Eye of the Striker

A/N: WARNING TO READERS: There may be some distressing scenes ahead, if anyone would rather skip the chapter and would like me to give you a quick chapter summary instead, please private message me.

Chapter 30: The darkest day

As they returned to Haddock manor, Astrid immediately headed for the stairs. "I'll be back in a minute," she mumbled. With her legs sapped of so much strength, her toes caught the top of each step as she ascended, but eventually she reached the top. The corridor extended for an eternity before her, but she pulled herself along until her hand was squeezed firmly around the door handle to her room.

Slowly she pushed it open, flicking the light on as she stepped inside. Her eyes landed on the large cardboard box in the corner, and she trudged across to it. With almost everything unpacked, it sure weighed a lot less than when it had been carried here in the first place, but it's ungainly size still made it a challenge to shift. Plonking it down onto the bed, she satisfied herself with standing and staring at it. Three of the four flaps that formed the top were ironed flat, but the fourth hung open at a crooked angle, mocking her for the thought she could ever truly seal its contents away.

Sighing, she pulled open the remaining flaps, before carefully rolling the box over onto its side. Though still deep, now the very bottom was just within her arm's reach. She stretched down, eyes fastening shut as soon as her hand moulded around the handle. Pulling the item out, she held it flat to her chest, close enough that the cold steel of the axe's head pressed lovingly against her cheek. In those first few moments, the euphoria burned through her. She was brave, she was strong, she was fearless.

But it couldn't last. It never did. And each time she picked the axe up, its power would only diminish faster. Those beautiful lies it whispered to her, they soured ever so quickly. Brave. There was nothing brave about hiding, praying for someone you rescue you. Strong. If she'd been that, she would have protected them that night. Fearless. That was the greatest lie of them all. Maybe once, too long ago to remember, that moniker was befitting. Now though, there was nothing that defined her more than her fear.

She laid the axe down to rest on the bed, before a shaky hand once again reached into the box. Her fingers patted at nothingness, tapping their way across, until, in the very corner, that old photo frame squirmed its way into her grasp. Painfully slowly, she removed it from its prison. Wiping away years' worth of dust with the bottom of her t-shirt, she glanced down at it with half-closed eyes, as if staring at them from an angle would somehow stop them staring back. But from their glass cage, her parents had no intention of missing this chance. One look at their faces was enough to lock Astrid in place.

Her father's beaming smile stretched from one side of the frame to the other. Standing tall and proud, he was a perfect dichotomy. His neatly combed brown hair parted to the side gave the impression of a precisely seriously man, yet his outwardly flamboyant yellow Christmas sweater painted a completely opposite picture. The latter of those was the side Astrid cherished most. Her dorky dad, infamous for eye-rolling jokes and bursting into song at the dinner table. How she'd love to hear his voice again. If she could buck up enough courage, those old videos of them singing together were always at hand, but, for now, those bitter memories were better left untainted.

Avoiding her mother's singing, that was a far easier pill to swallow. That woman had the tonal range of a plank of wood. Luckily, it took at least a few bottles of wine before one of her karaoke sessions got into full sway, but nights like those were very scarce. Generally, she was more reserved, holding herself with a quiet confidence. Despite that, there was always a fierceness bubbling just beneath the surface; it was never in doubt where her daughter's penchant for violence came from. But as she had grown older, she had tempered with age, and her anger, though potent, was vastly overshadowed by her overwhelming kindness. A heart so big it was impossible to hate her.

Astrid reached out, stroking a solitary finger from one side to the other. One thing she always loved was how much her and her mother looked alike. The golden, braided hair that twisted down her back. The striking blue eyes that were bright, even in the dullest of light. The puffy cheeks that exploded with colour at the slightest embarrassment. It was all there, a perfect match. Astrid sighed, pulling the picture closer. Everything had always been so clear to her. Where she came from, who she was, what she wanted going forward. But nothing was clear anymore.

From the photograph, her parents watched her, their eyes shining tragically with life. She drew the frame even closer, until her reflection imposed itself infront of them on the glass. It laughed at her. All those similarities, the things she held so dear, had been stolen piece by piece. All that remained was a masquerade, an act, a lie. She flipped the picture over, laying it face down on the bed. With a shake of her head, she snatched the axe back into her hand and headed back down to Hiccup.

