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“Wait-!”
Ice smothers him as Jack is shoved backwards into the portal, scream swallowed up and cut off.
It makes sense that a portal moving through time and space would be cold. Or perhaps it doesn’t? He’s not sure if space can really be considered cold if there’s no warmth to differentiate. In any event, its cold.
And it’s not like anyone but Jack can even feel this type of cold to have an opinion on it. Not even the other Guardians.
So he’s lucky, really. That it’s him who took the hit and it’s him who’s immune to the cold and it’s him who’s probably going to die from the wound in his side before anyone else can do anything about it.
What sounds like thunder rumbles through the void, distorted enough that he can’t tell where it comes from or what it might mean. The barriers of time-space flash white before he feels pin-pricks of pressure on his skin, slowly intensifying until he’s gritting his teeth at the sensation. His wound flares in agony as the pressure digs into his skin, beneath it, lighting up his very being with fire.
Just when he thinks that the pain will finally tip him into unconsciousness or maybe just outright kill him, it eases. Another second passes and then he’s vaulted out of the portal, spinning and twisting through the air.
His ears pop and his vision turns splotchy, wind resistance howling in his ears. He thinks he yells, but it’s swallowed up in the cacophony rushing past him.
He struggles to open his eyes, and they sting the second he does, but a glimpse is enough to let him know he’s falling from somewhere high and falling fast.
There's something about flying that never fails to take his breath away and even now it is no different. Gravity and worries can't touch him here, can't pull at his heart like they do when he's on the ground. Whenever things get too much—conflict with the Guardians or worries about believers or even stress about freaking global warming—if you need to find him, he'll be up here. Twisting through the stars and coasting along the clouds, chasing a freedom all his own.
He's tempted to drift now. To let what will happen take its course and be a passenger floating along the breeze, but the clear, sharp sound of the North Wind rushing past shakes him out of it.
The winds all have unique sounds that are easy to tell apart if you take the time to listen. Jack has spent much of his existence with them and they are as much his friend as an extension of himself by now.
The East Winds rustle by, carrying leaves, seeds and flower petals. They gust and billow and blow everything in their path because everything needs a push now and again. The North Winds whisper, harmonizing as they cut through mountains and stretches of the sea with arching precision, whistling through the streets and bouncing off fresh fallen snow. Playful as it twists beneath your coats and nips at your fingers and nose. The East Winds are strong and steadfast compared to the North Wind’s bite and clarity, but neither wind know him here.
The wind cannot help him, they don’t know him in this time so why should they? He can’t blame them and he doesn’t have the sense of mind to introduce himself. They are as unknown to him as he is to them, but give clarity to him all the same.
It takes a lot of focus, the tendrils of consciousness slipping through his fingers like the reins of North’s sleigh, but he manages. He claws at his partially ripped hoodie to better cover the gash, hoping the windforce won’t open the cut any wider and forces himself to turn midair.
Jack’s heart stutters as he sees an unobstructed stretch of water rapidly approaching.
He won’t die from the impact, or from the water, but that was kind of the problem.
Jack hates water.
Rain? Refreshing. A pond? Sure, great for splashing around. A lake? Only if it’s frozen over. But the freaking ocean? No way.
His staff is awkwardly hooked under his armpit to keep it from flying away, tapping against his leg as its buffeted by the wind. Painstakingly, he manages to wrestle it out in front of him, lone arm shaking from the effort.
The wind fights against him, and he grunts as Twinetender twists and pulls in his grasp.
He’ll risk the water if he has to, but making sure he doesn’t hit it and go plunging down into its endless depths is the bigger concern. Thinking quickly, he might be able to guide his frost into a kind of slide (or ramp?) to slow his descent enough that he can just skim the surface. Yeah, that works. That's totally something he can do, no biggie. Maybe if he believes in himself enough, he can just freeze the whole ocean and he won't have to deal with the water at all!
If only.
His vision tilts and blurs, darkness eats at the edges with a frightening intensity now as he grips his staff with both hands. It hurts to think, to breathe and focus his eyes, but he’s quickly running out of options.
His view is more distorted than it is clear—seeing two of everything is just a bonus at this point—but just as he’s decided to wing it and freeze everything, something rams into his side. Jack cries out and he scrambles to keep ahold of Twinetender, coughing as he feels his skin split further up his side.
Through the screaming of his head, he realizes he’s no longer falling. He can feel the wing beats of something working to keep them in the air. His legs dangle slightly, but there’s a warm hand on his shoulder, grounding him, keeping him still.
Jack has a faint thought of Tooth or North in his sleigh coming to his rescue.
