I don't have a name. I don't want a name. I don't need a name. But I have a purpose.

And it, however, does have a name. Jack Frost.

I always wait a few days, make sure that Jack is well on his way out of town before I move in. Winter and ice is fun for a few days, but then it begins to get hazardous. Accidents happen on icy roads, too many kids running wild in the streets becomes dangerous. If Jack had his way, it would never melt. I make my way over the streets, the tips of my fingers and my palm glowing red-hot as I float over the ice and snow on a warm breeze. It's April, for Christ's sake. It's not the time for snow days. Easter is soon. Which reminds me, I need to go faster. There's nothing Jack likes better than to make a mess of Easter. Something to do with pissing off Bunnymund. I roll my eyes at the thought. So childish. But, then again, I've come to expect it after more than three-hundred years.

By the time I'm done cleaning up the town, ridding it of ice and unwanted snow, it's well past midnight and I'm exhausted.

"Wind," I call tiredly to the open air, "take me home." I jump and the wind does the rest, the beginnings of an early summer storm taking me back to where I woke up for the first time. The cave about a spring. It's warm there, constantly heated by the steam the comes from the spring. I swirl my fingers and float on my back, supported by the steam and the spring air combined. Even though every hint of cold air has been banished from this place, I shiver. I can't stand the cold. It makes me sick, diminishes my powers. A bit unfortunate for what I've chosen to do for the past three centuries, but I'm coping. I don't have to be the strongest, just strong enough to fix Jack's messes. I don't care about the rest of it. Having power, I mean. Everyone like me – everyone...mythical – is so concerned with power. Power, recognition, something. Not me. I just want to keep Jack safe. I can feel the moon's light shining on my face and turn towards it.

"Goodnight, old friend," I murmur. Closing my eyes, I feel my body temperature begin to rise as my hair fans out, the air playing with it, and lights itself on fire. I don't shiver anymore.

"Keep him safe, will you?" "Keep him safe." "Look out for Jack." "He's your responsibility." The words whirl in my mind, mocking me in sharp, ugly voices. I open my eyes but there is nothing to look at. "And look how well you've done with that." I shake my head, willing the voices, the doubts, away, but they insist, staying, tormenting me. The nothingness turns dark and then a new voice takes its turn, a more sinister voice, one that sends chills down my spine.

"All you ever wanted was to take care of him." I spin, but I can't locate the source of the voice. "So noble of you, making yourself sicker and sicker every day, just to keep him safe." A black figure emerges from the shadows. I take a step back, but then he's behind me. I whirl to face him, and he vanishes once more. Growling, already-smoldering hair ignites and my hands burst into flames.

"Quit screwing around!" I command. "Show yourself!"

"What a lovely demonstration," the figure appears again, this time seeming solid, instead of shadow. "But we both know that's what it really is. A demonstration. No one believes in you, my dear. In fact, I'm the only one who even knows that you exist. And that's only because of your fear. Such fear." He sounds pleased.

"I'm not afraid." I insist, ignoring the fact that my fingertips are already beginning to go out.

"Not of me, no," the figure agrees. "But you have so much more to fear. It's...delicious."

"Bite me." I growl. "What do I care if no one knows me. I don't know you, either, Slim Shady." For the first time, the figure looks affronted.

"You, nameless one, may call me Pitch. Pitch Black."

I roll my eyes. "The Boogeyman. I hate to tell you this, friend, but no one believes in you either. 'Don't be afraid of the dark' is pretty much a standard household phrase. So you're as full of it as I am." But one thing is bothering me. "How can you see me?" I ask. Not even other mythos, or fairytale creatures, or bedtime stories, whatever you want to call them, can see me. Not unless I want them too, which is never.

"Fear," Pitch replies, steepling his long, pale fingers, "makes you visible to me alone."

"Fabulous." I mutter, shaking my head. "The Boogeyman can see me."

"Ah, I know where I am unwanted." Pitch says, bowing his head. "Terrible nightmares to you, nameless one."

"Sweet dreams right back at ya," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Pitch smiles, waves his hand and I open my eyes again, back in the cave. Back home.

And it's noon.

