Sam nor Dean saw it - by a pale teen, perched on the mattress.

"Damn." Sam murmured quietly, inspecting one of the drawings on the wall; a frozen pond surrounded by several smiling figures, the tallest dressed in blue with a mop of white hair, holding some kind of branch and beaming. "He can't have been older than nine."

"He was eight." The boy on the bed corrected through gritted teeth, though the Winchesters didn't appear to hear him.

"So we stop it before it gets to anyone else." Dean was saying, searching the room."Best bet is to look for hex bags, though I doubt a witch would go after a little kid."

"Unless they were out to get the parents." Sam pointed out.

"What are you talking about?" The figure by the bed asked, rising to his feet. His once cheerful expression had been replaced by a scowl. "He committed suicide. The police said so. Stop messing with his stuff."

"Sulfur?" The younger brother suggested, moving over to the open window - just in time to see ice bloom across the glass as a testament to the teen's anger. The hunter's brows rose. "Uh, Dean?"

The shorter of the pair turned to him.

"What?"

Wordlessly, Sam gestured to the glass, now frosted over entirely.

"So? We're in Burgess. Do you know how much snow this place gets?"

"Inside?" The hunter countered, dragging his finger over the window to cause a blemish in the otherwise untouched surface.

"Huh." Dean ran a hand through his hair. His eyes narrowed, and he moved closer to inspect the glass too. "So, what, we're looking for a killer Jack Frost?"

"Hey!" The boy seemed indignant.

"Dean, can you just be realistic for a minute?"

"Hey!"

"Look," Sam continued, unaware of the interruption. He moved away from the window, the chill breeze unpleasant. Dean must have felt the same, as he followed soon after. "I've read up stuff on Winter Sprites, but nowhere does it say anything about them killing like this."

"Or at all." The pale boy insisted, folding his arms over his chest and approaching the pair. "Hello? Do I look like a killer?"

"That's because they don't exist. They're made up." Dean was adamant, jaw set in a familiarly stubborn way.

"Uh huh, that's what you said about angels."

Sam barely had time to finish that thought before a snowball came hurtling out of nowhere, striking Dean square on the back of the head. Perched on the windowsill, the teen smirked a little vindictively.

Dean growled, moving over to peer outside around the frosted glass. "Freakin' kids." He mumbled, pulling the pane closed. "C'mon, Sammy. We need to get to the morgue."

The younger of the two let out a sigh and shook his head, though amusement lingered at the corners of his mouth. He paused before leaving the place, once more glancing at the drawing. The white haired figure smiled benignly back at him from the paper, and he frowned a little, considering. Then he shook his head, turning on his heel and striding from the room.

Jack Frost was left alone, sat upon the windowsill with nothing to distract him from his thoughts as he watched his late friend's bedroom.

That was, until he thought better of it.

Within seconds, he was downstairs, slipping inside the sleek black car parked alongside the house.

The ride to the morgue was short, but Sam managed to get in a surprising amount of ribbing in that time at the fact that the great hunter, defeater of monsters and demons alike, had been caught off guard by a snowball.

Jack listened to it all in fascination, gleaning as much as he could from the conversation. The two men were brothers, clearly, and they appeared to dedicate their lives to hunting down evil creatures that preyed on humans. The teenage Guardian was no idiot, and it was easy to draw the conclusion that the pair suspected the spate of suicides recently to be unnatural.

Finally, the conversation turned back to him, and he pulled himself out of his thoughts to listen.

"Sammy, you can't seriously think that all this was caused by some - what was it, Winter Spirit?"

"Sprite." The younger man corrected. "Though technically a spirit too. And I don't know, man. Just don't rule it out."

"Right. And maybe we should call on the Easter Bunny, see if he's seen anything."

"Dean, I'm serious."

The shorter man simply responded with an undignified snort, shaking his head.

At that point, the car pulled up in the shadow of the local hospital, and the conversation was cut off. Jack had been around long enough to know what a morgue was, and to know that he had no desire to visit one. So, while the two men exited the car and headed for the building, the teen slumped across the back seats, his thoughts catching up with him again.

