EDIT 1/24/16 Chapters 4 and 5 (You Know My Name and Advance Shadows) have been combined into the new chapter 3.
Also, according to the Disney wiki, Hans' last name is Westergaard, so I'm changing that here in the fic. (Though, honestly, I thought Southisle was kind of clever on my part… even if people did say the name was a little strange.)
Chapter 3: Advance Shadows
Astrid had an eleven-thirty class, so she would have no problem being in the art lab at one, or there about. She arrived early, so she took her usual seat and pulled out her phone.
The Burgess Daily website had six articles about the Big 4's fight the previous day. Everything from the front page article about what had happened, and editorials as to why the Big 4 were public menaces, to an editorial about what a bad influence when society should be focusing on solving problems without violence.
Astrid wasn't a pacifist by any means: she was inclined to think life would be a whole lot simpler if things were still solved through fists. If words were going to work with someone like Gothel, it would have worked a long time ago. And if they didn't work on Gothel, how would they work on the more sinister members of the Big 4's rogues gallery. She might not have paid much attention over the years, but Mor'du didn't seem like the kind of person to listen to reason.
And did anyone want to get close enough to Pitch Black to talk to him?
Gothel herself had been carted off to the prison, and she had still been so shaken from her encounter with the dragon she hadn't protested at all. Not until much later, anyway.
Astrid wasn't sure any more what she thought about the Big 4.
She knew her opinion had changed, she just wasn't sure how much.
Two hundred and seventeen feet.
It was agreed that Night Fury had fallen approximately two hundred and seventeen feet.
Of course, that also included the estimated three foot height of Jack Frost's ice ramp – which had already started to melt down before anything could measure it. It had melted down to big puddle, of course, but people still seemed to find some problem with it.
They were also complaining about the broken statue, and how much that would cost to replace. Along with the fact that one of the pipes in the frozen fountain had burst from the cold. That would also need to be repaired. Astrid rolled her eyes and hit the back button.
He had still fallen more than two hundred feet. Trying to protect a bunch of people who were more interested in nitpicking than saying thank you.
She told herself she wouldn't, but she still ended up watching the video of the fall, which was embedded in the main article. Her stomach clenched and twisted as Night Fury plunged downward, frantically reaching out to his dragon. And the dragon did the same, scratching as the air with his large claws to try and catch his rider.
"Astrid?"
It took considerable effort for Astrid to tear her eyes away from the screen. Looking up, she found a petite brunette standing in from of her desk. After a moment Astrid recognized her as the one who had pointed her towards Hiccup in the art lab the day before. Though the smudge of blue paint had been washed off. Her brown bangs were held back with a wide purple headband, showing off her heart shaped face.
"Yeah?" Astrid pulled out one of her ear buds.
The girl smiled, not seeming to notice Astrid's wariness. She took a manila envelope from the stack of books she carried, and handed it to her. "Hiccup asked me to give these to you."
"Oh, thanks." Astrid accepted the envelope. Her name – Astrid Hofferson – was written across the front in a neat, blocky hand.
The brunette smiled again before she headed to a seat by one of the windows.
Forgetting about the girl, Astrid opened the envelope and pulled out three sheets of paper. Their thickness and tooth suggested they had been taken from a sketch book. On each was a detailed jacket design. Each was slightly different in cut and detail, and included a price based on estimated supply and labor.
She forgot about the video of Night Fury's fall as she looked at the designs and tried to figure out which she liked best. One was, again, too similar to Night Fury's armor for her taste… but she hesitated before casting it off. Because she did like the design.
By the time the teacher called the class to order, at eleven twenty-eight, she was mostly decided on the second design. She didn't fully put them away, occasionally pulling them out to glance at when she got bored with the class.
She had been thinking about commissioning a custom jacket for a couple years now, since her racing had started providing enough in the way of funds to make the idea plausible. Though she had been forced to put the thought aside for a while when she had decided to move into her own apartment.
She would never admit it aloud, but seeing the designs Hiccup had drawn – which were exactly what she'd had in mind – got her a little excited.
Partway through class, she glanced over at the girl who had delivered the designs. She sat in the sunlight that came through the window, chewing on the eraser of her pencil as she looked down at her work. Occasionally she glanced up at the teacher for a moment or two.
