Archive of Our Own

It’s not the first time Hiccup has awakened in a strange, dark place, but it’s the first time he’s woken up with dried blood coating his lips. And with his jaw feeling like it’s been twisted to the side.

He coughs as he lifts his cheek from the cold floor, sitting up at a sluggish rate. Briefly, he touches his chest only to realize he’s lost his armor. Only his tunic and pants remain. The room spins around him too quickly for him to get a good reading of his surroundings, so he’s unable to notice a shadow behind him move across the wall.

“Wow, you look TERRIBLE.”

Is that voice in his head or is it coming from around him? It’s too hard to tell. “…Shut up,” he mumbles, wiping his thumb across his lips to get rid of the blood.

What even happened before he woke up here? He was flying on Toothless, when…

Wait…

“Toothless! Where—”

“Your precious dragon’s not here, chief,” the voice answers, clearer this time.

Forest eyes widen, snapping his head around to spot the moving shadow. It’s Pitch Black, tilting his head as if he hasn’t done a single misdeed in his life.

“What the Thor did you do to him?” A glare is shot in the villain’s direction, which makes him throw up his hands defensively.

“Don’t look at me, he’s yours, isn’t he?”

In front of his eyes, Pitch conjures up a figure of the night fury made of black sand, lifting up what would be Toothless’ prosthetic tail fin.

“…Where. IS HE?” A snarl from the brunette as he grits his teeth only fuels the Boogeyman further.

Laughter leaves his cruel lips as he leans down toward Hiccup, whispering almost directly into his ear. “Somewhere he won’t bother us.”

When the dragon rider’s hand twitches, Pitch jumps back, already prepared for the attempt at a lunge. Typical.

The model of Toothless falls into a pile, only for the black sand to bind Hiccup’s wrists together. He’s thrown back onto the ground in an instant.

With the breath knocked out of his lungs, he lays there for a bit. Coughing. Either he’s losing his mind, or his coughs are echoing so loud that it somehow makes the room sound crowded.

How is that even possible?

“I know all your worst fears, Hiccup Haddock,” Pitch simply states, slowly circling around his struggling frame. Even though he can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, he still manages to notice that the other man’s feet don’t make a sound as he walks.

He really does move like a shadow.

When his chest stops feeling like it’s collapsing on itself, he lifts his head from the floor, steadily. “Stalker, much?”

“You cannot hide your emotions behind smart-talk. I’m sure you understand that, dragon boy.”

“Maybe not, but I can do this,” lifting himself a bit more so that his weight is on his elbows, Hiccup spits directly onto Pitch’s feet.

The cruel amusement dawning his face fades, and his nose visibly scrunches while looking down at the aftermath.

“…You really are a Viking.”

A brow is raised ever so casually. “Y’know, you’re actually the first person to say that to me.”

Okay, he’s done letting this kid run his mouth.

After ensuring that Hiccup’s bound wrists are against the ground, Pitch makes a single move to step on his left forearm. A touch of pressure is applied, bit by bit. “Then maybe you need to learn a thing or two.”

The snarky attitude is gone just as quickly as it appeared. He hangs his head, refusing to let anything slip through his mouth.

Pitch’s smile returns as the bottom of his foot shifts, sliding over to the young chieftain’s hand.

As soon as he feels it, Hiccup whimpers, starting to tremble against his better judgment.

“If you keep talking to me like that, you won’t be so useful to your team anymore.” His foot slowly presses into the other’s palm. “Or your whole village.”

While biting his lip, Hiccup shakes his head a little too frantically.

“Well, this IS your dominant hand, is it not? It’d be such a shame for a weak blacksmith to lose his hand. His only source of talent.”

Don’t let him know you’re scared. You’re not afraid of him. He can’t get to you, he keeps repeating in his head as his lip starts bleeding again. He tastes the iron on his tongue and swallows thickly.

“No need to say it, I know,” Pitch states in a low tone, increasing the pressure to the point where bones start cracking.

Shit, shit, shit—

Hiccup’s teeth release his lip as harshly as it was bitten. “O-Okay, okay! What do you want?”

It stings. It burns. Everything just hurts.

But the relenting is what Pitch has been waiting for, so at least he lifts his foot from the rider’s hand.

With his head still spinning from the pain, Hiccup tugs his hands closer to his body.

The man of shadow takes a step back to look over his work. A quivering Viking chief before him.

“Frost has been growing quite fond of you. We both recognize that,” he indirectly answers, gesturing with a whirl of his hand to create a mini caricature of Jack Frost, staff and all, that fits perfectly in his palm. “Although it sickens me to see, I’ve been watching you two. Closely.”

When Hiccup is able to look up again, he notices a mini, black sand version of himself too, entangled in Jack’s arms.

“So, what would happen if, one day,” the miniature Hiccup disappears as Pitch talks. “He suddenly couldn’t find you?”

Details aren’t necessary to see the panic in the miniature Jack’s eyes. It makes Hiccup’s throat dry up.

The only thing he is right now is a pawn to injure the one he loves.

Just one of 16 hunters. All expendable to the hands of the Viking King in Maces & Talons. Except the Viking King in this game is the King of Nightmares himself.

Pitch suddenly clasps one hand on top of the other, letting the loose black sand fall between his fingers. “Well, hopefully he knows where to look, am I right?”

Unable to speak, the Hooligan watches the grains pile up on the floor in front of him.

