I've actually been writing this for awhile. I meant to write it out as a long-fic, but I watched HTTYD 3 recently and I'm not over how upset I am over the ending. Argh. Also, TWAQ's sequel has been taking over my life, and I'm decided on finishing HAL before 2021. Anyways, I thought it might make a cool one-shot anyways, so here it is :D
Izuku knows he's brilliant, but he also knows nobody cares. He notices his intelligence in the people around him. The way he can identify so clearly when the cogs in their brains are working, there's something in the way eyes narrow in thought or a brow wrinkles in confusion that just seems so slow. His fellow students in the forge, missing basic ideas like the impact of heat on different metals or the importance of technique in even the most uncomplicated sewing. The reluctant, sentimental Vikings, ignorant to why their weapon needs to be replaced instead of repaired. Izuku is kind, so he is always patient and practical in explaining these things that make so much sense to him and so little to everyone else. Not to say Izuku believes these things - his knowledge or his kindness - matter. Not in Musutafu, a centuries-old Viking settlement that might as well be the middle of nowhere for all the visitors they get. (That is to say none.)
It's the closest known habitable village to Hellhaim's Gate, the fog infested waters that hide the Dragon's Nest, which is just another level of idiocy if anyone were to ask Izuku. (Nobody does.)
It doesn't matter anyway.
His ancestors determined this is where they'd lived, hoping that evolution would eventually allow mere mortals to stand up to the winged-predators at the top of the food chain. Alas, seven generations later, Izuku wonders if they're disappointed. They'd be disappointed in Izuku, indeed, but it's okay because Izuku is disappointed in them as well.
A village that regularly gets harassed by fire-breathing creatures has every single building in it made out of wood.
To this day, the Dragon Manual is pathetically empty, despite Izuku's consistent efforts to add some decent information.
Despite a complete lack of success and a genuinely catastrophic number of casualties, hunting for the Dragon's Nest remains a yearly endeavor.
Everything sanctioned by the Village's Chief.
Izuku and his father share so little when it comes to reasoning and logic that Izuku has to wonder how they can be related. They look nothing like each other, after all.
Where Hizashi the Firebreather is tall and vast with wild red hair, Izuku is small and wimpy, with hair such dark green it's almost black. Where his father is built to wrestle dragons with bare hands, wearing a glare as pitch black as the ghosts of the night. Izuku is soft and freckled, eyes the color of freshly cut summer grass. While his father - Musutafu's prided chieftain - has earned legendary status amongst Viking tribes, his epithet rising from drinking oil to spit fire right back at a Monstrous Nightmare, Izuku is the town's resident loony, obsessed with dragons for all the wrong reasons. (And it's not really an obsession! Izuku just needs to know things.)
It's not that Izuku opposes killing dragons, because he doesn't. (He has seen his home burned one too many times, felt the scorching heat of death nipping at his heels, ached the absence of a mother.) It's that clearly, the way Vikings have been doing things for the past 300 hundred years isn't working. Izuku works religiously in trying to study live dragons, and in Musutafu - specifically in his father's eyes - not killing a dragon on sight is blasphemy. So whenever Izuku scavenges even the tiniest information, it brings nothing but sorrow. The only ones who can add information to the Dragon Index are those who have taken down the dragon itself. Izuku has not battled even one.
Therefore, his room exists bursting with notebooks filled with hard-won insight and analysis on various local dragon species that no one will ever bother to look at. Izuku would be better off keeping his discoveries to himself, but knowing that dragons aren't fireproof on the inside or that they mostly rely on a diet of fish are essential things. Knowledge can save lives, but that's not what Vikings care about. It's certainly not what Izuku's father cares about.
So, even though Izuku cares very little about claiming glory, his heart set on reducing casualties, he escapes the forge during the attack and runs for the hills. He's left the cannon up there at the ready.
Ochako's tears are at the forefront of his mind.
Mister Yagi's sickly condition.
His mother's fairytale existence.
The dragons have robbed them of so much already, Izuku needs to be able to help.
The night is crisp and humid, almost too warm for being so close to winter, but it's probably the result of the ever-increasing fires. His palms are sweaty where he grabs his invention, and his heart is pounding in his throat.
Izuku is long-used to mocking, to being disappointed, ignored, and better left forgotten. In his heart, though, he's always thought he can do more if only someone listened. The only way to be heard in Musutafu is to wear the skin of a dragon you've taken down yourself; Izuku needs to earn his position to eventually be chief so that he can do things differently, better.
