Chapter Text
Chapter One
“There are boys who
their mothers call sweet
until they are soured by
the cajoling patriarchs.
There are boys who
were never quite boys, just
tiny bodies inhabited by the
ghosts of their fathers.
There are boys who are stabbed
by boredom, who turn and twist
that blade against bugs,
birds, and other boys.
And though I was born one,
boyhood evaded me,
so instead, I owned blame
like second skin.
Then fifth grade came
full of unwhetted ennui,
an exorcised father, and a
plump face adorned by sugar,
in the form of a boy,
you, who tutored me,
until I learnt that the emboldened
scapulas of our backs
are the remnants of angel bone,
of wings which, work wonders
to keep in timeless flight
the sanctity of boyish heart,
and I’m forever in your debt,
for otherwise I’d’ve clipped
feathers mistaken as
emasculating shame.”
-Lord Shalott, Hiccup Meets Jack, for “You Are Not Alone”
Monday, September 5th. 1994. Burgess, PA.
It was one of those days when summer and autumn were embroiled in battle. The days were still bright, clear; however, as the Earth strayed further from the Sun, the kisses of its rays cooled. The first of the leaves began to fall, coating wind with the musk of decay. The mountain air of Northern Pennsylvania was crisp, but occasionally tinged by the smoke of bonfires. There lingered, too, the scents of the flora: the Katsura tree sweetened by darkening leaves, the Spicebush with crushed twigs, and the peachy aroma of bruised Sweet Fern.
In the forest that surrounded a country road, in one rural subdivision, three-quarters of the leaves were still as green as the day they sprouted. The rest yellowed, or rarer, were dyed the coat color of the red fox, whose appearance grew sporadically around dawn and dusk. Perhaps, it was driven to the burgeoning hues of its kin.
On that winding road, in a two-story house with a hidden driveway, lived a ten-year-old boy named Hiccup Haddock. The third Hiccup in a long line of Scottish, Irish, and Icelandic ancestors who immigrated to North America sometime around the 19th century, but the first Hiccup whose stature actually befitted his name. Born prematurely, on the leap day of 1984, he came into the world frail and sickly, barely over a pound. The doctors had informed his parents it was likely that Hiccup wouldn’t live. He had been born too small.
It took only a month before his father became convinced otherwise. In the NICU, little Hiccup had quickly gained strength, enough to be fed by mouth instead of tube, and a week later, he was able to breathe without medical support. Shocked, the doctors would discharge him a couple weeks later at four pounds.
His father proudly proclaimed to all that passed him, “It be the Haddock blood!” while his wife looked on fondly, holding their son.
But even as Hiccup grew, it became increasingly apparent he would always be the smallest out of his peers. Short and knobbly-kneed. A runt.
Yet, if there was one thing anybody who met him would come to know, it would be his insatiable hunger to understand the world around him, and subsequently therefore, his desire to find a place within it.
On this early autumn day, he would find an answer to the latter in the form of a move-in-truck.
Up the hill, in the drive-way of the closest neighboring house, it sat. An anomaly.
For as long as Hiccup could remember, that dilapidated house remained vacant, or at least, from what he knew, no humans took shelter there. Its once-white shudders had long been overrun with vines and aged grime. Its windows, boarded.
Once, Hiccup had visited the house to observe a family of opossums living inside. The porch had caved in when he stepped on it, ripping up his leg. His screams attracted Gobber, his father’s best friend who watched Hiccup while Stoick Haddock was away, and little Hiccup was pried out of the fallen wood.
After his wounds were cleaned and bandaged, Gobber told him the house was dangerous and to never go back. Not only that, but apparently, there was a nasty witch who lived there. One who ate disobedient children.
Suffice to say, Hiccup had stayed clear of it afterwards.
But now, there was a family moving in. There were about a dozen adult men and a woman zipping back and forth between the truck trailer and the front door while two children darted around the yard. Hiccup watched through his binoculars, within his watchtower. A wooden treehouse he spent the summer building with his dad, on the largest tree in their side yard.
Normally, he spent his time in his watchtower observing and drawing the woodland creatures who ventured up into the nearby canopies. Today, however, he was scouting the new enemies.
Adjusting his binoculars, his vision zoomed in on a toddler, giggling as she ran. Her hair was messy and short, with a ponytail atop her head like a fountain, accompanied by the smattering of bright neon clips. Suddenly, she was swooped up into the arms of another child, squealing. The boy holding her seemed to be the same age as Hiccup. His hair was almost the same shade of umber as the little girl, only darker. Somehow fluffier.