What is he supposed to do? He can’t just let Jack get hurt trying to protect him.

But he’s in no place to save him either.

Carefully, he lifts himself up a little, moving his leg to take a look at his thigh.

…Great. Inferno’s gone too.

“Oh, right! I forgot to tell you,” Pitch claps twice, sliding a little to gesture somewhere dark that Hiccup can’t really see. “I threw away your odd looking sword. Strange handiwork. I personally wouldn’t want it used against me.”

So his life’s work is just as expendable as he is. Of course.

“I’d take that too,” he points at Hiccup’s prosthetic, “but I say it makes things more interesting if you can stand.”

With the wide eyes of a fearful fawn, he bends his knee away from Pitch.

“Awe, no need to worry. I’m keeping you alive.” There’s a pause as he hums. “For now.”

For now.

The more those words circle in his head, the more he feels like vomiting. His lip still burns, and he can feel blood dripping down his chin.

Stomach twisting into a knot, the chief avoids contact with those golden eyes. He can’t bring himself to even glance up at them.

Do they terrify or disgust him?

He can’t tell.

But he can tell they’re piercing into him.

“Now that you know your place, whatever shall I do while I wait for your precious boyfriend?” Pitch inquires before stepping closer again. “It’s so lonely down here, no entertainment whatsoever. Well, besides the screams and cries of my fearlings.”

‘You mean your twisted soldiers?’ He wants to ask, but he shakes his head instead.

Following a brief silence, a hand grips onto the roots of Hiccup’s hair so quickly that he gasps. He’s yanked up to face Pitch, but his eyes are shut tight.

“Are you sure you have nothing else to say? You’re not even going to look at me?” asks the Boogeyman.

“W-Why would I?” Hiccup whispers, his voice cracking.

“Because talking is going to be a lot harder after this.”

Leaning in, he presses his thumb and forefinger against the corners of Hiccup’s cheeks, right above his bottom jaw. Nails dig into freckled skin, which forces his eyes to shut tighter to the point of his nose wrinkling.

His mouth is pried open, and he can hear a whispered “don’t move” against his ear that makes him shiver.

Once it’s wide enough for Pitch’s desires, he grips onto Hiccup’s top left canine. Bare handed.

There’s an inhumanly strong tug, harsh enough to rip out the tooth from its socket. As if on instinct, the shooting pain makes him bite the other’s thumb.

Everything after that feels like a blur.

Suddenly he’s on the floor again, this time against his back with his head throbbing. His vision is doubling…tripling?

He can’t see where Pitch is…he might’ve just heard him curse out “you little bitch”, but it’s so foggy…is he seeing stars?

It’s all pain. Nothing else is real right now. Just pain…heavy limbs…stinging eyes…probably broken bones…

But he’s thrown out of his dizzying mind when he starts choking, rolling onto his side to cough it out.

Is that—his blood?

Although his vision has adjusted to the dark by now, he can’t tell how much there is…but it must be a pool of it at least…

Is the dripping noise real or in his head?

Well, one thing’s for sure real.

He’s being dragged by his good foot while an angered hiss comes from Pitch… or his fearlings?

“I should never have entertained this. You piss me off, Hiccup Haddock. Even your measly face brings me disgust.”

What’d I do to you? He thinks, opening his mouth to try and repeat his thoughts out loud. But he only sputters and coughs.

“Your whole peacekeeper virtue makes me gag. So unprofessional,” the former general continues despite not getting an answer. “What, have you made it your entire personality? With that dragon of yours, you could invoke FEAR everywhere you go if you so desire. Yet you refuse.”

He’s too nauseous to argue or explain his side. Not that Pitch actually wants to hear it. This guy’s too far gone to understand the concept of peace.

…Wait, where’s he taking him?

Their surroundings are growing darker by the second. Hiccup can’t tell where the walls end and where the ceiling begins.

If you can call it a ceiling, that is.

“The fearlings accomplish their best work when there’s no light,” Pitch mentions, as if reading his thoughts.

Like that’s reassuring.

Although, when he moves his hand to his face, he notices that his wrists are finally unbound.

Shouldn’t that be a good thing?

If it is, then why is he still shaking?

The moment he’s no longer being dragged, he tries sitting up. But he’s pulled back down so fast that he coughs again. And again.

His fit lasts long enough to make his throat sore. There’s something suffocating him. It’s hard to breathe without it burning, but he can’t see the cause. He can’t see Pitch either.

Lifting his hands again only ends in his arms being pinned to the cold ground.

He can feel the beginning of cracks in the floor from the pressure against his body.

Everything’s too heavy.

“A leader? You are no leader. You cannot protect your own dragon, let alone your people,” he suddenly hears, a sharp breath punching his face. It’s Drago’s voice. He can tell by that guttural, deep tone. And how scratchy it is.

That voice can level whole islands.

Just like what almost happened to Berk.

Unable to truly process it, he’s already yanked back onto his feet. One hand in another’s, the other resting on a shoulder he can’t quite visualize.

The footwork begins clumsily, stumbling over himself as he feels his body being dragged along to a nonexistent beat. He’s slow dancing with the dark.

A twirl is performed before Hiccup is dipped, and a different voice reaches his ear.

“Trying to save those you love will only end in vain, dear Hiccup.” It’s Viggo’s. It intoxicates his brain like a snake’s venom poisoning its prey and toying with it until its last breath.

