Chapter Text
The town of Burgess isn’t as cold as Jack remembers it being when he was little. Then, when he was small enough that his mom wouldn’t let him leave the house without a hat and gloves secured tightly to his body, that extra long, bright blue scarf wrapped around him until only his eyes showed through for safe measure. When the chill was truly biting, and staying out after dark was a definitive no-go.
Jack wondered where that scarf went. He often wondered where things went, memories hazy and sieve-like, slipping through the cracks of his mind like water seeps into wood when a day is especially hot. He always hated forgetting things.
Probably, he suspects, the scarf was lost to the move. Jack doesn’t remember the move, exactly, but he remembers feeling sad in the way children are sad. He had known something was going to change, a bone-deep knowledge that his life as he knew it would be turned backwards, though the words had eluded him at the ripe age of seven. All he knew now is that he remembered crying, clinging to North and begging him to join them. His uncle, a mammoth of a man when compared to Jack’s small frame, just hugged him tight and said they would visit each other often.
Jack hasn’t seen the man in nearly six years, now. Not since before…
Jack hates forgetting things, but maybe this one memory wouldn’t hurt to let go of.
Besides, it isn’t his uncle’s fault they haven’t kept in touch. Jack did run off, after all. Gone with the wind in the dead of night, like a phantom thief stealing the last of the bread from a starving families pantry, desperate and thinking himself more deserving to live than the rest. Selfishly. He did it to help, in the stupid way youths like to think doing stupid things will help, that end up hindering much more than they succor. But he did it, and it took him far longer to realize than it should have how spectacularly terrible his idea had been, and came home with a false bravado he didn’t feel and was sure no one else bought. But that was three months ago, and this is now.
Now, as Jack climbs the stairs to the front porch, dragging his luggage behind him in what he hopes doesn’t make it look like he’s leaving tracks that will stay there come spring from the weight of the bag, he feels even sillier about the past years’ escapades. How would he be received? Of course North knew everything that had happened. Jack is positive the man had kept his promise to visit, and there’s only so many second Sundays of the month you can go to someone’s house and they be ‘coincidentally’ out, even if they know the day is special. That, and his mom had always told her brother everything, so Jack never had a chance to begin with on the whole brushing-this-under-the-metaphorical-rug front. But as it stands, the doorbell has been ringing out for the past three seconds, sounding like the tinkle of many small birds singing a symphony in the early morning light, Jack having pressed the button out of habit rather than being conscious of his own movements, too caught up in his worry to be present. He’d always claimed the noise box was, of all things, tooth fairies.
Jack hears North before he even sees the doorknob turn. His boisterous laugh and thundering steps sound out across the floor, sending tremors up the walls and making the various sun-catchers and wind chimes set around the front door swaying slightly, adding to the beauty of what was to be a chilly winter’s day. Chilly, not freezing. It had truly been too long since he was here last.
The door is opened, Jack is brought in to a bone-crushing hug, and there’s his uncle, speaking in Russian loud enough Jack worries that maybe he showed up too early this morning, in case someone was trying to sleep in the house a mile down the road. He considers himself lucky that North lives at the edge of town, house backed right up to the forest surrounding everything. Jack, for all his obsession with learning languages, never quite got fluent at his mother’s native tongue. He’s sure it was a defense mechanism, as his mom would switch to cursing in it anytime she was upset. Not often, but if her wild gesticulating when on the phone with the insurance company after what happened, it wasn’t hard to guess she swore like a sailor. If he hadn’t been so terrified at the time, he would have found it hilarious. Almost.
“Jack, my boy!” And oh, if that doesn’t make his heart ache with familiarity. Jack does his best to hug North back, but it’s the same as all the other times he’d seen him before he left. He swears that his uncle is part Viking, assuming Vikings are big, hulking people with more muscle than should be humanly possible, and frequently reach heights above six feet. Possibly seven. He’s not actually sure how tall North is, he just knows he has always and will always make him feel impossibly short. “It has been too long,” North’s voice is warm as he keeps Jack close, and all of a sudden Jack feels like he’s never planning on letting him go. That’s problematic because Jack’s spine feels close to snapping in half.
“It’s good to see you too, North,” Jack laughs, patting his side— unable to reach fully around him when returning the embrace. With that, the spell is broken, and Jack is suddenly grabbed by the arms and practically held aloft as North looks at him properly.