“Oh Thor…”
The hope of possibly being safe and the fatigue that’s beginning to sweep over him is enough to finally overwhelm his body into knowing no more.
——
When Hiccup spotted something falling from the sky a good couple hours into Toothless’ and his morning flight, he thought it might have been some bad fish a dragon hawked up mid-flight. Well, until the bad fish started moving.
They went streaking after it, clouds coiling in their wake as Toothless dove to catch what was very obviously now a person. Hiccup braces his legs and tries to cling on to their form as Toothless strains to cut off their breakneck momentum. The guy lets out a choked grunt of pain and Hiccup grimaces, feeling bad although there was little they could do to avoid it.
Hiccup’s eyes catch on the boy’s pure white hair first and then the pained ice blue eyes next. He only registers that the boy is injured when he curls into the fetal position and Hiccup is forced to adjust his grip. Deep, deep red is blossoming up his side at an alarming rate and Hiccup feels his heart drop out of his chest at the sheer amount of it.
“Oh Thor…” is all he gets out in belated shock before the boy passes out.
Toothless is already racing them back to Dragon’s Edge, but Hiccup urges him to go faster, worried at both the situation and the dark storm clouds threatening the horizon. In sync as always, Toothless obliges with a mighty flap of his wings, launching them across the sky like a shooting star.
—
They make it back in record time, beating out the storm before snow could begin to fall in earnest.
Hiccup hops off Toothless, clutching the stranger against his chest to keep him steady and hoping that something could be done. Hoping that they weren’t too late.
Toothless shoots two plasma blasts into the sky—one high enough to be visible and the other to impact it—making an unmistakable signal flare as the light sweeps over the Edge. The others would know it was from Toothless and head to his house immediately; no further information needed.
Even with a head start, Toothless makes it inside before him, using his tail to sweep a bunch of papers, books and stray pencils off the table closest to the hearth.
Hiccup quickly sets the boy down and hikes up the side of the tunic(?) to look at the wound.
It was longer than it was deep, angled across his waist and stopping just beneath the jut of his hip. His blood was dark (maybe from something that the blade was coated with? poison?) tacky and congealing around the wound, but there was still enough flowing out that he couldn’t have been bleeding for long. Probably no major blood loss.
Hiccup pulled gently on each side of the gash, relieved when it only spread about a knuckle’s worth. It wasn’t deep enough to cut into anything important, but it’d probably hurt like a mother until it healed. Remarkably, the wound was even, the skin was split rather than torn and had this been any other situation, a weapon able to do that would’ve been impressive. As it was, Hiccup was just relieved.
He removed one of his flight gloves to feel around the wound, startling slightly when his touch met cold skin instead of the warmth of inflammation or infection. Hiccup pressed a hand against the boy’s stomach, feeling for any abnormal warmth. The moment stretched and Hiccup flipped his hand, wondering if his insulated suit had made it harder to accurately gauge his temperature. He touched the boy’s cheek and ice met his touch, barely a hint of warmth to be found.
Hiccup leaned over the boy and rested his head on his chest, listening intently for a heartbeat and being rewarded with a sluggish but present thud. Hiccup fished out his dagger and held it to the boy’s mouth, his mind stuttering as no breath puffed on the metal. If it weren’t for the very obvious movement of his chest as he breathed, Hiccup would have thought he’d been touching a corpse.
Hiccup had only seen breath not appear on a blade once before. A ship had been sent out to scour the neighboring land when a snowstorm broke suddenly midday, raging long into the next morning. The Vikings were thought lost until the vessel had floated close enough to be seen from Berk’s cliffs and a dinghy was sent out to retrieve them. The surviving Vikings were taken to Gothi’s house colder than ice, shivering and blue from the temperature; their breaths said to have frozen in their lungs.
If the boy wasn’t shivering, then it might already be too late. The high altitude would freeze anyone up there without proper clothing, but then how did he get up there? Had he been on a dragon? But if so, where was the dragon?
Hiccup shook his head, turning to a cabinet and grabbing his bandages and the jar of honey he kept on hand.
He had prepared a barrel of freshwater earlier that morning for when they returned from their flight and he thanked his past self for not putting it off for later. The water would be vital now.
Hiccup had just filled a pail when a thud signaled the arrival of Stormfly, judging by the weight and by knowing Astrid.
“Hiccup!” Astrid ran in, her axe brandished like she thought trouble had followed him home. A squawk from Stormfly outside backed her up.
“I’m okay, but I found someone. They’re hurt,” he explained quickly, setting the pail on the table with a thud.