"Bugger." I curse under my breath and shoot out of the cave, riding on a warm breeze. Flying, I decided a long time ago, is the best part of being me. I love it. Truly, I do. There's nothing more liberating then feeling the wind tearing through your – albeit flaming – hair and seeing the landscapes below you look like miniature models. It's wonderful.

But even that wonder can't keep the memory of the dream from turning my mouth down in the corners. I haven't dreamt in ages, but, then again, I know that is wasn't really a dream. However, the thought that only one who has been able to see me in three-hundred years is the Boogeyman doesn't exactly settle my nerves. I like being unknown, I like being unseen. No one bothers me, I don't bother them...I have a system, and it has been working out pretty well so far.

It doesn't take me long to find another place that Jack has turned into his own wintry playground. But this time, he's still there. I freeze, almost literally among all this ice, and make sure that I'm completely invisible, to humans and mythos alike. I crouch down behind a statue, watching Jack instigating a snowball fight between a bunch of the kids in the town, playing around like he's a part of the fun. I feel a pang of sadness, watching him. He knows that they don't see him. But he insists on doing this to himself. And never, not once, have I ever understood why.

I also realize with an unpleasant jolt that I haven't actually seen Jack in almost fifty years. I keep behind, trying to warm everything warm from a distance, but to actually be here...

I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I don't see one of the children barreling towards me, and don't have enough time to move before she passes through my chest.

"Wow!" she exclaims. "Guys, come over here! It's so warm!"

"Hey!" Jack protest. "Are you forgetting all the fun we just had? Who needs it to be warm?" But the children have already lost interest in their snow-day fun.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, taking off into the air. I hadn't meant for that to happen. I didn't want to take away from him. As I go, the snow and ice in the town seem to melt of their own accord, and I realize that my palms are glowing more brightly than they ever have before – and without my volition. The tips of my fingers and sparking with lightning and my hair has already caught fire. I spin in the air, bewildered. What is going on? I bring my hands to my face, feeling the tingle of the lightning as it arcs between my fingers. Lightning? That's new.

Fast as I can, I fly home, trying to control the sparks flying from my hands and my hair. I feel...odd. As if there's something new inside of me, something I've never felt before. I don't like it. I don't like change and I don't like anything new.

"Pitch!" I shout into the open air! "What did you do to me?"

"Me?" The sly reply comes almost immediately and I jump. I don't know what I had been expecting, but it wasn't Pitch appearing so quickly. "I have done nothing."

"You did this." I repeat, waving my sparking hands in his face. I look down at my reflection in the hot spring and the reflection that stares back at me is unfamiliar. There's something dangerous and volatile in her dark, violet eyes; sparks and fire dance through her fiery, sunset-red hair, casting shadows on her cheeks, making her face look sharp and severe. The only thing familiar is what she wears: black pants and a black shirt, with a leather jacket with flaming designs on the collar, sleeves, and hem. The boots on her feet are emblazoned with the same designs. I turn, and the spirit turns with me.

"I have done nothing," Pitch insists.

"Everything was fine yesterday," I go on. "And then you showed up."

"I know about you. I believe in you. Do you really not know?" I glare and Pitch laughs. "I see. Knowledge is power, nameless one. I know of you, I believe in your power, and so it grows."

"I don't want it." For the first time, the King of Nightmares looks confused.

"You're telling the truth."

"No kidding." I mock. "I don't want power, I don't want belief, I want to be left alone, thank you very much." Pitch opens his mouth to reply but I cut him off. "Goodbye." I don't wait for him to vanish, but blast into the air on my own, flying faster than I ever have before. The lightning sparks, but it isn't too difficult to control. Below me, the earth warms as I fly above it, and flowers bloom if I fly too close. Odd. I ignore it, though. I have to find Jack. I check his usual sulking places, old haunts, and even the frozen pond where...he woke up, but he's not anywhere. I finally land and the wind dies down. He's gone. I can't find him.

For the first time in three centuries, I can't find him.

"Jack...where are you?" I whisper to the empty air. I can't believe that I've lost him. I've never lost him before, not ever. Not once. I can't lose him. I can't. He's my responsibility.

He's my brother.