Chapter Text
“You don’t have to do this, you know?” Heather said, as Dagur brushed through her soaking wet hair for the fiftieth time. “I can do my own hair, you know.”
“I know, I know.” Dagur carried on, curling her hair around the handle of the brush like he worked out accentuated Heather’s natural curls. He’d been doing this at least weekly since he met her: a scared, shy, fiercely smart thirteen year old, with an aptitude for fighting. He learned very quickly she was ridiculously smart, could throw a mean punch, and feared nothing in the heat of the moment.
That didn’t stop her from being his baby sister, though. Nothing ever would.
He finally decided to stop procrastinating, and began diffusing through her hair.
“You got everything?” He quizzed once her hair was mostly dry. “Suitcase?”
Heather jokingly rolled her eyes. “You saw me put it in the car.”
“Antidepressants and painkillers?”
“Day bag.”
“Taser and pepper spray?”
“Also in my day bag.”
“ID? Debit card? Drivers licence?”
“Dagur, I told you last night, I've got everything. ”
“Even dad's old horn?”
The horn - an intricately carved, yet utterly useless artefact - was one of Dagur’s first gifts to Heather, from one of the boxes of his dad's old possessions. Neither of them knew what it was for, but Dagur sometimes found Heather stroking the intricate wood carvings after a bad day, as if syphoning strength from each crevice.
“I'll get it for you,” Dagur said before Heather could disagree with him.
Heather took a moment to look around her room. Blank walls, scarred with rips, dents and stains, stared back at her. This really would be the last time it was the same. Dagur told her she was going to redecorate it as a guest room for his ‘friend’ Mala Quinn from his medical school. Heather and him both knew the friend part was a lie. But he had a right to say when he wanted that part of his life to be official.
Deciding she’d waited long enough, she finally went downstairs, where Dagur was waiting, typing furiously on his phone.
“Ready for UCLA?” He asked.
“Oh, I’m ready. UCLA wishes they were ready for me.” Heather grinned.
“That’s my Heather,” he said proudly, and patted her on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get in the car.”
In the same position Dagur was years ago, she had been accepted into UCLA to major in psychology, and minor in culinary arts. Unfortunately, she’d been the only one in her friend group to be accepted there, and the rest were going to The Edge university in Washington. She’d assured them it was fine; and honestly, she was looking forward to making some new friends. Maybe, Dagur wondered, she might even find a girlfriend.
She’d come out as gay at thirteen, fearless and unashamed. Dagur - who promised to take her to pride when she’d told her - had told her he was bisexual, so she didn’t have to worry about being disowned. Her friends were all queer in their own way; of course they were supportive. Heather sometimes had to remember that just because she’d been lucky enough to spend her teenage years loved and supported, things wouldn’t be the same at uni. Not just being a genderqueer lesbian, but being different. Being an obvious outsider. Missing classes for endometriosis pains that left her bedbound. Sounding different, acting different, even being new. Different.
But, as Dagur reminded, as he began to drive, he’ll always be there for her. Him, and the rest of her gang. She’d already arranged to face chat every other weekend, and she could almost hear the incessant ‘pings’ of a constant stream of texts from her brother.
The thought comforted her enough through the two hour flight to keep her from losing her sanity. Which is enough, for now, she thought.
Dagur watched her wave goodbye from the door of the taxi, feeling more like an old man than he ever had. He wasn’t stupid; he’d been preparing for this. Heather wanted to taste independence, and he was willing to let her make the journey herself. It wasn’t like he needed to be there. He’d signed all the paperwork ahead of time. Heather didn’t technically have a parent; he was her ‘legal guardian’, which - in Dagur’s opinion - was too formal a term for the fierce love and protection he felt for her.
His phone lay hot and heavy in his pocket. He was tempted to send her a text, ‘just to check in’ , he told himself. Just to make sure nothing had gone wrong. Just in case she’d left something with him, or the admission said she had to have a guardian at sign in. Oh God, what was he thinking leaving her-
He stopped himself. Heather was a smart person. She could ring him if needs be. She could handle anything else. She would be fine.
His heart heavy, he got in his car, and drove back to his empty house.
One does not simply leave a gang; Dagur knows that, of course. But did he really know? If he did, he would’ve anticipated the inevitable threats over the first few months of having Heather. First confused, then demanding, then furious. Threatening him, his house, his career, his money.
He deleted them, obviously. He was more than done with that phase of his life. And, for good measure, he blocked them, and bought a new phone.
It had been two weeks since Heather went to UCLA, and he was eating breakfast in his too-large kitchen without everyone there. And one message from Ryker upturned everything else.
Ryker: I know about your little sister. We’ve got men at UCLA. Pity if something were to happen to her, wouldn’t it?
That’s when Dagur started to really worry. He’d been careful to make sure Heather barely knew anything of his history with the gang. Everything else in his life - his dad, his mom, Grethel, his addiction - he was fine with her knowing, but the Dragon Hunters were known for their cruelty. Heather was eighteen now, but he sometimes caught flashes of the shy, whip-smart thirteen year old he drove home in the backseat of his car, who he’d upturned his old life to protect.
He couldn’t let her know the danger she could be in. It would be like telling a child you were a criminal. Which he would be, if his cunning and his father's reputation didn’t keep him sheltered from the brunt of the blows the rest of the Dragon Hunters endured. In a way, it wasn’t fair.
But in another way, it wasn’t fair he was left orphaned and unloved at eleven years old. He was sure it was balanced somehow. Just like how Heather had him, and the most amazing friends in the world after thirteen years of loneliness.
Speaking of... what if the Hunters started targeting the gang at The Edge? Most of the members were in college, if not high school. What if his caution hadn’t been for nothing? What if something terrible happened to Heather, or the gang at The Edge, the kids he looked after like his own? He never expected to become a dad, let alone a dad of seven unstable children without a single good father between them, but he wouldn’t let anything come in their way from the peace they deserved.
That settled it. He had to do something.
Even if it meant risking everything important. If it kept his kids safe, it was worth it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ryker.”
“Is that you? Da-”
“No time. Listen... I have a proposition.”
“Oh? You do, have you?”
“Yes. And... I’m back in.”