The night sky twinkles innocently as if it didn't harbor bloodthirsty beasts within its beauty. Izuku's shaking from pent up anxiety, thinking all the trouble he will get into once Aizawa realizes he's gone from the forge, once his father pins him wandering around during an attack. Izuku is weird, sure, but he is different, and everybody knows so. Maybe, if he wasn't a walking calamity that attracts trouble, the village would hate him less, but there's no way to know.
There's no making new rules, only sticking to the ones he does know.
Just when he's trying to pop out a persistent kink on his back from being hunched over the scope, a shadow catches his eye. It's nothingness in between millions of tiny, titillating dots, and Izuku doesn't hesitate. He takes aim, praying to every god he can recall that it'll work.
The aftershock of the cannon is expected but jarring, and it throws Izuku back onto the itching grass. Mildly disoriented, he scuffles onto his knees, desperately searching for confirmation that he's risked his life and his father's rage for something. There is no way to trace the projectile trajectory, but on the corner of the night sky, almost covered by the prideful cliffside closest to the village, the nothingness Izuku has targeted soars out of the sky, a fallen piece of the heavens. It seems to land far away enough that Izuku's gut churns with concern about finding it, but it dwindles very little of the warm elation coursing through the young Viking's veins.
Unsurprisingly, he screws up a moment later.
"This is absolutely unbelievable," Izuku tears up, sniffling as Aizawa escorts him up the hill towards home.
"I've actually come to expect your inability of following even the most mundane of instructions, problem child," Aizawa disagrees. Unsurprisingly, the forger and Izuku are talking about different things.
"I meant my dad refusing to even attempt a search party, I may not be the perfect Viking child, but I have never lied to him."
"They are tall claims," Aizawa - wrapped in black leather and a long white scarf - replies neutrally. The older man's expression isn't dismissive of Izuku's claims, but it's certainly not encouraging of them either. "No one has ever taken down a Night Fury."
Aizawa is always like that. Mightily unconcerned with the goings-on of the village. Aizawa does his thing carefully and peacefully, but Izuku knows the older man is just as irritated by the village's failing leadership. Aizawa and his dad are not friends. Izuku knows it has something to do with Mister Yagi. Whenever he has asked, his mentor's gaze has grown colder than Hel and proceeded to instill in Izuku the habit of minding his own business (to questionable success.) Regardless, he tends to be the only neutral buffer between Hizashi and Izuku, a position Izuku doubts the taciturn man enjoys.
Izuku is almost sorry to always be causing problems for him. Not sorry enough to stay home when he drops him off, though. He has a dragon to find and a Dad to prove wrong.
The woods were dry and chilly, with the winter months already baring their fangs upon the Vikings. The breeze carries the threat of starvation where the Vikings fail in curving the dragons' continuous theft of their provisions. Izuku should've packed up a better coat to fight off the cooling temperatures, but he'd been so angry at his father, resentful at his lack of trust, that he'd just teared through his house after Aizawa's parting words. He's hurt, a familiar emotion in the teen. Mostly, Izuku is disappointed in himself for failing to stand up to his father again. Izuku doesn't do things on a whim or for childish glory, not even for the deep-rooted bloodthirst that so many Vikings carry in their hearts. Izuku just wants people to be safe.
Before Mister Yagi was bedridden, living life in small bursts of mead in warm afternoons and faithful visits of many who admired him in his prime, the man had single-handedly protected the village. Dragons were terrified of him; his mere appearance would send the beasts running. There was no need for bloodshed or fighting. When Toshinori the Mighty made an appearance, the battle was over, and for all their savagery, dragons were animals with a sense of self-preservation.
Izuku was much too young to remember it, but rumor had it that only death came from fighting against Toshinori the Mighty. That had been a long time ago, and Izuku's Dad has failed in harboring his own legend to protect the village.
Which is why Izuku struggles his way through the forest.
The Night Fury is smaller than Izuku thought it'd be. In part because Izuku has been recently harassed by a Monstrous Nightmare. To the beast's credit, even while shivering and unconscious, bleeding profusely where the rope has sheared off a part of its tail wing, it's still bigger than three horses put together. Izuku almost feels guilty at the sorry state of the legendary creature, but then immediately acknowledges that the dragon will not have time to miss its lost limb. A single red eye opens to pin him down. The gaze is furious but unfocused; Izuku wonders how much the dragon understands what's about to happen.
"I guess I'm going to kill you now," he murmurs audibly, feeling more stupid than ever. He's unsurprised that this is how he takes down a dragon, none of the fire or danger or epic slow-mo moments. Cheating, some might even call it. Cleverness, Izuku argues. "Thought I should let you know."
Izuku hardly thinks ancient, giant lizards have much in the way of facial expressions, but if they did, the Night Fury looks decidedly unimpressed. It transitions flawlessly into a murderous rage as it bares its teeth when Izuku comes closer.
