Chapter Text
Jack, Hiccup and Toothless left shortly after the pair returned to the pitch, where Jack had pulled on his clothes over the top of his football uniform, rather than doing the decidedly smart thing of using the changing rooms to… change.
Coach had had his back turned long enough, maybe thinking that Jack was gathering their bags or something, so it had been amusing to see him turn around just as Hic and Sammy returned to the pitch, and half-heartedly yell at Jack for his antics.
“Do you enjoy deliberately winding up adults, or is it a trait you were born with?” Hiccup asks as the three of them follow the pavement heading towards Jack’s house.
“Born with it? Please, ” Jack grinned, hopping a step ahead to turn back to face Hiccup, walking backwards, not bothering to worry about uneven footing. “I work very hard at being an asshole. Please don’t disregard my efforts for something as mundane as an innate,” he grins, poking his tongue out.
If he was close enough, Hiccup might’ve hit him.
As they walked, Jack talked of practice and college and all the things they could get up to over the half-term. A full week of no college, and Hiccup had no worries of homework to finish off, although maybe a little bit of studying for an exam in November, but as Jack said, that was weeks away and a problem for future-Hiccup. Present-Hiccup only had to worry about enjoying his time off.
“Idiot,” he grinned in response, as Jack danced back and forth with Toothless, still walking backwards and wearing a smile as bright as the sun, as if he had just won a football match all by himself.
Hiccup, far too familiar with his mischievous humour, is understandably wary. He couldn’t help but wonder what it was he was walking into.
Hiccup had his own preconceived fantasies of what their autumn break would entail, none of which he was expecting to happen because most of it involved the pair of them laid out underneath the stars smoking cigarettes or drinking confiscated alcohol and talking about nothing and everything; before eventually deciding that they were going to confess their mutual feelings for one another, which would lead to a very sweet, romantic make-out session.
“Oh yeah, did Coach manage to catch you before we left?” Jack asks unexpectedly, yanking Hiccup from his train of thought, and it’s the realisation of what he had imagining that had him blushing. Luckily enough for him it was winter, which meant it got dark early and lampposts had an odd habit of making everything look off underneath their orange glow, leaving Jack none the wiser.
“Wait, say that again, I was zoning out,” Hic admits, giving himself another mental kick. “Coach,” Jack repeated. “He mentioned something about wanting to talk to you, but I might have distracted him when I got dressed.”
“Deliberately?” Hiccup grinned, but Jack was serious, turning back to fall in time with the brunette, hands in his pockets.
“No, it wasn’t like he had anything bad to say. I think he wanted to ask you something. That’s the impression I got, at least, although I have absolutely no clue what it might be about. I’m pretty sure he’s aware of why you have Toothless—all of the teachers should be—so I don’t think he was going to ask if you wanted to join in with practice.”
“That’s a shame. I was hoping to blow everyone away with my innate football skills, but alas,” Hiccup grinned, bumping arms with Jack as they walked. “We’re all blessed that you’ve got Toothless holding you back,” Jack nods, playing along. “We’d be no match for you.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
They held one another’s gaze for the space of a breath before letting everything out in messy laughter, Hiccup snorting and giggling and hoping that the entire week was going to be this carefree.
He was pointedly ignoring the elephant that followed along behind them.
To anyone that knew the truth, it might be hard to understand how easily Hiccup could forget, or ignore what had transpired between him and Dagur; all of it as simple as flicking a switch. The truth was that, it had been going on for so long, that Hiccup just kind of got used to it. The only difference this time was that he was fighting back rather than simply avoiding the bastard, because enough was enough and he wanted control of his own life again.
He wanted nothing more than just to hang out with his friend and be a normal pining teenager for one weekend at least.
So Hiccup chased Jack and Toothless down the pavement and they took a “shortcut” through the reserve, even though it was sometimes pitch black in the deeper parts of the forest. They used their phones to light the way, but kept getting scared by Toothless as he bounded through the depths, only to charge them from the shadows with a stick or a branch or an entire tree dragging along behind him.
At one point, Hic tripped on something—a root, a stone, or maybe his own damn foot—and he felt himself stumbling only to be saved by Jack, who had much better balance on two legs, laughing at him, calling him a klutz and an idiot and a thousand other words before he slipped his hand into Hiccup’s and pulled him along, voice soft when he says, “just until we get back to the road. Knowing your luck, you’ll trip and break an arm.”
Hiccup didn’t fight it, and was content to indulge in this unexpected gift for as long as it would last.