Astrid–bless her–came over, took one glance and dropped her axe and jumped into action. She tilted the boy on his side so Hiccup could pour the fresh water into it, hoping to flush out anything that might have gotten inside the wound.
Astrid lowered the boy back down, her face pinched in concern and misplaced fear as she analyzed the situation just as Hiccup did a few moments prior.
“What happened?”
Hiccup opened the jar of honey, crouching down to be eye-level with the boy’s side.
“No yak’s-?”
“No, not deep enough,” Hiccup answered before she could finish, taking a dollop of honey and gently running it on the inside edges of the wound and another dollop on the outside of it.
After being liberal with the honey, he appraised the coating and stood up.
Hiccup turned to rummage around for the thread spool he knew was somewhere on his smaller corner table. “Toothless and I were out flying and saw him falling from the sky—about a’ hundred fifteen ell’s up—caught him at about fifty above the water and that’s as much as I’ve got.”
“What do you mean? That’s it?” Astrid huffed, shucking off her gloves to help and shooting him a look of disbelief.
With perfect timing that they usually reserved for comedic and pranking purposes, another thud came from outside. The squabbling of the twins was audible as the two in question ran inside.
Finding the spool after shuffling a few papers around, he grabbed the thread and fished out the needle jammed into its side. He turned to look for a candle when Astrid handed him an already lit one, her eyebrow raised in disappointment that he hadn’t realized she’d already anticipated this.
“We’ve arrived! Whoa! Who’s the-” Tuffnut started, only to be jostled into biting his tongue as Ruffnut came to a harsh stop against him.
“Who’s the dude?” Ruffnut finished as Tuff groaned and fanned his tongue, like that would help.
“Come help hold him down,” Hiccup said, ignoring them and focusing on heating the needle without singing it with ash, dunking it in the remaining water before his fingers burned.
The twins did as asked without further protest, going on either side of Astrid. She was the strongest (out of everybody) and would hold the boys middle down, which was the important part.
Hiccup crouched again, needle threaded, “Ready.”
The three grabbed him only for Astrid to sharply stop them with a call of his name.
“Hic, he’s cold,” Astrid said, feeling his stomach, looking on in confusion as his stomach expanded with breath and not blood.
“Yup, that’s why I’m trying to do this quickly.” He looked up and caught her uneasy nod before she resumed pressing him down.
To the boy’s credit, he didn’t stir as Hiccup started stitching up his side. When Hiccup was halfway through with no signs of him waking, the others let go.
Hiccup tried to finish as quickly as he could, relieved and concerned once again at how sharp the weapon must have been to be so clean.
“Okay, done,” He tied the thread off and cut it with his knife. “We’ve gotta get him warmed up and quick.”
Toothless took that as his cue to light the hearth and the twins gathered together the furs and pelts Hiccup kept around the house.
With Astrid’s help, Hiccup pulled off the bloodied, blue garment-thingy (that he definitely would have to look at later), awkwardly working around the stick firmly locked in the boy’s left hand, and started loosely bandaging his middle. They didn’t want to make it too restrictive since it had just been stitched and needed air. But they still needed to keep the wound clean and soak up any blood or pus that escaped the healing wound.
Two more thuds signaled that Fishlegs and Snotlout had arrived.
Ruffnut and Tuffnut called out that they had finished arranging what could charitably be called a nest and he didn't waste another second. Hiccup picked him up once more, spinning on his heel and taking quick steps over to the fireplace. Gingerly, Hiccup used all of his strength to deposit the boy into the warm furs and pelts without jostling him, hopefully warming him up to something not as close to death.
“Whoa, who’s the new guy?” Snotlout asked, shaking stray snowflakes off his helmet before peering into the pile.
Hiccup sighed, adrenaline fading now that all the excitement was over with. He ran a hand through his hair and cringed when the mostly dried honey on his fingertips caught in the strands.
“Hiccup said he fell out of the sky,” Astrid answered, crossing her arms and frowning. Openly skeptical now that the urgency had faded.
“The sky?” Fishlegs questioned, wringing his hands.
“That’s awesome,” Tuff grinned, jostling Ruffnut who looked similarly buoyed by the mystery.
The boy shifted and they all quieted, watching as his face turned away from the fire with a grimace pulling at his features.
“It’s strange,” Astrid bit out, “that’s what it is. How is that even possible?” She was worried and mistrustful, which was understandable. It made Hiccup’s stomach turn over uneasily now that she'd pointed it out.
He avoided her eyes and frowned, tucking the stranger in more snugly just to keep his hands busy. It must be uncomfortable to warm up after being so cold, he figured, and shuffled another pelt on top.
