What? An actual update? What is this sorcery?

Sorry it took me so freakishly long to update again, guys. I was away for a month in England and Scotland, and then I went and got my wisdom teeth removed. It's been a weird couple of weeks, but I was finally able to finish writing this chapter. Hallelujah!

I'm not sure if there's anything really triggering in this one. I mean, maybe for a slight breakdown, but that's about it.

Thanks for sticking out the dry spells with this story, guys. We only got two more chapters and then we're done! I'm so excited, especially for what I have planned out for our two favorite boys here.

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The day before the race arrives, but the only thing I can think about is building up enough courage to go to Jack's house and confront his mom. Or him. Or whatever is it that's keeping him locked away this time.

It's around midday when I roll up into his gravel driveway. My gloved hands are sweaty against my bike's handles, and it's definitely not just from the heat, but I try my best to ignore them as I dismount. As I make my way towards the front door, what I had planned on saying slowly starts to slip from my memory, causing me to become more nervous than I already am. Just an hour ago, having just finished my mowing for the day, I had somehow convinced myself that this was a good idea; Jack had told me only days before that his mom had claimed to be cool with us being friends now. Now that I'm here though, I can't be too sure.

I think about turning around and going back to my bike. I think about mounting it and pedaling away. I think about going back to my house and lying on my bed and thinking about how sad it is that I can't even ask my best friend's mom if he's okay.

Instead, I knock on the door.

I hear footsteps as I lower my hand, the sound of them going in time with the thumping of my heart. As the silver doorknob begins to turn, seeming to be moving in slow motion, I take a deep breath, pray to every god I know, and brace myself.

Mrs Overland doesn't look like what I had expected. In my head, I had pictured her towering above me, despite the fact that I know she's no taller than Jack. Her eyes would be filled with hatred, burning with a fire that she would use to vaporize me and turn me into a pile of ash right there on the front porch. She'd hiss and spit and curse at me for even trying to contact her son again, especially after what had happened, and then she'd simply blow my remains away into the wind, like I was never there.

In reality though, she doesn't look huge, but actually very small. Very, very small; maybe even smaller than me. Her chestnut hair, which I had always seen up, is hanging around her shoulders, her eyes not burning with the fire of a thousand suns, but holding something else. Tiredness? Defeat? Vulnerability? Her look could mean any of those things, maybe even all of them, but I can't be sure.

As she moves her gaze towards me, her thin eyebrows raise only a bit, but that's about it when it comes to acknowledging my presence. There doesn't appear to be any form of hostility or aggression, which I guess eases my nerves, even if only by a bit.

"Uh… hi," I say, trying to look as casual as possible. "Is… uh… is Jack-"

"I know why you're here," she says before I can finish. I bite my tongue. I'm sure that this is it - despite her fragile appearance, she still has the energy and motivation to kill me.

To my surprise though, instead of killing me, she moves away from the door, leaving it wide open. As she disappears from sight and into the house, I hear her voice say, "Come in, but take your shoes off. I just vacuumed."

I relax my jaw, relieving the pain in my tongue. "Um… okay…"

I do as I'm told, shutting the door behind me and taking off my shoes and gloves. The air in here is cool and makes me want to lie down and sleep - opposite of the horrid heat outside - but I remind myself that I'm here for a reason. I can see from the foyer that Mrs Overland has moved into the living room, where she stands in front of the backdoor, looking out it. I walk through the room cautiously, not taking my eyes off her until I'm by her side.

He's sitting in a wicker hammock strung up between two large oak trees, his back turned to us. His snow white hair stands out against the leaves and nature like a sore thumb, which makes me smile. Just seeing him awake and in one piece also makes me smile.

"You're not the first person to come and see him," I hear Mrs Overland say beside me. "That sweet Ana girl… she's come over every day since he's woken up to check up on him, make sure he's doing alright. And he just…"

She trails off then, not breaking her stare from her son. I watch her face, watch the muscles as they hold firm under her skin, but it's her eyes that tell me everything. They're broken. Dear gods, they're so broken. Have they always looked like that? Or is it Jack, watching him, that's making her look like this? I wonder, if I weren't here, if she'd cry.

"Be gentle with him," she tells me. "He's been through a lot lately and he's… well, he's fragile."

I find the courage to speak. "What'd you mean?"

She doesn't say anything, making me wonder if she even heard me. I'm trying to determine if it's worth speaking up again, but then she says, "I think he should be the one to tell you."

I don't know how to respond to that, so I just nod. She sends me what I think is supposed to be a smile, only it quivers a little too much to qualify. She turns then, wandering back into the house, leaving me standing at the backdoor.

Jack doesn't move as I push open the door and shut it behind me, despite the fact that it creaks like crazy somewhere in between both actions. I can't see his face, but I can see through his clothes that he's grown thinner and paler - if that's even possible. Even his snow white hair, usually defying gravity, seems to be dead against his scalp.

"Jack?" I say as I approach him. The grass is cool against my bare foot, though I do notice that it's getting a little long. "You, uh… you okay, buddy?"

He jumps a little at the sound of my voice, causing the hammock to rock, but he doesn't turn to face me. I take his reaction as a sign that I have his attention.