The quiet drew in around them once more, but neither felt particularly obliged to break it. Holding hands meant that they were a lot closer to one another, their pace slowed, with the occasional brush of their shoulders sending electricity through Hiccup’s body. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he rested his head on Jack’s shoulder; if he wrapped his arm around Jack’s and leant against him as they walked; what if he traced shapes on the back of Jack’s hand, and letters, spelling out words and shapes while Jack tried to guess what they were.
Too soon, they reached the edge of the forest, the three of them spilling onto the narrow sidewalk, Hiccup scooping up Toothless’s leash and waiting for Jack to pull his hand back. But he didn’t, and Hiccup, wanting, didn’t bring attention to it. He was grinning, ear to ear, watching the pavement as he walked, his chin brushing against Jack’s borrowed scarf and everything was all so perfect and Hiccup was grateful that neither of them had thought of catching the bus because if they had, they wouldn’t have taken the shortcut through the forest and Hiccup certainly wouldn’t be feeling like he was dancing on cloud nine right about now.
Jack walked with his head up, looking up at the night sky. It was cloudless and he could see the stars and moon, searching for a shooting star and Hiccup couldn’t help but laugh when he pointed out a satellite, because, “that’s close enough, right?”
“Close enough. Although I don’t think you get a wish with satellites.”
They drift into silence one more, with Jack staring at the sky and Hiccup watching his feet, because he doesn’t want to trip or stumble. As they near busier roads, Toothless steps into time with Hiccup, letting him hold onto his leash, where he hooks it around his wrist and shoves his hand into his pocket, because the night air was a little cold.
His other hand was fine, what with Jack keeping it warm and Hiccup got another burst of happiness shoot through him, setting his fingers prickling because it really did feel like he had been jolted by lightning.
But the universe has long since decided that Hiccup doesn’t deserve nice things and this right here has been enjoyed long enough, before Jack takes a deep breath and, indirectly, invites the elephant to join them on the pavement. It has a different name to the one following them from before, but it’s an elephant all the same and the pavement is too narrow for all four of them.
“I talked with Merida tonight.”
Ah.
Hiccup wondered when they were going to talk about that.
He looked over to where the taller was biting his lip, eyes deliberately focused on the path ahead of them. Hiccup certainly didn’t miss the way his eyebrows pinched when he pulled his hand from Jack’s, the feeling of lightning beneath his fingertips vanishing into the cold as he buries them into his pockets. Jack copies him, holding the silence and leaving Hiccup to delegate the direction of their conversation.
And it wasn’t that Hiccup didn’t want Jack to know, or that it was a particularly hard conversation to discuss, it was just a dampener on any kind of mood and Hiccup didn’t like the trigger-response apologies that he would get. And maybe it’s this irritation that prickles his voice and he’s so blasé when he says, “yeah, Mer told you Mums dead.”
“She didn’t say that.”
At least it wasn’t a trigger-response.
Hiccup shrugs nonchalantly, feeling Toothless bump into him deliberately, in question to his feelings. Hic distracted him, and himself, by scratching behind his ears. He feels somewhat at fault for the awkwardness the makes the wind colder and a stuffiness in his chest, and this time he’s the one taking a deep breath and sighing it all out.
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just, she died years ago. I don’t have any memories of her, so it’s not like I’m suddenly overtaken by emotion when people start talking about someone I don’t know, and then when everyone goes and pities me when they find it out, everything feels fake and like I don’t deserve it because—.” He cuts himself off.
The other reason that Hiccup is so cautious as to who knows about his story is because of the reason why she died. And yes, okay, dirty needle, weak immune system, not his fault. But Hiccup’s own birth had been the root cause, he knows this. The labour was classified as traumatic, and him and his premature state had needed emergency intervention blah blah blah, but it was the lingering defects that had a detrimental effect on Valka, meaning that when the illness took root inside of her, she had little fight left within her.
“She went into hospital, and I came out of it,” Hiccup says, rolling his shoulders, pulling his hands out of his pockets to wrap around himself. It wasn’t really that cold, but he felt it like a noose around his throat. “Guess I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want you to look at me like everyone else does when they find out,” he says, part in apology, part in explanation.
Jack nods, but Hiccup can’t see it, too busy staring at his feet. “I guess I understand that.
“I mean,” he says quickly, hands waving in front of his face, “I might have a little more understanding, because it’s just the three of us two—me, Punzie and my dad, I mean—” and his voice is quick and rushed and maybe even a little panicked. “Mine fucked off. You’re didn’t choose to, and maybe at least you know that she would’ve loved you if she was still here.”