He was tapping his foot anxiously when she returned, and his eyes widened at the great weapon she twizzled nonchalantly between her fingers. She took a seat beside him on the couch, placing the axe down gently on the table infront of them.

"You kept it? All this time?" He mumbled, reaching out towards it. Stroking down the curve of one of the blades, his fingers stopped at a large groove, a sizable indent where a chunk of the metal had been chipped off. "Why?"

She closed her eyes, nodding herself into a false sense of confidence. She couldn't delay this anymore. She turned to him, puffing out a few fast breaths. "It saved my life"

/ FLASHBACK /

A date. An actual date. It still seemed so surreal. Sure, many times they had gone out for a meal together, but this time it had been explicitly, unquestionably, undeniably, a date. Ever since last week, their confessions on the beach, she had looked forward to this night. In some ways, she had thought everything would have been different, after the love word had been chucked into the mix, but really nothing had changed. He was still Hiccup. She was still Astrid. The only thing new was that she got to kiss him at the end. She could get used to that.

This was how it was going to be from now on. Everything out in the open, no longer the need to hide her feelings away. The speaking of that one word may have been overdue, but that didn't matter now. She was exactly where she wanted to be. Her mind raced forward to what came next. To prom, walking through those doors with Hiccup on her arm. Singing and dancing the night away, a perfect way to end the school year. Then they had all summer together. This was going to be the best one yet.

Walking home, there was a jolly bounce in her step. A slight chilled wind swept over her, but after giving her shoulders a quick rub, she ploughed on. Usually Hiccup would walk her home, even though she lived way on the other side of town, but tonight she made sure he'd be home on time, for Stoick was going to be back tonight. That man didn't deserve his son, not one bit, but Hiccup would never stop trying. Astrid knew that. And she knew just as well she would have to be there for Hiccup when his father, as per usual, let him down.

Just like Stoick, her own father was away from home for large stretches at a time. Just like Stoick, he kept secrets, and, just like Stoick, his actual job was more of a mystery than anything. But in every other regard, the two were as opposite as can be. Her dad loved being back in Berk, and made sure to make the most of all the time he had with his family. Stoick, on the other hand, detested every second he was forced to spend at home with his son. Astrid often joked that Hiccup would be better off living with her and her parents; there was too much truth in that statement for it to even be remotely funny.

Still grumbling to herself about thoughts of Hiccup's dad, she finally arrived at the long, winding road leading down to her house. So far away from the bustling city centre, it was always so peaceful out here in the rural reaches of Berk. Generations of Hoffersons had built this farm, and it was truly spectacular how her mother somehow managed to keep it all running. Astrid helped out best she could, her father did too when he was around, but apart from that it was a total one-woman mission. Luckily, to allow Astrid to focus on her schoolwork, talks of handing over the reins had taken a backburner. That responsibility was something Astrid was still many years away from.

Finally reaching the last stretch of the road, the farm appeared before her. Her home, though rustic, was beautiful. A converted barn, it sat tall, with a wide arched roof. Yellow light shone fiercely out of large square windows, illuminating the house against the darkened background of the fading night. She kept walking towards it, passing the final flurry of trees that sat to either side of the driveway. She was about to pull out her phone out to text Hiccup that she had got home safe, but stopped short when she noticed the strange car parked out front.

Often odd vehicles would turn up at the house. Blacked out Mercedes' with tinted windows. They were all hastily brushed under the carpet of work stuff by her father and so she paid little attention. However, this one stood out from the others. It looked brand new, yet the many scratches and scrapes along its grey exterior were the mark of a car that had stood the test of time. There was no badge or identifying mark, so she couldn't determine what make it was, with even the license plate being absent. The windows were still tinted, but poorly so, given she could still vaguely make out a large duffel bag spread across the backseat. She couldn't place it, but something in her core was screaming, silent warnings spiking the length of her spine.