He gags in an instant, but he’s too weak to fight against the shadow holding onto him.

And just like that, he’s thrown back down onto the ground.

He doesn’t need to hear the next voice to know who it is that pushed him.

“You’re not a Viking…you’re not my son.”

That’s the one.

Tears sting his eyes, and he scoots as far back as possible with his knees up to his chest. They’re all right. Every one of them.

Maybe he should let the dizziness take over after all.

It’d be better for everyone…

Just when he’s about to let his eyes close, a flash of blue light darts across his vision in an arc, lasting for only a brief moment.

Did he see that right?

His gaze wanders, trying to find the source.

There it is again.

And it’s…closer?

But he can’t make out what’s making such a bright flash. It’s like a shooting star soaring across the sky, except the sky is a dark abyss with no other lights visible. No sun, no moon.

And this star just might be his savior.

The next time he sees it, he finally notices some kind of figure, but it’s too blurry to catch any details.

However, he hears a choking sound like someone is being jerked backward by the neck.

“Don’t lay another fucking finger on him.”

He knows that voice.

But is it another one of those fearlings?

“My, what timing you have,” Pitch answers, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

When Hiccup’s vision can finally focus and adjust properly, the light allows him to see Pitch being restrained with the crook of a staff around his neck.

And behind him…is Jack Frost.

The real Jack. It’s…actually him.

He came for me.

The spirit’s face is illuminated as if emitting luminescence himself somehow. Sparkling whites are bared, and he jumps up, latching onto Pitch’s cloak with the energy of a provoked canine. He may stand significantly shorter compared to the centuries-old embodiment of fear, but his determination rivals that of a celestial.

A plaster of frost spreads where his staff is pressed against the Boogeyman’s neck, threatening to choke him if he makes the wrong move.

“You’re gonna let Hiccup go, and then we’ll both be on our way. Unless you wanna be frozen for the rest of eternity.” The grip on Twinetender tightens enough that his fist sparks with some kind of magic.

“Seriously?” Pitch scoffs. “You believe that threatening me with your pitiful ice stick is enough for me to let you lovebirds fly back to your dragon utopia?”

As if the Nightmare King uttered the punchline to a joke, Jack laughs. “Of course not. But I know what’ll last long enough for me to race back to Berk.” Just as he says this, he jumps down to swipe his staff across the ground, turning the floor around them to ice.

Hiccup’s vision keeps fading in and out, but he’s conscious enough to witness Pitch’s footing teeter this way and that. Seeing his captor trip over himself would be funnier if blood wasn’t currently pooling in his mouth.

“This doesn’t do anything, Frost!”

Jack’s quick to skate around the unstable Boogeyman, even performing a twizzle like he’s a natural ice dancer. All while barefoot.

Definitely committing to the bit.

“Oh yeah?” He calls out while still gliding himself around. “Think again.”

He moves aside just in time for Toothiana to punch Pitch square in the face. The impact sends him sliding across the floor, and when his head hits a wall, North is standing over him.

“How you do, Pitch?”

With a jolly old wave and a twinkle in his eye, Santa uses his magical bag of toys to smack Pitch like a hockey puck.

Sandy uses his whip to throw Pitch around, and Bunnymund joins in after him by opening tunnels for the Nightmare King to fall through and end up in a completely different section of his own lair.

While the big four guardians busy themselves making Pitch a punching bag, Jack rushes over to the bleeding Viking so quickly that it sends a rush of cold wind to Hiccup’s face.

“J-Jack—” he tries calling out, which only ends in him coughing.

“Easy, easy.” Twinetender is discarded on the ground for the time being in favor of checking the brunette over. His touch is freezing but in a familiar, soothing way.

The chief leans into his palm the moment a hand reaches his cheek.

He missed this.

He missed him.

But despite how nice it is to be caressed by him again, Hiccup suddenly falls weak into his arms. His breaths are shaky to the point of hyperventilating. “T-Toothless, we— w-we have to find him,” another coughing fit keeps him from continuing, but Jack’s already nodding his head in agreement.

“We will.”

Such a simple, certain answer.

The Berkian expected to fight about it considering his condition. Yet one look into those blue eyes expresses a silent understanding.

“We’ll make it quick, then we go straight to Gothi. Got it?”

Another nod is given, this time from Hiccup.

They’re both careful with their next movements as Jack keeps him steady by the waist, patience refusing to wane despite the time crunch. His prosthetic threatens to slide too far out with every attempt to stand, and he curses to himself for making a metal leg that hates ice this much.

Attempts one and two, he slips backward, just barely catching himself with his hands gripping the guardian’s shoulders. But by attempt three, he finds his footing, and he exhales through his nose.

Jack pulls away only to turn around, bending his knees and lowering his arms. “Get on.”

He’s offering a piggyback ride of all things.

Without the strength to argue, Hic jumps onto his back. There’s a full-body wince, and he’s forcing himself to hold on tighter than he usually would. Crooked teeth grit as he buries his face into the back of Frost’s neck.

For Jack, he gets pushed forward unexpectedly, but he shakes it off, chalking it up to Hiccup just being Hiccup. Gliding his foot forward, he hooks it under his staff using his toes.

However, he pauses his current motion, an elven ear twitching when he hears a sound behind them. Specifically, the snort of a horse.

A horse who’s spotted a threat.

