Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jack was sinking into the lake. He could feel the crushing weight of the water pushing down on his chest as he fought a losing battle towards the surface, towards wind and freedom and all things good in life. Tendrils of icy cold wrapped their way up his calves towards his center, spirited in their attempts. Vines of twining briar and jutting hawthorn digging deep in their merciless takeover of his limbs. Squeezing him in a vice grip so tight he nearly gasps out what air he has left in his lungs to ration. 

Jack, distantly, remembered this as a recurring happenstance. The destruction of his will to live. He’s been here before. Though remembering doesn’t do him much good. He doesn’t remember how he got here, when he got here. He doesn’t know how long it has been since his head sank beneath the rippling waters, but the frantic staccato of his heart, so at odds with the sluggish way his blood seems to be moving through his body, and the forest fire burning its way through his chest and up his throat in what would have been a choked scream if he wouldn’t die faster seem to be a very clear marker of too long. He can feel his consciousness slipping away, standing on the edge of a perilous cliff at night, toeing the line as a particularly strong gust of wind bodies into him from behind to send him tumbling into the inky blackness below. He refuses to fall. 

Though his attempts to swim upwards have slowed— joints stiff from the slicing darkness crushing into him from all sides, making his ears warp and a disorienting pressure pulse through his head, causing him to confuse up for down and perpendicular for parallel— he continues to fight the good fight, the battle for his short, tiny, insignificant life in the face of looming death. He is so deep into the lake that he can’t see anything above. What time of day was it for him to be unable to see anything? His body was frail. Small. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew the appendages attached to him had regressed in size. This realization scared him more than the ghost of a hand he could feel brushing his cheek. He couldn’t remember how old he was.

The hand caressing his cheek and running long, spindly fingers through his hair felt like the touch of a lover, the answer to a question he feels he’s asked for so long. The same one he constantly feared would steal his sister away, finally come back and make good on the attempt. A yearning and a hope and a light in the dark. Jack, unimaginative as he was in this preserved state, was greeted with the image of the moon in his mind’s eye. Or maybe it wasn’t his imagination, and the sphere truly did float to the floor with him to lay among the reeds and muck. Cold and crystalline, a figure that at once felt welcoming and damning. His damning salvation, the moon. 

Jack had always been warned against heading towards lights in the dark. Some old wive’s tales of his uncle’s. The light was meant to feel like a safe-haven, a respite. Deliverance within reach. This moon before him was the lure of an anglerfish. He knew this. Beyond that shining brilliance was nothing but pain and agony. A gaping maw of many serrated teeth, cavernous in their oppression, which surely wouldn’t be enough to bite him in half with one go-around, and likely meant a slow, frigid, turgid death beneath the surface of the lake that had likely stilled by now, aided by magic to ensure the unassuming waters could pass as a pond in order to sate its deep, howling and keening need to be fed. Using this light as the bait to suck the life out of Jack, bleed him dry slowly, as if  bloodletting. Waters to be warned away from. Waters to consider vampiric. Parasitic. 

Jack’s frame shuddered involuntarily, chest concave in its desperate attempts to force him to open his mouth in the frail hope that the rest of his body had succeeded in its mission. His brain tried to remind it that they were not safe yet. His chest stubbornly refused to listen to the facts. In retaliation, his eyesight began to fail him. That, or the anglerfish moon had decided he wasn’t worth its time after all when he didn’t move towards its light, and began to retreat back into the darkness, patient or unbothered enough to wait for hypothermia to set in and do the job for it. Splotches of black dotted out the light, shrouding him in a void so empty he would think it were space he floated through, had he not been able to feel the barest current ripple around him. 

He wanted to give up. His heart was. Since the moment he’d touched a finger to the ominous waters, it had been working at half speed. He could feel the movements slow, its built-in pacemaker lagging and freezing like the song on a cassette that had been played one too many times. Worn down. Exhausted. The water stung his eyes, reminding him that it was futile to keep them open when he would see nothing more. He kept them open in stubborn retaliation. He refused to die blind to what happened around him. His lungs ached, body forcing a hand up through his bronchus and trachea, desperate fingers curling around the soft tissue of his esophagus to burrow deep into the gums behind his teeth, forcing his mouth to open in a most unwilling fashion. His sinuses screamed with the admittance of water, choking becoming an all-encompassing thing. The vice-like grip of the water held him tighter, ripping him apart from the inside, blood leaking into the water in a suspended cloud of—

Jack woke up in a cold sweat, flailing upright with a harsh gasp. One of his hands, the correct size and unbound by anything, flew up to his chest and gripped the front of his shirt, the other reaching blindly to rip the too many layers of blanket cocooning him into the bed away from his shaking body. He dimly remembered North demanding he use them all, since the room got cold at night. Pulling back the curtains that shielded his new bed from the rest of the room, he stumbled to the window, using trembling fingers to pop open the latch. A cool, gentle breeze wafted into the space as the pane of glass swung on silent hinges, of which Jack took greedy, gulping breaths, desperate to calm himself and avoid waking up the slumbering occupant below. He reached for his staff, luckily sitting not more than an arms length away in the small space, and curled it tight to his chest. The wind twined through his mussed hair, cooling his burning and sweat-slick skin. The caress was nothing like that of the waters in his dream. This was a hello, a question to how he was doing. Keeping simple company on a quiet night. 

Jack pressed his head against the glass, the sharp chill pulling him fully back from his fit of panic, and setting his trembling hands to their normal ease of movement along the grooves of wood, as opposed to the uncontrollable electricity that had just been coursing through them. He breathed deeply, held. Exhaled. Again and again, forcing the last of the unease to leave with the outgoing pulmonary waste. His breath clouded faintly in front of him as his mind went over the blind terror that he’d been stuck in for who knows how long. Jack hadn’t had a nightmare  so vivid in years. He’d had them, sure, but not like that. Not since his first night in Washington, where the crashing waves of the nearby beach were too loud and foreign in his ears, a magnified and resounding version of the gentle lapping of water over the pebbled shore of that damned lake. He remembers, distantly, what happened that night. Jeremiah had found him in a dark corner of the house, half-feral with confusion about where he was, what he was doing. The man had sat with him and talked about the material he was studying for an upcoming exam. Jack asked what his coworker was even doing there, and his smile had been mournful. He never quite learned the answer to his question. 

Had the nightmare been stress from what he’d be trying to accomplish tomorrow?

Jack threw a cursory glance back at the bed. He hadn’t realized how claustrophobic the space would make him feel. It was pretty, sure, but the delicate gossamer curtains felt more fitting for a princess than a mischief-maker. In his experience though, a bed was a bed was a bed.  He couldn’t believe North, tucking him in earlier that evening. He’d laughed at the thought process North probably had. If he made sure Jack was settled in, he could ensure he wouldn’t leave again. Or something like that, with how seriously his uncle took bedtime. 

Maybe the curtains made the bed better for a prisoner. Though, he supposed, princesses were their own form of prisoners. 

Jack sighed, tired. Now that the adrenaline coursing through his body that turned his nerves to lightning had been forced out, oozing at a quick enough pace to give the body whiplash, he felt drained. Exhaustion pulled at the base of his skull, weeding up through his brain to tug at the backs of his eyes, making the skin around them feel tight and heavy with the effort of keeping them open. Jack didn’t want to go back to bed. 

Jack tried to think of things to keep him awake. Stories, he’d found, were a great distraction. There was a book he’d had when he was little, tattered and old then and more-so now, that held one of his favorite stories. He’d begged his mom to read it to him every night, and once his sister was old enough to remember it, she had begged for it too. In this way, he had it memorized. 

The story started much the same way as any fairy tale:

“Once on a time there was a poor husbandman who had so many children that he hadn’t much of either food or clothing to give them. Pretty children they all were, but the prettiest was the youngest daughter, who was so lovely there was no end to her loveliness.”

He sat in the window for a while more, reciting the rest to himself and sinking deeper and deeper into the calm the breeze gave him, watching his breath condense into perspiration on the glass and slowly begin to freeze. His last thought before sleep claimed him once more was that he should have grabbed a blanket from the bed. 