“Hmmmm.” Is the assessment, taking in his face and general appearance. Jack had dyed his hair while away, no longer the color his family had remembered when he was 17. Well, the roots had grown out a bit, but that’s because Jack had been too distracted by Emily the past few months to spend enough time touching it up. The stark contrast between the pale silver and dark brown wasn’t bad on him, per se, but he knew he’d get a hard time about it from Bunny if he saw it grow out any more.
That’s right, Bunny lived here now.
Those thoughts have about as much time to be stewed on as they had to form as North demands, “What have you done to your face?”
Jack groans in full teenage fashion, though he hasn’t been a teenager in some time. “And here I thought you’d be more cool than mom about this.” He lamented.
A deep, HOHOHO of a laugh rumbles out of North, starting in his stomach and building through his body, like he’s Santa or something. This doesn’t bode well for Jack, who is then shaking with North as he chortles on like a happy raven that just found a shiny new bobble to hide away in its nest. Or a kangaroo. A really buff kangaroo. Jack is pretty sure those animals are categorized as chortlers. Chortlers? He doesn’t know at this point.
“I am cool, I am very cool!” North chuckles, bringing Jack in for yet another hug. He’s getting the impression this will be a common occurrence for the foreseeable future. This one is shorter than the last, but no less breathtaking (in the literal sense). “I think they suit you, the, ah, piercings.”
Jack can tell that he means it, and truly, who is North to judge? His arms are covered in sleeves, and the twin ‘Naughty’ and ‘Nice’ tattoos on each forearm do nothing to stop the children of the town from convincing themselves he is the actual Santa Claus.
North claps Jack on the back and sends him stumbling into the house, and Jack turns in time to see his uncle pick up the bags he struggled with moments before as if he were picking flowers in a field. Easily and delicately, like they weighed nothing but were still precious. Jack supposed they were, since they carried all Jack owned in them besides the backpack he carried, and his guitar and staff still in the car. He’d bought it in Oregon when he changed job sites, off of someone trying to buy a bigger car to travel the states in about a year ago. Good thing was it was dirt cheap and he could still send the majority of his paycheck back to mom and Emily, bad thing was it had a tendency to break down in the heat. Much like himself.
Though, after getting the car, Jack had had less and less excuses for not going home, so he really did have to thank it for getting him all the way back here. And after mom had taken one look at him when he showed back up on her doorstep and said “You are an idiot,” with tears in her eyes, and explained exactly why he was, he apparently had much more money than he’d initially thought.
Jack was, in fact, an idiot.
“You don’t have to try and show off how strong you are in your old age, you know,” Jack began with a grin that felt too much on the side of shit-eating and mischievous, and not enough on the side of concerned young nephew, “you might sprain your back.”
Another guffaw of a laugh breaks out of North, this one sounding much more incredulous and weary. Much like Jack was used to when he was younger, getting into trouble he knew would be trouble and doing it anyways. And for all the trouble he got into, there was still such a fondness to North’s tone. The tiniest bit of wonder, even; most likely at the fact that Jack refused to learn his lesson.
“I do not have to show off—" he begins muttering. “Old. You think I am old? Hah. Alright then,” And there North goes, setting the bags down just before the staircase winding up towards the bedrooms. North was allergic to single story houses, he’d told Jack once upon a time. Said they didn’t feel whimsical enough. “You carry this up to your room on your own then, if you think I cannot handle a wee little suitcase.” He patted the larger one for emphasis, the dull thud reminding him of just how much he’d struggled to shove it into the trunk of his car.
Jack, knowing for a fact that every single room on the second story of the house had been converted into a workshop for various crafts, and that the third floor was equally occupied, paled a bit. “And which room exactly would that be?”
“The attic.” North grinned triumphantly and a bit mockingly when Jack deflated. His accent always got thicker when he knew he was about to win.
Jack, not for the first time, wished he could fly. That would save him so much trouble. Or if he had like, inhuman strength. That would be nice too.
Jack, never one to let being a toad get in the way of messing with someone, straightened his back and went to pick up the bag. He managed to climb all of five steps before his boot caught on the intricate rug that ran down the center of the stairs, face turning blue as he tumbled down. A comically loud ‘OOF’ made its way out of his mouth as the luggage landed on top of him. North, ever one to gloat, lifted his things easily off of him with one hand, lumbering up the steps with a smirk and pitying chuckle.
North, one. Jack, zero.
