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Jack found him brooding on the highest pinnacle of the courthouse, Toothless perched beside him like the cutest gargoyle known to man. Or not known to man, Jack corrected, since no mortal had any inkling that Toothless existed. (Or Hiccup, or Jack himself for that matter.)
Jack didn't announce himself right away, which could, out of context, be construed as slightly creepy. And, well, maybe in context it was still slightly creepy, spying down on your sorta-kinda celestial colleague who you may or may not have a tiiiiiny crush on through a peephole in the cloud cover, but it was for a good cause.
Because Jack was worried.
Hiccup wouldn't appreciate Jack's concern on his behalf, probably. He was weird like that, all stoic and self-contained, sharing next to nothing about his own life — mortal or spirit— with anyone other than his dragon, but those two were scarily codependent as a general rule. Shared everything. Maybe that was why Hiccup never had enough tea to spill with everyone else — he'd given it all to Toothless.
But Jack digressed.
Jack didn't know a whole lot about Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, that was true. Not much more than any other spirit knew, honestly. Not that Jack spent much (or any) time with any other spirit, but he'd heard some tidbits through the rumor mill in passing.
Supposedly, Hiccup was old. Like crazy ancient, even though he didn't look a day over nineteen. Older than even Nicholas St. North. Maybe, if the rumors were true, which Jack low-key doubted, the first spirit the Moon ever chose. Never seen without his sleek, black dragon, the two of them haunting the skies, matching Jack's snow and ice with their howling winds and crackling flames.
Spirits of wind and fire. Was Hiccup Wind and Toothless Fire? And if so, where was Earth? They were just one element away from being a dope sixties band. And what about Water? Jack supposed he could fit that title pretty okay, as long as Manny wasn't particular about what state said water was in. If they could just find Earth, they could have a whole Avatar cycle on their hands, or—
Stop it, Jack chided his runaway brain. Focus.
Jack had probably spent more time with Hiccup and Toothless than all the Guardians combined, because most people had a meet-cute in a bar or a college campus or in really sad cases, a Wal-Mart parking lot, but Jack, in typical Jack Frost fashion, had had his in the heart of blizzard, a hundred years ago, give or take.
It wasn't like he and Hiccup were besties or anything, always hanging out or whatever. Like, Hiccup was a master of holding his cards hella close to his chest. It was kind of hard to be best friends with someone you hardly knew. And yet, even though Hiccup was really great at rambling on without saying much of anything at all, Jack had quickly gotten a good idea of the kind of person — spirit, whatever — Hiccup was.
And he was… a good one.
A really good one.
Kind, genius-level smart, a total adrenaline junkie (Jack totally vibed with that), with a dry wit, a wry sense of humor, and a penchant for banter that perfectly complimented Jack's own. He cared. Not just about Toothless, but about other people. People he didn't really know. The Guardians. Mortals that didn't even know he existed.
Jack.
And for Jack, who had spent the first two hundred years of his directionless afterlife in almost complete isolation, that was everything.
It was probably pathetic how quickly and thoroughly he'd latched onto Hiccup. Not that he was clingy, but just… the idea of him. The concept that Jack wasn't alone in the skies, that there was someone who knew he existed, cared he existed, who Jack could talk to when their paths happened to cross. Who listened when Jack spoke.
Not to mention, his dragon was literally the most adorable creature Jack had ever laid eyes on — definitely way cuter than North's Yetis. And yeah, Toothless might seem fierce with the razor-sharp retractable teeth and the claws and the bubbling mass of plasma in his belly, but once you got to know him, he was a big softie.
But anyway—
(Manny, Jack's brain couldn't stick to one track for more than minute before switching or derailing entirely. Especially where Hiccup was concerned.)
This, the sight that greeted him now, Hiccup somber and moody, shoulders slumped like they carried the weight of the world, was not one Jack was used to. Hiccup was normally all blustering awkwardness, death-defying stunts, sharp quips, and wry half-smiles. He was eyes sparkling with mischief, hazy summer breezes, biting winter winds, the lazy dregs of a campfire crackling cozily among the blackened logs. He wasn't… this.
Or maybe, Jack realized, stomach sinking to the soles of his bare feet, this was the Hiccup no one else was allowed to see. Jack couldn't blame him for wearing a mask sometimes — Jack was great at disguises, too. And the best kind of mask was one forged from true facets of yourself, your heart, your humor, your fun, just… dialed up to a hundred. So that no one could see the pain and loneliness behind all the glamor.
Damn, that was insightful as hell, Jack thought, mildly delighted with himself. He should write a book.