Hiccup watched as the boy released her, only for her to run once more. She kept looking back at her brother, instead of focusing on where she was running to. Her gait teetered side to side dangerously. She realized her mistake too late as she collided into a tree trunk. After the impact, she fell onto her butt, holding her head.
He was too far away to make out facial expressions, but he could certainly hear the ear-piercing wail she let out.
The older sibling shouted “Mamie-may!” as he ran to her side, skidding to his knees. The boy tried to comfort her, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her. The concern from him only seemed to make the toddler cry harder.
While she was rubbing her eyes, her brother jumped up and swayed her gaze towards him. And to Hiccup’s utter bewilderment, he began singing and dancing in a ridiculous manner, kicking his feet up in the air and miming chicken wings. The little girl watched, her tears drying. Then, as her brother began to clap, she followed suit. Soon, she was up and wiggling her bottom, forgetting the incident with the tree.
In his endeavor to scout, Hiccup had been so quiet that a Blue Jay snuck upon him. It landed on the ledge of the window, peering inside curiously.
Holding his breath, Hiccup slowly lowered his binoculars.
The bird tweeted and shuffled its feet, before turning to look at the ground below. It had not seen him yet.
Hiccup sat on the floorboard, bringing his sketchbook and pencil into his lap, but at a snail’s pace so as to not disturb the little bird. With the graphite, he etched its beak into the paper. As he went to draw the rest of its head, the bird paused, looking back at him with a beady eye.
He stilled, too.
When the bird lost interest and pecked curiously at the bird feeder that hung from the rafters, he went back to sketching.
It was on his third drawing, unfinished, that the Blue Jay was startled by a door slamming and flew off. Hiccup sighed, before placing his artist tools back onto the table he once made from an old palette.
Grabbing his binoculars, he went to look at the house across the street again. He watched as four grown men struggled to fit a couch inside the door.
"Hey!" A young voice shouted.
Hiccup startled, almost dropping his spying instrument.
"Yeah, you! Hi up there!"
He peered down from the window, clutching his chest. The new kid was looking up at him, head tilted and smiling.
"Oh no," Hiccup muttered.
"What did you say?" The kid asked, before rocking back on his heels with a sheepish expression. "Wait, wait! I gotta introduce myself first. Sorry! Mom says it's polite. Well, hey! My name's Jackson Overland, but you can call me Jack."
Hiccup nodded, lips thinned. They stared at each other for a moment, before Jack shifted his stance.
"Uh, are you going to tell me your name?" Jack asked.
Hiccup winced. "O-oh, um, it's Hi-hi-hiccup."
"Are you alright? You got the hiccups or something?"
"Ah, oh, n-no. That's my name: Hiccup."
"Oh." Jack leaned from one side to the other, his hands behind his back. "Nice to meet you, Hiccup."
"Erm, li-likewise."
They stared at each other, silently and awkwardly again. Hiccup fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, hoping the social interaction would end soon. Unfortunately, it did not.
"So, Hiccup!" Jack exclaimed, popping the 'p'. "Did you build this treehouse yourself?"
"A-actually, it's an observation tower, and, uh, no. My dad built it with me this summer."
"What? That's sick! I wish my dad was as cool as yours," Jack said.
Hiccup perked up at this, grinning.
"Yep. Everyone does," he replied smugly.
After all, he knew his dad was the coolest man alive. Jack smiled.
"Can I join you up there?"
"Maybe. What's the password?"
Jack brought his hand to his chin, thinking for a long moment. Then he snapped his fingers in an epiphany.
"I know!" He pointed up at Hiccup. "It's please!"
Hiccup shook his head chidingly. "Errr! Wrong. That's the magic word, not the password."
"Wait, lemme try again!"
"Oops. There's only one chance of entry per day and I suppose you're out of luck. Sorry, come again tomorrow."
"What! That's not fair!" Jack threw his hands up in the air.
"That's life, Jackie-boy," Hiccup said.
He almost felt guilty as the boy's eyes grew big and his lips jutted out in a pout. Almost.
"Is there a reason? Do you not like me? I know I can be a bit much, but..." A sharp pain hit Hiccup's stomach. Oh yes, that was guilt alright.