Before the mare can charge for him, he swiftly kicks his staff up and catches it in between his teeth. He glances over his shoulder and winks, letting himself step off the edge and into the abyss.

However, instead of landing on solid ground, the wind itself cushions their fall. The young chief finds himself gagging from the rush, desperately trying not to get bile and blood all over the winter guardian’s hood. “Sorry,” Jack offers, his voice muffled behind the wood of Twinetender.

The wind slows down, carrying the couple around the bottom of Pitch’s lair. There’s twists and turns, climbs and falls. At this level, irregular rock formations jump out at them from the shadows like a warning from Mother Nature herself. The darkness consumes every corner. It coats the walls of the cave, threatening to suffocate them both. Down here, the fearlings could be anywhere. Listening.

Waiting.

Jack makes a left turn, and suddenly they’re facing rows of cages on either side of them. Upon further inspection, the bars are encased in layers of solid lead, and the gaps barely allow any light through. It leaves the tunnel almost pitch black. As an extra safety precaution, he takes his staff out of his mouth and holds it tightly in his fist.

The spirit gives Hiccup behind him a slight nudge which perks the brunette up. After a few coughs, his partner cups one hand over his mouth, and he lets out a signature night fury roar. Then they wait.

For a while, the cave doesn’t answer. The call he gave doesn’t bounce against the walls in any kind of echo like he expected. Instead, the lead absorbs the sound, trapping it within the confines of the tunnel.

They both tense up simultaneously. Jack’s light from before flickers, and Hiccup’s throat threatens to close. Without a word between them, they lean closer into each other. Although the shadows beg to overtake them, they act as a temporary shield to repel the fearlings’ advances.

But out of nowhere, a struggling warble reaches their ears.

With the dragon rider still on his back, Frost rushes to where that sound came from.

Another warble leads them to a cell where pleading green eyes peek out from the back corner. Despite the thick lead, some of the spirit’s light slips through into the otherwise empty cage as he steps closer. The glint bounces back against the dragon’s black scales in slivers, and that familiar face becomes a little more visible.

Upon seeing Toothless, Hiccup’s immediately reaching over Jack’s shoulders to grip onto the bars. The action makes him wince, but he shakes it off in favor of getting to see his best friend again.

With his staff, Jack taps Hiccup’s wrist. There’s a whisper telling the Viking to get off for a minute, which he complies to, albeit steadily.

The guardian closes his eyes, a cold exhale leaving his lips. He focuses his energy and steps closer to the cell. “You might wanna hide your eyes, T.”

Once Toothless covers his eyes with a wing, Jack pulls his arms back with Twinetender in both hands. Another exhale escapes. Then he hits the cell’s intricate lock with the end of the staff.

The impact rings out accompanied by a bright flash of light. Although the lead doesn’t give out, the lock is now coated in a thin layer of frost where he hit it. Not only that, but he can also hear fearlings scream in pain nearby. It leaves a small smile on his face.

Then another hit. Another flash.

Hit, flash. Hit, flash.

When the lock finally breaks off, he relaxes his shoulders to let the tension subside for now.

Toothless instantly leaps out from the cell door to hug his rider, who struggles in a heaving, sobbing mess under his weight. Nevermind the fact that he pushed Jack over to get to him. They’ve reunited. That’s all that matters.

“Listen,” Jack starts while regaining his posture, “On my way here, I called for extra backup just to make sure you two get home okay.”

There’s a side eye from Hiccup, but he doesn’t protest. Yet an attempt at a pout causes the guardian to sigh fondly. “We’ve just gotta make it out of this labyrinth first, then you can yell at me all you want for bringing Astrid into this. Deal?”

He rolls his eyes as he struggles to climb onto Toothless’ back. “Deal.” The rider’s voice is small, almost weak sounding. It tugs at Jack’s heart, but he shakes off the regret rising through him. For all their sakes.

Thankfully, it takes them less time to reach the main channel than it took them to find the dragon. Upon making their way back, the sounds of Pitch being ping ponged from one end to another reach their ears, and they all glance upward. Hiccup’s eyes narrow, then they trail up and down each stairway. Each platform. His mind cycles through every possible route before looking back at the winter spirit. “Follow me.”

With his remaining adrenaline, he guides Toothless and Jack up the levels of the spiraling maze. Thanks, North, he thinks as he exhales from his nose.

Despite the dragon’s speed, he’s light on his feet with every bound and leap. Jack even motions for the wind to help cushion each landing so that they’re almost making no sound whatsoever. In these tunnels, the night fury mimics the same moving shadows they’re racing against.

A fair fight.

After a dizzying amount of shortcuts and stairs taking them farther up, they reach the entrance that has been casting the only natural light found inside the underground system. When they gaze into the huge hole above, they notice the full moon looking back at them. No trees blocking the way. Not even a single cloud in the sky. If Jack squints hard enough, he can see the Man in the Moon smiling down at him.

But before he can express his gratitude, a face suddenly blocks most of the light, her braid falling almost halfway through the hole as she exclaims, “Hiccup!”

The brunette simply waves in response, flashing his smallest smile up at Astrid.

She opens her mouth to say something more, but Jack holds up a hand, his head snapping behind them.

Between the group, there’s a sinking sense of dread. The kind that feels like disaster is seconds away from rearing its head. “They know we’re up here.”