(He remembered that he hated writing and amended: He should make a Tumblr. That's where all the Deep Thoughts lived, right? Wait. Could he make a Tumblr? Was there any rule saying a spirit couldn't have social media? Why hadn't he thought of this loophole before? He could—
Shut up, brain, Jack ordered. So not the time.)
There was no telling how many more rabbit trails Jack's deviant brain might have gone on if Hiccup hadn't chosen that moment throw his head back, meet Jack's eyes before he could dive back behind the clouds, and call up dryly, "Are you stalking me now? It's rude to stare, you know."
Hoarfrost curled over Jack's cheekbones in a lacy rush, and the tips of his ears iced over. Dammit. He didn't think there was a single way to salvage this without looking like a giant creep. But, hey, Hiccup didn't sound mad — fondly exasperated, maybe — so Jack decided to stay instead of flee. Besides, running away would probably make it all look worse anyway.
So Jack floated down through the clouds and settled nimbly on the roof next to Hiccup. "Hey, Freckles." He peered around Hiccup and waggled his fingers at Toothless, who regarded him with a cock of the head and a slow blink. Jack took this as a win. And yes, he knew that dragons weren't cats, and for all he knew, in dragon-speak, a slow blink could translate to, I'm about to rip your throat out. But since Toothless hadn't proceeded to rip his throat out, Jack figured he was good.
A small smile adorned Hiccup's face at Jack's greeting, but it didn't reach his eyes. Or maybe it had reached his eyes but had been promptly swallowed by the deep sadness nesting there. Jack was suddenly acutely aware of how close he'd chosen to sit. It was hardly his fault; the pinnacle Hiccup and Toothless occupied wasn't super roomy. But from this close, Jack could see every freckle, every individual eyelash, every facet of the emeralds that were Hiccup's eyes. They glittered, mesmerizing, in the street lights, bright and flawless and beautiful.
The frost on Jack's cheeks crackled and thickened and spread down to his jaw. But was it a trick from the hazy streetlights, or was Hiccup also blushing, his cheeks tinted red behind his expanse of freckles?
Jack wanted to stay there forever and he wanted to jump up and put about five feet between them, all at the same time. He wasn't sure if he loved or hated the way being this close to Hiccup made him feel — all jittery and buzzy inside. Not the cliche "butterflies in your stomach" stuff, either. It felt like he'd swallowed a whole hive of bees and they were all stinging him from the inside at the same time, but also it felt kinda… good?
Yeesh. Jack was waaaaaaay out of his depth here.
He figured, though, that if he moved now, that might make things more awkward. So he dragged his eyes away from Hiccup's and looked forward instead, down at the pristine carpet of white on Main Street. Most people seemed to love the idea of snow more than the actual thing. They talked about how beautiful a fresh snow was, how white and perfect, and what a shame it was to see it tamped down and muddied by a bunch of dirty boots.
They weren't wrong — a brand new blanket of snow was beautiful — but Jack preferred the other kind of snow. The kind trampled with all shapes and sizes of boot prints, peppered with snow angels, populated by a whole host of snowmen, and frequented by screaming, giggling children. Fresh snow was too quiet, too lonely.
But somehow, Jack thought, stealing another glance at Hiccup, it didn't feel so lonely right now. It felt kind of… perfect.
"So," Jack ventured, encroaching tentatively on the quiet. "What brings you here?"
Hiccup shrugged, one hand idly skating across Toothless's scales, his long, deft fingers like figure skaters on a sheet of black ice. "I don't know," he admitted. "I was in the area on Wind business, and I—" He sighed. "I remember how much you said you like it here. How even though you're a wanderer at heart, Burgess will always be home."
Jack's pulse quickened. He'd chattered on about Burgess the last time he and Hiccup had run into each other, on a quiet New Year's Eve in Prague. That had been, what… two years ago? Jack couldn't believe that Hiccup remembered such a small part of their lengthy conversation. His heart beat faster still — and was Hiccup implying that he'd come here hoping he'd run into Jack?
"Uh, yeah," Jack said, trying for a chill, careless tone but probably sounding more like he had a bad case of gas. "It's nice here. I think — I think it's where I'm from. You know, before I was… whatever I am now." He chuckled self-consciously.
The look on Hiccup's face as he considered Jack's statement made something shift uneasily in his gut. There was a note of pity — Jack hated pity — but what unsettled Jack more was the look of longing, maybe even envy, alighting in Hiccup's eyes.
But when he spoke, Hiccup's voice was even. Almost too controlled. "Still no memory?"
