Well, first off, this is a request fic! Go me, stealing other people's ideas! I've really made one more step toward being original! :D'

The line love is watching someone die, so who's gonna watch you die? is from the Death Cab for Cutie song "What Sarah Said." DCFC are one of my favourite bands, so this was an awesome excuse to shove them into a fic, haha. The requester, Opaul on , said the line reminded her a lot of Hiccup and Astrid. I agree with her. Plus for some reason those opening piano notes gave me the image of Astrid struggling to get to Hiccup. I dunno why; they just did.

So, yep! This isn't all that great, but eh. I haven't written any in a while, so. (Also I suck at angst but whatever.)

WOOOOO CANON!

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, thank goodness.

–

Astrid had been screaming when the explosion died down.

She was ashamed to say it now, to think of it – of herself clawing at Snotlout's arms as he held her back from the inferno, of his shouts at her to stay calm while she shrieked Hiccup's name over and over, watching him fall through the swells of flames.

It was a disgusting thing, she thought, for a girl – woman – of her emotional caliber to unravel so seamlessly in front of those who had seen her as a rock against the current. She was not the type to care about things like this. In all honesty, she had expected that she would perhaps bow her head in respect in the wake of death, and had been entirely prepared to do so – until she saw the tumbling speck she knew was the crookedly-grinning boy who had impolitely bumped into her heart just the night before.

She had always thought his name was ridiculous, but now, as it tore itself from the deepest recesses of her being and echoed sharply through the fog, she could not think of a more noble or heartbreaking sound. She thrashed and wailed in Snotlout's vice-grip, scrambling at nothing, her arms outstretched to Hiccup. Plummeting Hiccup, brave Hiccup, aggravating Hiccup, impossible Hiccup, dead Hiccup?

She hadn't predicted this. She couldn't have; not in a thousand years or more. She hadn't predicted caring. She hadn't predicted the steely, sickening hand that was now clenched around her stomach, making it lurch and flutter and squirm.

"Astrid!" Snotlout's voice was harsh but strangled in her ear. "Don't bother! Astrid – Astrid—!"

"No!" she howled, struggling as violently as she ever could. "No; he can't! We have to go save him! We have to go—"

"Astrid." That was Fishlegs, in the edge of her hearing, his voice soft and reasonable. "There's nothing we can do."

She felt a hand on her elbow – Ruffnut's. It was not so much for comfort as it was for her own support, for she was staring wide-eyed at the aftermath of the blast, her pupils shrunken in terror. Astrid nudged her off viciously.

"Calm down, kamikaze." Even Tuffnut's insults were rife with disbelief and uncertainty.

"Let me go!" Astrid screamed, writhing frantically against the push of Snotlout's forearms. "I said let me go, Lout, or I'll tear you apart!"

"Don't be an idiot, Astrid; there's no way he's…!" Astrid never thought she would hear Snotlout talking with such sorrowful resignation about anyone, much less his cousin. "We have to get clear; there could be more explosions, or the fire could spread—"

Astrid could no longer hear him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stoick stumbling helplessly forward, toward the hazy silhouette of a dark, fallen form. The sound of her heartbeat throbbed against her ribcage like an axe chopping wood. She inhaled sharply and, with every fiber in her body, heaved forward and broke away from Snotlout's grasp, her feet clattering into the rocky surface of the island as she rushed after the now-distant outline of their chief. Others from the tribe had followed him and were beginning to crowd around her view, which only made her feel dizzier, more desperate and starved. She heard Snotlout shout after her, but ignored it.

As she staggered through the gathering throng, she felt her whole body trembling. Her hair stuck to her face and her palms slipped and slid against whoever she pushed aside. She kept trying to swallow, but there was no substance in her mouth; her throat was thick and impossibly paralyzed. At the forefront of her mind was a memory of Hiccup at the age of eight, when he'd come to sit beside her after her father's dirge and had shown her shapes in the clouds, shapes that had swept her up and taken her away from the rumbling rain around them. He had slowly, cautiously embraced her; it had been awkward because he'd tried it from the side, but she still had buried her face in the crook of his elbow and allowed her cries to be muffled by the wool that coated it. He had patted her shoulder and cleared his throat a couple of times, but otherwise been silent. She had thanked him and left, but his auburn hair had lit up as the clouds had parted to let in scattered splashes of sunshine. That was the first time she had noticed that his eyes were green.