He gives a sort of wince, then drops his head. “Sorry. This sounds like I’m trying to make it about me.” But it really didn’t, and Hiccup can see Jack is trying to comfort him, but it’s such an awkward, not-their-usual-banter and they’re both trying not to say the wrong thing.
“At least we’re half way to being batman,” he says casually—something Merida used to tell him all the time, and often it was stupid enough to cheer him up. It works for Jack too, turning around to grin at him. “Not enough angst for our origin stories though. We’ll have to put a bit more effort in.”
“Meh,” Hic shrugs. “Killing my dad would require effort. Besides, I wouldn’t be a decent superhero anyway. I’ve only got one leg.”
“So? The Winter Soldier only has one arm.”
“One real arm,” Hiccup reminded him, before diving into a long-winded explanation about the disadvantages of bio-tech while Jack kept going on about the unlimited possibilities of fake limbs and how they’d aid Hiccup in his endeavour to become a superhero.
Neither of them noticed when they had joined hands again, and neither of them particularly cared.
It’s midnight by the time they reach the finale of the sixth season of Dead Walkers, the tv paused on the opening credits while they spitball theories as to who everything is going to play out.
Or, well, Hiccup was spitballing. Jack has already seen the sixth season finale, seventh and eight too. He hasn’t watched anymore of the ninth, even as it plays a new episode weekly on the tv, because he wants to watch it alongside Hiccup and maybe a few of the other guys that are also as hooked by the glory, guts and gore as they are.
Jack snags one of the last slices of pizza, leant back on his bed as he watches Hiccup talk excitedly, hands moving as he goes in depth with his theories that Jack hums and hahs to, rather than giving any real answer.
It is slight in part due to the fact that he’s not really listening, and in part to the fact that he doesn’t want to spoil, knowing that the new characters that have just been introduced are about to throw a spanner in the works and plot-twist the show to hurtle down a completely different track to what everyone was expecting, which, ballsy move by the writers, but it worked and Jack couldn’t wait until they finally un-paused the tv and Hiccup got to see the peril his favourite characters faced.
Hiccup isn’t aware that Jack is watching him, not really listening when they are both absorbed by the boy’s excitement although for two separate reasons. Jack has noticed that Hiccup likes to talk with his hands. He doesn’t do it often, not like he is in college where he’s calm and slow and gives thought to his words before he speaks them.
And yet, here, in the privacy of two, Hiccup talks with his body as much as his words. His hands flail, his body animated and he’s relaxed, Jack realises belatedly. He’s relaxed here, enough that he doesn’t hold himself back, doesn’t fear what Jack will think, or say, and he trusts him.
Hiccup is relaxed and he’s himself and he’s so fucking cute and Jack wants this all the time; he wants all of Hiccup’s attention, all of his affections, he just wants to kiss him—
“You’re not even listening, are you?”
Hiccup’s hands have halted, and it takes a second too long for the words to register, what with Jack’s head leant on his bed, smiling. The smile turns sheepish. “No. Not really.”
Hiccup’s own smile falls fell flat, purposefully so, and he looks just as cute with pouting lips as he does with his blushing cheeks and cold-touched nose. Jack played his puppy dog eyes. “You can’t blame me Hic, if not I’ll spoil the story and that’s not fun for anyone.”
“Alright, I’ll give you that.”
Before they press play, Jack makes the executive decision to migrate to the bed, Hiccup joining him with the kidnapped penguin plushie that he wraps his arms around and hides behind when the show gets too scary for him, (“I do not!”).
Of course the plot twists play out, and Jack has just-as entertaining time watching Hiccup’s expressions as he does re-watching the finale, which introduces some sorely-missed humour from Jack’s favourite characters that do a ‘we’re not dead’ reveal and there’s a classic romantic kiss-before-we-die-but-we’re-not-actually-going-to-die trope and Jack can’t help himself from making a joke about being jealous of Eva—the female character—because she gets to kiss Jaeger, who looks absolutely ravishing in his zombie-killing attire, but looks twice as hot when he’s on the red carpet.
And then, suddenly, it hits him what he’s said and he wants to back-peddle, but the words get caught in his throat and he’s aware of the way Hiccup’s eyes are burning into the side of his face.
He tries diverting.
“So, uh, which character do you like?”
The wince in his voice is palpable, and Jack is content to stare at the tv until it blinds him, wishing he had some supernatural power that would command the floor to swallow him, or maybe the bed, or maybe he could get kidnapped by ninjas and be taken to some remote island where he would live out his days and never ben seen a—
“Jaeger.”
Jack’s head snapped around so fucking fast he nearly dislocated him. Hiccup was giving him a shit-eating grin, eyes twinkling mischievously. “If you’re nice, we can share.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.