❈+❈+❈

The entrance to Bunny’s shop was dark, faintly illuminated by a neon ‘Open’ sign and nothing else. The only indication that Jack was at a tattoo parlor were the words ‘Tattoos and Piercings’ written above the shaded store entrance. North, who up until this point was a steady presence next to him dragging him every which way across town, was absent. He’d explained to Jack that he had some things to take care of at the shop across the street, and since they were friends when they were younger, he’d thought it shouldn’t be an issue for him to walk in there by himself. No need for introductions, anyways. 

It was, in fact, an issue for Jack to walk in there by himself. Because last Jack had seen Bunny, he’d confessed to having a massive crush on the older man and promptly fell off the face of the earth. 

Jack sighed as one of his hands found their way up to tug on his hair, the other twiddling with his staff, and laughed a bit at himself. What was he thinking? What had he been thinking? He definitely hadn’t been as a teenager. 

He spent the next ten minutes pacing in front of the store’s blacked out windows and door, staff swinging to and fro, so at odds with the rest of the quaint and welcoming street, and only paused a second when he heard the jingle and creak of the door open behind him, dismissing it quickly. 

He froze, however, when he heard that achingly familiar accent.

“Y’know, any more pacing and you’ll wear a ditch in front of my shop, and no one’ll wanna come in for fear of falling on their arse.” The Australian drawled in that tired, slightly angry way of his. Jack turned slowly to face him, and oh, he’d gotten taller. Much much taller than Jack was now. What the fuck did they feed these people?

“Hey, Bunny,” Jack tried with a smile that felt more like a wince, drawing out the syllables much longer than he should have. Bunny had to have been watching him for who knew how long before trying to end both their suffering. Jeez, this was awkward. Jack was awkward. He’d forgotten how to act around people a while ago. 

Jack wanted to go back to Sandy’s office. They had puzzles there. 

Bunny, for all his past annoyance and bravado, just leaned against the doorframe and wiped his hands with a towel and a light frown. He must’ve just finished with a customer. At 10 in the morning. Ah, crap. Had he been keeping someone from leaving with his pacing? His cheeks started to flush. Bunny looked like he was waiting for Jack to say something else. 

Jack cleared his throat. “It’s, ah, been a minute, hasn’t it?” Well that was about as good as talking about the weather, which was an equally terrible topic he could still use later if this went to shit. 

Now Bunny just looked annoyed. It matched his face better, this way, like the lines that had formed from years of expressions folded more naturally in the downward pull of his eyebrows, in the deepening of his scowl. He must make that face a lot while working. Jack knew that expression doubled as his ‘concentrated’ look, which might scare his clients a bit while around them, but he knew Bunny wasn’t anything but irked at his presence right now. 

“I’d say 68 months is more than a minute, mate.” Jack was about to snap a reply at his condescending tone when the words caught up to him, a short laugh coming unbidden up and out his mouth. Now he looked pissed. 

“Who the hell counts in months if it’s over a year?” He crowed, all previous distress and anxiety lost to the stupidly obscure ways his old friend worked. Friend. Crush. Whatever.

Bunny growled, actually growled, and stalked back into the shop, door slamming shut behind him without flourish. Any invitation Jack had unknowingly been offered was clearly retracted, olive branch shriveling with the receding outline of Bunny’s back, but that wasn’t how Jack worked anyways, so he followed quickly behind him, giddy and gripping the frail offering regardless. There really had been a customer waiting inside, and he smiled sheepishly at her when she stood from one of the chairs up front. She smiled warmly back at him, looking from him to Bunny’s retreating back before slipping out the front. Jack’s grip on his staff tightened.

Jack continued further into the room, feeling like he’d entered a new world made of neon and dark corners. His eyes scanned the space, noting the multiple stations set up throughout, the fun lights illuminating the many framed pictures of art done by skilled, capable hands. At the front behind the register hung a loose pay-based sign, cost broken down by size and complexity. A small line in italics stated cash was preferred. Bunny threw the towel he’d been fiddling with onto a tray that appeared recently used, probably from that client, turning to face Jack as he braced his arms loosely on a chair behind him. Even slouching, he was a giant. Seriously, was it a diet of Vegemite that did this or something? 

He doesn’t even know what Vegemite is. Savory Nutella? Clearly it’s a superfood to make super-Australians, as nothing else could ever impact someone’s height in any way shape or form, definitely not. Genetics? Never heard of her. Can you even get it in the states?

Did North eat Vegemite too?

“Why are you here mate?” It was more a demand than a question. Jack knew from the tone that he should probably just answer honestly, based on the history his brain supplied him with, but his mouth answered before said brain could have a say in the outcome.  

“Well, I got a car and decided a little visit would be nice,” he joked, toying with the lucky cat on the counter next to him, his staff still tight in his grip. Bunny’s shoulders tensed. 

He reiterated, “What are you doing here, Jack.”

Shit.

There were three things people should know about Bunny before getting involved with him, in Jack’s personal opinion. The first thing was his full name. Aster Eamon Bunby. Ridiculous, and as Jack’s one and only impression of Australians, not doing the best job at showing they were a people that were in any capacity serious, Vegemite super-serum aside. 

The second was that, apart from his name, Bunny did a great job of showing Australians were not to be messed with. For one he was now massive, built like a legitimate kangaroo, and for two he had the attitude to go with it. He was frown-town through and through, and even though he was good with kids and was such a talented artist (Jack would know, he saw a post on Facebook a year or so ago, and no one else could have that damned name), he was terrible about having any actual fun. 

The third thing was that he never called people by their names without an accompanying ‘mate’ unless his baseline nonexistent patience was about to snap. And right now, he really did look absolutely livid.

“Bunny,” Jack started, staff held in front of him in an attempt at placation or protection— he wasn’t sure which was the move at the moment— as he took a step away. In hindsight, he’d always hated when Jack did that, and he should really try to work on bringing what little memories he had to the front of his mind before doing something. Bunny’s posture took on a more rigid tone, face stony in the twinkling colorful lowlight, the shadows throwing his face into an even more impressive anger. Jack, stupidly, chose now and not five seconds ago to remember the reason for it. 

Awareness flashed in Bunny’s expression at the same time Jack’s fear decided to make itself known.

Jack always suspected he and Bunny weren’t long for friendship. As it was, they’d barely tolerated one another when Jack moved to Hawthorne and got into the same school, only getting along once they’d beaten each other senseless in school enough times to get a joint detention. Jack ran his mouth too much, and Bunny’s temper was already a short fuse by the time he was 12, so they couldn’t expect much from a hormonal teenager when pitted against the likes of him. Jack had pestered Bunny into playing a game during those agonizing 3 hours cleaning the gym, and the sharp discomfort they’d had since meeting soothed into something manageable. Sure, they still fought, but it was less to wound and more a lack of knowing what else to do. 

Jack had been surprised by Bunny’s willingness to spend time with him, after that. The first year or so, Jack wouldn’t call that friendship, strictly. He considered it more… ignoring what was wrong with one another. There was a degree of separation with their grades, what with Bunny being older, so they didn’t have anything to talk about from school. They were neighbors, and once their parents realized they were civil, they’d gotten them to walk together in the mornings and afternoons. It was on those long walks that they realized they had a shared interest in music.After that was when they actually started getting along. 

 Bunny was the one to mention hockey to Jack. Got him on his team, even while he was technically two months younger than the cutoff. Jack convinced Bunny to join the guitar club at school with him, so they could try and beat everyone at the talent show. Bunny hated the talent show idea. 

They’d continued on like that for so long, Jack can’t quite say when his crush first started, but he knew for sure where it ended. That horrible day in the rain.

Now, standing in his old friends’ studio, they both recognized he’d been gone too long. They were off-center, misaligned in a way they hadn’t ever worried about happening before, dancing around one another instead of together. But time was cruel and secretive in her ways, and there was nothing Jack could do to rewrite the past. 