“Where do you think he comes from?” Fishlegs asked, eyes catching on the tufts of white hair sticking out of the fur pile.
“Uh,” Ruffnut scoffed, leaning on her brother. “The sky. Astrid just said that.”
Fishlegs gave her a flat look. “I mean,” he said, turning back to Hiccup, “What island do you think he’s from? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with his, uh, coloring before.”
Hiccup’s head tilted in consideration, “I think he might be from somewhere farther than the archipelago, maybe farther than me and Toothless have explored, even.”
A log crackled and split inside the fireplace, spitting embers that flickered and faded in the air.
The dragon riders stared at the boy in contemplation. As childish or as chaotic as some of them may be, they'd grown a lot in the last few years. They weren't as naive as they once were. They all had things they wanted to fight for now, people and dragons they needed to protect that went beyond each other. Theories, worries and anxieties prickle in each of their minds before it's cut short by Hiccup sighing and shaking his head.
“There’s nothing we can do right now,” He got to his feet, loosening a buckle on his bracer to start working off his gear. He wouldn't be able to go back out flying today or anytime soon. While the stranger was in his home, regardless of being friend or foe, he was effectively grounded.
“I didn’t see anything in the clouds where he fell, no dragons that I could see either. Toothless would have lost anyone attempting to follow us, so for now, carry on as normal. But stay observant,” Hiccup instructed, making direct eye contact with the twins and briefly with Snotlout, “Just in case.”
Ruff and Tuff shot him a thumbs up and waddled out. Tuff stuck a finger in his ear and asked Ruff something about a prank for Snoggletog.
Hiccup deliberately put them out of his mind. He didn’t need to know and he didn’t want to know. He had enough on his plate as it was and he wasn’t going to waste time thinking about the chaos that the twins were planning. (Although he knew he’d eventually find out whether he wanted to or not.)
He worked off the other detachable parts of his flight suit mechanically, feeling Astrid’s eyes on him and diligently pretending he couldn’t.
Snotlout was staring between Astrid and Hiccup, waiting for whatever fallout he probably could sense about to happen in one of his infuriatingly ill-timed perceptive moments.
Fishlegs, wisely, was minding his own business and was instead sketching the stranger on a scrap of paper, jotting down his likeness faithfully enough for something or other.
Finally, when all he had left was the chest piece, he looked over to Astrid and shrugged, his hands slapping against his sides as he gave her the go-ahead.
“Hiccup, what were you thinking? You know that he probably won’t make it through the night, nevermind that if he does wake up, you’ve just given away the location of the Edge to a stranger, potential spy, or worse.”
Hiccup resisted rolling his eyes and spun on his heel, hunting for a scrap of cloth he could use to get the stray bits of honey off his hand.
“I couldn’t just let him plummet to his death, Astrid, you know that, and even if he doesn’t make it, at least we tried. It’s not like we haven’t been in our fair share of crazy situations too, he deserves a chance to explain himself.” He found the cloth and started picking at his fingers, continuing. “Who knows,” he shrugged casually, “he could be a dragon rider too.”
Snotlout scoffed, “Uh, yeah right. Another dragon rider? Dressed like that? I don’t think so.”
Hiccup frowned at Snotlout. “Well it’s an option, okay? The only way to get that high up is by dragon and that wound was probably made by a blade, not claws, ergo it’s possible that he was riding a dragon and ran into some trouble.”
He nodded to himself. That was a reasonable possibility, right?
“Or,” Astrid cut in, crossing her arms, “he’s a dragon trapper and a dragon slashed him before taking off with him.”
Hiccup grimaced.
“I mean, could it be some kinda convoluted trap set by Viggo? He’s done some crazy things before, maybe he’s getting desperate,” Fishlegs offered, finished with the sketch and rubbing at the lingering charcoal on his fingers.
Hiccup put his hands up in surrender, “Alright, I see your point, but it doesn’t change the fact that we just don’t know right now. We’ll play it by ear. Like Astrid said, we don’t even know if he’ll make it through the night, no need to be worrying preemptively.” He does that enough by himself.
The sound of something knocking into his front door has them all whipping their heads around.
The stranger was slumped against the entryway, his left hand pressed against his side while the other was shaking around his staff, trying to pull himself up.
“What- how?” Hiccup glanced at the now empty pile of pelts and back to the boy.
Astrid was already on the move to corner their newly awakened guest.
“Hey!”
Before Astrid could grab him, the boy tipped face down into a snowdrift outside the door.
Hiccup comes up next to her, sighing as he looks at the dumbass sprawled in the snow. Fishlegs and Snotlout peek around him as Astrid turns the poor guy over, his face lax as he passed out again.