She slowed her pace, but continued, putting her phone away and pulling out her key in its place. Though as she traipsed up the front steps, she found she had little need for it. A sliver of light filtered through the narrow gap where the door had been allowed to rock back on its hinges. Something was wrong. Her parents might leave the door unlocked perhaps, but open, no. Never. Standing there on the doorstep, her heart raced. The slightest shake wobbled her fingers, and her breaths were becoming so loud that they were all she could hear. She shut her eyes momentarily to drag herself back in control. Get a grip, Astrid. Stop being stupid. Then, placing a hand onto the door, she slowly pushed it open.

Nothing could have prepared her for the scene before her. At the other end of the long hallway that divided the house, her mother lay slumped on the floor, a pool of blood soaking the centre of her white blouse. Straining, she dragged herself back, until she fell against the kitchen fridge. Her head was bobbing, shaking with sudden, wheezy breaths as she clutched her chest with both hands. All the time her eyes remained down to her side, though the weight of her eyelids had them more closed than open.

Astrid wasted no time. The door slammed back as she charged through, cracking it against the wall. She thundered down the corridor, arms already outstretched. Her mother glanced up; her features contorted in terror. As fast as she could, she raised a single, trembling hand up, but it was too late. Astrid had already got too close.

As she neared the kitchen, she was forced to stop. A few feet from her mother, head pressed to the kitchen tiles, her father lay flat, motionless. Cuts and bruises covered almost every inch of his face. His suit jacket was ripped from one seam to the other, and his shirt underneath was now coloured more red than white. A sputtered gasp coughed from Astrid's mouth. He wasn't even supposed to be here. Why was he here? It didn't matter, she had to help. She took those final few steps inside, only to find a fourth person awaiting her. His gun now pointed in her direction.

Her heart stopped. Everyone says there are two options; fight or flight, but in that moment, she was frozen. Unable to move, unable to speak. Unable to do anything of note but stand there and drown in the nightmare before her. She stared at him, quite possibly the most repugnant man she had ever laid eyes on. Monstrous in size, greasy dreadlocks hung like stalactites down to his waist. His face was wrinkled and flat, as if his skull had been stamped on repeatedly. He advanced towards her, weapon aimed at her head, and a lecherous smile across his lips.

"Dearest Astrid, I am sorry it has come to this," he said, baring zero emotion as he trod closer. "It truly is a shame your father brought you into this mess."

"What are you talking about?" Astrid snapped. With each step he took, she mirrored it backwards. Her eyes scanned around. An exit. A weapon. Anything. Her hands reached to either side, hoping by chance something useful would magic itself into her grasp. All she got was wallpaper and the stairway banister.

"It doesn't matter now." He stood directly in doorway, staring at her down the hallway. His eyes flashed down to the gun in his hand, his finger coiling slightly tighter around the trigger. "At least you can take peace in the fact you will all leave this world together." Astrid continued backing away, but the front door was still too far off. She could try for the stairs, but he was too close, she wouldn't make it in time.

"RUN!" Her mother yelled, and with every ounce of strength she had left, she hooked Drago's legs from under him.

His shoulder crunched into the doorframe, knocking his aim. Astrid was already moving, darting to the side, as shots whizzed down the hallway. Clambering up the first few stairs, an acute sting burned where a bullet had grazed her arm, but thankfully they found their mark only in the plaster of the wall. Continuing up to the landing, fire from the pistol echoed like fireworks after her, leaving her ears with an unyielding hum. Though it wasn't enough to deafen her completely. Drago's yell of 'Dumb bitch' followed by a single, excruciating gunshot was clear as day. Astrid's chest heaved as she stumbled to her room, tears streaming down her face.

She had no time to think on it. She needed to get out, but now she was stranded up here. There were no exits, except perhaps the windows, but breaking both her legs jumping out of one would hardly help her situation. No, she had to fight. She had to make this right. Digging through her wardrobe, she found the axe right where she knew it would be. It was damn prehistoric compared to a semi-automatic handgun, but it was all she had. Her fingers trailed across the blades, perfectly sharp. Hiccup, let's hope this thing actually works. She pressed her back to the wall by the door, and all that was left to do was wait.