Jack's stomach twisted itself into knots and he felt the threat of tears press hot behind his eyes, but he fought off the rising ache and answered just as evenly, "Nope."
"I'm sorry," Hiccup offered. "I know how much you want to remember."
Jack swallowed hard, his throat sticking and his mouth bone-dry. "Yeah," he croaked. "Thanks."
They sat in strained, charged silence for several minutes, and all at once, Jack wanted to be anywhere else. Because as much as he liked Hiccup, as much as he enjoyed talking to him, Jack didn't know what was going on right now, and he didn't know how to handle it, and he wasn't good at talking to people, and—
"Sometimes I want to forget."
Hiccup's murmured confession ripped Jack out of his panicked spiral and tossed him headfirst into an icy abyss.
"Wh-what?"
On the other side of Hiccup, Toothless whined and bunted his rider's arm. Hiccup reached out to scratch behind Toothless's ear fins, but the movement was jerky, automatic. His eyes were far away.
"It's just," Hiccup said, his voice tight, "remembering hurts."
So does forgetting! Jack wanted to scream, but there was so much pain on Hiccup's face, in the thin line of his mouth and the crease between his brows and the grief in his eyes. I'm not the one that matters right now, Jack reminded himself. He needs me.
To be honest, Jack didn't really know how much Hiccup actually needed him, considering he had a perfectly attentive, cuddly, and loving Night Fury by his side. But this was the first time he'd ever heard Hiccup offer anything personal, and if Hiccup was desperate enough to lay his cards out on the table, then Jack needed to listen. To help, if he could. No matter how much it hurt.
"Did you… did you always remember?" Jack asked hesitantly. "Or were you like me?"
Hiccup's eyes clouded over further, until they were, Jack knew, fully shrouded in the past. "I forgot, I think, at first," he said, and Jack held his breath. Did this mean that Jack might remember too, someday? "It was so long ago, I don't…" He heaved a weary sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I died in battle, saving Toothless. I know that. And the Moon brought me back, but… not the same.
"But it wasn't until Toothless came to the end of his life and the Moon brought him back to me that I remembered. Seeing him again… something clicked, you know? But… dragons live longer than humans do. By the time Toothless died, everyone else back home was…" He trailed off, a horrible rawness to his voice that grated at Jack's soul.
"I — I'm sorry."
Hiccup shrugged again. "It's fine. It was a long time ago."
Jack's fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and touch Hiccup, to squeeze his shoulder or cover his hand, to wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders. But he balled his hand into a fist instead. Hiccup had Toothless pressed into him on his other side. He had a dragon who had been there, through everything, who remembered everything and everyone that Hiccup did. Why would Hiccup need comfort from Jack when he had Toothless nuzzling him?
"Do you… wanna talk about it?"
The words came out before Jack could stop them, and he hoped he wouldn't regret them. If Hiccup needed to talk, then he'd power through whatever pain his words dredged up. But Hiccup shrank into himself, and, to Jack's dismay, he shifted away, closer to Toothless, widening the gap between them by a couple of inches.
"No," Hiccup said stiffly. Then he cringed, throat bobbing as he swallowed. "I'm sorry, Jack. I shouldn't—"
"Hey," Jack interrupted, his voice low and slightly husky, so far removed from how he usually talked to anyone that he barely recognized it. "Don't apologize. If you need to talk, talk. I'll listen."
Toothless trilled in what Jack thought was probably approval, and it bolstered him. He could fight through his own darkness to help Hiccup out of his. Jack couldn't remember — literally — the last time he was able to help someone in this way. Someone who knew he was there, who was actually talking to him, anyway. It turned the dread weighing heavy in his chest into a sort of nervous giddiness.
And it gave him the courage to ask his next question: "Why is remembering so hard? What's it like?"
Hiccup sat stock still, his legs, both real and metal, pulled up to his chest. A shudder coursed through him. Then, to Jack's surprise, he answered.
"You'd think I'd forget, wouldn't you? Or that it would fade?" he asked, voice hollow and eyes haunted. "After a thousand years? How much it hurts?" Jack quietly filed that information away to freak the hell out about later. A thousand years?! Hot damn, Hiccup was old.
Jack made sure that his face was still carefully arranged in an open, non-judgmental, not freaking out about how long Hiccup had been a spirt expression and cleared his throat. "I imagine grief doesn't stick to the same timeline we're on."
Hiccup snorted humorlessly. "Yeah. You could say that." He bit his lower lip, hesitating, then continued slowly, each word anchored down with the weight of each of Hiccup's years. "Remembering isn't always bad. Sometimes, it… sometimes, it helps. But most of the time, it's, it's lonely."