Jack’s confirmation is enough to skip the tears of reunion as Astrid’s expression hardens. “If you stand on Toothless, I think you can make the jump.”

Hiccup looks down, his lips pressing together. Whether it’s to think or it’s in pain is a mystery. But he slowly manages to get up, leading with his good foot in front.

Meanwhile, the spirit swipes his staff to create an ice wall that the fearlings slam into, screeching. The creatures previously shaped like horses begin separating then merging elsewhere, each limb seeming to contort unnaturally while they continuously bash into the wall. With every passing beat, they shift more into a massive incomprehensible shadow that threatens to break through. It makes Jack freeze briefly before glancing back at Hic, “That won’t hold them for long.”

A focused breath escapes. The rider bends his knees at the same time that Toothless lowers his body, head bowed.

Foot and prosthetic both slide down a couple inches closer to the night fury’s neck, then there’s a pause. With a hand raised, he counts slowly on his fingers.

One.

Two.

Three.

The second Toothless’ body springs upward, Hiccup jumps as if being launched by the force of a strong breeze. He flails like a ragdoll in the air until his hand finds Astrid’s. They lock onto each other with Valhalla-worthy grips. But as Astrid pulls her friend up, a sharp sting digs into his shoulder blade and forces his hand to slip through her fingers. With spiked reflexes, she catches him by the wrist as he cries out.

Running closer to them, Jack has to squint to find the catalyst. An arrow coated in that same pure lead has landed at a perfect angle to rip a hole in his boyfriend’s tunic and bury under his skin. Seeing the blood start to drip from the wound makes him ball his fist, his teeth gritting as he spins himself around.

A sudden chill blows into the underground cave until the pair of struggling Vikings can see their breath in front of their faces.

Oh no.

Snow falls into their hair, and that’s when Astrid looks up to catch two clouds colliding. The moon hides behind them like someone who’s too ashamed to watch a nasty fight about to break down.

Even Toothless’ ear nubs lower, and he attempts to cover his face with his talons.

They all feel the wind picking up, which prompts Astrid to reach down and grab Hiccup’s other arm. She pulls as he tries to hold on despite sensing an arm going limp.

The startup of a blizzard hastens their pace until finally, he reaches the surface. With a loud thud, he ends up eating dirt while she falls back from the force of getting him out.

As he crawls over to the closest tree, she rushes back to the hole. She pokes her face back in only to see Jack in the eye of the snowsquall. The snow obscures his exact body language, but the storm itself is sign enough. “It’s not worth it!” she yells down to him. Despite the strong winds, she notices him pause and then shake his head. A groan escapes before he slams the end of Twinetender against the ground. The movement sends the snow down in a rush, the wind calming down a breath after. Spinning on his heel, he allows the current of air to carry him up through the exit.

The Boogeyman can’t wait a second more to call out, “I hope you’re ready to lose him sooner or later!”

Astrid and Jack’s eyes widen at the same time hearing those words. She reaches out to stop him from trying anything drastic, but North beats him to it by punching Pitch upside the jaw. They watch as he points his sword at the Nightmare King’s neck. “Long as Hiccup believes, he is one of us.” There is the slightest pressure of the tip poking his adam’s apple. “We protect our own.”

Pitch sends the guardians a glare, and then he disappears into the darkness. The fearlings follow without an order, leaving nothing of theirs behind.

It’s like they were never there to begin with.

Only tricky shadows in the night.

With the threat gone, the guardians as well as Stormfly on the other side all help push and pull Toothless out of the hole. Once he gets a good grip on the earth, he stomps over to Hiccup’s side, and everyone else follows behind his massive tracks.

Seeing the dragon’s wide eyes in front of him makes Hiccup laugh a little. “‘M fine, bud,” he slurs as he reaches a hand out to stroke the night fury’s snout.

“Guys, c’mon…stop looking at me like that.” His gaze cycles through everyone’s expressions until they’re each doubled in his vision. They start blurring into a mix of blues, reds, greens, and greys. He can hear Toothiana next to him ask, “Are you sure you’re alright?” but every sound after that fades into the background like he’s suddenly being dunked underwater. It takes mere blinks for his arm to fall back at his side and for his whole world to go dark.

All Hiccup can taste is the iron on his tongue as he pushes through brambles with rainwater dripping from his bangs. The karma of being smacked in the face by branches ceases to faze him anymore. He just wants to return to the quaint cliffs of his home island.

But that man is at every corner. Everywhere he looks, he sees those golden eyes piercing into him and analyzing all his little insecurities. One by one.

Just then, his prosthetic gets caught under a thick root poking through the terrain, and he falls into a patch of mud face-first. He tries pulling his metal leg out, but it keeps sliding down with the end digging into the sodden earth.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he tells his own leg while his splattered nose scrunches.

Like that’ll magically get his prosthetic unstuck.

In the midst of his struggle, his gaze trails up. He notices a faint glow above him, yet the downpour obscures any clarity in his vision.

The instant he tries shaking it off as a trick of the eyes, a hand grabs him by the face. Nails puncture into his cheeks like claws into prey. His reflexes attempt to pry himself away. That is, until the Nightmare King yanks him closer so that their eyes are inches apart.

“You will forget what peace feels like as long as I remain in your head,” Pitch utters, emphasizing every other syllable with a chilling tone of certainty.

A threat.