“Trying to escape first-thing really inspires confidence, huh?” Snotlout comments, looking more smug than necessary.
Hiccup drags a hand over his face, “Just help me get him back inside.”
—
Eventually, after they had cocooned the boy back in the pelts, the other dragon riders left Hiccup to finally change out of his flight suit and rest.
Hiccup had decided to work a bit more on his Dragonfly 2 prototype, fiddling with the release mechanism idly when he depressed a spring and his finger slipped, sending the spring flying over the table.
Toothless warbled a laugh at him, eyes closed and pretending to be innocently asleep in the loft when Hiccup glowered over at him.
He sighed and got up, walking around the table to where he thought the spring fell, kneeling and patting around for the bit of metal when the front door scraped open.
Hiccup shot up on instinct, hitting his head on the underside of the desk. He rubbed at the sore spot with a hiss and jerked his head up to see what happened.
Toothless was standing and staring at the door, green eyes blinking in surprise. Hiccup followed his gaze, seeing the door was pushed open to its full dragon-sized width, empty of anyone else. The sky was dark, but the fire inside provided enough light to make out the rapidly falling snow just outside the doorway.
The dragon huffed at him, nodding towards the empty pelts before carefully picking his way down the stairs since his bulk would clip the ceiling if he jumped.
Hiccup groaned, “Not again.”
Hiccup awkwardly jogged to the door, expecting to see the guy either collapsed outside again or trying to make his escape. Poor schmuck probably didn't know they were on an island though.
He was kind of right.
The white-haired boy had shuffled along the huts wall until he had reached a large snowbank steadily piling up along the side of his hut.
“Hey! Don’t-!”
The boy sighed, no visible air puffing out despite the frigid temperatures, and flopped into the snow once more.
Hiccup winced. He wasn’t wearing a shirt or shoes, nevermind that the ice must be below freezing. What is with this guy?
Hiccup rubbed his arms, mildly cursing his luck and whatever he’d done to deserve being stuck with a masochistic patient. It hadn’t reached the point where it was dangerous to be outside, but it was still uncomfortable in only his shirt and jacket. He stepped outside anyway.
Hiccup inched towards the partially snow-covered guy, “Hey, I know you’re probably, like, dying or something, but why don’t we go back inside so you don’t die quicker?”
He could hear a grumble of what was probably a response, but it was garbled nonsense so Hiccup ignored it. He grabbed one of the dude’s arms (the one on his good side) and gently pulled him into a sitting position before squatting and throwing the arm over his shoulder.
“Alright, up you get,” Hiccup muttered, guiding the boy into standing up.
The guy groaned, but didn’t seem to have the strength to put up a fight, only slumping further into Hiccup’s side.
Hiccup managed a couple steps before the guy planted his feet and weakly tried to stop them from moving.
“C’mon, we’ve gotta get back inside,” Hiccup tried gently, not wanting to pull too hard in case they lost their balance.
“‘M staff…”
Hiccup looked at the guy somewhat surprised, not thinking he was conscious enough to properly talk. “What?”
“Staff.” He repeated, angling his body slightly back to the snow drift where Hiccup could just barely make out the butt of the staff slowly being covered in snow.
“I’ll grab it once we’re inside, okay?”
The boy hummed and untensed, allowing Hiccup to lead him back inside.
“Alrighty then,” Hiccup lowered the guy down as slowly as he could back into the pelts. “Don’t suppose you could tell me your name while you’re conscious?”
Hiccup gently started covering the guy back up with the furs, his face scrunching up in protest once again. His eyes were still hazy from either the pain or the temperature changes, but he didn't seem as out of it as before.
“Too warm,” the guy complained.
Hiccup threw a big pelt on top of him, sealing him up tight like a little pie. “Well, that’s good, I think. It mean’s your temperature’s going back up.”
Hiccup carefully tucked the ends of the pelt under the guy’s sides in the hopes that it’d at least trip him up a bit if he tried to sneak out again.
After a few more moments of fussing, it looked as if he’d passed out again so Hiccup stood to head back outside and grab the staff, patting at some particularly stubborn snowflakes clinging to his pants.
Hiccup took a step and felt his foot roll. Moving his boot, he grinned quietly to himself as he picked up his lost spring.
“Jack.”
“Hm?”
Hiccup turned back, crouching to get a little closer to the boy, not sure if he’d heard correctly. The guy cleared his throat gently, his eyes still lidded and hazy, but focused all the same.
“My name is Jack.”
Hiccup smiled faintly, “Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Hiccup.”