Toothless whined in agreement, and Jack understood: Hiccup had Toothless, and Toothless had Hiccup, and they were enough for each other… but they were also one. Two souls twined together, drawing comfort from one another, but both still longing for the life they'd once had.
Lonely together.
Jack blinked back tears. He knew a thing or two about lonely.
"It's knowing that you had a whole life filled with people who loved you, who protected you, who wanted nothing but the best for you. People that you would do anything for. It's seeing their faces in your mind's eye all the time, like, like they're so close you could touch them if you just reach far enough. It's remembering the kind crinkle of your father's eyes, and the way your friends' arms felt around you, like you were just with them yesterday…
"But then you wake up from the daydream and you remember that everyone who loved you, everyone you once loved, is dead. They've been dead for centuries." Toothless keened, and Jack felt something inside him fracture at the sound. "Sometimes, remembering is wishing that when you died, you had just stayed dead. Because you know everyone that you loved and fought beside and died for is feasting in the halls of Valhalla, reunited after lives of valor. But you're stuck here, suspended in time, mourning them. And you know you'll never see them again."
The words, and the devastation, slammed into Jack like a fist to the solar plexus, driving all the air from his lungs. He'd never thought about it like that — he'd always been so frustrated by his lack of memory, so eager to know anything about his identity or purpose, that he'd never really stopped to consider the ramifications if he did find out the truth. Suddenly, his desire to remember felt a little more abstract, a little more distant, a little less simple. Because what if he learned something that gutted him like Hiccup's memories did to him?
But he'd have time to crash out about that later. Right now, Hiccup needed him.
What sucked was that Jack had no idea what to do when someone he could see and interact with needed him. He'd not had a lot of practice, after all.
"I—" Jack started, then cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm so sorry, Hiccup. Obviously, I don't know what it's like to remember the life I lost, but it sounds… hard."
"It can be," Hiccup agreed. "I hope you're able to remember, though," he whispered. He had swiveled his upper body away from Jack, facing Toothless, and Jack didn't know what that meant. Did Hiccup want Jack to leave? Did he want privacy? And his voice sounded different, thicker, hoarser, like he was coming down with a bad head cold (though Jack was pretty sure spirits couldn't get sick, not like that, at least).
Jack's eyebrows migrated halfway up his forehead, not sure if he should be grateful or offended. "You want me to do the thing that's causing you so much grief?"
Hiccup chuckled, a wet, broken sound that Jack couldn't quite place. "I don't want you to hurt like this," he clarified. "But I know that you want to remember. I know how important that is to you. And I think you've got it right, Jack."
Jack's heart pattered quiet and fast like little raindrops in his chest. "How so?"
"You need to remember. And as… as hard as it is for me — for us —" he clarified, stroking Toothless's obsidian scales, "to remember, as much as we sometimes wish we could forget, even for a little while… we need to remember, too. Where we came from. The people — and dragons — who made us. Without them, we'd lose a part of ourselves. They are us."
"Their memory lives on in you," Jack murmured, the words pulled from deep inside himself, a place he didn't even know existed.
Hiccup's hand stalled on Toothless's head, every line of his lean, armored body still and hushed like the windless calm in the eye of a storm. The quiet moment stretched into several, the air between Hiccup and Jack heavy, like the sky moments before a flood. "Yes," Hiccup said at last. "Exactly that."
He took a steadying breath, his shoulders rising almost to his ears before deflating. This larger-than-afterlife figure, who'd been around longer than even the Guardians, who towered over Jack at over six feet tall, who was all crooked smiles and dry wit and unadulterated kindness, who commanded the Wind, who was the Wind… That man, with his autumn leaf hair and lichen eyes and all those wonderful freckles, who shone like the sun and burned like wildfire and blustered like the wind…
He looked small. And so did Toothless, the indomitable Night Fury, who commanded the skies and owned the night.
Jack's already broken heart creaked and groaned like a ship taking on too much water. Any minute now, it would plummet to the depths to rest forever in an icy grave. He felt Hiccup and Toothless's turmoil curl up inside of him, mingling with his own pain and longing and confusion until they were indistinguishable. A tear escaped confinement and wandered aimlessly down his face, shivered on the curve of his jaw, then plunged into the abyss.
"Hiccup—" Jack started, then stopped, eyes widening as he realized that the other spirit's shoulders were shaking. For one wild moment, Jack thought Hiccup was laughing, but then another tear trailed down his own face and he realized — Hiccup was crying. Silent, violent sobs wracking his frame. Beside him, Toothless whimpered and pressed himself close to Hiccup, lost in his own memories, perhaps, or maybe reacting to Hiccup's own hurt. Maybe both.