Hiccup clenches his jaw before he seizes the man’s wrist and tries—yet again—to pull his face out of such a sharp grip. There’s a slight give this time, but his cheeks sting like Hel immediately after the tug. Somehow though, his defiance leads Pitch to release him.

A small splash resounds as he falls back into the mud. “I’m not…afraid of you,” he mumbles into the ground. Despite how his limbs refuse to quit shaking like twigs about to snap, he slowly lifts himself until he can lay on a forearm.

“Oh, Hiccup,” Pitch starts, “lying to yourself will work for nothing more than my own amusement.” He stands to his full height only to walk out of the Viking’s peripheral vision.

The moment he finally frees his metal leg, he feels a hand wrap around his hair from behind—and suddenly, he’s yanked by the roots so hard that he has to shut his eyes while yelping.

He’s thrown down onto his back so the oxygen is stolen right from his lungs.

Then he opens his eyes.

The storm clouds and the wet treetops become a wooden ceiling with strings of herbs and greens hanging several feet above him. A stubborn ache nestles at the back of his head as he comes to, and he fights the urge to vomit while sitting up.

When his vision focuses properly, he can see Astrid bend down in front of him, her breathing heavier than usual. “You okay? We heard you talking in your sleep, and then you just…you threw yourself off the cot.”

Instead of immediately answering, he scans the room before him. At his side, Toothless has his front legs hoisted onto the cot, looming over with those leafy green eyes until his familiar cod stench blasts Hiccup’s sinuses. Gothi is standing at the other end of the hut stirring some unknown concoction in her cauldron. She pauses and turns her head to meet his gaze, almost like she sensed him looking at her. At least she’s her normal self.

“Hiccup?”

“Oh, uh, I’m fine.” He can feel the old lady's stare from across the room as soon as he says that. “Or, well…as fine as—” Trying to touch his shoulder interrupts his own words, causing a stabbing pain that forces him to scrunch his face and suck in air through his teeth. He takes a deep breath before he can finish his thought. “Fine as I can be.” After he says those words in a lisp only he notices, he finds the massive cavity in his gums where his canine should be with his tongue, reminding him of what was stolen.

Astrid reaches a palm to him, but Gothi comes up behind her to smack her hand out of the way with her staff. She signals up to Toothless with the wooden head, which swiftly prompts him to lift Hiccup by the back of the collar with his teeth like a cat mother picking up her kid by the scruff.

He sets the chief down on the same cot he fell from and nudges the upper half of his spine. It allows him to snort at his best friend’s little push for attention. The night fury gets a few scratches under the chin for simply being here. You spoiled dragon, Hiccup thinks with a small laugh.

A bowl being handed out to him quickly distracts him from the coddling, and he stops only to sigh a little too dramatically. Not listening to Gothi would probably land him six feet under, so he might as well try whatever it is she cooked up.

Taking the bowl into his hands, he stares into the broth swirling around. He can feel it staring back at him, somehow. It’s a murky brown with some tiny chunks of carrots and onions floating around scattered cabbage pieces. For Gothi’s cooking, it looks like an average Berkian vegetable stew.

For a second, he swears he spots a face within the greens, but it vanishes once he blinks again. Huh.

Dismissing the newfound heaviness in his chest, he lifts the bowl to his lips. He blows on the stew a couple times before he’s fully comfortable to sip from it.

Silence fills the room until he pauses, lowering the bowl back near his lap. “So, how long was I out for, exactly?”

Astrid hesitates, her mouth tightening. “Two whole moons,” she admits.

“Two moons?!” He repeats, almost dropping the bowl when he waves his good arm.

She leans over to touch his knee. “I took care of things. Everything’s fine. No one attacked Berk.”

“Not even…”

“Not even Pitch. From what I know, the guardians chased him away. He’s not coming back anytime soon.”

If that’s the case, then why do I keep seeing him? He thinks as he chews on his busted lip out of habit. Slowly, his arm lowers again, followed by his gaze. “Where’s Jack?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “He took off as soon as we brought you here. I haven’t seen him since,” she says to him while tilting her head to meet his eyes better. “But I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

“I wanna talk to him,” Hiccup blurts without a second thought. “I-I…need to talk to him.” His voice fades out by the end, an index finger tapping along the wooden surface of the dish in his lap.

Astrid’s expression falters as she turns to look at Gothi. The elder gives a simple nod, which is ample permission for the blonde. When she glances back at the chief, she offers a promising smile. “I should go let everyone know you’re awake anyway, so I’ll see what I can do.” She taps his knee again before walking over to the door.

“Wait,” Hiccup calls after her, standing up and setting down the bowl on the bedside table. “I should come with—” He’s about to take a step towards her when he freezes in place.

In front of his very eyes, a tall shadow looms over Astrid from behind. Limbs almost too long for its body, slicked back hair, and a coat tail trailing behind it. Gripped in one hand is a scythe, and it inches to her neck with the curved blade.

But the moment he blinks, it flickers away without a trace. Exactly like that face in the stew.

“You,” he finishes, his voice barely audible anymore.

Astrid’s eyebrows knit at the sight of him. “You okay? You’re sweating.”

He didn’t notice how clammy his hands had gotten until she pointed it out. Reaching up to his hair, he touches his bangs. They’re damp enough to stick to his forehead. He clears his throat, already trying to save face. “Me? I’ll be fine, totally. Just, uh, maybe go on without me. Still kinda dizzy, you know?”

