Eret can spot his allies in the horizon and he tries hard not to break out into an overzealous grin. A few other Vikings wait, too, for they'll need help unloading whatever cargo it is they've returned with. He waves to his friends and they wave back, all except Hiccup. A sore and hollow brick weighs deep in his chest. He nearly forgot what an idiot he had been the previous night.
The team assembles, swooping into the soft sheets of snow with loud crunches. They all carry sacks worth of food, and some of the pelts that didn't fit are wrapped around their necks, arms, and waists.
"I see you took my advice," Hiccup greets in a tone much cooler than the frozen patches of ice under his feet. "Glad you slept in."
"Yes, well," Eret fumbles, "it only seemed right."
"Good," Hiccup says, flatly. He shrugs a heavy parcel of wheat over his shoulder and trudges off into the town's center, Toothless scampering alongside.
"I'll, uh, see you later, then," Eret calls, his voice trailing off as Hiccup's distance increases. "I hope."
Valka looks to her son, then to Eret, raising an eyebrow. Astrid proffers a similar worrisome expression that's on the brink of suspicion.
"I'd like to know what happened," Eret says, relieving Astrid of some of the cargo bearing down on her, while simultaneously veering attention away from Hiccup's odd behavior.
Astrid sighs, "The trip went well, better than we expected. Alvin's crew was pretty skeptical and wary of us. But Alvin was a good friend of Stoick, all things considered."
"I hadn't seen him in over twenty years," Valka says, folding heaps of clothes over her arm. "You could imagine how confused he was to see a woman who had been presumed dead."
"He was…. devastated," Astrid recalls, solemnly. "He said the least he could do is help protect Berk. He was more than happy to promise us that we won't go cold or hungry."
"It's what my son does best," Valka reflects. "He speaks. He empathizes. He considered how shocked Alvin must've felt."
Astrid nods, clearing her throat, anxiously. "I don't think it was too much fun for Hiccup, having to break the news."
Tracking down Hiccup and Toothless is fairly simple. He gives Hiccup some space, opting not to follow him right away, after receiving the cold shoulder. When everyone else finishes dividing supplies among families, the village quiets down.
Eret ventures into the forest, able to discern the Night Fury's footprints—Hiccup leaves behind marks of a heavy boot in the fresh snow. It doesn't match the indentations that his metal peg leg creates.
"Go away," Hiccup says, when the trail comes to an end. Eret squeezes between jagged branches. He finds Hiccup leaning against his Night Fury. Black wings curl around him, lovingly, shielding him from the chilly wind.
"I'm still mad at you," Hiccup grumbles as Eret steps closer.
"And you have every right to be," Eret admits. "I'll leave, if that's what you want. I just wanted to see you. I need to know that you're alright."
"Your show of concern is a bit delayed. Really could've used it sooner, like, last night, for instance."
Eret backs away, prepared to retrace his steps back to the town's center.
"Wait," Hiccup sighs. "Don't go. Stay. Whatever."
Toothless seems content to have his friend snug against him; heat radiates from obsidian scales. The boy and his dragon stare into cloudy skies. There's another chance of snowfall, much to Berk's chagrin. Eret and Skullcrusher remain silent as they overlook the world, from the cliff that Hiccup has chosen for temporary isolation.
Neither party member should be exposed to the frigid temperatures and Eret can't calculate how long Hiccup had been residing here. He should suggest going back to Meade Hall, where most Vikings are likely gathering around a smoldering, cackling fire, but Eret doesn't speak. He adheres to Hiccup's priorities; his eyes scan the oceans, the skies—whatever else lies beyond—and for a while they loll, serenely. The only noises rising into the crisp air are even breaths; reptilian purrs and grunts.
"I wish he were here," Hiccup speaks, finally, in a tone low enough to be indistinguishable. "He would know what to do."
"I know," Eret whispers.
"I should have told him sooner."
"Whom?"
"Alvin. I should have told Alvin about my dad. I don't know why I waited so long. I guess I was so caught up in my own problems, I didn't stop and think about how others might've felt."
"There's no right way to grieve."