Bunny shoved off the chair with more force than probably necessary and moved away again, furthering their physical distance in an odd attempt at matching their clear emotional separation. Jack couldn’t read him anymore. And then he addressed that massive, looming elephant in the room with a bit more fervor than could be considered necessary. 

“Jesus, Jack, you— you kissed me, and then buggered off for years! I had no idea if you were alright, mate. No word, no call, not even a bloody letter, nothing from North, even after I moved here, I just—” Bunny breathed deep, chest pushing out as his diaphragm contracted with the force to suck air in through his lungs, trying and failing to keep himself from spiraling into his anger and memories, hands fisted at his sides. 

Okay, maybe it was a justified reaction. Jack had kissed him, he remembered. It was the thing he remembered most about that night, more than the terrible words they spat with such venom, more than the punches that flew with more intensity than they’d had in ages. It was possibly the thing he regretted doing the most in their friendship. Besides, of course, ghosting him for six years. In the moment, though, in his grief-filled, hormonal teenage mind, it was the only thing he could think to leave Bunny with in the hopes that he wouldn’t be forgotten. 

Clearly it had worked. And clearly, running had worked too. 

They’d outgrown one another as a pair. 

Jack knew he fucked up, on multiple levels, with multiple people, and that his way of fixing it was definitely the worst choice of action. His stance deflated, head hanging with his staff, body feeling limp and exhausted. 

“I’m sorry, Aster,” he started, hearing more than seeing the pacing starting. If he wasn’t pacing, he was tapping his foot, and Jack hated the foot tapping. Did he remember that?

A scoff. “Yeah, sure you are.”

Jack looked up to try and meet his eye. “I’m serious.”

Maybe it was his tone, but Bunny did actually look over at him, assessing. Jack was rarely ‘serious’.

“Look, I know what I did was stupid. And cruel. And that I could have reached out a million times in a million ways, and I didn’t, and I regret that constantly. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said all those things, I’m sorry I kissed you, and I’m especially sorry I left.” Less eloquent than what he had practiced last night in the shower, but the words were coming out instead of sticking to his throat like molasses, so a win is a win. “I never should have left, I know that now. It did nothing for anyone, and I put myself in so many terrible situations in the feeble hope that it would help Emily and my mom, and I didn’t think about anyone but myself and getting out of there. I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Bunny stayed quiet, so Jack took it as a chance to continue on, taking a step towards him. “And if you’ll let me,” a small cringe, but he muscles through it to stay firm in his declaration, “I’d like to make it up to you.”

Not much happens after that, so Jack is forced to wait, which he hates doing. Bunny definitely knows that, the bastard, but Jack guesses he deserves this. 

“Don’t run away again mate, and I think we’ll be fine.”

The declaration was small, and not expected, not really. Jack thought Bunny would have thrown something at him by now, but he was showing remarkable restraint. 

A grin split Jack's face so big it hurt. He wanted to run over and hug him, but they never really did that before, and he thought it would be a bit weird to start now. He settled for nodding and fiddling with his staff as Bunny started moving about the room again.

“You joining the band?” Bunny asked, starting to organize the tray next to him.

“If you’re fine with it, I will.” Jack knew they literally just made up, and though everyone else said Bunny would be fine with it, he still didn’t want to overstep. 

“Good. We could use another singer. Tooth is the best of us, but we all can tell she doesn’t exactly like it. And North keeps trying to push to be the singer, which devolves into old Russian sailor songs, and I really cannot take more of that.”

Jack laughed a bit at that. “So this is all a secret agenda to keep your peace of mind?”

Bunny shook his head. “HA! As if inviting trouble like you back into my life would cause anything but stress.”

“Oh come on, you know you love me.”

“Not if I can help it, mate.”

A comfortable silence falls, but Jack prefers noise in times like these. 

“So, how about that weather, am I right?”

Jack barely ducks in time to avoid whatever it is Bunny chucks at his face. 

❈+❈+❈

“No. No, no, nonononono, no one said ANYTHING about this.”

Jack, for the umpteenth time that hour, wondered what he was doing in the converted garage of his uncle’s house. North seemed to be doing the same as he rubbed over his eyes as if to dispel a headache.

“Jack,” He started, and it sounded like he was warning, reprimanding, pleading, and trying to convince Jack all in the vowels of his name, with an added layer of an exasperated Russian accent, “I told you already, this is important to joining band. Even Bunny agreed to it, and it is not so bad.”

“Speak for yourself, mate, you’re not the one in a bloody cottontail.” Bunny huffed behind him, going over his sheet music and purposefully shooting Jack a look that said he hadn’t agreed so much as been forced into this clause. Jack ignored him in favor of keeping his brain from processing whatever the hell his cottontail was supposed to mean. It was odd how quickly they seemed to be next-to-normal again.  

“Ah, you love it!” North shouted back, twisting to give a hearty smack to Bunny’s back that sent him sprawling forward with a yelp, just missing his drum set and landing in a heap on the ground. He began swearing up a storm. “You will love it, Jack, trust me,” he went on, ignoring Bunny’s outburst without even a glance behind. 

“I don’t want to wear a costume to play guitar and sing!” He said, shaking the— the fucking onesie in his hands like he was trying to strangle it. He was. It had personally offended him. “I’ll look like an idiot in this.”

Tooth fluttered over to him, all excitement and bubbly words and breezing past his clear annoyance with the whole situation. She’d gotten there 20 minutes into the argument, fresh from work and still in her scrubs. “Jack, don’t worry, that’s just the base of your costume! There’s a cloak that goes with it.” Her smile was meant to be reassuring, but Jack cringed back in spite of it. If he’d had his staff on hand he might’ve used it to defend himself from her words. As it stands, he’d traded it for the guitar slung behind his back. 

“A cloak.”

She nodded.

“Is this the dark ages? What am I even supposed to be?”

Bunny barked a laugh at that, having gotten over himself and started warming up on a drum pad, and North went back to boasting. “We are to represent the people children believe in, of course. Santa, Easter Bunny, Sandman, Tooth Fairy. Is simple.”

“Yeah, but what does that make me?” Jack asked, still annoyed. He’d hit two major holidays and two major beings in terms of what kids believe in, and Jack refused, straight up refused, to be the Great Pumpkin. He would actually leave. Plus, the outfit— if it could even be called that— wasn’t bright orange, which would make him a terrible pumpkin impersonator. 

“You are Jack Frost!” The hands spread wide to help make North’s declaration did nothing to help and everything to hinder the point he was failing to make.

“I’m sorry, and what does Jack Frost have to do with anything besides norse mythology and biting people’s noses?” Jack, for whatever reason, hated that Christmas song in particular. Maybe it was because his name was Jack, or he thought it stupid to imagine a magical creature taking the time to go around biting people’s noses when the wind had an easy enough time leaving them all wind-chapped on its own, but any time he heard it on the radio he immediately flipped the channel. 

“He is spirit of fun and mischief! Perfect for you.” 

Sandy chose to open the door behind the others right as Jack hollered, “WHAT DOES FUN AND MISCHIEF HAVE TO DO WITH LEOTARDS?!” At a volume that clearly only he thought necessary. Sandy sighed, and sent a look at the thing in Jack’s hands dripping with such clear disdain that Jack’s already large appreciation for the man doubled. Clearly they’d had this argument before, and he would definitely back him up on it.

“Sandy, please, tell them wearing this is insane.”

Everyone looked to the doorway at Jack’s proclamation. To his credit, Sandy did give North and Tooth a look that would have worked on anyone else before he started to sign. 

<Guys, we’ve been over this. Why do you think anyone would want to wear these?>

You mean to tell me they tried to make everyone wear one? Was Jack’s distressed thought, confirmed by Bunny’s shudder. 

“We just want everyone to match!” Tooth defended, going over to her keytar and pulling the strap over her head, settling the instrument across her front. 

<If that were the case, North would also wear a leotard.>

Jack did not, in fact, want to think about North in a leotard. Actually, he wanted this conversation to stop now. 