She squints right through him, which only worsens his sweating. But no more words are exchanged. Once she opens the door, she’s gone.

From the roof of Gothi’s hut, it’s easier to see the last of the winter sunset subside over the ocean waves, casting an illusory orange reflection over the surface. Ripples from the wind make the water look almost magical.

It allows Jack to sigh. I can see why this helps him think.

Yet although his mind is clearer, the snow encircling him refuses to settle as he sits with one knee bent near his chest. His other leg is stretched out onto the overhang, dangling off the edge.

The guardian has put himself in charge of being the lookout, but his mind won’t stop going back to Hiccup with an arrow in his back. Blood on his mouth and tunic.

He groans out loud and leans back until his spine is up against the weather vane. Twinetender is held above him, tapping the fake metal dragon repeatedly to make it spin.

It’s been 300 years. 300 years, and yet he finds himself getting too involved with mortals’ lives.

He shouldn’t be letting him get to his head. But in the midst of Pitch’s absence, he still senses the darkness below him. The kind where peoples’ worst fears come alive in the corner of their eyes. A fearling’s playground.

“It just had to be him, huh? I had to fall for the guy with the biggest heart I know. Damnit, Freckles.” As soon as he hits the gronckle iron again, the snow he was accumulating falls onto the roof all at once like a tree branch being shaken.

However, the creak of Gothi’s door opening perks his ears up, and he turns to watch Astrid run down the steps to where the whole village population of Vikings and their dragons have gathered to await the news of their chief’s condition. He’d join the crowd, but what would it matter? After all, he already knows that their worries about Pitch aren’t over. Far from it.

Jack watches as she delivers her announcement while making a dramatic gesture with her arms like Hiccup would. Everyone throws their hands up in celebration, which only makes him roll his eyes and look the other way.

But it’s not long until he feels her gaze on him.

He lowers his staff, now deciding to reach over and hook it on the overhang above the healer’s porch. By the time Astrid gets to the porch, his eyes are closed, and his hood is pulled down to obscure part of his face. Both of his legs are stretched out, and the back of his head is leaned up against the wind vane. It’s like he’s pretending to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake, Jack.”

No response.

“I’m being serious. We need to talk.”

A single eye opens to peek down at Astrid only to see she has her hands on her hips. “When are you not serious?”

“Frost.”

His brows furrow under his hood. “I’m not coming down.”

“Not even for Hiccup?” She asks him, her tone growing more interrogative by the second.

Jack shakes his head before he yanks on his hoodie strings. “I’m the reason he’s in that bed to begin with. Me being in the same room as him,” he forces himself to swallow. “It isn't safe.”

She takes a step closer to the overhang. “Pitch would’ve gone after him at some point regardless of your relationship.” Not the most comforting choice of words. But maybe comfort isn’t what he needs right now.

He grits his perfect teeth. “You don’t know that.”

“I know enough to recognize how terrified he is.”

Those words allow him to pause, his eyes widening.

“I may not know much about Pitch,” Astrid continues, “but don’t you think letting your guys’ fears fester is the same as letting him win?”

He hates how right she is. But there’s still that stubborn itch in his mind. That stubborn itch to avoid everything and everyone right now. Even Hiccup. “He doesn’t want me in there.”

“He could’ve asked for me, his mother, Gobber, for any of the riders. But he asked for you. He wants to talk to you.” Despite her bitter voice, her eyes spell out how much her heart is breaking. “Please, Jack,” she mumbles under her breath.

The spirit finds himself peering at the stars above. He never noticed the sky darkening until now. With the sunset gone, the moon shines down on him. If only Manny could give him some kind of answer.

But like usual, it’s all quiet. It feels worse than pity.

With one swift move, he lifts his hood from his head and frees his tussled white hair. His ears droop as he grabs his staff again before jumping off the roof. When his feet land next to Astrid, it creates a sheet of uncontrolled ice underneath him.

A spike shooting up in the warrior’s direction forces her to back up. She huffs, deciding to follow him inside the hut at a safe distance.

You’re doing this for him, he reminds himself until the moment he pushes open the door.

In front of him, the mute old lady is changing Hiccup’s bandages, wrapping him up while he’s sitting on the cot with his arm raised. With his tunic off, Jack can see all the old burn scars littering his upper body, some more healed than others.

Another reminder.

The noisy door causes the brunette to crane his head away from Gothi’s work and wave with his already raised arm. “Brimill!” He attempts to clap his hands, but the healer lightly smacks his elbow the second it blocks her view.

One word is enough for his pointed ears to wiggle.

That petname, seal in Norse. It never fails to fluster him.

“Hreinn.”

Reindeer.

His shoulders relax as he stares with his wintery lashes fluttering.

A hit to the back of his head instantly snaps him out of the lover’s trance, and he’s ruffling his own hair as a mental reset.

Pitch’s influence, right. He could’ve sworn he sensed his lingering darkness in the hut with Hic. It’s still here, actually. But calmer. How could that be?

He squints past the healer to scan over his boyfriend’s mannerisms. Stimming haphazardly, swaying left and right, smiling wide enough to show his now-missing tooth—but the most damning of all is how glassy his eyes are.

“What did she give you?” Is the question he ends up asking.