Jack scurried up the steps with the rest of his much lighter things, relenting in his teasing for now.
It had been a long time since he walked through this house, but it had not changed one bit. He stare at the photos on the walls, detailing out the lives of his family— North and his mother as children, North’s time as a sailor in his younger years. His wedding, a picture of the aunt Jack never got to know. A picture of Jack’s parents on their wedding day, a blinding grin on his mother and father’s faces. A year or so later, a picture of her sitting in a chair by the window holding the tiny bundle of a red-faced baby. Jack always thought this particular photo looked intimate. A few frames later, a similar one taken of him by her side, peering down at a little Emily. Her hair had grayed with the seven-year difference. It had grayed more since.
That chair was still downstairs in that sunlit window, the constant stream of light having faded the designs a bit along the cushions, though it appeared no less comfortable.
There was a picture of Jack playing outside with baby Emily, a small girl and another boy, hair as messy as Jacks still is. They were turned away, running towards what looked like the edge of the woods, Emily trying to crawl after them. They must have been in the backyard.
A small new frame of North’s band caught Jack’s eye, colors brighter and figures familiar, faces one would see in hazy dreams coming to life in a sharper clarity. He saw Bunny, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. He nearly matched North in height.
Up and up Jack climbed after his uncle, noting no differences other than those you would see from getting taller, from life passing through a time capsule. He sees the sharpie drawings he and Emily had scribbled on the floorboards at the edge of the second story landing, and was surprised that North left them there for so long. He could see how wiggly the lines were, how Jack had drawn himself flying during a snowball fight while Emily had just been drawing circles that looked closer to oval swirlies than anything. She’d gotten more sharpie on herself than the wall at that age. That memory was one he remembered, and Jack smiled happily as he climbed the rest of the way to the third story where North had stopped.
“I got space all ready for you, is very nice.” North boasts, leading Jack to a small doorway that he’s impressed North can fit through. Inside he sees a smaller stairwell lit by colorful sconces, leading up into a slightly gloomy room. Jack, for all his mischief and sneaking around, had never actually been in the attic. Mostly because the door was perpetually locked, and he hadn’t possessed the fine motor skills to pick it as a five-year-old. Not that he didn’t try.
They ended up in a small semicircular room with two mammoth bay windows looking out over the gardens in the front and back of the house. Along the flat wall was a built-in bed, overflowing with too many blankets and pillows in a fashion obviously done by North, a smaller door next to it through which Jack assumed was a bathroom. A large armory took up a good chunk of the space, clearly hand-carved to fit the warped wall. Deep blue wallpaper had been lovingly accented with silver around the edges. There was no overhead light, but the few lamps and large windows brighten the space enough to make it work.
Jack loved it.
“This place is awesome!” He laughed, flitting about the room to take in the finer details. The silver on the walls turns out to be a whorling, fern pattern made to look like creeping frost. He opened the door next to the bed and was greeted with a cramped little bathroom filled with what appeared to be North’s old sailing memorabilia.
“Yes, it is quite nice, is it not?” North replied fondly, setting down the bag and tracing a hand over a part of the wall. Jack, from the look on North’s face, didn’t need to ask who was responsible for the designs. He continued his search through the small space to give his uncle a moment, placing his duffel and backpack down on the ornate rug, a dull thud sounding out.
North was smiling in that sad way of his when reminiscing and thinking no one was looking as Jack returned from his small, self-guided tour. “So,” he began, a bit cheerier than needed, “any plans for the day?”
His uncle turned to him and frowned. “What do you mean, ‘plans’? You have just gotten here. You have not unpacked.”
“I can do that later,” Jack brushed off, waving his hand behind him at the meager belongings. “I want to see all that’s changed while I’ve been gone.”
I want to see what I remember are the words left unspoken.
North chuckled, head shaking as he took a final glance at the room. “Fine, fine. But do not be upset tonight when you must stay up late to get comfortable.”
Jack beamed. “Excellent! Now, what should we do first?”
“Would you like to meet band?”
❈+❈+❈
Jack, for all his bravado, knows he should have taken North’s suggestion to settle into the house before… this. Truly, he would really rather be anywhere else right now.
When North had suggested meeting the band, he hadn’t expected to go to each of the members’ places of work, and hadn’t expected an impromptu dentist appointment to come out of it.
“WOW, Jack! Your teeth are just gorgeous!”