It was his fault.

He was the Guardian of Fun, for god's sake, he ought to have noticed if one of his friends was suicidal. He ought to have done something about it. Even now, all he could remember in those final days was that the boy had seemed even happier, even more cheerful and lighthearted than usual. It didn't make sense.

"It isn't right!" He growled, fists clenching. His anger and frustration rolled off of him in icy waves, frost blooming over the windows of the car, but he barely noticed. "It's not fair!"

Even before becoming a Guardian, when he'd gone unseen and unheard, when he hadn't been believed in, he'd never felt as helpless as he did now.

"God, Jamie, why didn't you just talk to me?"

Chapter 2

Notes:

I will be checking through this soon, but I'm in a rush at the moment, so there may be a few mistakes. I thought I ought to post it up as soon as possible, because you guys are amazing, and the response to this has been fantastic.

I love you all!

Enjoy~

Chapter Text

"Check this out."

The motel room was cold, like everywhere else in Burgess, despite the fact that the brothers had cranked the heat up to full blast. The decor wasn't much better; lime green walls and bright orange curtains, tacky plastic chairs and dubiously clean beds. Still, it was no worse than what the pair were used to.

Dean approached at the other hunter's words, dropping a mug of coffee beside the taller man and taking a swig of whiskey, ignoring the disappointed glare it earned him.

"What?"

Sam gave up on the lecture he'd already given a thousand times, instead turning back to his laptop screen.

"I've been checking out the weather records as far back as I can-"

"More snow ghost stuff, right." Dean interrupted. Sam threw him a bitchface.

"Actually, this area - this town, specifically - hasn't followed any natural pattern for about three hundred years."

A pause.

"Because of a snow ghost."

"Sprite." Sam corrected, rolling his eyes. "I don't get why you're so against this, Dean. It makes sense."

"No duh." Jack muttered from the corner where he perched on the windowsill. "And I have a name, you know."

"I'm against it 'cause they're not real!" Dean took another gulp of alcohol before continuing. "I think we, of all people, oughtta know that."

"Demons, angels, fairies, freaking dragons..." Sam ticked them off on his fingers. "Hello? None of the things we fight are meant to be real."

"Yeah, but we know they are." Dean countered. "Look, Sammy, we've been to Heaven and-" He paused, and both of them knew what it was that he was refraining from saying. "-and everywhere in between." He rephrased. A shadow of half-remembered pain flickered in his eyes, mirrored in his brother's, but he didn't let it distract him. "We've seen it all. We'd know by now if there was anything else out there."

Jack watched the exchange with interest, ice blue eyes narrowed in confusion. He was pretty sure that the pair weren't spirits - they couldn't see him, after all - so how could they have died? Gone to Heaven? This would be far easier if he could communicate, he mused.

He twirled the top of his staff through the air, chilling it further and causing the men to shiver.

"What the-" Sam's eyes widened and he fell silent as flakes of snow began to flutter down from the ceiling.

"Son of a bitch." The older hunter muttered, shaking his head. He gritted his teeth, the internal conflict visible in his expression, before he gave a growl of defeat. "Fine. Fine, you win, I'm convinced."

"About time." Jack muttered to himself, rolling his eyes and slowing the snowfall to a gentle flurry with a twitch of his staff.

Both humans immediately spun to face him, disbelief evidently pushed aside in favour of action. Both reached into their suit jackets, and both pulled out handguns in identical, smooth, practiced movements.

"Woah woah woah!" The Guardian stood up, one hand up in a motion of surrender, the other clutching his staff. "I come in peace, come on!"

Neither man lowered their arms, and though bullets would have no effect on him, he had a feeling that it would be a bad idea to get on the wrong side of the hunters. They had a common goal, after all; he'd already decided to do what he could to destroy whatever had killed Jamie. It was the least he could do.

There was a tense silence for a few moments, each waiting for the other to make the first move. That was, until Dean spoke up, watching him mistrustfully.

"Who the hell're you?"

The human's eyes were narrowed in suspicion, gun unwavering, a mirror image of his brother beside him.