Class was let out eight minutes early – the teacher as eager as any of the students to get it over with.
Most students shoved their things into their bags and flooded out of the room. But Astrid wasn't in a hurry – she had nothing to do before she went to the art lab. So she leaned back in her chair, ignoring the people walking around her, as she took her time gathering her thing.
After a moment an indignant "hey!" from the doorway made her glance over.
"Sorry," said the young man who had just come into the room, without glancing back at the boy he had bumped into. He pulled down the hood of his blue sweatshirt as he made a beeline for the seat by the window, where the brunette still sat. His brown hair was a windblown mess, but his grin was impossible to miss. "Hey."
The brunette smiled at him, a feint blush growing on her cheeks. "Hey. I have your lunch." She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out what looked like a Japanese bento box. "It's leftovers from last night. Don't worry – no fried rice."
"Thank you," he said, accepting the lunch. "I have Social Studies next, and after yesterday, Tremaine is going to be insufferable."
Astrid didn't try to eavesdrop, but they weren't exactly keeping their voices down in the otherwise quiet classroom.
"Are you okay?" the girl asked, her voice taking on a deep note of concern.
He shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose, but even Astrid could tell from his posture that he was feigning nonchalance. "I didn't get much sleep last night."
"But you went to bed right after dinner,"
He shifted from one foot to the other, adjusting the straps of his backpack.
Astrid didn't catch what the girl said next, but thought she might have heard the word "nightmare".
He shrugged again. "Yesterday was kinda… Never mind. I gotta get to Social Studies, because apparently I am a masochist. I'll be fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive," he said, his deep voice taking on a mischievous tilt. "I'll see you at home. Thanks again for lunch." He had already started walking backwards, but when he finished speaking he spun on his heel towards the door. He caught sight of Astrid as he did. Or, pretended to. She suspected he had known she was there the whole time.
She wasn't sure how to interoperate the way the corner of his mouth quirked upward when he saw her. But she didn't miss it.
He did a mock two fingered salute as he passed her. "Astrid."
It was starting to bug her how everyone seemed to know her name.
#
She took her time making her way toward the art lab, stopping at the student café to pick up a sandwich for a quick lunch.
She was passing the athletics building when the doors opened and a wave of students came out, just leaving either a classroom or the locker rooms. They clustered into groups, talking to friends as they moved at various paces.
Except for one girl, who left the others behind with her long, purposeful stride. She was impossible to miss, with a lion's mane of red hair that bounced around her with every step she. The duffle bag slung over one shoulder didn't seem to slow her down.
On the front of her black tshirt was Braveheart's Celtic knotwork shield.
Their eyes met for a moment, and Astrid recognized that she was being assessed… But the red head looked away before she could tell what the verdict had been.
Astrid frowned, but kept walking.
The halls of the art building were more crowded than they had been the day before, since it was earlier in the day. It made the creative vibe that much stronger. A few people eyed her as though she were a trespasser on sacred ground.
Yeesh. Intense much?
She reached the lab and peered around the doorway to see if Hiccup was there.
Like the hall, it was busier than yesterday. All four pottery wheels were in use, whirring away. At one table a boy worked at what looked as though it might become a bust sculpture. On the far wall, under an open window, a girl wielded a blowtorch over something wedged into what looked like a brick.
Hiccup, and his ridiculous bolt of brown leather, were at the same work table he had been at the day before. Once more he had unrolled it part way, but he wasn't actually working at it. Instead he sat on a plastic chair, his head in one hand. And there was the brunette again, with a hand on his arm as she crouched beside the chair.
After a moment Hiccup took a deep breath and sat up straight, clearly trying to gather his composure.
Astrid approached, since it didn't look too much as though she would be intruding.
"I'm fine," she heard him saying. "I just… got dizzy." He looked up and saw her, though she wasn't sure if he had heard her coming, or seen her in his periphery. Probably the latter, since the lab was so loud. "Uh, hi, Astrid."
"Is now a bad time?"
"No, sorry." He stood up. Something about the way he did so – particularly the way he set his feet – seemed strange, but she wasn't exactly why. He used his right foot almost exclusively, then shifted some of his weight onto his left only once he was sure he had his balance. "Astrid, this is my friend, Rapunzel. Rapunzel, Astrid."