After the recollection came a string of words she had once heard her mother say in a voice tired like the bottom of a boat that had voyaged farther than it had ever planned to: "Astrid, dearest heart; love is watching someone die. I pray to the gods each day that you'll never have to learn the truth of that."

As she scrabbled hopelessly through the crowd, she wondered what the gods had against her mother to ignore her wishes so cruelly.

Vaguely, she heard Stoick's hoarse burr: "Oh, son… I'm so sorry."

No.

She had never felt so small, so like a child. Everyone was inexplicably taller, their infinite backs blocking her view as she attempted to shove past them; she was not wrestling through people, but years – stacks upon stacks of years that felt like they were crushing down on her. She was too young to be here, she heard them say. She should turn away and run.

It took her a moment to realize it when she finally made it to the front. She tripped a little, pitching forward, but caught her balance and couldn't help swaying backwards at the sight: the Night Fury – Toothless, that's right; he'd named it Toothless – was a crumpled, exhausted form, its saddle scorched, its prosthetic tailfin crumbling to ash. It was letting out long, exhausted rumbles, eyeing Stoick blearily.

There was no sign of Hiccup.

Astrid felt as though her face was splitting in two and, infinitesimally, she shook her head. This wasn't possible. Hiccup wouldn't just up and die on them; he was too strong, too innocent; she loved hi—

No. No, no, what was she saying? She couldn't love Hiccup. She'd only really just started talking to Hiccup one day ago! They'd barely been friends for hours! Were they even friends, or just allies? She'd spent a good chunk of the last month wanting to break him in half. Horrible, obnoxious Hiccup, cracking squinty grins at her with his uneven teeth and high freckly cheeks whenever she'd start shouting at him. Stupid, brainless Hiccup, who had almost cost the two of them their lives that day against the Nadder by bungling around and getting in her way. Amazing, brave Hiccup, who had sat with her as they soared beneath the aurora borealis, who had resolutely told her that he was prepared to defy traditions regardless of the cost. Hiccup, whose cheek had been impossibly warm beneath her lips—

She couldn't love Hiccup. That would be stupid. That would be… too fast, like in a bedtime story. It couldn't just happen. People didn't fall in love overnight. And they were only eighteen! (Well. Only.)

This wasn't possible. It was too spontaneous, too illogical.

"There's something about it, Astrid. I don't think you really realize you love a person until you see them leave you forever. And by then, it's…"

"Hiccup!" she shouted, unable to contain herself. Whispers rippled through the crowd as curious and sharp eyes darted at her. She whirled around, her eyes desperately scanning the fog-smothered area. "Hiccup, don't do this to me! If you're dead, I'll kill you, you little…"

"Astrid." That was Gobber in her ear, one hand on her shoulder. She blinked and stared at him. He pointed at the scene before them with his false hand.

She followed his indication and her eyes widened – Toothless had opened his wings and there, lying in them as though asleep, was Hiccup. Her breath caught in her throat like a needle.

Stoick leapt forward and Hiccup fell into his arms. Toothless was huffing, his head feebly raised, his large green eyes fixed on his rider. Stoick threw his helmet aside and pressed an ear to Hiccup's scrawny chest, his hands clutching the boy's shoulders desperately.

Astrid was sure she would never learn how to breathe again. A stupid thought crossed her head, and that was that she had never really heard Hiccup laugh. She had never hugged him properly. She had never told him that he didn't need to be jealous of Snotlout.

Something rippled violently and visibly through Stoick's body, and Astrid sagged forward a little, thinking it was grief. But no – their Chief's voice, raspy with emotion, rang out over the landscape.

"He… he's alive! You've brought him back alive!"

An enormous, overwhelming cheer erupted from the tribe, shaking the tops of the rock formations. Astrid could feel herself breathing again, labored from relief – ecstasy – gratitude. Her hands flew to her mouth and she… were her cheeks wet? Oh, gods, how embarrassing. She didn't brush the tears away.

Well, Hiccup, she thought, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably, I guess… this isn't really love yet, then. And good thing, too! That would have been ridiculous.

Even though she knew it was impossible, she swore she heard him echo back, in that typical sly, nasally mumble, yet?