The thuds of the man's boots grew louder, until he had no more steps to climb. Astrid steadied herself, biting her lip so hard it bled just to keep her breaths hidden. With each door he kicked in, he drew closer and closer, until there was but one left. A deathly calm sank into her, an inner silence that held her firm. She gripped the handle as tight as she could, raising it high over her head. She was not going down easily. Through the wall, his heavy breaths washed over her. Little did he know he was messing with the wrong family.

With a crack, the door slammed open. The first thing she saw was the barrel of the gun poking out from the cape wrapped over his shoulder. There was no hesitation, no time to choose any other path. The axe hurtled down, cleaving the man's arm off at the elbow. She expected a scream and a torrent of blood to follow, but her carpet remained spotless. The hand laying on the floor still clutching the pistol twitched once, before going still. The end that had been carved off wasn't oozing bodily liquids, but instead a mesh of crumpled metals and mechanical wires. A prosthetic.

A deep, rumbling growl burst from the man's throat. With his remaining arm, he swiped at her, but she managed to block with the axe's handle. Who'd have known those many hours she'd spent out in the forest attacking trees with this thing would have actually come in handy. Ducking beneath another swinging paw, she swiped her blade again, drawing a line across his stomach. This time it did succeed in bringing blood pouring from the wound. Drago roared, wiping a meaty hand across his belly, before he charged her, slamming her head back into the wall.

Dazed and seeing double, she crouched just in time to avoid a fist which careened into the wall above her head. She rolled to the side, leaping over the bed. Shifting the axe in her hand, she stared him down across the sheets. He rushed across, trying to grab her, but once again she managed to escape his grasp. Twisting her body as she slipped past him, she raised the weapon high once again, a plunged an almighty blow so deep into his back that the axe couldn't be dislodged.

Drago collapsed forward onto the bed, and she took the opportunity to run. Out the door and down the stairs, she sprinted straight to the kitchen. Her mother watched her from the kitchen with hollowed, non-seeing eyes. Her body now sat completely limp, and a hole sat firmly in the centre of her forehead. Bile churned up in Astrid's throat, but still she stumbled forward. Dropping to her knees, two blood-soaked fingers reached out, closing her mother's eyes for the last time.

She shook her head so fiercely her braid whipped her cheeks. This wasn't happening. This was some terrible dream and she was going to wake up and everything was going be alright. She was going to sit down for dinner with her mum and her dad and tell them both what a great night she had with Hiccup. She was going to tell them all about the dress she was going to wear to prom and she was going to tell them how excited she was for the future. She was going to laugh at her dad's awful jokes and her mum's awful singing, and everything was going to be alright. She was going to tell them how much she loved them and how lucky she was to be right here in this moment. She was going to hug them both and thank them for everything they had done for her. Yes, that was what was going to happen. She just needed to wake up.

She slapped herself hard across the face, but all that accomplished was leaving a bloody stain down her chin. She lowered her head, screaming a guttural roar at the floor. This was happening. Still on her knees, she crawled across to her dad, levering him up. "DAD!" She scanned him up and down, expecting the worst. But, although faint, his chest was rising and falling with the weakest breaths of life. She went into overdrive, and holding his head, she shook him side to side. "DAD! WAKE UP!" A sickening cough of blood erupted from his mouth, and finally his eyes opened. Full of sorrow and shame, they were haunting.

"I'm sorry," he managed to stutter out, before once again his eyes fell closed. Astrid rocked him again, but this time there was no response. But when a loud thud from the upstairs landing made the kitchen shake, he managed to squeeze out one solitary word. "Run!"

She wasn't going to run. She couldn't leave him here. Not like this. No, she had to stay and fight. But with what? She could hardly do much damage with a salt shaker. From a drawer, she pulled out the biggest kitchen knife she could find. She was ready for this. She closed her eyes and waited, but was soon pulled back. Her dad forced himself to sit up straight, and he held onto her wrist with immense force. He stared her down, shaking his head. She met his gaze with an equal ferocity, but all too quickly she had to concede.

"Go," he said.