"W-what? No, nothing like that," Hiccup said, waving his hands around as if to get rid of the very notion.
"Then why can't I come up?"
"Well, it's my tower. And I don't know you."
"Oh alright, then. Are only your friends allowed up there?"
"Er, yeah, I suppose so."
"Then can we be friends?"
"No."
"But why?"
"Listen close, Jackson Overland," Hiccup said, resting his arms on the ledge. "I don't do that whole friendship nonsense. I don’t do friends."
If Jack was going to respond to that, he didn’t. His jaw hung open as he stared up at Hiccup incredulously, eyebrows raised. The freckled boy, who proudly declared himself a hermit, patted his mouth with his fingers, leaning further over the ledge.
"Also, you should know something."
"What's that?" Jack asked.
"She won't be happy that you're in her house."
"Who?"
"The witch."
Jack's eyes bulged wide in alarm.
"The what?"
"The evil witch of Burgess who eats naughty children. That's her house you're moving into."
His neighbor scoffed and crossed his arms. "Oh please, there's no witch."
Despite his words, his head swiveled back to look at the house on the hill.
"Whatever you say, newbie. Every kid in this neighborhood knows to stay clear of that house. Don't say I didn't warn you."
He tried to take a step back from the window, figuring the conversation was over.
"Wait!"
Hiccup groaned and moved back so the boy could see him. "What?"
Jack chewed at the inside of his cheek. "How do I get the witch to go away?"
"You don't."
"Please," Jack said. "I need to make sure my baby sister doesn't get eaten."
"Why would she? She only eats naughty kids."
"She's not even two yet, but she will be. My mom talks about the terrible twos, about how kids at that age misbehave. Mary is really sweet, so she doesn't deserve to be eaten. And I'm her older brother. That means I protect her no matter what. So this witch better watch out!"
Jack kicked the air, pretending to fight something invisible, probably the witch. It was quite a display, but Hiccup knew Jack wouldn’t survive the potential fight.
"Hm." Hiccup said. "Okay. We need to consult the most knowledgeable expert on the subject, then."
"You'll help me?"
"Yes, but this doesn't mean we're friends. Got it?"
"Oh. Okay, sure."
Hiccup pulled out the rope ladder and let it fall through the now open trap door, before clambering down on it. When he reached the ground, he started off towards his house. As expected, footfalls followed close behind.
Opening the back door, he turned to Jack.
"Take your shoes off before you come in."
"No need," replied the boy.
Hiccup blinked. Then looked down at the boy's feet, which were bare.
"Huh. Uhm, where's your shoes?"
"You mean the little feet prisons? I honestly don't know. My mom will find them... She always does, eventually."
"Okay, well, I guess just wipe your feet off on the mat when you come in."
Jack gave him two thumbs up.
As they entered the house, the back weather door swung shut behind them. Hiccup eyed the old washer, which despite Hiccup’s many attempts to fix, rumbled loudly as clothes spun in it.
"Gobber!" Hiccup shouted, then waited, before he did so again.
"Aye there lad, quiet your gabber," Gobber called.
He clambered into the laundry room with his prosthetic foot and bulking weight, wearing a ratty stained tank top and shorts. His brow raised at Jack's presence.
"Finally made a friend, have ye?"
"No," Hiccup said. "This is strictly business."
"Hiccup said he doesn't do friends," Jack piped up unhelpfully.
Hiccup shot him a glare as Gobber roared with laughter.
"Aye! And, who might ye be?"
"Jackson Overland, sir. Pleased to meet you," Jack said.
"How polite a lad." Gobber held out his gloved hand to Jack. "Nice to meet ya. The name's Gobber Smeds."
Jack grinned and shook the man’s hand. Then, there was a loud pop.
The gloved hand disconnected itself from Gobber's arm. Brown eyes grew wide in terror, before the boy screamed and slung the severed hand across the room. It landed with a dull thud atop the pitiful washer.
The new kid held his ears in his hands, breath growing ragged.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Mr. Smeds! I didn't mean to cut your hand off!"
Gobber roared with laughter even harder than before. That man was always pleased when he frightened some poor soul by shaking their hand for the first time.
"Ya didn't do that, Son of Jack. It was already like that. Please, call me Gobber." The man spoke as he went across the room, picked up his hand, and snapped it back into place. "Sorry, lad. Didn't mean'ta scare ya."