“That’s the stuff of nightmares, mate,” Bunny grumbled with equal sentiment, turning back to his pad, sticks getting progressively faster with more intricate tempo patterns. Jack remembered when Bunny had tried out for the marching band in high school, before he realized it would interfere with hockey tryouts later down the road. He must’ve still kept the sheet music, though, if his warmup was any indication.  

“Like, I understand Tooth wearing one of these, because she’s covered in feathers and wearing wings, and fairies are sometimes depicted like they're wearing odd stuff like that, but I feel like Jack Frost would wear something that isn’t in an 8-year-old gymnast's rotation.” 

Tooth had since tuned out of the conversation, content to let North convince Jack and Sandy convince North of what they each wanted, and started warming up.

Jack had to admit that their setup was cool. Before the onesie fiasco, he’d been wandering about the room looking at everything they’d considered necessary to a good productive practice. There were the instruments, of course, but there was also a foosball table and a dart board opposite the short stage they’d constructed, a half finished game of each with no way to know who it was that was winning. Plenty of framed newspaper clips and pictures from the gigs they’d played for various schools and children’s hospitals dotted the walls, lit by lamps and strings of Christmas lights instead of the overhead lights. North had explained that since Tooth and Sandy spent all day working under fluorescents, they enjoyed the ambient lighting more. Somehow, they’d gotten a soda machine in here, and there was a cluster of chairs off to one side surrounding a paper-choked coffee table. 

“Enough of this, we are wasting practice time,” North proclaimed, arms tossed out to his sides to signal he wouldn’t hear any more to oppose him. “Jack needs time to prepare for our performance.”

That was news to Jack. “Performance? What performance?” He loved being on stage, but he definitely didn’t feel ready just yet. He hadn’t settled in with them at all, and he wasn’t even sure what their songs sounded like. They could play techno. Jack wasn’t good at techno, didn’t have the voice for it. He was pretty sure North wouldn’t allow them to play bad music, of course, but Bunny’s claim earlier that day had planted a small seedling of doubt in the man's taste. 

Tooth smiled brightly. “We booked a gig for Friday at one of the local bars so we could see how we all do together, before actually going and doing it for the kids.” Which, yeah, that made sense. See what a bunch of brutally honest drunks thought before wasting a bunch of kids’ time if he turned out to be a terrible addition to the group. 

“That’s… not a bad idea, actually. When’s Friday again?”

<Six days from now.> Sandy signed to him, pausing in his bass tuning. <We’ll run through the songs we were planning on doing so you can get the hang of them, and after that we can give you the music for the rest.>

“How many songs is that?”

<We won’t be the only people playing that night, so probably only 5.>

“It won’t be too difficult, Jack,” Tooth added, “We’ve got some pretty simple chord progressions in most of our stuff, plus we do a few covers of stuff I’m sure you’ve heard before. Six days should be plenty for you to catch on!”

Jack nodded, ready to get started, when a loud crash sounded from somewhere in the house, followed by a loud bark and the scrabbling of paws. A small, brown dog burst through the doorway not long after, gunning for Bunny with its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. He shrieked and dove behind the drum set. The dog seemed to be a spaniel, fur well kept and tail thumping at impressive speeds. 

“BELLA!” The shout is followed by more running, and a lanky girl heaving for breath is soon trying to corral the dog out of the room. “Sorry, sorry! I don’t know why she always gets so excited when we come here. She’s been really good with her training up till now!”

Tooth laughed that fluttery laugh of hers, walking towards the dog and grabbing Bella’s face between her hands to pet her in a way that made her ears flop all over. “Jack, this is my daughter, Pearl. Pearl, this is Jack, North’s nephew.”

The girl tore her eyes away from the dog at the realization that there was a new person in the room. Pearl locked eyes with Jack, still bent over trying to calm her breathing, and gave him a bright smile. “Jack! So… nice… tomeetyou!” The last bit was a rush, and Jack wondered if she had asthma, or if she was just really bad at running. Possibly both. 

Bunny was still behind the drums, shouting for the animal to be removed. That spurred Pearl into motion, grabbing the spaniel and all but shoving it out of the room, slamming the door closed between them. A faint scrabbling sounded at the wood before Pearl shushed Bella and turned back around, sheepish but triumphant. 

Jack smiled at her reassuringly. “Nice to meet you too, Pearl.”

Pearl skipped over to where he stood next to Sandy. She was the spitting image of her mother; Willowy, with dark skin and bright eyes, a nervous flicker of grace about her. The main difference he could find between the two was that Pearl’s hair was much longer, and only a section was dyed to match her moms. 

Pearl laughed, bumping arms with Jack in a way that impressed upon him that she was careful with her movements. He remembered doing something similar many times. It was always easier to pull away from what appeared to be an errant touch, and he found it actually gave him more control by acting loose.

He appreciated the brevity of her greeting, as he found he still wasn’t used to contact after the months spent at home. As she pulled away, she asked, “what brings you to town?” And really, he should’ve expected the question to be phrased like that. Bunny was weird, he said it like a demand for an answer instead of an honest inquiry. 

So why did Jack feel his shoulders tightening? 

“He is helping me with the store,” North answered for him once the seconds dragged a bit too long, looking at him pointedly. “My sister and her daughter shall join us soon. Natalya is Jack’s mother.” Enough information for no more questions to be directed at Jack, but vague enough that he wouldn’t have to go into a long-winded explanation of how he was a terrible excuse for a son and a brother. Jack began to play a simple chord progression. He wanted his staff, but the guitar would have to do for now. Hopefully it would look like he was just excited to get going with everything. 

North said the word ‘sister’ with such pride it made Jack’s heart ache. He’s never been ashamed of his sister, of course. That would be stupid. Emily was his favorite person in the world, but he hadn’t been there for her when she needed it most, and he hadn’t been there for her after everything that happened, and he had a lot to make up for. 

Pearl, somehow, noticed his playing was more than it seemed. He saw the moment her gaze flickered to his expression. She was smart. She yawned loudly, a bit more theatrically than someone normally would, and clapped her hands together.

“Well! It’s been swell, but I just came to drop off some cupcakes for North and Bunny to test out– everyone else can have them too of course, I just need their feedback for this new recipe– and I’m gonna head out with Bella! She shouldn’t be left alone too long, being a puppy and all. Yep! Bye!” 

With that she was gone, a few chuckles following her out. “Always fun to have her around,” Bunny grouched, “as long as the dog is gone.” 

Bunny, for whatever reason, had never liked dogs. Jack had always joked that it was because of his name, and Bunny always reminded him that Jack had sent a dog after him for a prank when they were in school that did not end well. The reminder was never kind. 

He took his seat at the drums, sticks twirling idly through his fingers. “Alright, ya buncha dags, are we practicing today or just faffing around?" 

Jack grinned widely at the utter nonsense Bunny was saying. He’d missed him. “If that means you’re asking if we’re ready, yes we are.”

Bunny huffed indignantly. “That’s what I just said.”

Sandy laughed at all of them as Tooth and North launched into an explanation of the chord progression of one of their older, more popular songs, talking over one another in a way that slowly made everything devolve into chaos. 

❈+❈+❈

It was a week before Hiccup heard more of Jack. 

One long, agonizing week, during which he’d been subjected to argument after argument. With his dad about redundant, pointless issues around the house he’s never felt the need to be oppositional about before. With Gobber about those blasted designs, over which the man had started to see Hiccup's side prior to his bitching, up until the point he was forced to work the bar below the shop for his attitude. “Better to let it out on the drunk patrons than me, boy,” Gobber grubbed, and shoved him down the stairs that evening. With himself over even sillier things. The shading for a sketch he’d decided to flesh out. Throwing out page after page of useless lyrics. Talking himself in circles about popping by the toy maker’s house for a visit. 