In response, the chief snaps his fingers a few times. “The, the…the tea, right,” he slurs out. “When Astrid left, Gothi gave me her ‘special tea’ ‘cause apparently I looked like I needed it. Not even Gobber knows the recipe. It’s that special.” The crone side eyes Hiccup before pulling the bandages tighter, yet not tight enough to bind his chest. He makes a face, but he still continues. “Helps with the pain and nightmares sometimes, y’know?”

Jack glances at Astrid, who nods as if she already understands what is being asked of her. She quietly leaves through the front door.

“Uh, speaking of nightmares,” the guardian answers, already changing the subject. “Gothi, can I talk to Hic alone for a minute?”

He expects some kind of sour attitude from the elder, but she follows Astrid out the door with her terrible terrors in toe. Not a single complaint is gestured or grunted.

Then there’s the night fury.

“Can Toothless stay?”

It’s such a simple yes or no question. They need to talk through this alone, yet Hiccup’s big pleading eyes leave him unable to say anything other than, “Yes, of course.”

He leaves his staff leaning against the wall, then he takes wary steps over to the side of the cot. Purposefully slow bare feet along with awkward arm swinging.

By the time he sits down next to his injured love, the urge to fly out the window already floods his head. He might as well be drowning again with how he struggles to speak a single syllable.

“Look, I…I know Pitch used you to get to me, and all of this is kinda my fault. I should’ve been more careful, kept a closer eye on you, or maybe we shouldn’t have—”

“You know I can take care of myself, right?” Hic interrupts with an exaggerated tilt of his head.

“But you’re still human.”

Jack watches his lopsided smile fade from that blunt statement. He notices him place a hand on his own shoulder, re-examining the bandages. Such movements are enough to drive a sword through what’s left of the spirit’s heart.

He leans over to place his hand on top of Hiccup’s. “It’s different for us than it is for you. You’re one of our most endeared believers.”

“Which means I can still help defeat Pitch,” the chief argues.

He feels him shiver under his touch, contradicting his inebriated confidence. Goosebumps litter his arms, and he wishes he could calm the chills. But physically, he can only worsen them. “This needs to heal before you can kick his ass, Freckles.”

An instinctive snort leaves his lover’s nose, supposedly laughing at whatever his foggy brain considers funny. Then, despite the cold of his palm, Hiccup moves his hand behind his shoulder to where the wound lies under the wrapping, like a makeshift icepack.

The moment lingers as they sit in hush idleness together. Jack rubs his thumb in circles which allows the Viking to relax next to him. Before they know it, Hiccup’s head is up against Jack’s, almost leaning on top of it with their height difference. They’re breathing in sync with one another. Although the guardian doesn’t exactly need to breathe, the trick keeps any possible breathing attacks at bay.

Toothless lays his head at the other side of his rider, his colossal puppy dog pupils looking up at him. His body curls around them both like a big cat at their feet, his tail tapping the end of the cot.

Inevitably, Hiccup is the one who breaks the silence. “Back there, with Pitch, it…wasn’t my best moment. At all. I’m sorry I let him in my head like that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jack says. “He always finds a way somehow.” With careful movements, he slides his palm around the bandages. Slow fingers attempt to avoid making the man flinch. “But whatever he told you, none of it’s true.”

Glancing down, he notices his boyfriend shift awkwardly with the metal of his prosthetic squeaking. A sigh sounds out from his mouth as the pride of Berk pulls himself away only to fall right into his pillow. Not a very graceful landing judging by the harsh scrunch of his nose. Both Jack and Toothless offer him apologetic smiles. He gives them both his signature tooth-gapped grin. Missing tooth or not, it still brings a thin layer of hoar frost to the guardian’s cheeks.

“I might need to ask Gothi for a stronger tea,” Hiccup comments with a small chuckle bubbling up. Whether it’s a joke though is a different story.

The bed creaks under his limbs as Jack rolls onto his anterior and climbs over the other’s body. When he stops, he gives Hiccup’s chest a once-over. “Would you be more comfortable if I tighten your bandages more?” He asks.

A dismissive wave is the immediate answer to his question. “Ehh, they suck at binding. Probably wouldn’t be worth it. Plus,” the chief finds his hoodie strings, twirling them around his index fingers. “You’re here.”

That same frost dances across his features upon hearing the last bit. He really wants me here, he finally realizes. Gazing into those doe eyes, watching his split lip quiver, it all boils down to one thing. I should stay.

“For as long as you need, Hreinn,” he assures him before leaning in. With their faces almost touching, a couple stray snowflakes drift into brunette locks, sparkling briefly and melting right after. It’s a beautiful enough sight to bring his hand up and lift the other’s bangs from his forehead.

He inches closer, and closer…only to nip his nose.

From his usual little trick, Hic bursts into a fit of boar-snorting laughter, which only makes him laugh along with him. For them, it lasts way longer than what it warranted, but it’s what they needed to clear the air of their future anxieties. At least for right now.

Once they calm down, Jack is laying himself down on Hiccup’s stomach with his chin resting right in the middle of his bust. He sticks his tongue out, his lover mimics him.

What he doesn’t expect is for Hic’s good hand to reach over and play with his hair. His ears wiggle again out of embarrassment, which brings a small simper to the other’s expression.

But it’s not long after that before the hand relaxes, and he catches onto the chief’s snoring. He scoots up a little to bury his face into his neck.

While he’s with him like this, he’s safe, right?

That’s what he’s still trying to convince himself by the time he closes his eyes. Just for a little while.