The knife the teen has brought with him is astoundingly pathetic and a testament to Izuku's experience fighting dragons (none). It would've been useless in any kind of tussle, even just against a Viking, but to lobotomize a bound dragon? The knife is ideal. The thought suddenly makes Izuku sick.
(No, no. No time for that.)
He raises the knife, but of course, it wasn't going to be that easy.
The beast can barely move, but 'barely' still has room for some movement and the Night Fury makes that inch a mile. He shakes and trashes so hard that it's a miracle that Izuku moves out of the way in time to avoid it. In one moment, his heart pounds in his throat, but as he steps back, he realizes the dragon's movements are pretty useless, and the only thing it's accomplishing is pulling harder off the sheared tail wing. That must be mighty painful, which makes sense because the dragon is… screaming? It's a strange sound, not a roar but not a whimper, guttural certainly but oddly reminiscent of… whale sounds, what a peculiar thought.
Blood comes flying from the desperate movement. Whatever the beast is trying to accomplish, it's only exacerbating his wound, but if it notices, it doesn't seem to care. Izuku, as he is wont to do, panics.
"Hey, wait, stop! Stop! Are you crazy?! Stop tha- argh!" Blood smatters on his face, and disgust curls deep in his gut. By reflex, Izuku's hand tries to wipe it off, only managing to smear his fingers further and reluctantly wipe them away on his trouser leg. Oh my god, is it getting into his mouth?! Ew. Ew.
The trashing gets weaker, the growling (?) from the dragon getting louder; Izuku hadn't realized how far from the village he truly is until no one comes over to check out the ruckus. Impulsively, Izuku kneels, careful to avoid the dragon's short reach. "I'm sorry, okay?! Please stop, please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? I changed my mind, I won't kill you. So please, just…"
It should be a futile endeavor.
Izuku came here to kill the dragon anyway; what does he care how it goes? Besides, the dragon is clearly out of its mind. Maybe it was the impact with the ground, the pain, or an intrinsic fear of death. Izuku expects it to writhe until it bleeds out, except that… the dragon stops. It slows until he's once more resting unmoving, but his eyes pin Izuku down without mercy. It watches him, waiting to see if he'll go through with what he's said.
"You're insane," Izuku whispers, shaken up from everything. The dragon huffs at him - in displeasure or disagreement, it doesn't matter. The dragon understands him. It was difficult before to keep Izuku from killing it; it stopped doing it when Izuku told it to.
What is life even…
"Okay, uh..." Just. Do not hyperventilate. That would be bad. "I'm, uhm, I'm going to cut you out now, okay? Please don't eat me." It must be the Viking blood acting in him because this is definitely the most retarded thing Izuku has ever done. But… there is something in the red iris that Izuku cannot dismiss, something he cannot ignore.
The same feeling he gets whenever he's sketching out a dragon from anywhere that is not the safety of the ring. When he's mixing this or that in his workshop, working through the underlying current of tension and empirical knowledge of hey, this might explode. It's every argument with his father, sneaking out to meet Mister Yagi, Aizawa's disappointed stare. Something he has to do no matter the consequences.
Izuku would, later on, be able to describe it better: his eyes were asking for help.
So Izuku's knees sink into overgrown forest fauna soundlessly, smearing his trousers further as he reaches out a trembling hand. The fingers touch upon a muzzle that bares sharpened teeth upon the world, defiant until the end. Izuku is in awe. The dragon is cool beneath his fingers. The teen really thought the creature was done for; Izuku hardly expected a fight. The dragon is tired and seriously wounded, and there'd been little but pain and confusion in his eyes when the Viking arrived. Facing the end to his misery could have even been called relief. Izuku has a lot to learn from this relentless refusal to let the world run its course.
Izuku has tried to make himself heard, but… has he tried hard enough?
He'd thought it hopeless and pointless, but is that bullheadedness not what just saved this dragon's life? The unwillingness to accept defeat even when it is imminent? When it is more comfortable?
The dragon freezes as Izuku's fingers curl in between his eyes. He looks towards Izuku - who's now crying in a mixture of regret and relief. There's a wild beast of feeling rampaging inside him, but he offers the creature a wobbly smile.
"I'm sorry," he voices again, "please just... don't hurt yourself anymore."
He reaches for the knife, observes as the ears roll back in warning as scaly lips curl in turn. Suddenly, Izuku's limbs feel so light as he crawls a little closer that he might take flight any moment with hollowed bones. Even so, his hands are sure and steady where they cut away his most incredible creation. A design that had beaten the unbeatable, touched the untouchable.
The dragon might kill him as soon as it's free.