Every inch of her body fighting her, she turned and headed for the back door. Apart from a few of the farm's outhouses scattered around, there were nothing but open fields. Nowhere to run, she headed for the biggest of the barns. She climbed up the ladder to the upper tier and buried herself in the corner beneath a mountain of hay. In the silence, she pulled out her phone. Hiccup stared back from the lock screen. With another tear running down her cheek, she stroked a finger across the screen. She knew no-one was coming to save her. There was no time for help to arrive, and already footsteps were sounding in the distance. Smudging her screen with blood, she typed out her message, fully aware it would probably be the last.

'Hiccup, I'm so scared.

I can't get out.

Whatever happens, I just want you to know.

I love you.'

She stuffed the phone back in her pocket, and clutched the knife tight to her chest. Through the smallest slit in the barn's panelling, she watched as Drago lumbered out of the back door. With a grunt, he ripped the axe from his own flesh. He juggled the weapon in his hand, while his beady, vulture-like eyes scoured the surroundings. Astrid kept as still as she could, not even blinking, as she watched him from her perch. He ventured into the two other smaller barns, before finally the doors to hers slammed open.

"I know you're here," he shouted. "You didn't need to die tonight, but I can't leave any loose ends." As he walked further into the barn, he dinged the axe off every wooden beam as he went. "If you come out now, I'll make it quick. You won't suffer. I promise you that."

Astrid hugged herself tightly, squeezing herself into as small of a ball as possible, but the pulsating of her heart made it impossible to stop her whole body from shaking. As footsteps searched from one end of the building to the other, she kept perfectly quiet. She almost thought she was safe, when she heard the creak of the ladder's first rung being climbed.

"BACK AWAY!" Came a yell from towards the house. Drago's boots both returned to the ground, and Astrid's eye snapped back to the crack in the wall. In full view, her father was almost unrecognisable. The damage done was so severe he was barely able to stay upright as he stumbled over. "BACK AWAY!" He screamed again. In his hand, a pistol of his own, an old-timey revolver, wobbled up and down with each step. He gave Drago a wide berth, forcing him from the barn. The two circled each other, Drago dropping the axe to the floor, as the barrel of the gun raised to his head. Now fully between his daughter and the danger, Astrid's father planted his feet. "It's alright, Astrid, I've got you. I've got you."

Slowly, she unwrapped herself, and shakily peered down at him. The situation somewhat in control, very steadily she climbed herself back down, and began making her way towards him. All the time keeping his aim remained on Drago, he quickly turned to give her a reassuring smile. Unfortunately, she saw what coming before he did. Drago charged.

"DAD, LOOK OUT!"

His head turned to see the giant barrelling towards him. Gun already in position, he pulled the trigger. Drago raised his cape best he could, given half his arm was missing. It was just enough. The bullet lodged itself safely in the mesh. In panic, Astrid's dad hastily attempted to slot a second cartridge into the chamber, but his shaky fingers fumbled the ammunition. With Drago but a step away, he finally slotted it shut. He raised it to fire again, but before he could, a fist slammed straight into his chest.

The gun fell from his hand, and he crumpled to his knees. Battered and broken, he was powerless to put up a fight. Astrid sprinted forward, but by the time she got there, it was already over. Drago picked up the gun, standing high over her father. No ceremony, no words, just a single pull of the trigger. Her father collapsed back, gone before his head even hit the dirt.

Astrid had no time to process any of it before the gun now turned on her. She stared up at Drago, contempt burning in the tears that ran down her face. "Go on then, bastard. Get it over with." Drago cocked his head, before stepping forward towards her. The barrel was cold against her forehead, pressing sharply to her skull. She glared into his cold, dead eyes, up until the moment his finger twitched. The lurch of the gun scraped the metal up her forehead, but all that shot from the weapon was the slightest puff of smoke.

"Guess I'll have to do this the old-fashioned way," he grumbled. Empty gun discarded to the side, he slammed her back to the ground, hands wrapping around her throat. She kicked, clawed and bit any piece of him she could reach, inflicting as much pain as she could before she had no strength left to do so. He was too big, too strong, and his knees now pinned her arms flat to the earth. With everything she had she struggled, but each second her fight grew ever weaker. The weight grew too heavy, and her vision clouded with black.