"Hello," Rapunzel said. She had stood up a moment before Hiccup, and was already picking her messenger bag up off the floor.
Astrid nodded, glad to finally have a name for the girl.
"You're sure you're okay?" Rapunzel asked Hiccup.
"You're as bad as my mother," he said, his grin softening at the words. "Yes, Rapunzel. I am as fine as usual."
Astrid might be wrong, but that phrasing didn't sound especially reassuring. So she understood the crease in Rapunzel's brow.
But Rapunzel seemed to accept it, since she sighed as she gave Hiccup a quick hug. "I'll see you later. Have a good day, Astrid."
"Later," Hiccup said, a promise in his tone.
"Thanks," Astrid said, watching as Rapunzel walked away before she turned back to hiccup.
"She had to choose between art and nursing," Hiccup said, chuckling as he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm kinda glad she chose art."
"I'll bet," Astrid said, unable to resist a smirk. "If she'd gone with nursing, she'd have needles to poke you with."
Hiccup groaned. "All because I got dizzy. She'll probably tell my mom, who will make me drink a spoonful of molasses, because she'll think I'm iron deficient or something."
Astrid snickered.
After a moment, Hiccup shook off the subject and looked back at her. "Did you look at the sketches?"
"Yeah." She opened her messenger bag, pulling out the designs and flipping to the second one. "I like this one."
Hiccup nodded. "I thought about adding a hood, but I realized that wouldn't work very well on a motorcycle."
"Probably not."
She followed Hiccup over to his worktable, where he pushed the leather aside to make space. Setting the page on the table surface, he reached for the pencil he had left in the open pages of his notebook. He started to bring the pencil to him… then paused to flip the notebook shut.
Before Astrid could think about the motion, Hiccup had already started talking about tapered versus straight sleeves, and she had to rack her brain to see if she had a preference for one of the other. (She didn't, so he said they could start with straight sleeves and bring them in if she wanted.) He made a note next to the wristband on the design.
She wondered if this was something normal people thought about, or if it was just because he was a designer of some type.
They spent nearly twenty minutes going over the details.
With the neckline, at least, she knew exactly what she wanted: a collar that could flip up over her throat. Another note, then he was drawing quick lines to represent the collar she wanted.
"A buckle closure would be too heavy," he said thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw as he considered the design as though it were a puzzle.
Looked over at him, Astrid noticed the reddish brown stubble along his jaw. She quickly looked back down at the page, not sure why that left her slightly… embarrassed? No, not embarrassed. More, it had caused a flutter inside of her. The fact she didn't understand why made her like the sensation even less.
"Couldn't the zipper just go all the way up?" she asked, focusing her attention back on the project at hand.
"Sure, but that's kind plain," he said.
Well, he had a point there.
"I'll figure that out later," he said. Then they were onto the exact fit of the jacket.
She had never realized just how much detail went into one jacket. They covered everything from the exact length of the sleeves, to whether or not she wanted the buckle at the bottom centered or off centered (off centered). Then the color (very dark brown).
"Do you need a down payment?" Astrid asked, when the stream up questions stopped, and Hiccup stood up straight.
"Just so I can buy the supplies," he said. "That, and your measurements, and I can get started."
"You don't have enough here to get started?" she asked, half joking, as she gestured to the bolt of leather that still sat just beyond him on the table. She was half hoping to find out what the heck it was all for.
"That… is already spoken for," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Personal project."
Astrid quirked an eyebrow, eyeing the leather… but decided not to press it. She wasn't curious enough to ask out right.
The measuring process was quick, and he had her do her own torso measurements. He didn't look up from the page as he wrote down the numbers she read off.
They exchanged numbers so he could call her when they were ready for the first fitting, and she handed over a hundred dollar bill she had brought for just that purpose.
As she gathered up her things, Hiccup began rolling up the bolt of leather again. He was a few steps behind her when she left the lab, the bolt over his shoulder again.
"Aren't you gonna stay and work on that?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I can work on it at home. And I have to go across town to get the stuff for your jacket."
When they reached the door, she held it open for him. They said good bye there, heading for different parking lots. But she glanced over her shoulder a couple times, so she saw him get into a truck parked in one of the nearest handicap spots.