Jack failed spectacularly in doing anything other than giving a grunt in thanks, the fingers in his mouth inhibiting anything more than that lest he drool everywhere and bite Dr. Thura.
Ma, as she’d instructed he call her. Or Tooth, if he planned on joining their band. She’d been enthusiastically grilling him on every little thing that came to mind when they first walked in nearly an hour earlier, before she realized he has not had a proper dentists appointment since leaving home.
Ma was stronger than she’d looked, or Jack was weaker than he’d thought, as she had started muscling him towards a chair and pulling on those weird glasses dentists wore, and slipped into a pair of disposable gloves with a loud smack!
“Your incisors are just spectacular, really! You must be flossing daily, look at your gums, not enflamed at all, no blood, and so pink! Canines are a bit sharper than normal, though your— bite down, please—” he does as asked and listens to her ramble on about something or another about braces. He did have those in middle school, to his eternal horror. He forgot how many times, exactly, he’d forgotten his mouthpiece during practice while wearing them and ended up with a busted everything.
North, for his part, was flipping though a CosmoGirl! magazine with surprising focus, completely ignoring the bright bubbly woman taking measurements and squealing and darting about the room. Either he was used to it, or there was a really interesting article in that that someone other than teenage girls could relate to.
Jack misses meeting Sandy. He never thought he’d enjoy speaking with a therapist. Doctor Sanderson Goodman was much, much calmer than this doctor. And quieter. And shorter. Not that Jack had an issue with eccentric and loud, he just liked to add to it instead of.. when did that tube get there?
North explained to Jack as they walked here that the two of them were part of the original band from years ago. They’d gone to school together, specializing in their respective fields, and somehow ended up sharing neighboring suites in the same building across town. A one-stop-shop for children’s medical expertise. Jack wondered if that was the explanation for Ma’s vibrant hair color. Sandy’s hair was, well, sandy.
After about another 10 minutes of poking and prodding, with Doctor Ma’s student doctor dutifully taking down notes based off of random letters and numbers and occasionally peering into his mouth herself, he was freed.
“I do think it would be a wonderful idea for you to join us, Jack,” she continued on, typing something at the speed of light into a computer on the desk and making the multitasking seem effortless. “Don’t let North forget to bring you to our practice tomorrow night. We could use another guitarist.”
Jack didn’t remember her all too well, and he didn’t know if she was just being polite or if she was serious, but he had a suspicion the woman didn’t do well with being anything other than completely genuine. He liked that about Ma.
“Alright, I’ll make sure,” he promised, causing her to send a blinding pearly-white smile of her own his way.
“Excellent! Well, it was so great to meet you, and so great to get you in the system, but I’ve got to get to some other patients. Have North lead you back up front and the ladies will schedule you out for your next visit. We’ll make sure to do some imaging then, sorry we didn’t have time for it today. Don’t forget to floss!”
With that she’s gone, room far quieter than before.
“Is she always like that?” Jack asked aloud.
North grunted, not looking up from the magazine.
❈+❈+❈
The skate park on the north side of town was, in a word, sturdy. Not much to call Tony Hawk about, but it had held up against the brunt of the twins’ schemes and experiments, and had earned the title of the gangs main hangout spot.
Hiccup was minding his business— as he often did— walking up to the gates encompassing the small park, having just closed up shop. Gobber was on him again, asking for ideas about that new house near St. North’s place that they needed to outfit for a wheelchair. He still wasn’t sure why the people had asked for a blacksmith and not a carpenter, though he could admit Gobber tended to overtake the market on nearly every trade in this town. Other than St. North’s own business; Gobber had no idea what to do with children, let alone making toys they would enjoy. He would sooner give a battle axe to a baby than consider a teddy bear. That, and he refused to do plumbing. Said it was too much work for not enough reward, and compared it to the time he stood in for the army medic and ended up giving his entire squad food poisoning with a homemade hair growth serum.
Toothless left him at some point on the walk over here, most likely to try and hunt down that bird he’d been eyeing for months now. Hiccup couldn’t blame the cat, really. There was something about it, so iridescent. Like a sparrow with hummingbird coloring. He’d tried looking the birds species up in a few of the surprisingly plentiful birding books the library had. Doctor Rosamund’s daughter Pearl, a birder herself, had stacked his arms with them until they went past his head and nearly sent him tumbling to the ground, but he got bored after skimming through them for about half an hour.