She had almost succumbed to the inevitability, when suddenly the pressure on her released. Through slitted eyes, she watched as a second man barged Drago off, cracking strike after strike against his body. Drago tried fighting back, but his injuries made it no contest. He was losing, and the distant sound of sirens shone fear across his face. With one lucky blow, he managed to give himself time to flee, and he took off across the fields.

"Get him. Do not let him escape!" Astrid's saviour ordered, and a team of men in black uniforms hurtled past him after the culprit. Kneeling down at her side, he shook his head. "Oh, I am so sorry, lass. I am so sorry." His hand slid under her back, and carefully he lifted her into his arms. "Forgive me, Astrid."

She faded in an out of consciousness as she was carried to a car. Each snapshot her eyes recorded in the briefest moments they were open gave her a slightly different angle. Placed carefully across the back seat, something soft was put in place to cushion her head, but that wasn't what she wanted. She had to see his face; she needed to know. Each millimetre was torture as she strained her almost broken neck, but the full picture did finally come into view. He was far from a stranger. Looking down at her with shattered eyes, his usual hardened expression had lost all its foundations. Her hand ever so slightly reached out towards him, his name slipping off her tongue as the darkness took her.

"Stoick?"

/ END FLASHBACK /

Hiccup stared at her in shock. She had told it all, face flat and cold, as if distancing herself from the events would somehow make them hurt any less. But now it was all over, he could see the panic erupting behind her eyes. The emotions bursting through the fissures, ready to consume her. No matter how desperate he was, this was no time for questions. He opened his arms out, and she lunged at him. Nails sunk deep into his back as she clung on for dear life. Her body rattled against his, as suffocating sobs shrieked against his shoulder.

"I failed them," she cried. "It's my fault they're dead. I wasn't strong enough to save them."

Hiccup pulled her face to within a breath of his, cupping her cheeks. "Listen to me. You are Astrid Hofferson. You are the strongest person I have ever met. What happened was not your fault. It wasn't. You did everything you could."

"I should have protected them. They're dead because of me."

"Don't you see," Hiccup said softly. "They're not dead because of you. You're alive because of them." She held there in that moment, before her head fell to one side, resting on Hiccup's palm. His other hand dropped, gently rubbing the ridge of her shoulder. "Your parents were heroes, Astrid. They saved you. And I'm only here speaking to you now because of what they chose to do for you that night.

"I didn't deserve to be saved. They chose wrong."

"No, you're the one who's wrong," Hiccup argued. "I knew your parents. And if they had known the cost their actions would have, nothing would have changed. They loved you, so much, and making sure you lived, that was all that mattered."

Her lip wobbled, as if she had something to say, but it was lost halfway. Sniffling, she stared at him for a moment, before she closed her eyes. Stupid Hiccup and his stupid words and his stupid way of making things sense. For so long the very thought of that night had terrified her, but that flip of the perspective, now she could see the other side of the coin. The hidden reality she was too scared to dare to accept.

Hiccup was right. Her parents were heroes, and they hadn't lost their lives for nothing. Astrid's eyes snapped open, alight with an eternal fire. She was tired of being scared. Tired of the nightmares replaying over and over again. Tired of the smallest of bangs sending her back to that night two years ago. Her hands clenched into tightened fists. This was the last day fear would rule. The future was hers to control, and she was done with just surviving. Now she wanted to live. "There's something I have to do," she told Hiccup, placing a kiss on his cheek before jumping to her feet.

She darted back up the stairs to her room, picking up the photo once again. Now it wasn't sorrow, or grief, or even anger, that burned within her, but a furious pride, and it rippled through every vein in her body. She gripped the frame tightly by its stand, holding the picture to her face. Maybe her parents wouldn't recognise her now, maybe she was too far gone, but perhaps, she had never been truly lost. With a frank determination, she strode to the bedside table, placing the picture in the centre for all to see. No longer would she hide from what happened, and as she stared at her parents, a pensive smile crossed her lips.

"Thank you, both of you. I promise, I won't waste the chance you've given me."