"True," Hiccup mutters. He shivers, tersely, folding his arms across his chest. Toothless cloaks his warm, muzzle into Hiccup's side. The thoughtful indication provides Hiccup with brief protection from the arctic breeze.
"Gods know that I could've handled it better, though."
It's the first time Hiccup turns his head to maintain eye contact since this morning. Sorrowful, sunken eyes meet his. They're wet, red, leaking with despair.
"Are you crying?" Eret asks. He wills himself from reaching out and wiping the dripping residue from the corner of Hiccup's eye.
"No."
"I've seen you cry before, at your father's funeral. I wish I had comforted you back then, but we barely knew one another."
"It's just a mess, you know? Everything is going back to normal, or so you'd think, and it seems like things are looking up."
Hiccup shakes his head. "Then you have to explain it to someone else and you revisit those same feelings you had, that very same day, and its—its just—"
Burying his hands in his face, Hiccup crumples, doubles over, and draws his knees close to his chest. No amount of comforting licks from Toothless can quell his sobs, but the dragon certainly doesn't stop trying. Hiccup mumbles something through his fingers.
"What was that?" Eret asks, gently.
Ragged breaths seep through trembling hands. Hiccup's body quivers as he rocks back and forth. Eret scoots nearer, dragging himself on his knees.
When there's no apparent response, Eret tries again, urging, "Please, you can tell me."
"I don't think I can do this," Hiccup blubbers. "Maybe I can—no—I mean yeah, I'm supposed to be a chief but maybe I'm just not meant to be a good one. Maybe I'm not strong enough."
"Look at me."
Hiccup nods, his face ascending from shaky palms. Tears trickle silently down freckled cheeks; a few pool in the corners of his quivering mouth. One particular wet trail slithers down his beck, dissipating around his collarbone. Every inch of his weary face is etched and taut with hopelessness.
"You're an incredible leader, Hiccup. Berk would've been destroyed without your guidance. No one else could have defeated Drago the way you did. Only you, Hiccup."
"I miss him," Hiccup says, and that's all he really needs to say. His eyes are twisted shut, lashes wet from the tears. "I miss him so much."
"I know, love."
Eret isn't prepared in the slightest when Hiccup flings himself into Eret's chest. He grabs the fur shawl draped along Eret's shoulders, veiling his face in the course hairs. "I'm sorry," Hiccup whimpers.
His voice is so tiny and frail and there's no way it can truly belong to Hiccup. The Hiccup that Eret remembers during Stoick's funeral was bold yet solemn: nervous yet unwavering. Though he had witnessed the chief cry, it was far from anything as wrecked as this.
Almost instinctively, Eret squeezes the body that whimpers within his possession. "It's alright," Eret soothes. "I've got you."
"I've got you, love," Eret repeats, as Hiccup breaks down, his resolve torn askew.
He's choking sobs into Eret's clothes. Hiccup doesn't want to cry; Vikings don't cry and chiefs certainly don't, either, but pain knows no bounds. The young man is at war with himself—no, at multiple wars with himself, but the one taking precedence is a ruthless brawl.
"I still think you're an idiot," Hiccup sniffs, scarcely audible.
Eret can't help but strangle out a tiny laugh. At least the lad's priorities are still in check.
"I can't fault you on that," Eret agrees.
Time isn't really a priority in this instance. All that matters to Eret is the shuddering body wailing bleakly around his arms. Eret will continue to provide comfort for as long as necessary.
In due course, Hiccup's tears subside. The weary lad looks up, pale, stricken, with bloodshot eyes.
"Does it ever stop hurting?" He asks, throatily.
Utilizing the opportunity to stroke Hiccup's hair, Eret answers, "Yes and no."
"That's not very reassuring."
Hiccup closes his eyes when Eret wipes a tear from his cheekbone. The poor soul is drained, worn; bushed from the ache that grief has sprung upon him.
"Let me put it this way," Eret explains, tenderly. "It takes time to heal from such a painful loss. A part of you will never truly heal and that's fine. In fact, it's perfectly natural. You'll store that small part inside of you, hold it close, and you'll always remember."
"Sounds like it really changes someone."