Not that he was an expert on anything with wings in general.
Hiccup debated talking to Fishlegs about it, but he wasn’t sure if he was mentally prepared for the history lesson that would come with it. Fishlegs was an expert in pretty much everything, having studied the most in school and come out as first in their class, with offers to universities most didn’t dare dream of. Though, his excitement about knowledge mixed with the want to tell everyone, without anyone wanting to ask him about it, made for a pretty impressive 30-minute over-explanation when anyone asked him anything, which then devolved into a passionate rant about his latest obsession. These days, that would be snakes.
Hiccup was brought out of his mental debate over if the loss of time was worth the bird by a shout of warning, sounding a lot like Astrid’s voice. Having learned his lesson one too many times, he dove to the ground just in time to avoid something flying directly into his face. He got up cautiously and went to inspect it after a second. Upon closer examination, it appeared to be some sort of smelly green goop. He does not want to find out more.
“Aww, man!” and “What did you do that for?!” Can be heard behind him. Hiccup turns to glower at the twins, wearing matching faces of distress at failing to hit their mark.
“We were waiting forever for him to show up, Astrid!” Complained Tuffnut, flopping to the ground and crawling towards her. It would have been pathetic if Tuffnut ever managed to emote properly. Instead he just looked like an idiot.
Ruffnut wasn’t faring much better, having turned to hug the nearest tree in search of comfort. “All that time, wasted! I’ll never trust you with anything again.” She cried into the bark, her long braids swinging to and fro as she shook her head forlornly.
Astrid rolled her eyes and stood to greet Hiccup. “Thank you,” he said to her, face twisted halfway between a smile and a grimace while watching the twins.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” was her all-too-common greeting, paired with a dismissive wave of her hand. “How was your day?”
“Good, we got through a lot of the design aspect for the house, but I still think I could make more patterns to at least make it look more interesting.” Hiccup groaned a bit and reached up to tug at a small braid in his hair. “Gobber has no imagination on that front.”
Astrid hummed her agreement, continuing to listen to him talk while watching the twins eventually overcome their failed prank and turn their attention instead to Snotlout, smiles sharp and intentions obvious. It appeared that they were trying to tie wheels to his sneakers while he was busy trying to impress Fishlegs.
“When is he going to get his head out of his ass and just ask Fishlegs out, do you think?” Astrid tacked on to the end of Hiccups tirade about copper.
“Huh?” Was his eloquent reply.
“Snotlout.” Astrid gestured over to where the twins had now succeeded in tying a rope around his middle. He waved them off like one would a pesky gnat; bothered just enough to make the motion, but not enough to distract from what he was engaged in. Which, right now, was listening to Fishlegs talk about what was probably snakes.
“Ah.” Hiccup laughed. “You’re asking me when Snotlout is going to get his head out of his ass. Snotlout.” He reiterated, watching the way Astrid shook her head and sighed. He’d been unable to get over Fishlegs’ personality when drunk. “You should have seen it, Hiccup,” he’d said dreamily, “it was glorious.” He’d gone on and on about Thor Bonecrusher for weeks.
The twins had now tied the other end of the rope to one of their bikes, giggling maniacally.
They watched as Snotlout was unceremoniously dragged out of his seat and halfway across the park before Tuffnut hit a rock and flew off the bike, ending the affair with his face in the concrete and a shout of being ‘very much hurt!’ Hiccup didn’t think Fishlegs noticed his companion’s absence yet, too busy excitedly flipping through one of his books and pointing at seemingly random.
Astrid and Hiccup ignored their friends and continued their conversation in the easy way of two people who have been through so much together. Even when Astrid picked on him for being tiny and awkward as kids, and teenagers, and sometimes even now, she was still there. They knew practically everything about one another, every tell. So it came of no surprise to Hiccup that Astrid’s faint blush came with the topic she segued smoothly into.
“Pearl texted me earlier about a new band member for The Guardians.” The tone she used was cool, dismissive in a way that still left the sentence as more of a topic for discussion rather than a cut-and-dry statement. Curious in the way one would try to solve an unnecessary puzzle.
“Is that so?” Hiccup responded, making sure to completely ignore the way Astrid was, in her own way, practically glowing red.
“Yeah. She said her mom came home talking up a storm about North’s nephew. His name was… Jake? James?”
