Well hello there! I am a fandom straggler. I just saw the movie for the first time last week and it seems like I saw it just in time for it to LEAVE THEATERS. So. Naturally I had to get some fanficking out of my system.

This is my first HTTYD fic, so, er, I guess we're poppin that fic cherry. Here goes nothing!

Together

He died in his sleep. The great and mighty Stoick the Vast had a quiet meal with his son, sat by the fire's glow, slipped into bed and died. By the time Hiccup found him the next morning his limbs were already stiff and his body already cold.

Hiccup didn't know what to do. For the past few years everyone in the village had been coming to him for answers—after all, he was the first one to tame a dragon, the one who ended the great war. In their village's shifting practices and values he was constantly being sought out to resolve matters of training or issues between dragons and riders. People respected his opinions and hung to his every word.

It startled him at first, but since then he'd grown so confident, so sure. He knew how to handle himself and he knew how to lead. He hadn't yet met a situation he couldn't handle, a problem he couldn't solve.

Until now. Now that he was sitting slumped on a chair in the main room of his house, his father's corpse just a wall away.

Toothless nudged him gently, trying to stir him into action. Hiccup didn't move. He couldn't. If he moved it would make it more real, it would obligate him to do something, to tell somebody what had happened.

That might be okay. To tell somebody. Then he wouldn't have to sit here, all alone, bearing the responsibility of it.

But he couldn't do that. He was supposed to be a leader now; the burden was all his own. And with another sickening wave of dread, he realized that every last thing his father had once taken care of would now rest exclusively on his shoulders. The entire island of Berk and all of its inhabitants, from the largest Viking to the tiniest Terrible Terror, would now look to him to make all of the decisions his father had been making since he was born.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of Stoick's axe, propped by the oversized chair. Skinny-limbed as ever, slight in stature, every bit as awkward as he had been in his first day of dragon training three years ago. How on earth was he supposed to lead an entire island on his own?

It was far too soon for this to happen. He figured he had years. He figured his father would grow old, would impart some great wisdom on him, would be there to give him advice as he took his first shaky steps in this post. But there was nobody to guide him now, and his father was dead. At sixteen years old he was or[haned and nowhere near experienced enough to handle the incredible weight of what he had to take over.

At some point noon passed. Hiccup only noticed because Toothless became restless and finally left the house, presumably in search of food. Hiccup still hadn't moved from his perch, as if he was waiting to wake up from this, for his father to walk out of the other room with in his usual gruff, bustling manner.

The main doors opened, and Hiccup didn't even bother to look up, hearing Toothless's wings contracting to fit into the space. Then he heard the set of footsteps, and shifted his gaze over to the front hall for the first time since he sat down.

Toothless had brought Astrid with him. Seeing her there, looking so steady and sure and real, made his chest feel tight. He couldn't hide from this anymore.

Her concern was evident, even from a distance. She walked over to him, her light eyes meeting his, searching his face.

"It's Stoick," Hiccup managed. His throat cracked from disuse. "He's dead."

Astrid could not contain her small gasp of surprise. "How?" she breathed.

Hiccup shook his head. "In his sleep," he said bitterly.

Slowly she crossed the rest of the room and slid into the open space on the chair beside him. "Hiccup," she said, and hearing the sympathy in her voice forced him to drop his gaze and look at the floor. For some reason just hearing her say his name like that was enough for the gravity of the situation to set in. His eyes started to sting and he clenched his fists—he couldn't let her see him cry. He wished he could tell her to leave. He opened his mouth as if he were going to, but all that came out was a useless puff of air.

"Hiccup, I'm so sorry." She put a hand on his shoulder and then snaked her arm around his back in an attempt to comfort him. He stiffened at her touch. Willed her to understand. He had to be left alone, he had to face this alone, he couldn't be weak in front of her like this.

He felt a light thud on his leg and saw that a tear had fallen despite his determination. He all but leapt away from Astrid, swiping at his eyes self-consciously, furious that she had seen.

Through his raw shame he saw her expression, how her eyes widened in hurt. She folded her hands in her lap guardedly. For a few moments they stared in separate directions, neither of them willing to break the silence after his fit.

Her voice came out even and firm. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked without facing him.

He didn't say anything. She finally turned to him, waiting to see if he would, and when he still didn't she collected herself and stood. She took a breath like she meant to say something, then turned her on the heel of her boots abruptly and started to walk away.

She was halfway down the hall when the word fell out of his mouth: "Wait."

She stopped immediately, but didn't turn around.

"I'm sorry," he said. He felt his face burning, the tears rising up in his cheeks. "Please."

He looked down at his feet then, the whole one and the metal one, humiliated by how desperate he sounded and how pathetic he felt. It was as if he had spent the whole day building to this inevitable eruption. All at once his shoulders were shaking, his throat tight, his ribs constricted. He gulped, trying to suppress it. Just as a hiccupping sob escaped him he felt Astrid's arms wrap around his back, felt himself sinking into her—felt, for the first time that day, some sense of relief.

"It's alright," Astrid said softly. She stroked his back and held him there, surprisingly gentle for a girl who had killed her first meal at the age of four. "It's alright, Hiccup. We're going to get through this. One step at a time."

We. What did she mean by that? It was his father who was dead, and it was he who would have to face the village in a matter of hours. But Astrid had said "we."

It struck him then that she meant to share the burden of it with him. That they had somehow become so tangled into each other's worlds that even as he was falling she was all too willing to leap down and fall with him. He felt a rush of affection toward her unlike any other he'd felt, and then just as quickly the guilt settled in. Why should she have to suffer with him? Why on earth would she choose his sorry lot when she had proved time and time again she could manage on her own?

It was overwhelming. He shuddered, his face pressed into her shoulder as he muffled another weak, "I'm sorry."

Astrid held him tighter, and it somehow seemed the equivalent of one of her playful shoulder punches. "You should know by now," she said. "You don't have to be strong for me. We're in this together."

"Together," Hiccup echoed quietly. And even though his stomach was still in knots and he was shaking from his head to his peg leg, and even though it seemed all too vast and impossible a future to face the moment he set foot out his own door, he knew that he was not afraid.

Thanks for reading!

PS-anybody else signed up for the HTTYD Big Bang on LJ? Because I am. Who needs a summer when there is FANFICKING AFOOT?