He’s antsy, he knows. He’s letting this whole situation affect him. It made him more standoffish, more insolent. Pestiferous, Fishlegs rudely called him last night as they worked the bar. He got sent home from practice on Tuesday for getting goaded one too many times by the twins, who normally had to actually try to get under his skin. He can’t even remember what it was they were saying, all he knew was that their voices were grating on his nerves and making his bad mood worse.  

It didn’t help that his leg had been aching for days now. His normally numb appendage had begun to throb dully the night after his mom’s departure, and even his daily mobilizations hadn’t been able to quell his scars’ incessant, painful retaliation, quickly growing to a stinging heat, stiff and electric. He faintly remembered this happening the last time she left. The same feeling he got when rain was on the horizon, sky dark and pregnant with the promise of a wicked storm. He’d taken to using his wheelchair as much as possible to give himself a break, but he couldn’t properly maneuver around his workspace in the shop without his prosthetic. Gobber, for all his faults, ran a tight ship in terms of keeping everything orderly, but even he couldn’t work around the safety hazards that using his chair or even crutches would cause. The whole situation had done nothing to help his sour attitude. 

At least it wasn’t itchy this time around. That was truly hell. 

Hiccup had taken out all his seemingly useless frustrations on his projects at work, and on writing new songs for their band. He usually did this with Fish, but his friend had neatly avoided him yesterday with a blunt question of, “are you going to bite my head off again?” Which had made Hiccup want to bite his head off, which had proved the point that he would be alone in his endeavors. And seeing that he still felt that way, he was alone again today. Even Toothless was fed up with him, the brat. 

If there was a silver lining to being angry and in pain, it was songwriting for a grunge band. He’d mistakenly called them a metal band that one time, and a very affronted everyone else— especially Fish and Tuff— had given him a very long history and breakdown of exactly how they were not a metal band, but metal adjacent, which had devolved into a rant about how Canadians were posers and couldn’t possibly be metal, and how plenty of so-called metal bands were sellouts and therefore would never be metal, by which point Astrid was annoyed enough at the hold up on practicing that she’d given Ruffnut the go-ahead to chuck her sticks at everyone. 

All this to say, he normally didn’t have to try too hard to transcribe his feelings into words, like he would have if they were, for example, a pop band. Hiccup generally just put his thoughts on paper, and Fish could make them a bit more flowery if he felt like they weren’t lyrical enough, but that usually wasn’t the case. 

A pop band. The thought of seeing Astrid sing a song anywhere near that was ludicrous enough to bring a small smile to Hiccup's face, but he was still too frustrated to let it bloom into a positive thought. He allowed his brain to stain the image with a sardonic tone, and scribbled more furious words onto the page about a girl who hated the life she was forced into and the role she had to play. 

Hiccup did that often, he’d noticed. Too many people in the beginning had asked why Astrid was singing songs that suggested she was a boy, and the few times those songs were about other boys… 

He hadn’t wanted to deal with all of that, so Hiccup made it a habit to alter the lyrics’ point of view, if ever needed. When it came to Snotlout singing it didn’t really matter, but Astrid was their lead vocalist, which meant the majority of the songs he and Fish made up were crafted with her in mind. 

Hiccup didn’t care that he did that by this point, having long gotten used to pushing his feelings away. It helped that nothing had really made them pop up in recent years, no one catching his attention for long enough to be problematic. Certainly not since the accident. 

He scribbled out yet another line in anger and chucked his notepad to a corner of the shop, pencil flying into the void to be found in a few months when he was yelled at to deep clean. He liked that pencil. 

The part of all of this that Hiccup found especially funny was that he didn’t even listen to metal all that much. He was partial to the kind of music The Guardians played. Soft, whimsical, carefree. It somehow lifted a weight from his chest, and at the same time filled him with a sense of melancholy, knowing that it was temporary. That he was never that light without the music present. Soft, whimsical. Carefree. 

Hiccup wondered for the umpteenth time about Jack. What he played, if he still sang. He would go on and on when they were little, belting tunes with a too-high voice that were nowhere near good. Has he gotten any better?

Maybe he wouldn’t sing. But The Guardians didn’t really need anything else. Maybe, he secretly hoped, Jack had practiced after moving, gone to lessons if his parents ended up giving in. Hiccup wondered what his voice would sound like, what time would do to his face, if it would sharpen his jaw or change the shape of his eyes. Wondered how tall he’d ended up. He wondered if—

He wondered if he’d ever stop obsessing over the idea of someone long enough to get his work done. 

Hiccup groaned as he banged his head on his desk, alarm going off to indicate he needed to get back to working on his commission; a broadsword for a special event that Hiccup didn’t care to ask for elaboration on. Gobber had asked him to advertise, he advertised, now he was making a sword that came with specific instructions to be detailed and had no complaints. Well, aside from the fact that this guy had first asked for it to be aluminum, to which both he and Gobber had yelled about going to a Toys R Us for 10 minutes if that was the case. Hiccup hated working with aluminum.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Hiccup stood, limping slightly to the desk where the sword lay nearly completed. He’d etched it yesterday, and the steel shone in the light. All that was left was the detailing. He would have to keep it blunted, since the steel he’d used wasn’t meant to withstand anything requiring sharpening, and it was meant to be in public. It could still kill someone at this stage, but the chances of that happening were less than a maiming, which Hiccup supposed was an improvement. 

He’d been up all night perfecting the design he’d sketched onto it before his break, and really should have done more than scrawl out useless phrases, like eating. The sword needed to be done by Saturday, though, and he’d settled on quite the daunting design, so his time was limited.

He sighed and picked up his tools to begin engraving. 

❈+❈+❈

Hiccup was trudging downstairs towards the bar after closing up the shop that night, wind whipping sharp snowflakes into his face as he tried and failed to wipe the soot from his face. He hadn’t cared to look in the dingy old mirror at the back before locking up, but the rag in his hands betrayed that he really should have. The cloth might have been white, long ago, when it was fresh from the store and knew not of its fate, but it was now stained so far through with grime that Hiccup was surprised he was able to make the thing look even dirtier. Or maybe that was just the darkness of the stairwell and threshold swallowing all the light, stealing even the faintest hints of brightness. He’d been meaning to fix the little sconce outside the doorway to Berks, but summer had given way to winter too quickly this year, and Hiccup had too much work to do to remember. 

Huffing fruitlessly into his quickly freezing hands, Hiccup lamented the hoodie he’d left at home that morning. Or, last night. He’d woken up with a start around 2am with an epiphany for one of his side projects, and had been in the shop since three. There was no need for extra layers when dealing with a forge for most of the day, so Hiccup had just shrugged and gotten the heat going in the car as fast as possible. 

He’d passed ways with the baker from the patisserie in town again, nodding through his windshield in a greeting befitting the hour. They’d stopped by around five with the offer of a croissant, and he had readily accepted it. 

Which was a good thing, because he’d also forgotten to pack a lunch, so he was starving and aching and his leg felt terrible, and he hated himself for being so grouchy earlier in the week that he’d landed himself in this situation. But Hiccup always helped out at the bar on Fridays, regardless of how he was feeling or if he was obligated to, because Fridays were Berks’ busiest nights, and at some point the twins would fuck around too much and get kicked out. He just hoped it wasn’t till last call this time around. 

He shouldered through the dark doorway into a room with not much better lighting, though significantly more warmth. The howling of wind was replaced with shouts from adults getting drunk in impressively little time, and Hiccup's hopes of getting to take it easy were raised just a bit more from the sight of the bar being so crowded Ruff and Tuff had no way to sneak away. He’d barely taken two steps past the door when he was assaulted by a miniature beast. 

Toothless jumped down onto his shoulder from where he’d been hiding in the rafters, likely climbing up there using one of the various perches Hiccup and his friends had installed a few years ago. The cat had left with Gobber earlier in the evening, tired of Hiccup giving him no attention in favor of doing his job. 

Now that Hiccup was free, he happily greeted his friend, and Toothless curled his too-short tail around his neck, biting at his ear. He meant no real harm by it, more playful than anything, but it still hurt enough that Hiccup hissed. The name Toothless was supposed to be more of an ironic placeholder till he and his mom were able to come up with something better, since his canines were basically vampire fangs that showed even when his mouth was closed, but the name had stuck. Like Fish and Meatlug, though Hiccup suspected that a name for a pitbull couldn’t be more fitting. 