Screw it, thought Jack, his inhibitions scattering like leaves in the wind at the sight of Hiccup so undone beside him. Hurting in a way Jack had felt himself but had never seen on anyone else, suffering in the brutal, grief-stricken way only someone who had lived and lost for hundreds of years could. Mourning those he had left behind when he'd died, and who he'd likely never see again.
Jack couldn't sit here and watch Hiccup succumb to the storm inside without trying to help. Sure, Hiccup had Toothless, and Toothless had Hiccup, but that didn't mean that Hiccup didn't need anyone else, did it?
So Jack reached out a hand, tentative at first, rested his cold fingers on Hiccup's shoulder. The leather armor strap felt old but rugged to the touch, like it should by all accounts be crumbling to bits but somehow still stood strong. Battered but alive. (Much like Hiccup himself, Jack thought.)
Hiccup froze at the touch, and Jack nearly snatched his hand back, scared that he'd overstepped, that he'd done the wrong thing, that this was an utterly private moment that he should have flown away from instead of intruded upon. But then Hiccup gave a kind of hiccuping sob, his breath catching, tension draining from his body. He shuddered, from the inside out. Then, one hand still comforting his dragon, he turned and looked at Jack.
Jack forgot how to breathe at the sight of Hiccup bathed in moonlight, auburn hair permanently windswept, face nearly as pale as Jack's, eyes gleaming and tear-tracks glistening in Manny's glow. He looked broken and unbreakable, fragile and powerful, and fierce and soft, all at the same time. He looked beautiful, like a prince from a fairy story, but he was real, and he was here, and the pain and longing in his eyes were a reflection of Jack's own soul.
"I'm so sorry," Hiccup choked out, eyes puffy, his adorable round nose reddened, "I know how much remembering me-means to you, I shouldn't have—"
"Hiccup," Jack said. "I'm glad you told me. I want to remember more than anything, yeah. But you didn't ruin it for me, or make the hurt any worse, or whatever it is you're worried about. I think… I think I needed to hear that as much as you needed to say it."
Only as he said it did Jack realize how true it was. He'd built up regaining his past as some great, jubilant triumph in his head, but Hiccup had shown him how unsustainable that was. Because with remembering would come loss, possibly as fresh as the day it — whatever it was — had happened. But Hiccup had also shown him something beautiful, something hopeful: With memory came love and with love came loss, but with loss came identity and purpose and the somber beauty of carrying the lost with you. Their long-stopped hearts beating in tandem with yours. Keeping them alive through sheer force of memory alone.
Jack wondered, if his memory ever came back, what long-lost soul he would bring back to life… just by remembering them.
Hiccup scrubbed his free hand over his face. "I just — I don't talk about it, like pretty much ever. You are the only other person I really ever talk to." Toothless grumbled, and Hiccup amended, "Other than Toothless, of course."
A strange but welcome warmth spread from the center of Jack's chilled chest. As nonchalantly as he could manage (which he feared was not very), Jack asked, "Still not tight with the Guardians?"
Hiccup shrugged and tilted his head back to look up at the sky. Jack could see Manny reflected in those gorgeous eyes, turning his pupils into twin moons. "Not really. They're nice enough" — Jack snorted his disagreement; he and the Guardians really didn't get along — "but they've got their own thing going on, you know. Always busy. And… it's just easier to keep to ourselves, I guess." He scratched Toothless's head and Jack swore he saw dragon drool gathering at the corner of his toothless mouth.
"But you talked to me," Jack pointed out, his voice coming out slightly breathless.
Hiccup turned back to Jack and met his eyes once more, and though a deep sorrow still hung behind the curtain of green, he looked lighter somehow. Had Hiccup ever talked to anyone about that? Spoken aloud about missing his home, his family, his friends? Had he even talked with Toothless about it? The two of them seemed to be able to communicate just fine without words, and since they shared the pain and memories, Jack couldn't help but wonder if they just felt their pain together instead of talking about it. After all, they were so in sync they could form a 90s boy band (bad joke, yes, but Jack's ADHD brain was slowly extricating itself from the mire of gloom and he couldn't stop the puns and pop culture references even if he wanted to).
"I talked to you," Hiccup murmured, as if in a trance, eyes distant but not locked on the past. This time, they were focused inward, and Jack thought that Hiccup might be trying to fathom out why exactly he'd chosen strange, trouble-making, lonely Jack Frost as a conversation partner time and time again. And why he had opened up to him now, in a way he hadn't for anyone else.