Hiccup’s breath caught in his throat. “Jack?” He asked softly. He let out a breath as Astrid nodded, looking over at where the twins were now trying to get Snotlout to balance on one leg with the wheel on his foot. Fishlegs had finally noticed his lack of audience and seemed content to watch his friends perform more acts of stupidity. Snotlout kept falling over, and every round of laughter made him try harder and harder to stay upright and prove them wrong.
“Yeah, that was his name. She said it wasn’t a sure thing, though. Something about Aster and needing everyone to agree. Wait,” She whipped her head around, eyes narrowing. “How did you know his name?”
Hiccup felt faint. Jack. He hadn’t thought of him in… well, in a long time. He remembered their time together as children, in better clarity thanks to the pictures his mom kept in baby albums. A kid just as scrawny as him, limbs longer and hair dark and wild. He remembered his eyes the most. Hiccup was so jealous that he got to have a bit of brown in his blue eyes, while Hiccup had been stuck with just green. He remembered they had a whole mini argument about it.
Not long after, he’d moved away. Hiccup had always wondered if he had something to do with it.
“Do you remember that boy I would play with when we were little?”
Astrid furrowed her brow, looking pensive. Dragging up old memories from a dusty box in an unused corner of her mind. After a minute, she slowly nodded. “That odd one, the one that would stand up for you. Always laughing?” Hiccup nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, him.”
“Huh. That was him? I totally forgot about that,” Astrid said, which made Hiccup frown. Sure, he hadn’t thought of Jack in some time, but he would never go so far to say he’d forgotten him. He doubted he ever could. “Well, anyways, he’s back in town. You should go visit him, see how he’s been, what he’s been up to.” Astrid’s stare was pointed, and Hiccup bristled. What about his reaction made her say that with that look?
Ruffnut and Tuffnut were on their way over to them, having abandoned Snotlout to crawl back to an amused Fishlegs.
“And you should go see Pearl at the library every once in a while,” he shot back, disgruntled yet quiet, conscious of the proximity of their friends. The twins descended upon the pair before Astrid could retort.
“Hiccup, my dear ring leader, would you please consider our latest invention for enhancements to your body.” Tuffnut unceremoniously began, his sister grinning wildly next to him. Most conversations about his prosthetic over the past couple months had started this way. Ever since he’d gotten back to… normal. Since he’d stopped waking up in a cold sweat, nightmares of fire and screams licking at his heels. Since nights spent bent over the toilet upending his stomach had abated. Since he’d learned to walk again, and gotten back all the hard-earned muscle and weight that had atrophied during his recovery. Since the bags under his eyes had gone from atrociously large back to his normal level of bruised. Since he was able to look people in the eye again. Now, he was once more fair game to the twins, who surprisingly had morals. Loose, loose morals.
“No.”
“We really think you’ll like this one,” Ruffnut butted in.
“Guys, I didn’t like the last twenty you offered, and they keep getting worse.” Hiccup groaned, tired.
“Well, that’s because those weren’t our best work.” Ruffnut claimed.
Tuffnut nodded sagely. “While they were all brilliant, and we would be oh so happy for you to take us up on any previous offers, we think this next one is simple, straightforward. Streamlined. Still, it’d be a vast improvement to your current appendage.” They moved their hands in front of them like car salesmen showing off the cheap Buick they were trying to get rid of at triple the price, and Hiccup was the unfortunate prey. He’s surprised they know what vast means.
Hiccup shifted, artificial leg creaking as he leaned back on his palms. “What is it this time.” The sooner they showed him, the sooner he could tell them to leave.
Ruffnut and Tuffnut pulled a gods-damned scroll from who knows where and unrolled it, presenting Hiccup and Astrid with the contents.
“It’s a wheel.” Astrid said flatly. Truly, they went in the complete opposite direction than they normally did. Previous contraptions had consisted of a basket to carry groceries (the way it attached was ‘a work in progress’), a flame thrower (Hiccup would need to learn how to do a handstand, of course), a water gun (again, handstand), a spiked club complete with rhinestones (Tuffnut’s idea, Ruffnut thought they should find some way to get real blood instead of sparkly bits), and many, many more. This crude drawing was simply a stick figure with a large circle instead of two lines for legs, an arrow pointing towards it with wheel written in Norse. They’d been using it as a secret language since their parents told them where they were from when they were little, and had since forced the rest of their friends to learn it.
“No.”