She still couldn't figure out what to make of him.
#
Jack pulled his motorcycle into the garage of the ranch house to find the place in a state of chaos. Not exactly a new state. But he still quirked an eyebrow as he looked around.
A bolt of brown leather lay, partly unrolled, on Hiccup's worktable, which had been pulled away from the wall so there was plenty of space to walk around it. Another bolt, in a lighter shade, leaned against the wall in the corner. Tools were strewn across the workspace, scraps of leather already on the floor.
Hiccup and Toothless were both absent.
Parking his bike next to Merida's, Jack pulled off his helmet and gloves as he looked around.
The garage was spacious – originally intended to fit three cars with ease. But it hadn't held a car in as long as Jack had been there. It had been insulated and finished, hard wood laid on the floor, a few carpets set down strategically.
One car's worth of space was dedicated to Hiccup's work. The other two divided between motorcycle parking, the corner Toothless had claimed as his own, and the lounge area they had set up with a couch, an arm chair, and a couple beanbags. A small television was turned on to the local news network whenever any of them was in the garage.
It was currently on, so Jack knew Hiccup probably hadn't gone very far. He glanced at the screen, making sure there was nothing that needed his attention – and that Hiccup hadn't had to run off to some fight.
Sure enough, by the time he got his jacket off, Hiccup was coming back. Trailed, as usual, by the ebony dragon.
"I need there to be eight days in the week," Hiccup said, when he saw Jack, returning to the work table. Picking up the rotator knife on the table, he popped the blade out and replaced it with one he already held. He had probably gone to get the blade from his room. "And we need to work on the basement soon."
Jack ignored the basement comment.
"That bad?" he asked, approaching the worktable.
"Toothless needs a new saddle, and a new tail," Hiccup said. "I also have to make a jacket for Astrid. I can't do both in a week, but they both need to be done this week. And I have class. And homework. And I have to take Toothless flying. And eat. And sleep. And fight maniacs."
It sounded like he needed ten days, not eight.
"Not now, Toothless," Hiccup sighed, since the dragon's head had popped up at the word 'flying'. "We'll go tonight."
Toothless made a sound of obvious dissatisfaction deep in her throat as he curled up again.
Jack grinned. The dragon may not be able to speak, but he certainly made his opinions known as plainly as any of them. He would laugh at anyone who suggested Toothless wasn't intelligent.
After a moment, he looked back to Hiccup. "Is there any way I can help?"
Hiccup had turned his attention back to the leather, but he looked up with a lopsided grin. "You could try and stay out of trouble."
Jack smirked. "No promises." Though, internally, he resolved to avoid anything that was obviously trouble. When it was avoidable, of course. Because some things just weren't.
He started to go into the house so he could leave Hiccup to whichever project he was working on. He was on the steps up to the door when Hiccup spoke again, stopping him in his tracks.
"Rapunzel said you had a nightmare last night."
Hand on the doorknob, Jack stilled.
That wasn't exactly true. He hadn't had anightmare.
He had had three.
Hence why he was still tired, despite the fact he had practically collapsed as soon as he had finished eating. And slept so late he was almost late for his first class. (Which his child psychology professor had not been pleased about.)
"Rapunzel worries too much," Jack reminded, not answering what hadn't actually been a question. "You know that."
Rapunzel was right on par with Valka when it came to mothering the ground. Well, Valka was the den mother. Rapunzel was the mother hen. Her worry over all of them was sweet, but seemingly endless. He and Hiccup guessed that it probably stemmed as much from her healing powers as it did from her personality.
"Sure," Hiccup agreed. "But the thing is, she's usually right." He pointed the rotator knife at Jack. "Especially when it comes to you, Mr. White Christmas."
Jack sighed. There was no response to that statement. Not one that wouldn't be incriminating, anyway.
"Come on, Jack. When are you going to trust us?"
"I do trust you." And he did.
"Just not when it counts," Hiccup countered.
It was unusually confrontational coming from Hiccup, who was the peacekeeper of the group.
"It was a bad dream," Jack said. "Yesterday was kinda traumatic, in case you forgot."
Hiccup laughed darkly. "How can I forget? Today in the lab I stumbled and got dizzy from the memory."