Eret tucks a lock of auburn hair behind Hiccup's ear, then pressing a tender kiss to his forehead.
"Doesn't it?"
Neither part from the embrace until grey clouds block out the sun, entirely, shrouding them in a menacing fog. The lack of sunlight results in lowering their body temperatures. Both men shake violently form the cold.
"I'm so tired," Hiccup mumbles.
"You didn't sleep well last night?"
"No, not after the fight."
When Eret hoists them upright, he's reluctant to remove himself from welcoming heat.
"Let me make it up to you."
"You don't want to open that window of opportunity, pal. Trust me. I have a long list of deeds that you'll need to complete before I welcome you into my good graces."
"Let me at least take you home."
After lighting the fireplace in the Haddock's residence, Hiccup motions Eret to join him upstairs. Skullcrusher plops down by the fire, growling irritably when Toothless attempts to rile him up, nipping him in the tail.
"I don't think he's in the mood to play," Hiccup says. "Come on, bud."
Toothless obeys, hobbling behind Hiccup as they enter the bedroom. Hiccup removes his flight suit until he is stripped down to his tunic and trousers. Sighing dramatically, he collapses on his bed, throwing an arm over his face. Toothless mirrors that same artificial fatigue, crashing onto the floor and rolling around on his back.
"You'll be alright, then?" Eret confirms, heading towards the doorway.
There's a long pause that hints Hiccup's indecisiveness. At last, with a brow wrinkled from scrupulous thought, he says, "Stay with me," and Eret complies.
"Hiccup?" Eret addresses, as he crawls into bed.
"Yeah?"
"I thought if I could minimize the fear I felt, after facing death, I could convince you not to worry."
"That's stupid."
"It is," Eret sighs. He pulls the blankets over them both. "I'm tired of seeing you in so much pain. I wanted to help carry some of that weight."
"What a thoughtful gesture. Too bad it was executed so poorly."
Hiccup doesn't allow the pregnant pause to last longer than it has any right to.
"Eret, why did you save her? I feel like I ought to know. I mean, you don't just throw yourself into an icy pit of death for a stranger."
Green eyes search his, not only for assurance but solace, as well.
"I haven't made the best choices in life, Hiccup. Long before I worked for Drago, I made a series of awful decisions. I thought maybe this would help me redeem myself."
"By sacrificing yourself? Again, with theatrics."
"I didn't want to almost die, that accident just sort of…happened. The more I say it out loud, the less sense it makes."
"Well, if you're going to be my boyfriend, you're gonna have to ease up on the heroic death wishes. That's my thing, not yours. Hello? Missing leg from the scourge of war over here? Quit trying to steal my thunder."
"Boyfriend?"
"Yeah, I guess. That's what we are, right?"
Eret's mouth hurts from smiling so wide. "Boyfriend," he repeats, just to be sure it's real.
It's not easy to describe how he feels when Hiccup falls asleep in his arms like this. Words don't do it any justice. All Eret knows is that he can't think of anyone else he'd rather lie with. The first sign of Hiccup's drowsy haze comes when he signs, contently, and burrows into Eret's sturdy chest; hearty, melding shapes that reward him the prospect of safety.
Their bodies lounge, flexed, stomachs tightly drawn together and Hiccup binds thin arms around Eret's waist, nose nestling into the divot under his neck. He burbles complaints under his breathe—something about not being able to afford the luxury of napping, not when there's so much work he has left to do—and then he dozes off. The grip around Eret's waist becomes less and less firm as Hiccup loses consciousness. Eret listens to Hiccup's even breaths; feels the rise and fall of his expanding chest.
Threading a hand through Hiccup's wind tousled hair, Eret whispers into the curve of his ear, his tone soothing, his words savory, delicate honeyed opals that drop from his lips. He knows Hiccup won't hear him but that doesn't stop him from uttering hushed endearments into hair that smells of sweat, pinecone, oil, and that same sweet fragrance that he can never quite place: the smell of Hiccup.
It's a unique, intoxicating aroma that he can't help but drown in. Words don't compare, not in the least, but he gives it his best shot.
"You're perfect."
I hope you like really corny, sappy fluff, because I fucking live for it. I'm sorry.