Maybe it was because they were lonely. All three of them — Hiccup, Jack, and Toothless. Longing for connection. Drawn to each other like magnets.
"Do you… do you want to talk more?" Jack ventured.
Hiccup eyed him warily. "About what?"
"I mean, whatever you want, but…" Jack floundered for a moment, unsure if this would be too much, then took the plunge anyway. "Do you wanna talk about them? Your friends, the people you miss? I don't remember my family, but I'd love to know yours. And maybe it would help you to talk about them. You could bring them to life again, in another way, you know?"
Fresh tears had gathered at the corners of Hiccup's eyes, but they didn't fall. Instead, they hovered there, catching the moonlight. "Yeah," he said. "I think I'd like that."
And so he did. Jack had no idea how long they sat there, Hiccup regaling Jack with tale after tale of his lost loved ones, of the adventures they'd shared, the dangers they'd faced, the love that they'd fostered. Toothless chimed in regularly with excited warbles or snorts or growls, and though Jack had no idea what the Night Fury was saying, he had a feeling that he was embellishing or adding in details that he thought Hiccup was skimping on.
As he talked, Hiccup came back to life himself. His arms starting waving and gesturing about like they had a mind of their own, and his eyes lit up like sunlight filtering through a forest canopy. His mouth softened, his lips pulling more easily into small smiles.
He told Jack about his father, a giant of a man with a fiery temper to match his flaming beard, who loved as fiercely as he fought, who grew and changed but rarely listened. Who only wanted the best for Hiccup. Who, Hiccup knew, must have been devastated when he died.
About Gobber, Hiccup's mentor and second father, who had taught Hiccup everything he knew about blacksmithing. (Jack was a bit bummed when Hiccup clarified that Gobber was not actually his second father, like, he and Hiccup's dad weren't married, but after everything Hiccup told him, Jack decided he shipped them anyway. Was it disrespectful to ship two Vikings who had been dead for centuries? Maybe, Jack thought, but only if he told Hiccup about it, which he most certainly wouldn't.)
He told Jack about Astrid, a badass warrior and Hiccup's best human friend, who knew her way around a battlefield better than anyone but stumbled through emotional conversations like she'd just learned to walk. Who had loved Hiccup, fought for him, protected him… Until she couldn't.
About Fishlegs, the healer with a heart of gold, who geeked out with Hiccup on the regular about new dragons, who knew every fact and every statistic from their Book of Dragons by heart. Who was often scared but would face any danger, brave any peril, to save his friends.
About Snotlout, Hiccup's cousin, whose favorite pastime was pretending he didn't care while in actuality he cared a lot. Who complained and bragged and needled Hiccup and caused no end of trouble (and no end of headaches for Hiccup), but who would tear down the world to protect those he cared about.
And about the twins, too, Ruffnut and Tuffnut (Manny, Jack loved Viking names!), who had pledged their lives to the god of mischief, who played pranks and made stupid jokes and obscure references, equally codependent and perpetually sick of one another, who pretended to be idiots but were actually hella clever. (Jack had a feeling he would've really liked them, but Hiccup declared that if they ever met, only Ragnarok could follow, which only made Jack want to meet them more.)
And he told Jack about all of their dragons, loyal Meatlug, snarky Hookfang, fierce Stormfly, and clingy Barf and Belch (the life debt story had Jack rolling).
Somewhere along the way, though, laughter, as it often does in the face of grief, turned to tears. And Jack didn't have a clue how it happened, but at some point, Jack's arms found their way around Hiccup, holding him as he sobbed, and Hiccup's face was buried in the crook of Jack's neck, and neither one of them were freaked out about it, and it somehow felt right, and then Jack was crying too.
Eventually, the waterworks stopped, but Jack was still holding Hiccup and he realized with a start that Hiccup was holding him, his long fingers bunched into the back of Jack's hoodie. Hoarfrost crackled anew across Jack's face as he discovered that one of his hands was cradling the back of Hiccup's head, the fingers meshed in silky auburn hair.
As one, they sat up and untangled their arms, though they didn't move apart. Emotions burst like fireworks in Jack's chest, loud and bright and too many and too colorful to distinguish one from another. He felt wrung out, exhausted, still a little sad, but hopeful… more at peace than he had in centuries.
From the serene, contemplative look on Hiccup's face, he felt the same.