The twins whined much in the same way they had every other time Hiccup declined their ‘very thought out plans,’ in the same way they had when Hiccup hadn’t been hit in the face by that weird green slime.
“But didn’t you see us trying the prototype on Snotlout just now? It was going great!”
Hiccup had, in fact, been watching their prototype, and could say with absolute certainty it did not go great. Shaking his head, he moved to stand, taking care to get his prosthetic positioned properly so he wouldn’t stumble through the movement and give them more reason to goad themselves on in thinking he needed anything different. They’d say something about ‘rolling right up,’ or another equally ludicrous slogan. The expensive material shaped as his calf and foot worked well enough in comparison to his actual leg, all things considered.
“This has been great,” he started, glancing down to Astrid, “but I have some things to sort out at home, so I’m gonna head out.” It was a lie, but his leg was starting to ache, and listening to terrible ideas made it hurt worse. The small nod Astrid gave him was a clear answer to his question; she would make sure nothing got blown up… again.
“See you at practice tomorrow?” Astrid asked, and he nodded back in much the same way.
The notion of not having to talk to the local police again about arson confirmed, Hiccup turned on his heel and trudged back out of the park, easily avoiding the projectile from earlier. He did his best to keep his focus on his plans for the house, but it was fruitless.
Jack. Jack was back. He never thought he’d see him again. He’d tried looking once, a few years ago. Had gone right up the front porch to St. North’s house to ask where his family had moved to, if he could go with him once or twice to visit. The man had gotten a sad, far-off look in his eyes as he explained in that heavy accent of his that Jack wasn’t with them. Said he was working in a different state. He hadn’t said much else, but the message was clear. There would be no finding him.
Hiccup agonized over the topic for long enough that his normally lengthy walk home felt short. Feeling foolish, he shook his head to force the thoughts away, attempting to lock them in a drawer for later as he took out his house keys and made his way to the front door. Burgess was a safe enough town, but his father was superstitious and cautious of practically everyone ever since the accident, so the door stayed firmly locked at all times. No matter that the accident hadn’t even been in the state. Or around other people. It was really a miracle they had found him at all.
Door locked behind him, Hiccup leaned against it with the intent to take a breath before heading upstairs to take his prosthetic off and get ready for another restless night of not-sleep, when he heard his mother’s voice from the kitchen.
“Hiccup, dear is that you?” Her strong accent flowed happily through the doorway of the kitchen to Hiccup’s right, bright star lamps illuminating the ground floor and granting him the view of his mom emerging into the foyer, wooden spoon in hand. Hiccup’s stomach dropped. Was she cooking dinner?
“Hey, mom,” he replied with a tinge of caution, heading over towards her. “Why are you cooking? What are you making?” There were few reasons Valka Haddock would dare enter the kitchen. She was determined to try a recipe the neighbors swore was simple, she was baking a cake for someone’s birthday, or she was making a goodbye dinner before leaving for months on end because of an unexpected work thing. Hiccup’s birthday wasn’t for months. Dad’s had just passed, and her birthday wasn’t for another few weeks. Not including the fact that his dad would never let his wife bake her own cake. Hiccup thought it unlikely she’d gotten anything from the neighbors, since their feud was still going on last he checked, which was this morning. Recipes weren’t shared until weeks after making up. This was quite obviously a preemptive apology for her family.
His mom had the good sense to look a bit guilty. “Now, Hiccup, I know I said I’d be back for a few months longer than I’ve been, but a new site was just discovered. And they want me to lead it. Me!” She laughed, giddy with excitement, “I’ve been waiting for this for ages, they said it’s in my group, and since Bludvist is busy overseeing another site across the world, they asked me!” She spun and skipped back into the kitchen.
Doctor Drago Bludvist, for all intents and purposes, was Hiccup’s mother’s nemesis. He was, first and foremost, a man, which meant the society often overlooked his frankly overqualified mother for him. That, and he was an egotistical bastard, who thought he could reign supreme and eventually become the president of their society, or something like that. He and his dad had been on the receiving end of many rants about the man, which usually ended in his dad taking his mom out into the backyard where they could spar until she felt better.
Hiccup was happy for his mom, really. This was a huge win for her. But he was still sad to see her go. He and his dad were always sad to see her go.