“Hey, bud,” Hiccup laughed, scratching Toothless under the chin in the exact spot that got him to purr. He received a curious meow in response. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Just gotta supervise everyone till we start kicking everyone out.” He surveyed the room, noting the regulars and a few newer faces. Surprisingly, Pearl was at the bar, appearing to be working on homework with a wall of paper towels surrounding her belongings. A bold task to try and accomplish here, where drinks flowed a bit too freely, and people were generous with their gestures. Hiccup would know. 

He distantly wondered what she was doing there, if she had an assignment so important it was likely due tonight. She’d started at the community college in August, he knew, but he couldn’t remember if the end of November was finals time. Any way you sliced it, Pearl doing her work here was out of the ordinary. He was about to go over to her to ask what was going on when he heard a microphone’s feedback, and the tuning of a band starting up.

The only reason Hiccup was able to see Pearl was because she sat not ten feet away from him. The reason he could see the twins at the bar, wearing their mandatory Viking helmets, was because they were serving on the side closest to him, before the bend that forced it into an L shape. Hiccup was unable to see the stage from where he stood because the people that frequented Berks’ Dive Bar tended towards the side of giants. Hiccup considered himself tall, sure, but somehow his father had helped found a small town of majority Scandinavian descended persons, and by those standards Hiccup was distinctly un-vikingly in stature. Even with the stage being raised, Hiccup was no better off from this far away. 

The reason Friday nights were so popular at Berks was because it was gig night. Gobber had a good rotation of smaller bands that would come in to play, and plenty had become favorites of the people. The Hooligans themselves played here regularly, the rowdier drunks screaming along with Astrid over the drums and guitar riffs. 

A familiar voice rang out over the crowd, answering the question of Pearl and filling Hiccup with excitement and dread. 

“Hello Berk!” Dr. Rosamund shouted, everyone shouting back at her. Toothless seemed to realize he should get somewhere higher than everyone else, since no matter the music, a wrestling match always broke out, and it tended to happen when Hiccup was in the exact wrong spot. 

“I hope you all had fabulous weeks! Our band has had some changes recently, with the addition of a new band member…”

Hiccup’s skyrocketing heart rate overtook his attention, drowning out the rest of her words. It was happening. He was finally here, in the same room as Jack, for the first time in ages. If only he could see the stage. 

There’s a cheer as some shuffling is heard, and Hiccup is shoved back into the present with the soft clearing of a voice into the mic that definitely didn’t belong to his dentist. 

“Hello, Berkians.” Some people shouted at the greeting, drunk to high heaven and wanting to hear music already. A short laugh filtered through the speakers. “Alright, alright, I won’t hold us up much longer, I just wanted to thank you all for coming out tonight, and for not rioting about my singing just yet.” A few chuckles rang out at that. 

He sounded amused, like performing for the first time with an already established band in an already established venue wasn’t a horrifying idea. 

“We hope you like it.”

With that, the intro to one of their older songs struck up, a swift guitar solo followed by the high-hat and Sandy’s bass. The guitar sounded different to North’s, which he quickly realized was because there were two of them. Hiccup tried to push his way into the throng to get to the front of the stage, but Astrid called his name from the bar before he had the chance to find an opening.  

“Hiccup, get your ass over here.” She demanded, and he turned to see they were overwhelmed. It seemed the twins had gotten kicked out, after all. Which was not good, since there was something about The Guardians that always sent everyone into a bit of a frenzy, drinking or otherwise. His running theory was magic.

Hiccup sighed and shoved his way into the bar, grabbing an apron from a hook on the edge. “I can’t believe you were about to go up there,” Astrid grumbled, pouring three tankards for a group all looking back towards the stage. His vantage point from here was even worse, since the floor beneath the bar was sunken to help with bartender ergonomics. Hiccup didn’t think they needed the ergonomics right now, because there were very few people who came to this place expecting or wanting a fancy cocktail. He wanted to see the stage. 

“Well what do you want from me?” Hiccup groused rhetorically. 

“What I want,” she slammed the tankards down, shocking the men into turning back towards the spot she’d already left, “is some help over here.”

He rolled his eyes and moved to the other side of the bar where Snotlout stood. “Yeah, yeah.”

The intro to their song was halfway through by the time the lyrics were set to start.

Hiccup worried that he would jump every time he heard Jack’s voice, if tonight was an indicator of anything. Was it because he wasn’t used to it? Or was he just expecting it to sound different? Was it because he wanted to hear it so bad, he freaked out a bit when his wish finally came true?

 Whatever the reason, his voice had changed, and so had his singing capabilities. Jack had definitely gotten music lessons in his time away. He was solid, hitting the notes with what Hiccup remembered as the correct lyrics. While the timing was good, though, it didn’t feel quite as flowy as their sets normally did. Especially for such an old song. 

Maybe they would have been better off using a newer one? One that everyone here wasn’t so used to? Just to give Jack enough time to settle in and find his style within the group. 

“HICCUP!” Astrid snapped, and he whipped his head around just in time to see Snotlout eat shit on a trip wire he himself nearly collided with. 

“Fuck.”

The twins were really on his shit list this week. 

For the next half hour– a half hour from hell that Hiccup spent vibrating with anticipation and surprise and suggestions– he, Astrid and Fishlegs slaved away at the bar, Snotlout having claimed he was too injured to continue on. He’d immediately regretted voicing that aloud, once the twins emerged from the swarm like wolves circling prey, dragging him with them deep into the dense crowd. For the next half hour, Hiccup listened to Jack crooning and shouting and laughing into the mic, working the crowd with what seemed to be great success, at least from his vantage point. People were getting more ales than usual. Gobber would be happy about that.

For the next half hour, Hiccup hated his life, if only because he was forced to deal with the consequences of his actions for being a little shit. By the time The Guardians had finished their set, the three not-so-bartenders had cut off the majority of the patrons from continuing their steady march towards alcohol poisoning; which was saying something, because these people could really hold their liquor. 

Hiccup shouted towards Fishlegs that he was going to go sit down and take a break, and he gave a thumbs up in response. He generally didn’t like yelling over the crowd unless he was drunk himself. Hiccup could hear a faint ‘thank you and goodnight!’ from the stage, the sounds of instruments and amps being broken down and consolidated merging into the dull roar of the building. Hiccup’s hands were freezing, and he wanted to sit where he knew some residual heat from the forge would bleed downstairs. 

Before he even got past the ledge barely separating him from everyone else, however, a path opened through the crowd and he could finally see.

Jack was coming off the stage talking to Doctor Rosamund. She’d been telling Hiccup for forever to refer to her by just Rosamund, or Ma, or even Tooth, but he’d been going to her since he was little, and still felt so weird talking casually. Jack said something and she laughed, patting his shoulder as she broke away to join the rest of their group at the other end of the bar, her rainbow-colored hair defying gravity with what would seem to be too much hairspray and gel if it weren’t for the fact that it could still move. Her hair had always mystified Hiccup, but right now that’s not what he’s focusing on. Jack looked like he was about to join her when he caught sight of Hiccup at the other end, where the crowd was the thickest. His eyes light up, a smile bigger than the one he was wearing just a second ago gracing his features. Hiccup flicked his hands, fluttering in a nervous manner he prayed wasn’t noticeable from this far away. Hiccup can tell from even this distance that his teeth are glistening. Maybe that’s why Dr. Rosamund seemed to like him so much. He moved to walk toward him right when Hiccup got punted from behind, sent flailing to catch his balance in Jack’s direction. 

