Chapter Text
*Jack’s pov*
This sucks.
What sucks, you ask? Well, Manny decided to drop me in the past, on an island, with no prior warning! Like seriously, you ignored me for 100 years, and you do this?!? So anyway, it’s been around 3 years since then, and like always, Manny says nothing, and the locals can’t see me. Not to mention said locals are dragon killers, so that’s great.
While 3 years is not very long for me, it is plenty of time to learn how the locals live. At first glance, what the Vikings are doing is noble, but spending time with dragons and a quick peek in the nest says otherwise. So yeah, this sucks.
/—/—/—/—/—/
I’m lounging in a tree because it’s all I can do. It’s boring, though I must admit, the scenery is fantastic. The cove I’m in is blessedly quiet, free from the human hustle and bustle.
Suddenly I hear a faint sound bolting up. I look around and listen. There! That crack in the wall! Some moments later, a child comes through the gap and collapses on the ground after looking around. I get up and glide on the wind to get to the boy.
He is wearing a green shirt with a bear hide vest that looks way too big for him, some thin pants, and fur boots. He has shaggy auburn hair and bright green eyes filled with tears. His face is covered in freckles, bruises, cuts, and blood.
I kneel down and check him over. The cuts are not from a knife; though these bruises are definitely from a punch. He seems to be clutching his chest, but I can’t look because he doesn’t believe in me. It doesn’t matter, as I already know that happened; my blood boils as I stop myself from hunting down who did this. This boy is no older than 9; who would do such a thing?
/—/—/—/—/—/
I followed the boy home to make sure he was ok. Everything that happened pissed me off. First, there was a group of kids picking on him, and I’m sure they were the ones that beat him up. Second, nobody seemed to care that this boy was being picked on or that he was injured! Third, once he got home, his dad didn’t even notice! Forth, this little boy patched up his own wounds, like this has happened before!
I want to punch those bullies for doing this, I want to hit the adults that let it happen, and I want to punch his father for leaving his son to patch his wounds by himself. Still, most of all, I want to hug this little boy and be there for him. I might not know him, but I have always loved children. Things like this make me want more than anything to be visible, to be believed in.
When the boy is done with his injuries, he puts his head on his knees and starts crying. My heart breaks; I have always hated children crying. They shouldn’t be sad; they should be happy! They should be having fun!
I suddenly get an idea, a way to cheer the boy up. I walk over to the window and tap my staff on the glass, waiting for the whole thing to frost over. I can hear him shifting, but I stay focused on my task. When it’s all frosted, I start drawing simple things, familiar things. I hear a gasp from behind me as I draw a helmet with horns and risk a glance behind me. He is staring at the window with wide eyes, and I smile slightly; it’s working. I turn back to the window and start another drawing. It’s a bit difficult, but it’s worth the sound of recognition from the boy. A crudely drawn Natter is on the window; I put my hands before the drawing and focus.
It works! The drawing of the Natter peals away from the window and takes a 3-dimensional shape. The Natter spreads its wings and flies around the room; the boy shuffles to the middle of the bed and watches the Natter with fascination. A grin slowly spreads across his face, and he laughs when the Natter flies through his wild hair. I laughed as well, and all my previous anger was driven from my mind as I watched the boy have fun with the Natter I had made.
The Natter flies around for a bit longer before exploding into the snow. The boy, not expecting it, yelps and falls back onto the bed. I chuckle at his reaction, and he stiffens where he is examining the snow. Then, slowly, the boy turns around and… looks at me? His eyes widen, and he turns to face me fully. My eyes widen, too, and my heart beats faster. Is he looking at me? Could he be?
“C-can you hear me?” I ask hesitantly, and he nods. HE NODS!! “C-can you see me?” And he nods again. AGAIN! He believes in me. HE BELIEVES IN ME! I bark out a laugh and backflip. “You made it snow….” He says slowly, “In my room!” He starts grinning. “I know! Oh, this is great; you can see me!” I’m bouncing up and down at this point, My first believer! He furrows his eyebrows, “Where did you come from? You weren’t here before, and why is me seeing you a good thing?”
/—/—/—/—/—/
We’re sitting on the bed facing each other, as I explain. “Ohhhh, so I’m the first person to see you?” He asks, tilting his head. “Yep! That’s why I’m so excited. I finally have someone to talk to.” I grin at him.
He looks down, “But is it ok?”
“What?”
“Am I ok? You aren’t disappointed?” He whispers, and all my previous furry returns, “I would much rather have you see me than those bullies.” I frown, and he looks up at me, hopeful, “You mean it?” My frown morphed into a little smile, “Of course.” I stick my hand out, “My name is Jack, Jack Frost; what’s yours?” He blinks in surprise before smiling and grabbing my hand, “I’m Hiccup, Hiccup Haddock, and I’m 10. It’s nice to meet you, Jack!”