With a curious coo, Toothless leaned forward and peered around Hiccup's front, his eyes flitting between Hiccup and Jack. He warbled, and Hiccup flushed from his hairline to his neck. Jack's eyebrows shot up — whatever the dragon had said, it had thoroughly ruffled Hiccup, and Jack loved to see it. He was so cute when he was flustered, which was like, 85% of the time.
"I'm sorry," Hiccup said, still blushing, still flustered, still adorable. "I didn't mean for… whatever that was to happen. I don't even know—"
"—how we got there?" Jack cut in with a throaty chuckle. "Me either."
They stared at each other for several heartbeats and then burst out laughing.
"I didn't realize how much I needed to talk about them," Hiccup said once they'd sobered. "It hurt so much to even think about them that I thought talking would hurt worse. But I actually feel… better. Almost like I was with them again."
Jack hummed, reflecting back on all the wonderful, adventure-filled tales Hiccup had told him. "I like them," he said. "I'm glad I got to meet them."
Hiccup grinned, the fullest, most Hiccup-y grin Jack had ever witnessed, full of life and warmth and mischief. Jack's mind ground to a halt and his heart followed suit at the sight of pure, uninhibited Hiccup, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt that it was over. He was so incredibly cooked.
"Me too," Hiccup agreed, and Jack had to hit rewind on their conversation and replay it in his mind to remember just what Hiccup was agreeing with because he couldn't remember a single damn thing beyond that smile.
"Are — are you okay?" Hiccup asked, concern now lacing his tone. Jack mentally kicked himself; what an idiot he must look like, gaping at Hiccup like a love-struck teen in a cheesy Disney Channel rom-com.
"Yeah," Jack squeaked, the frost thickening on his cheeks. "Peachy."
Hiccup sighed wearily and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Seriously, I don't know what came over me. I did not mean to trauma dump all over you."
"Seriously," Jack countered with a quirk of his eyebrow, "I was happy to listen. I enjoyed hearing about your friends."
"I'm sure you just loved being cried on, too," Hiccup remarked. He glanced down at Jack's shoulder and his eyes widened comically.
"What?" Jack demanded. "What's wrong?"
Hiccup looked torn between laughter and tears, but he managed to keep his emotions in check as he reached out and brushed his fingers over the crook of Jack's neck. Jack froze at the intimate gesture, his pulse the wings of a hummingbird. Jack hadn't had anyone touch him like this in… ever, as far as he knew. Any touch was unexpected and strange and wonderful to Jack after hundreds of years without it, but this… this was something different. Something electric. Something Jack wanted, needed, craved.
Was Hiccup—? Did he—? Jack's eyes drifted to Hiccup's lips, and he shifted forward…
But then Hiccup pulled back his hand and held it out in front of Jack with a sheepish grin. In his palm were a dozen frozen beads of water that must have been stuck to Jack's neck and shoulder. "Uh," Jack said smartly. "What's—?" But then his brain connected the dots, and he couldn't keep from cackling. "Are those your tears?"
Hiccup, suspended between mortification and amusement, nodded. "They froze the second they touched your skin, Popsicle."
Jack guffawed. "Popsicle? Is that my nickname now, Freckles? Is that the best you can do?"
"Well, you're a walking freezer, Jack. I think Popsicle is an appropriate name." Toothless chirped his agreement, and Jack sent a scathing glare at the both of them. Popsicle! Honestly! He'd have to think of a stupider nickname for Hiccup now; Freckles was far too cute. Maybe Ol' Windbag?
"If I'm a freezer, then you're an oven," Jack decided, recalling the warmth of Hiccup's skin on his own. It hadn't even been uncomfortable, though Jack ran (very) cold.
"And why is that?" Hiccup asked, a twinkle in his eye that Jack hoped would stay there forever.
"Because you're so hot," Jack responded without thinking. Instantly, Hiccup's mouth fell open and frost swarmed Jack's entire face. "I mean," he stammered, "your body." Hiccup's eyebrows flew up, disappearing completely behind his bangs, and Jack wanted to die. "Warm, is what I meant," he stumbled over himself, feeling the frost creeping down his neck like a traitorous fungus. What were the chances that Hiccup didn't know the frost was a blush? Maybe Hiccup thought Jack had ice eczema? No, that was dumb. He definitely knew Jack was blushing.
"I meant," he tried again, unable to hold eye contact any longer and peering around at Toothless for help. The dragon just looked at him with undisguised pity — pity! From a dragon!! — and amusement, and Jack settled for staring down at his own hands instead. "I'm cold, and you're hot."
Hiccup's voice came out strained, like he was trying not to laugh. "Are we doing Jonas Brothers karaoke now?"