"And Rapunzel freaked out." It was usually safe to guess that Rapunzel was in the art lab.
"That's when Astrid chose to walk up, of course."
Jack snickered. It was almost tragic how Hiccup's luck went some times.
"I'm serious, Jack. If you're having nightmares—"
"It was just a bad dream." Or three.
And they hadn't been that bad, really. Just… disconcerting.
"That's not the pattern," Hiccup said. In his Night Fury tone, which left no room for argument.
Jack couldn't have responded, even if he wanted to. Which he didn't.
He didn't want to think about what they both knew it probably meant – but which Jack desperately hoped wasn't the case.
"I'm gonna go see if Rapunzel wants help with dinner."
"You're dodging," Hiccup said, though he didn't look up from his work.
Yes, he was. And at that moment, he didn't especially care.
The three weeks since the semester had started had been fairly quiet. There had been no sign of their usual rogues gallery. The Stabbington Brothers were in prison, and Gothel wasn't really a threat without them. Drago was probably still licking his wounds from his most recent defeat. Mor'du was nowhere to be see. The cautious hope among all of them, and probably everyone in Burgess, was that Pitch's absence meant he was gone for good.
They weren't naïve enough to believe that last one. But they let themselves hope, since there had been no sign of him all summer.
Jack hoped more than the rest of them combined.
Yesterday had been one attack by Gothel. Even on her worst day, she was more of an annoyance than a threat.
One attack, he told himself.
One attack did not mean anything.
But Jack couldn't shake the feeling that it did mean something.
And somehow, the fact that Hiccup's fall had been during a fight against Gothel, of all people, felt like a sign that something bad was coming. That their quiet summer, and the near silence of the past few weeks, was over.
That everything they were used to was ending.
Jack wanted to pretend, at least for a little longer, that his bad dreams had been just that. Bad dreams as his brain tried to process the fact that his best friend had come so close to dying. It was a sound theory, and Jack resolved himself to ignore the voice in the back of his head that screamed at him that it was more. He just didn't want that to be the case.
Merida and Rapunzel were already in the kitchen, as he had guessed they would be.
Well, Rapunzel was in the kitchen, chopping up green onions. Merida sat on the other side of the bar, keeping her company. Since the only cooking she seemed capable of was grilling. (Though Jack should probably give her credit. She was pretty good at ordering take out.)
He sighed as he registered the shirt she was wearing.
"That shirt is just begging people to figure out who you are," he said, nodding to the Braveheart shield emblazoned across the front. He still couldn't believe Eret of all people encouraged her by buying her the shirts in the first place. He had thought the guy had more sense.
Merida rolled her eyes. "Please. No one pays enough attention."
There was just no reasoning with her.
"What took ya so long, anyway?" she asked.
"Unlike some people I could mention, I'm taking college courses that require time and effort," Jack said.
Merida was majoring in some branch of physical education that Jack didn't fully understand. All he knew was that she didn't seem to do much in the way homework, unlike the rest of him.
"Oy!"
Smirking, Jack turned to Rapunzel. "Can I help with anything?"
Rapunzel looked around the kitchen, at the ingredients she had already prepped. "Could you cut up the chicken that's marinating in the fridge? And preheat the oven to 450?"
Jack nodded, pulling the metal bowl out of the fridge and removing the plastic wrap off the top.
He glanced over at Merida as he started to cut the meat. "You remember that anti-super hero book I had to read last week?"
"The one by that stuck up jerk?" Merida asked. "West-somethin'-or-other?"
"Westergaard," Jack sighed. "That one. Tremaine is apparently a big fan, because she failed my essay and said I have to reread the book. On top of all my other homework. She kept me after class to explain this."
"Is she allowed to do that just because she didn't like your essay?" Rapunzel asked.
"Apparently," Jack sighed.
Their conversation for the rest of the evening was easy. No mention of Hiccup's fall, or anything to do with their costumed antics – except a brief discussion of the Westergaard book. Though none of them really wanted to talk about that.
After dinner they focused on homework, and it was easy to think that all was right with the world.
A feeling that was only reinforced by the fact he slept through the night without bad dreams or nightmares. When he woke up, he told himself that he had been over dramatic in thinking that everything was about to change.
Though a part of his mind didn't let him fully believe that.