He followed her retreating figure further into the kitchen, looking around him as if it was his first time seeing his surroundings. Hiccup’s house was an amalgamation of many things. Graphs and tapestries covered the walls, some rich with color fresh from the printing press, others faded and worn from too many handlings. Figurines dotted the many shelves full of books and plants, made of clay and meant to replicate historical things Fishlegs would rant about any time he came to visit. Oddly colored lights hung from the ceiling in the shapes of bulbs, made of paper or stained glass. He wasn’t sure how his father, practical to the extreme, enjoyed it. Possibly because it reminded him so much of his dear wife while she was away.
His mother’s study was worse, Hiccup knew. Overrun by charts and maps and scientific journals, the bookshelves full and bursting with books in Latin, Norse, French, and Russian; more languages he had yet to learn, with half of the books being dictionaries to actually be able to interpret the rest. Diagrams of bone configurations and framed pieces of old pots from Odin knew where littered the walls, everything covered in a faint sheen of yellow sticky notes, her scrawling handwriting near-incomprehensible in her rush to jot down ideas of potential discoveries. Hiccup had inherited that from her, the desk in his room and at the shop faring no better. Luckily for him, he didn’t need his own dictionaries and just stole hers.
“When do you leave?” Hiccup asked conversationally, though he didn’t quite feel like it. He wanted to go up to his room, take this thing off before it started chafing again. He’d learned the hard way what spending too long in his prosthetic did.
“Tomorrow afternoon, while you’re at work,” she responded, turned towards the stove where there was a just-barely simmering pot of… meatballs? They were distinctly ball-shaped, though the color and odor was off. White and green, in a gravy-consistency sauce. What he smelled was a mixture of cilantro and peanuts.
He debated calling his dad to bring home a chicken from the store when his mother spoke again, quieter. “I really am sorry, Hiccup. I know,” a sigh, “I know I’m going back on my word. But these creatures, they’re so incredible, I have to find out more.” And make her mark properly this time. Hiccup was sure that was another motivator. He shuffled over to where his mom stood and hugged her. “It’s alright, mom, really. I think you should go. It’s obvious they need you, and you deserve to lead this.” And he meant it, he really did. Hiccup was proud of who his parents were, proud that they chased their passions and wanted the same for Hiccup.
He just wished that she wouldn’t leave him alone. His father, though he didn’t truly understand Hiccup, did his best to support him. Stoick understood that Hiccup took after his wife, wild and free and unable to be tied down entirely. The men were both happy to have this place, their place, be the one she would always return to. But the long stretches of time where it was just Hiccup and Stoick, Stoick and Hiccup, that was where the struggle lay. They weren’t the best at talking. Too many expectations, not enough meeting in the middle, and now his injury on top of it tended to cause an explosion sometime around the three-month mark. Each time they called his mom to complain about the other they got a solid tongue lashing and a firm demand to talk it over. Again, not their forte.
Just as his mom started to hug him back, they heard the telltale sound of the front door unlocking. His mom slipped out of the kitchen to greet her husband, who surely already knew what was going on, and Hiccup did his best to quickly fix the mess in the pot in front of him. There was no saving it, but maybe he could postpone his stomachache until after he was already asleep.
❈+❈+❈
Hours later, Hiccup lay in bed, leg taken care of and soot showered off from work as soon as they’d finished muscling through dinner. Gobber had stopped by, intent on staying for dinner until he heard it was Valka who had whipped something up, and was unsuccessful in weaseling his way out. He’d left looking much the same as Hiccup felt: Green.
Hiccup groaned, dragging a hand through his still damp hair and down his face, distorting his vision as the skin pulled in time with the appendage. Toothless cooed beside him, curled on the other side of his pillow and annoyed that Hiccup dared go near him with wet hair. The cat enjoyed chewing it only when it was dry. Hiccup did his best to keep Toothless from chewing his hair at all in the hopes of not waking up later in the night to the sound of hacked up hairballs. He was positive it was done just to annoy him.
“What am I gonna do, bud?” He asked to the room, expecting no reply. And really, what was he asking about? The house, his father? The memories that played in startling lucidity any time he closed his eyes, after stupidly looking through scrapbooks as Gobber occupied his parents with talk of the council?
Hiccup received a tail to the face, followed quickly by Toothless’ head pushing up under his chin to rest on his neck, claws just barely clinging to his sleep shirt before he settled fully. A deep purr followed as he got comfortable, and Hiccup began petting through his dark fur.
Hiccup fell asleep like that, sprawled on his back inhaling fur, dreams haunted by blue-brown eyes and a mischievous laugh.