It'll probably die anyway without proper care.
A million contradictory anxieties rattle around in his brain. Regardless, the first thing Izuku needs is the dragon to be freed because Izuku is terrified of witnessing its penchant for self-destruction again. For the next few minutes, Izuku can only hear the rushing of blood in his ears and the incessant buzzing of a knife on a knotted rope.
The beast doesn't move his giant frame, not even when all the ropes binding him fall away. As soon as he's done, Izuku rids himself of the knife, raising both his palms in the air to show he's no threat. He backs away slowly, crawling back several feet before daring to stand. Once he's a few more feet away, he turns, giving the animal his back. Every single muscle tenses in anticipation, expecting an attack. His heart seizes with worry and guilt and a growing rational conscience that screams at him. What the fuck do you think you're doing, trash?! Well, Izuku frowns; his conscience has never been that explicit.
"... I'm fucking talking to you!"
Izuku halts on the spot, not even realizing he's been walking away. A shiver runs down his spine because… that's not his subconscious yelling profanities and questioning his life choices. No. The voice belongs to what sounds like a man, a young one, which isn't crazy exactly; if it was not emanating from where Izuku is 100% sure he just left a dragon. If Izuku turns around in this moment, and there is a dragon trying to hold a conversation with him, he might die.
Not die physically, but, like, existentially.
There has to be a limit to how much a person's world gets to change in less than an hour, right? Because Izuku just discovered his empathy extends to merciless, fire-breathing lizards that he's been trained to hate since birth, and that might be his quota for the year.
"Are you deaf as well as dumb, you stupid human?!" The yelling isn't going away, Izuku notes, as his shoulders climb higher and higher in discomfort. The man? Dragon? Apparition? Hallucination? isn't going away.
Izuku turns around.
It's not, in fact, a dragon trying to talk to him.
It's - like his voice indicated - a young man dressed in what appears to be pelt while remaining mostly shirtless. (Stupid in this weather.) A myriad of charms and necklaces cling around his neck, adorning his build along with tattoos? He's scuffed and bloodied, dirt and blood staining blood locks of fine hair. The stranger looks dead tired, but his red eyes are heated. He glares Izuku down in the same way a predator does to prey, and Izuku feels like running, but his legs won't move.
Because unless that boy ate the dragon… Izuku is having the crazy thought that the boy is the dragon.
Which, pfft. No way.
"I'm sorry?" is the best he can come up with because Izuku has never seen this person, he was just interacting with a giant dragon, and now he's pretty sure he's angered this guy as well. Maybe he saw Izuku let the dragon live and is upset? That'd make sense. Except for the fact that he has no idea who this person is or what they're doing in Musutafu, and he also has no idea where the aforementioned giant dragon went. Did Izuku mention yet the dragon was - most likely - mortally wounded and - most definitely - unable to fly?
"Damn right you are!" the man hollers. The boy's low to the ground, Izuku looking down on him even with his slight frame. He's sitting down, probably. Odd, why would he be sitting down in the middle of the forest right where a dragon was injured a moment ago? (Okay, Izuku's not stupid, okay? He knows. He's got this. He's just… not prepared to deal with the consequences of any of it. Izuku's prone to jumping to conclusions; maybe this is a freak coincidence! Or…well, at least he can hope.) "You think you're shitty apologies are going to do something? Fuck that. I don't need your help or your pity."
Izuku sees the out, and he takes it.
"I'll be leaving then; this was great. Let's never do it again!" He's turning away, he is, but then the boy calls out again.
"Don't you fucking dare, nitwick. I don't need your help, but you owe me. If you can make whatever... made me fall, then you sure as hell are going to fix the damage."
If Izuku needed further confirmation that he's looking down on the humanoid version of the dragon he just spared, that'd be it.
"You're the Night Fury," he mumbles, and is it him, or did the world dimmed a little? Izuku's hands are sweating, and the feelings inside him are unraveling, leaving chaos as they split away.
"Night Fury? Is that what you fuckers call me?" Disdain is not strong enough a word for the sneer accompanying the statement. "I'm Katsuki."
"You're a dragon."
"Focus, trash. My tail, I fucking need it, and you're responsible for screwing it up."
"A dragon is talking to me," Izuku's heart speeds up even farther; the beating is so intense it's painful against his sternum. "You look like a boy."
"Fucking shit, yes! Whatever fuck, I don't like you or this body, I just want to leave!" The forest sways under him. "Don't you fucking dare pass out!" the dragon-boy screams out.
(It's a little amusing that he thinks he can threaten Izuku into staying conscious, but there's nothing to do about the way his knees give out under him, and the world goes dark.)
Thank you for reading, feedback is super welcomed :)