"I'd be that snow ghost that doesn't exist." The teen snarked, raising his eyebrows.

A clicking noise, and the safety was released on both of the guns.

"The totally innocent snow ghost." He amended, taking a step back on instinct.

There was a tense silence, during which Jack began to wish that he'd thought this plan through, before a gun was slowly lowered. Sam's.

"The ice at the house. That was you?"

The Guardian nodded quickly. He hadn't failed to notice that Dean's gun was still trained on him.

"You're the one that messed with my car!" The shorter hunter growled at the realisation, furious. Sam had to reach out and forcibly lower his arm, for fear that he'd shoot the boy.

The action was unnecessary, it seemed, as the sprite simply flicked his staff, aiming a thin bolt of blue-white energy which knocked the gun from the man's hands, freezing it on impact.

"Sammy!" Dean hissed in protest.

"Dean, the weather around here's been whacked for three centuries, and the killings have only been in the last few months. It's not him."

The older hunter's eyes darkened at the words.

"Sorry Sam, but you've not exactly got a great record when it comes to trusting monsters."

Sam flinched as though he'd been struck, jaw tightening.

A tinny rendition of Black Sabbath's 'Surrender' shattered the strained moment, the opening riff sounding abnormally loud in the silence.

Dean reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, fumbling for a second before pulling out a phone and checking the screen. He didn't hesitate in flipping it open, pressing it to his ear and donning his 'FBI' voice for his next words.

"Superintendant Landers?" He exchanged a meaningful glance with Sam, who gave a curt nod of understanding, moving to pick up his shucked tie and fasten it around his neck. Jack looked between the pair, confused. "We'll be there as soon as possible." Dean continued, before flipping the phone closed and slipping it back into his pocket.

"Another one?" Sam guessed.

"Electrocution." The older man confirmed, nodding. "Landers seemed pretty freaked out."

"Someone else has died?" Jack asked, tightening his grip on his staff. The temperature of the air around him dropped by a good twenty degrees, tendrils of ice creeping up the walls.

"Jeez, could you not do that?" Dean snapped, shivering and glaring at the boy.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" The teen cried, ignoring the hunter's words. "You're supposed to stop this stuff happening, right? So why are people still dying?"

"We're working on it." Sam muttered, flicking the safety back onto his gun and pocketing it.

The ride to the latest crime scene was loaded with tension. Dean blared Metallica at full volume in an attempt to distract himself from his brother, and pointedly cranked up the heating, making it clear that Jack's presence in the back seat was unwelcome.

Luckily, Burgess was a small town, and it didn't take long to reach the home of the latest victim.

The entrance was swathed in police tape, officers trampling the small front garden in ill-fitting protective gear, squad cars inadvertently blocking the narrow road.

A flash of fake badges had the brothers - along with Jack - being shown inside, offered protective gear - which both men firmly declined - and directed to the scene.

"Hairdryer in the bath." Dean muttered to himself, giving the room a cursory glance. "Way to go out on a cliché."

Sam's sarcastic response was cut off by the sudden arrival of a short figure sporting what looked like a while binbag, complete with blue gloves, shoes, and facemask.

"What are you doing?" The figure snapped, irritable tone revealing him to be Superintendant Landers. "Where's your kit? You can't just wander around like that."

"We've been doing this a while, bud, I think we'll survive." Dean told him. Landers scoffed.

"Didn't you hear about the contaminate?"

He gestured to one corner of the bathroom. Jack and the two brothers approached, ignoring the cries of protest from the little man.

The shadow in the corner - and indeed every shadow - was drowned in what looked like sand, save for the fact that it was black as midnight, and shimmering strangely.

"What the hell?" Dean muttered, pinching some between his thumb and forefinger, much to the dismay of Greg Landers.

"It could be toxic!"

"Well, let's just hope it isn't." The older hunter replied without turning to him.

Jack ignored them both, staring at the substance with outrage.

"What is it?" Sam asked quietly, glancing at him.

The Guardian rose to his feet, anger shadowing his features, radiating cold like he was carved of ice.

"I know who did this."