Chapter Text
Wednesday 18th November 2020
02:54 (the day after the Day)
“You made a deal,” she says.
You made, and not: we made. That distinction is very important to her. Astrid Alejandra Herrera–Sosa – who’s grown up afraid of the way cops carry guns on their hips and look at her warm, brown skin like it’s a crime – shook his hand just hours ago, she’ll admit. She’s not proud of it, but she did.
But it was his deal he agreed to. His deal he double crossed. His mess he made. She won’t absolve him of the responsibility he should shoulder.
The policeman clears his throat, breaking eye contact. Astrid hates eye contact, really hates it, but she forces her eyes to blur and stares into his eyeballs. It’s important to her that he understands just how angry she is. Every single person roaming the hospital waiting room could've stopped this, and they didn't.
“Look,” the policeman finally speaks, finally gaining the courage to look back at her. “These kinds of things just... Escalate. We tried our best.”
“Your best,” Astrid says, her voice burning her throat in ugly, angry tongues of fire, “isn't good enough.”
God, she can barely stand to look into his dark blue eyes, but she makes herself. Blood drips from her nose, collecting on her torn top. The officer’s eyes flicker to the growing stain. She doesn’t move to wipe it away.
It’s nothing new.
She’s only sixteen, but this – the danger, the adrenaline, the flashes of ice and fire taming the other – is what she’s best at. She’s only sixteen, but her palms are calloused and she already knows more of the world than her tía and tío are happy with.
She’s only sixteen, but she can now say with confidence that she’s definitely committed at least two felonies within the last twenty four hours.
Not the worst tally imaginable, but for Astrid Herrera-Sosa from (as Snotlout would say) the “ass crack of nowhere, Oregon,” even news of a tiny crime makes its way around the small town of Berk like wildfire.
Fishlegs, Snotlout and Heather finally judge Astrid tranquil enough to stop restraining her, and they sit back down on the plastic waiting room seats. Snotlout pats the seat next to him with a kindred look in his eyes. Astrid sits, and he squeezes her hand for a moment.
“We had our best team on the case,” the cop promises. “We were working hard to find him.”
“And yet six teenagers still found him before you incompetent–” she then calls him something her tía would scold her for. His lip curls in disdain.
“Then perhaps you would make good police officers!” He says, his tone forcedly jovial.
Ruffnut looks deadpan at him, and says firmly, “I'd literally rather kill myself than become a cop.”
Astrid takes great satisfaction in seeing his face fall.
“I’d think otherwise, if I were you,” he eventually says. “You get to protect people. It’s a very rewarding job.”
“You didn’t protect Hiccup,” Snotlout says accusingly. “You were supposed to.”
“We stopped the situation from getting worse,” the police officer retorts, harsher this time. “So, yes. I’d say we protected him.”
Astrid looks right at him, standing there looking so smug, like he’s done nothing wrong and everything right, and mentally kicks him in the shins.
“You said nothing bad would happen to him. You– you said, if we told you what we were doing, you– you would help.” Fishlegs’s voice is soaked with unshed tears. “You swore you would be able to protect him. You promised. You lied. ”
“We did all we can,” he insists, seemingly unflapped by the others’ desperation.
It makes Astrid sick.
“It wasn’t enough.” A sob breaks through her voice, rising above the overwhelming tiredness swallowing her thoughts. “There must have been more you could’ve done to stop this.”
“Sometimes, in situations like these, there simply isn’t.”
But there is.
“Here’s an idea,” she says, each shard of glass in her voice dripping venom and acid– a formula designed to hurt and cut and poison.
“Oh?” The cop raises an eyebrow.
“You take Hiccup’s abusive father, and lock him the fuck up.”