That was a lie, of course. Hiccup rolled his eyes.
"Oh, um, okay. Call me Jack," the kid said, face still a little green.
"So, what tis'it ya need?" Gobber said, turning to Hiccup.
The freckled boy stood up straight.
"Gobber, this is dire." The man’s brows rose at that. "His family is in grave danger."
"Huh! What in Thor’s name are ye goin' on about, 'Cup?"
"Remember the house atop the hill? The one you told me to never go near?"
"Aye."
"His family just moved in there. He has a little sister. She will be two, therefore she will be naughty soon. It is imperative that we figure out what the weaknesses are of the witch, and defeat her, before little Mary is gobbled up."
"Oh, so that's what this is about," Gobber said, pressing his palm into his cheek, covering an eye in exasperation. "Listen, lads. That's nothin' more than a' old tale."
Hiccup narrowed his eyes.
"Gobber, you had me search the whole house yesterday for your socks because the trolls stole them."
"Aye," Gobber said, solemnly. "Filthy bastards they are. Stealin’ me socks every laundry day."
"Oh, he said a bad word," Jack said excitedly with a giggle.
"Don't go repeatin' that to yer mammy," Gobber replied, giving Jack a look.
"Aye, aye, captain!"
"Good."
"Gobber," Hiccup snapped, frustrated. "The witch? What do we do about her?"
"Don't get yer knackers in a twist, min lill-troll. Watch yer tone."
"I'm sorry," the boy said petulantly, arms crossed. "Also, I'm not a troll. And I'm not little!"
"Sure ye aren’t, lillfis. Now, haud on a wee minute and let me think.”
The children watched as the man paced back and forth in the small laundry room, tapping his fist against his mouth. Then he paused, lighting up.
"I got to check me books. Stay here."
Gobber strode out in an uneven cadence, his wooden leg clacking against the floor.
Then it was just Jack and Hiccup. The boys looked at each other, unsure of what to do in the meantime. Hiccup was content to let the moment pass without talking, even though it was weird to have someone in his house that wasn't himself, Gobber, or his dad. Jack, of course, was unable to let them bask in the lone rattling of the washer.
"So, uh, about before. Just why is it that you don't do friends?"
Hiccup huffed. "I don't need them."
"Okay… but wouldn't you like to have one?"
"Listen, I’m not bringing you up to the-"
"Forget about the tower! Fine, whatever! I don't want to be in there anyways. My bad for wanting to make friends with you."
"Yes, your bad," Hiccup said testily.
Jack snapped his head up at that, piercing him with a glare.
"What is your deal?"
"Today is Labor Day," Hiccup said.
Jack stopped short, raising a brow.
"Yeah?"
"Today is Labor Day. That means school starts tomorrow. School always starts the day after labor day."
"Um, okay?" Jack said, tilting his head, anger fading into confusion.
"My deal as to why I don't do or need friends. You'll see it tomorrow."
The new kid blinked at him, slowly, owlishly, eyes never leaving his face as if he were trying very hard to solve a one-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle that had been left unfinished on the kitchen table for a year.
"You're new so you don't know yet. I won't hold that against you. But, I need you to promise me something."
Jack did nothing for a good moment, before he tentatively nodded. "Shoot."
"You can't try to be my friend."
"But, why?" Jack said with a frown, which only deepened once he saw Hiccup look down at the floor, rubbing at his neck.
"You just can't. Better yet, act like you don't even know me tomorrow. Act like we never met."
"But… we’re neighbors, wouldn’t we still know each other that way?"
"Promise me," Hiccup said firmly, looking at the other boy, who slumped in defeat.
"Fine, I promise," Jack said, placing his hands in his hoodie pocket and looking away.
They stood awkwardly in the quiet room, only disturbed by the soft chime of the washer as it stopped spinning.
Dust motes twirled in and out of the rays of light filtered by the blinds on the window. Hiccup noticed then, a lone ant as it looped in a circle on the cool tiles, antennas flickering back and forth as it searched for something. It stopped for a moment, and Hiccup thought it might’ve caught onto some pheromones of other ants to lead it back to its colony. The front of its little legs reached out.
Then it swiped at its face. As if lost, the insect just kept going in circles.
Hiccup frowned.
AN:
Thank you to the lovely Ojay (@ojayart on Tumblr) for this fic's first fanart!
Aren't they so cute???!