Hiccup has been waiting to talk to Jack for what feels like forever. He guessed it had been forever, technically speaking. He’d been wondering what happened to him for so long, and suddenly he’s here, brought back to the forefront of Hiccup's mind with the first flurries of snow and the proper chill of winter settling into the bones of the town. Sighing into existence like he’d almost always been there. Like he’d nearly never left. And now that Astrid has sent him quite nearly stumbling out from behind the bar into the man with what cannot be passed off as anything other than the least-subtle and most-obvious of purposeful shoves, his mind is drawing a blank on every possible conversation starter he’d imagined up the past week or so, maladaptive daydreaming his way through work until he nearly signed his eyebrows off with the forge on Wednesday. That definitely would have been a conversation starter. 

Jack is looking bemusedly between him and Astrid, now several feet behind. Far enough that she would have a hard time hearing through the shouts of the literal mob. 

“Hello there,” Jack said. His voice had gone slightly husky from singing for so long without drinking water, skin flushed. His hair shone in the low light, a halo of white dyed through by the multicolored string lights like one of the stained-glass windows in the church down the way. His eyes were even brighter up close, mismatched irises swimming with what could only be described as mirth. 

Jack was beautiful. Just as beautiful as Hiccup remembered. Maybe more so, now that he could put proper words to the feelings of little him.  

“Hi.” Hiccup is incredibly eloquent. Voice not at all sounding like he was a mouse who hit puberty last week. Maybe burning off his eyebrows should have been something to follow up on.

He received a chuckle as a reward. He couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed by his utter lack of social skills, even if this person was technically supposed to be his first ever friend. Not that… not that Jack was showing any signs of recognizing him. At all. Sure, there’s an air of interest and curiosity to how he’s studying Hiccup right now, but that’s exactly it. His interest was piqued. Which was not recognition. He can’t really blame the guy for that, it has been years, after all. But Hiccup had remembered him, and that stung a bit.

“I’m Jack,” was Jack's reply to the silent train of thought Hiccup had going through his mind, “what’s your name?” A hand is extended out. Did he want to shake hands?

He hesitates a second before closing the distance and gripping Jack's forearm the way everyone does in the bar. He seemed to be caught off guard by this; had he not offered to do this with anyone else? What was that supposed to imply? Hiccup can feel Jack's hand grip uncertainly through his long-sleeved shirt, fingers like needles of ice. How were they that cold after just playing the guitar?

“Hi-hiccup.”

Jack's face went through a flurry of emotions at the admittance of his name, which had been given in the way the Vikings of old might have vowed to one another. Bemused, confused, delighted, and finally, oddly soft. “Did you just say the word hiccup? Was that a hiccup?”

Hiccup wanted to die. His face flared with heat, burning all the way to the tips of his ears. He’s never been more grateful for the low lighting of the bar to help hide his mortification. Their arms are still gripped to one another like a tether. 

“No!” He facepalmed with his other hand. Quite articulate, if we’re taking his jumbled mess of a brain into consideration. “Gah. My name. My name is Hiccup-” which I thought you’d know, he sourly doesn’t tack on, “well. My name is Hikke, but everyone calls me Hiccup. It’s, ah, a childhood… nickname.”  

He’s rambling, he’s aware, but dear gods Jack was cuter than he remembered. To be fair, it’s been years and years, and Jack himself has either forgotten all about him or was doing a very impressive job at pretending to have forgotten him. Which Hiccup doesn’t see the point in. Either way, Jack’s still looking at him fondly, and there was a smile growing bigger by the second, stretching across his cheeks and making his eyes crinkle ever-so-slightly at the corners.

“Your name is Hiccup.” The statement sounded like a laugh. Hiccup nodded. 

Jack actually physically laughed, then, head tossing back with the action. Not rudely, more incredulously, like an inside joke only he knew of. “Oh my goodness, that is so cute.” Hiccup's hands tighten instinctually, more of a spasm than anything. A motion Jack surely felt. He didn’t mention it, though his eyes flickered briefly over his face.

Jack screwed up his nose with the next lopsided smile, head shaking a bit from side to side. “Wait, your real name is Hikke, you said. Doesn’t that literally mean hiccup in Norse?” And oh, this guy was for sure messing with him. How would he know that otherwise? Jack was the only person— save his parents and Gobber, of course, that had cared enough about Hiccup’s family originating from Norway to bother trying to look up what all the names in his family meant. (The twins didn’t count.) His was the most ludicrous. By far. Still, Hiccup wasn’t certain. There was a stark honesty to how Jack was handling this conversation, like he truly hadn’t had this thought before now.

“You… you know Norse?” He probed, uncertain but determined. He could feel Astrid look over at his tone, even if she couldn’t hear exactly what had been said, gaze definitely searching. She could be a damned bloodhound sometimes. 

“Yeah,” a chuckle. Jack laughed a lot, just like when they were children. These laughs felt different though. Less free. “I, uh, don’t exactly remember why I learned it, but to be fair I don’t know why I’ve learned a lot of languages.” His eyes shuttered, luster dulling from brilliant snowflakes catching the light to a frosted window shrouded in shade, so quick Hiccup would have missed it of he weren’t actively taking in every bit of information his brain could be supplied with to figure out what the hell was happening. It seemed to be a sore subject. He should avoid that. But he was terrible at avoiding things once they caught his attention. Like now. “All I know is I think hiccups are adorable. I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for them.”

It took Jack a few seconds to realize what just came out of his mouth might be a tad bit suggestive, given the context, even though he’d already called Hiccup cute. “NOT—not to mean I mean you! I mean, shit, ah, not that I don’t mean you aren’t cute— wait. That, I’m not saying that exactly right now. I mean I did, earlier, but like, that was because I think hiccups are a cute thing people do. You know? Like as an activity. I mean— AN ACTION! Wait, that makes it so much worse.” Jack had let go of Hiccup’s forearm to start gesticulating wildly throughout his short and frantic tangent, the stick Hiccup failed to notice before swinging wildly to and fro. What a weird thing to carry around. Jack groaned and covered his face with a hand, rubbing tiredly at his eyes in what should only be explained as an attempt to make himself invisible. Hiccup turned to share a look with Astrid, whose expression seemed to read, and here I thought you were bad. He was sure she was still far enough to not be able to hear, but it would be obvious to her what was happening. Hiccup flipped her off subtly (not). She rolled her eyes like she did as a preteen when her parents tried to convince her being emo was a phase she’d grow out of one day. 

A sheepish laugh escaped out of Jack, and Hiccup looked back towards him. His eyes were screwed shut, a scrunch forming between his eyebrows and pulling his nose to look somehow sharper. The hand that wasn’t actively gripping his stick like a lifeline slid down his face and towards the nape of his neck, tugging slightly at his hair like a damn anime protagonist. The sight sweat on him that had yet to dissipate from performing made it stick up at odd angles, appearing perfectly and intentionally mussed. The lights are now paid actors in Hiccup's mind. And yes, there was definitely a bright red blush spreading over the entirety of his face and up his ears. Curse the damn lighting in this bar. It was always too low. Hiccup slowly began to feel irrational, and refused to think about why. 

“Sorry, if that was in any way offensive. I’m… not entirely used to talking to people.” Came Jack’s explanation. 

Hiccup shook his head, biting back a smile. He almost took pity on him. Almost. “Hey, it’s alright. No harm done,” Jack looked surprised before Hiccup continued, “it’s not every day I get told I’m cute to do, after being told I’m not actually cute. Even though I was apparently cute before.” His flat, sarcastic tone sent Jack through another complicated series of expressions that finish on a weird blend of mischievous and oddly proud. Of what, Hiccup could not begin to understand. 

Before he responded, though, Saint North lumbered towards them with keys in hand. 

“Evening, mister Hiccup,” is North’s greeting. Hiccup nodded to the man, gripping forearms easily in greeting without any odd lingering fingers or stares. Seems that’s only something he’ll be doing with Jack. 

“Good evening, sir.”

“I see you’ve finally found time to talk to Jack.” A pointed look. Hiccup grimaced a bit.

“Ah, yes, just getting… acquainted?” He pitched the last few syllables up as if phrasing a question, leaving the decision on if that is truly a question or not to the one he and North turn to look at. Jack is carefully blank. Hiccup frowned. 