"You know what I meant!" Jack exploded, gesticulating as wildly as Hiccup had and nearly clocking the wind spirit in the face. "You're not hot-hot, you're hot!"
"So you don't think I'm hot?" Hiccup asked with a snicker, and damn him, he was definitely enjoying this way too much!
"No!" Jack shouted, then reined it in, "I mean, no, I didn't mean that, either! I think you're — you — you look fine!"
"Fine?" Hiccup echoed, and Jack could hear the smirk in his voice.
"Yes," Jack answered stiffly. He was done with this game, he decided. It was much more fun to be the heckler than the heckled, especially about something like this. Especially when it hit so close to home. "You look fine. And not fine-fine, either. Just fine."
"Just fine," Hiccup agreed, his composure bursting at the seams.
"You know what," Jack said, amazed at how this one guy could be so endearing and so annoying at the same time, "I think I'm gonna go—" He started to lift off the ground, but a warm wrapped around his wrist, stopping him. Jack's heart jumped at the touch.
Hiccup tugged on his arm gently. "Stay a little longer?"
And damn it if Jack couldn't say no to that.
He drifted back down, chancing a glance at Hiccup and nearly melting into a puddle at the warm affection on the spirit's blushing face.
And then Hiccup did something that turned Jack's entire world upside down — in a good way. In a very good way. In the best way possible, actually.
His eyes roamed Jack's perma-frosted face, then settled pointedly on his lips. He leaned in, hesitating, questioning, and Jack found himself mirroring Hiccup, moving closer, mind couched in a euphoric haze. (Was this actually happening?! How was this actually happening?!)
Their lips met, the immaculate consummation of hot and cold, impossibly perfect, the heat not melting and the cold not freezing. Jack's heart soared to heights unknown.
When they pulled apart, Hiccup cupped Jack's cheek with his left hand and ran his thumb along his cheekbone. Jack shivered and leaned in. He didn't know if he'd ever kissed anyone before, in his first life, but he didn't have to remember to know that this was the best kiss he'd ever had. Would ever have.
"I've wanted to do that for a long time," Hiccup admitted, cheeks blazing.
Jack laughed. "So have I."
"Should we… do it again?" Hiccup ventured.
Jack grinned, and even though he had no idea what he was doing, though he'd never initiated a kiss before, he grabbed Hiccup by the armor strap across his chest and pulled him close. It was Hiccup's turn to melt into Jack, and the night and the Moon and snow and the stars and everything except Hiccup and Jack disappeared. It was just Hiccup and Jack and their mouths and their hands and a closeness and intimacy that Jack thought he'd never get to have with anyone, least of all Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III.
When they broke apart, Jack realized he'd been wrong before. This was the best kiss ever.
At some point during the kiss, Toothless had slunk off to give them some privacy. Main Street below was now littered with dragon prints (how would the humans explain that away, Jack wondered) as Toothless pounced around in the snow, having the time of his afterlife.
Hiccup, one hand still entwined with one of Jack's, grimaced. "Uh, sorry about that. He ruined your perfect snow."
"Are you kidding?" Jack crowed. "Snow isn't some painting on display in a museum! It's meant for fun!"
They sat in companionable silence, hands meshed.
Finally, Jack piped up, totally off-subject (as per usual). "Y'know," he mused. "All those stories you told me, they're really great. Ever thought about writing a book?"
Hiccup raised his eyebrows. "A book?"
"Yeah! You could write a whole series about your adventures back in the day! People would eat it up!"
"I'm not much of a writer," Hiccup grinned.
"Well, ever thought about making a Tumblr blog, then?" Jack asked.
Hiccup smirked. "Already have one."
Jack gaped at him. "Wait, what? Are you serious?! Do you have followers? Can people see your posts, or can they only see them if they believe in you? Do you chat with like, real life people, or—?"
Jack didn't find out whether Hiccup was pulling his leg, but he didn't care at all. Because Hiccup cut him off with another kiss, and by the time they came up for air, Jack had forgotten everything but the feel of Hiccup's lips on his own and the heady rush of affection that held him in thrall.
Manny, Jack was glad he'd decided to stalk Hiccup tonight. They'd both been on their own for too long.
But Jack had a wonderful feeling that they'd be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.
And when Jack wanted nothing but to remember and when Hiccup wanted nothing but to forget, they could be there for each other, just like tonight. Hold each other, cry together, laugh together. Be together.
Manny hadn't given Jack his memories, but he had brought him Hiccup. And for the first time in nearly three hundred years, Jack Frost was grateful to the Moon.