Frank tossed restlessly on the couch in a troubled sleep.

* * *

“Joseph… please Joseph… you need to wake up. Come on kid. Open those baby blues”, a voice kept persisting into his unconsciousness and Joe just wanted to tell it to shut up.  

Leave me alone, his mind screamed, I’m already dead!  

But the voice insisted, “Come on. Wake up.  We got work to do…. I want to help you… but I can’t if you don’t wake up!”  

Joe didn’t recognize the voice but he knew without opening his eyes who was speaking to him. And in all honesty that was part of the reason why the boy wouldn’t open his eyes.  

Then he felt a warm palm on his cold forehead and he started, and his eyes blinked open.  

“S-Santa?” he rasped through chapped, swollen lips.  

The man smiled at him gently, although his merry blue eyes twinkled with concern as they regarded the pain filled, blue ones barely staring back, “Some people call me that. “  

Joe started to close his eyes again but felt the hand on his cheek this time as the voice spoke again, “Keep them open Joseph… I can’t help you if you don’t.”  

Forcing them back open, the exhausted youth managed to say, “Joe… please call… me… Joe.”  

The man gave a little chuckle and it was musical, further making Joe feel positive he was dead, “Of course, how can I forget. You told me that in one of your letters… didn’t you?”  

Joe blinked – he had no response to that and the man stopped chuckling and gave him a sympathetic smile, “It’s okay. And no you’re not dead.  However, you aren’t in such a great way right now. But in order to help you, I’ll need your help.”  

“Not… making…sense”, Joe rasped as he wished the band beating out “I’ll be home for Christmas” in his head would give it a rest.  

“No I suppose not”, the man said, “but then again there is a lot about Christmas that doesn’t make sense… isn’t there?”  

Joe felt his head droop forward but gentle fingers caught his chin and lifted it back up so it rested against the headrest.  

“Joe?”   

The boy didn’t answer.  

“Joe?”  

“What?” it took a lot of effort for him to say anything and the man seemed to know that and placing his hand gently on the boy’s head, he spoke, “Don’t talk… just listen…”  

To what? The injured boy thought but couldn’t make his lips move and immediately he heard a response, “To me.”  

“Wha-“he started to say but the man put his finger on his lips quieting him, “Sshh, save your strength. I can hear your thoughts as easily as your words…”  

Creepy, Joe thought and then winced as he heard the man chuckle, “Yeah I guess so.”  

Can he hear everyone’s thoughts? Joe wondered, forgetting that he was being overheard.  

“No”, the man’s musical voice said, “not everyone’s. Only people who still believe in Christmas magic… children mostly and a few adults. But unfortunately no where near as many as used to.  Times have changed and in all honesty, some days it’s quite lonely.”  

I’m sorry, Joe though as he struggled to stay awake but it was getting harder. And the man smiled gently at him, “You’re a good kid Joe Hardy. But I really-“  

And then Joe was lost to him again as the boy was sucked back into the void of unconsciousness.

* * *

The man frowned. This was going to be harder then he thought. The kid couldn’t stay awake long enough for him to make the link.  

A few fat white snowflakes started to fall and the man shook his head, No… not know. They couldn’t have the storm yet.

* * *

Frank felt cold. Colder then he had ever before in his life.  Turning over on the couch, he grabbed the quilt off the back and pulled it over his shivering body.  

Come on Joe, he thought drowsily as he faded off to sleep again, hurry up and get home.

* * *

“That’s weird”, John Morton said to his wife, Catherine as he came in from the barn.  

“What honey?” she asked already pouring her husband a fresh cup of hot coffee. She knew he’d be cold.  

“Well it was starting to snow… but then it just stopped”, he mused as he took off his fleece lined hat, and heavy jacket, hung them on the coat hook and then stomped the snow off his boots before leaving them by the door and coming into the warm kitchen.  

“As is the folly of jack frost”, Catherine teased, “Guess he isn’t ready to give us that snowfall yet.”  

“Hmmm,” speculated the farmer, “supposed to really come down once it starts though. But it’ll be nice for tomorrow. Nothing like snow on Christmas Eve.”  

“True”, his wife agreed, handing the hot drink to her cold husband.  

“Did Joe get off okay?” he asked as he sipped the coffee gratefully and his wife nodded, “yeah about an hour ago. And Iola and Chet have been watching “Scrooged” since.”  

“Sounds like a good idea, I think I might just join them”, Mr. Morton said as he headed towards the living room, with his mug of coffee.  His wife joined them a few moments later and the little family snuggled down for a pleasant Christmas Eve.

* * *

The ice underneath the van gave another little groan.

* * *

“Frank”  

The dark haired boy shifted slightly on the couch.  

“Frank”  

His hand moved in front of his face like someone shooing away a bothersome mosquito.  

“Frank!”  

Turning his head, he opened his eyes just a slit and then chuckled softly.  

Now I know I’m still dreaming, he thought as he rolled onto his side and went back to sleep.  

The man sighed wearily, this was going to be harder then he thought… much harder.  

He had no idea what was on this kid’s mind.  

And then he felt the other child and quickly answered.

* * *

S-Santa! It hurt to even think but Joe was terrified. He had regained consciousness again and this time he was alone.  

And he did not want to be alone.  

Almost instantly he felt a warm hand on his chin, tilting his head back again and Joe forced his eyes open to see the man.  

The kid tried to smile and it broke the man’s heart.  

He was running out of time.  

Gently he wiped the blood from the boy’s chin, “Hey Joe. Nice to have you back.”  

It hurts, Joe thought and the man nodded, “I know.”  

S-Santa?   

“Yes?” the man said although he already knew what the boy was thinking…  

I want to go home…

* * *

Laura Hardy pressed her cheek against her husband’s muscular chest as they slow danced. For some unknown reason she was overcome with such an overwhelming aching sadness, that a tear tracked a path down her lovely cheek.  

“Laura?” Fenton said softy as he looked down and saw his wife’s bright eyes and the tale-tell tear, “what’s wrong honey?’  

Unable to put words to what she was feeling, Laura just shook her head, pressed her face back against his warm chest and whispered, “I want to go home.”

* * *

“Joe I need your help”, the man said as he watched the boy for a few moments. The kid was struggling to keep his eyes open and the man knew that what he needed Joe to do would be near impossible.  

But he didn’t feel he had any other choice.  

He heard the soft chuckle of the boy’s mind as the youth thought, Okay but I don’t have much to give…  

“Never sell yourself so short”, the man admonished gently as he pushed a lock of sweaty hair from the clammy forehead. The child was running out of time.  

“Joe?”  

The boy didn’t answer.  

“Joe?”  

What? Joe thought as he absently wondered just how badly he was hurt. His body, once so pain filled was now growing numb.  

“Do you believe I can help you?” The man asked.  

Without even hesitating, the boy thought, Yes.

* * *

And this time the man heard the sound of the ice. It didn’t groan… it creaked.  

The child did not have much time at all…