“Well, that is very good, then.” North laughed it off, having enough experience brushing things under the rug that he continued to talk as if the air around them hadn’t lagged. North had seen many things when it came to Hiccup, and vice versa. He knowed how good that man was at pretending everything was fine. “Jack needs friend his age. You will do nicely.”

Both boys spluttered like they were five again and at recess, being told by a teacher to share the sandbox construction toys with each other since that’s all they had. Saint North continued on like he didn’t just tell them they were officially friends now. Again. “Jack, my boy, we must be going. I need to make us some dinner.”

Jack arches a brow, using his stick like a tall cane. “Why not just eat here?”

Hiccup wasn’t sure if North threw his head back for the twin roars of laughter they let out, but he knew he was.

“I let you say your goodbyes.” North sauntered off into the crowd, likely to tell his bandmates they were leaving. 

“Jack,” Hiccup snorted quite expressively, “They don’t sell anything here other than questionable mutton and fries, and alcohol. I’d take your uncle’s cooking every time over that.”

The blonde snorted in response, like he’d both been expecting that answer and was a bit surprised Hiccup knew what his uncle’s cooking tasted like. Hiccup felt Toothless’ weight drop on his shoulder at the same time Jack’s eyes flickered away from him, signaling that the cat found it safe enough to emerge once more. 

“And who is this?” Jack all but cooed, much like every other person to come in contact with Toothless, wiled by charms Hiccup was now immune to. He could feel the cat sizing up Jack, tail flicking through Hiccup’s hair. 

Jack made that weird clicking sound everyone liked to do with cats, which usually pissed Toothless off, but instead just had him tilting his head. 

“This is Toothless.” Hiccup said, curious. Toothless, like most cats, took a bit to warm up to new people, though he got used to them quicker if Hiccup knew them well. He wondered what he’d do with Jack. 

“Funny name,” Jack chuckled, clearly having noticed the fangs. “Is it alright if I pet him?”

“That’s up to him really, I have no say,” Hiccup shrugged the shoulder Toothless wasn’t occupying. 

Jack smiled and did a weird thing with his fingers when he lifted them, like he was sprinkling something in the cat's face, and had no trouble getting Toothless to let himself be pet. Hiccup’s cat sniffed him for barely more than a second before pressing the top of his head into Jack’s palm, purring loudly. 

The fuck?

Hiccup laughed nervously. “He, not to be stereotypical for these situations, but he’s never like this with anyone.”

Jack’s smile grew, and he shared a look with Hiccup that felt like a secret he wasn’t in on. “I’m just good with animals, that's all.” The cat trilled in response and leaned further into Jack, now balancing between the two boys.

Jack pet him for a few more seconds before pulling his hand away gently, giving Toothless time to situate himself once more on Hiccup’s shoulder. 

“Can I ask you something?” Jack said, stepping in closer, and oh man Hiccup was so not prepared for the space between them to shrink.

“Y-yeah?” Hiccup asked, suddenly nervous. Did he finally recognize him?

“Do you think I look stupid in this costume?” 

That. Of all the things he could have asked, that was the one he chose?? What was he even wearing that would be bad enough to ask— “Buddy,” a sigh, “why are you in a bodysuit?”

Jack’s hands flew to his face, staff now tucked in the crook of his elbow as if it’d always been there, and groaned. “THANK you. They forced me to wear it.”

“And where are your shoes?” Were they really going for the gymnast look here? What kind of magical guardian does beam exercises?

“Oh.” Jack's hands fell from his face. “That’s all me. I don’t like shoes.”

Hiccup looked at him like he’s an idiot, because the statement was idiotic. 

“It’s winter,” He pointed out bluntly.

“We’re indoors, and the cold doesn’t bother me anyways.”

“Yeah, we’re indoors, where the residual heat from upstairs and alcohol are the only things keeping anyone warm.”

Jack shrugged, clearly unbothered by the idea of having his feet amputated from frostbite. “I don’t like shoes.”

That seemed to be that, and Hiccup didn’t have the energy to question it further; both too exhausted from the past week of wondering about Jack, and too jittery from him actually standing in front of him to care. 

“Well, if you’d like something less… whatever this is supposed to be,” he gestured to all of Jack at that, “I could always try putting something together for you.” Hiccup paused. Was that weird? Was it weird to offer someone you just barely started talking to ten minutes ago to make them a costume? Even if they’d been friends, Jack clearly didn’t remember, which ouch, but even then that could be awkward. Sure, he’d confirmed he didn’t like what he was in, but that doesn’t mean you just go around offering to make people clothes, Hiccup, Thor Almighty.

“You know how to do that?!” Jack asked excitedly, looking impressed. Toothless decided he’d had enough of being ignored and yowled until Hiccup busied himself with petting the cat, and Jack laughed. “He really likes attention doesn’t he?”

Toothless purred in his direction when his hand came up again to stroke behind the cat’s ears. 

“Seriously, I don't understand why he likes you so much.” He hadn’t even liked Hiccup at first, not really. Only copious amounts of treats had gotten the so-called ESA to actually agree to be around him, and even then Toothless liked to snarl random warnings. “And to answer your question, yes, I dabble in sewing and designs.” Dabbling might sound too light of a word, considering it was a sizeable portion of his work, but he was tired and couldn’t be bothered to correct himself again. 

Jack nodded. “I think anything would be better than this, at this point. If it’s not a hassle, of course!” “It’s no trouble, really. I cannot associate with you if you wear this in public. You’d be doing me a favor.” Jack laughed again. “Ah, so we’re to associate now, is that it?”

Hiccup nodded sagely. “You heard the man. You need friends. If that’s what we are, I can’t have you tarnishing my good reputation with the people of this town with whatever you’re supposed to be.” 

Genuinely. Who picked this thing out? It didn’t even match the shawl. 

“You might just hate the leotard more than Sandy and I.” Another smile, this one cheesy. “And if that’s the case, I’ll happily accept your help to become visibly appealing to the masses.”

Saint North reappeared next to Jack with their belongings before either of them could continue on with their banter. Hiccup’s heart sank a bit; they’d only just reunited. Jack’s shoes were dropped on the ground by his feet, with a pointed look having them shoved on. 

As Jack busied himself with the task, his staff resting on his shoulder, his uncle made eye contact with Hiccup. “You can always come by, Hiccup. My house is never closed to you.” The burly man reminded him, smiling. Hiccup shook his head to say yes, he remembered, and snorted again at Jack’s annoyed expression at needing shoes to battle snow and muck. 

“I’ll see you around?” The question was quieter than he expected, like they hadn’t just done whatever it was they just did. Hiccup laughed and patted his shoulder consolingly. Jack might just be worse at this than he was. Hiccup wondered why. He figured he imagined the relief on Jack’s face. 

“Definitely.” He shoved Jack towards the door, and Jack gave him one last grin before ducking out after North. 

They could hear the next band starting to greet the crowd as Hiccup watched Jack’s retreating figure, shoes unlaced on his feet and staff and guitar case carried in opposite hands.

He stood there for much longer than necessary, which is to say not long at all, before he’s jumped by his friends.

“You know, Hiccup,” Snotlout said from behind him, looping an arm around his neck to pull Hiccup down to his height. “I play rugby, and I’ve still never seen something as gay as what just happened between you two.” That faux arrogant laugh Snotlout did whenever his dad was around was on in full force. “I mean, you didn’t let his arm go for about eight minutes! Who does that? He was totally just staying there to be polite. You probably weirded him out. You know, I would never do something like that. Hey, Astrid—”

“Don’t bring me into this Snotlout, unless you want to lose a testicle. Get back to work if you can mess around.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fish is over there, I’ll tell him my jokes. My dad would probably…”

Hiccup has had years to perfect drowning Snotlout out, and he does exactly that as they start working, his mind drifting back to how Jack's fingers had felt digging into his forearm. Branding him. He’d seemed almost sad to let go, through the haze of his panicked explanations, but maybe Hiccup made that last bit up. 

Maybe.