"So, um… your mom let me in. And we, like, talked," I tell him, hoping that that would get something out of him. When it doesn't, I take a deep breath and continue. "Well, I mean, we didn't really talk talk. She did most of the talking. I just kinda… nodded… I guess… I dunno. But she said something about, uh… about you 'going through a lot lately'. What's that about?"

I notice his shoulders rising and falling as he breathes, but other than that, he's completely still. I decide to change the subject, but only by a bit.

"Fish and I were talking about you the other day. Like, about where you were. We hadn't heard from you in a couple days and we were… well, we were kinda worried. But you, uh… you seem fine…"

Once again: nothing. Dear Odin. It's usually hard to get this kid to shut up, and now I'm having to work to get him to talk? That's not concerning or anything.

"Your mom told me Tooth's been here to see you. I can only imagine how worried she must be. And, like… Astrid's worried too. She hasn't right out said it, no, but, like… I mean… I can tell. But we haven't really talked about it much… you know, what happened down at the stream. We've been so busy with practicing for the race tomorrow and... yeah. The race is tomorrow, by the way. You know. The race against Lout."

He sniffs. That's the reply I get. That's it.

Okay, I know he can hear me; how the hell couldn't he, I'm standing right here. He's just deciding to be a jerk or whatever and ignoring my attempts to get him to talk. Well, fine. If you want to play that way, Overland, I guess we can play that way.

Crossing my arms and adding a little edge to my voice, I say, "This conversation is feeling very one sided." When he once again doesn't reply, I let out a groan, looking up to the heavens for some strength. "Jack. Oh my gods. Talk to me. Please. I've been, like… dying to talk to you and see how you've been doin' for the last couple days, and now I'm here, and you're just… shutting me out. And it's kinda aggravated. No, scratch that. It's really aggravating. Your mom was describing you as 'fragile' and that's, like, really concerning and I wanna know what's up, but you're just being a jerk friend and not talking to me, and since when did you even do that? Like, that's the kinda thing that Astrid would do, not you. And let me tell you, I don't wanna have to deal with another Astrid, because one is-"

"I'm sorry."

The words come out so faintly and so hoarse - it sounds like he hasn't spoken in days - that I can barely make them out. He hasn't turned to face me yet, but I can see him beginning to look over his shoulder, like he wants to; I want to reach out, grab him, and make him look at me.

"It's… it's okay," I say instead, feeling calmer now that he's actually said something. "Just… can you tell me what's wrong? I wanna know what's wrong."

That's when he shifts his weight to face me. He turns, causing the hammock to rock, and when he stops, I can see the faint redness surrounding the raw edges of his eyes, the once electric blue of them turned stagnant. He's wearing this baggy shirt that looks like something I'd only be caught mowing in, and his hands - man, I've never seen hands shake that fast before.

He looks like he's about to lose it any second now.

I take that as my cue to step - leap's more of the accurate verb here, actually - towards him. His eyes only break from following me as he reaches up and wipes what I notice are tears away with the back of his hand.

"What's wrong?" I ask, now seated beside him.

"It's… it's Emma." Gods, his voice sounds awful.

"What happened to her? Is she alright?"

He squeezes his eyes shut, a pained grimace appearing on his face, making it look like he's just sucked on a lemon. "It's… it's all my fault," he tells me. "Everything. If I had just… she'd… it's just not fair, Hiccup. If I had just-"

"Woah, woah, woah there." I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder. His body tenses up immediately at the touch, so I move my hand away; so much for physical comfort. "Let's, uh… let's take a step back here, alright? What's your fault exactly? What isn't fair? You gotta fill me in or-"

"There was this stream," he suddenly starts before I can finish.

I stare at him, confused. "What?"

"A stream."

"You mean… the one we were at? With Tooth and Astrid?"

"No. A… a different stream. The stream where I lost my memory."

"Wait… where you… what?"

And so he fills me in. It's odd, hearing Jack describe something so detailed - especially about something that had happened before he lost his memory. As he speaks, it's like he's in some type of a trance - like he isn't even really himself anymore, but is whoever he was before he was Jack. The words spill out of him as if he's seeing it all being played out in his head. He remembers which way the wind was blowing. He remembers the shade of Emma's dress. He remembers the sound of wet pebbles underfoot.

He remembers.

He had said he had remembered everything; during that brief moment of consciousness, he had told me so. I guess I had been so caught up on making sure he wasn't going to die or something that I completely overlooked it.

His voice is smoother sounding now, yet still weak, like at any moment his words could break into a million pieces. He tells me how Emma had slipped and how he had dove for her and how he had hit his head saving her life. I notice his hands begin to shake again at saying her name. What he's telling me seems like it should all be a good thing - I mean, he saved his little sister's life - but his body language is telling me otherwise.

Then he tells me what his dad had told him: what had been happening when he was lying in that shallow stream, alone and soaked in his own blood. It had been a group of hikers that had saved his life, not Emma. She never managed to find the help he needed, because her body was too busy lying in the middle of the road, just as broken as his.

"Jack…"

"Apparently the driver hadn't seen her coming," he tells me, wiping his eyes again with the back of his quivering hand. "She had been so worried about finding help for me that… that she forgot to look both ways."

"Oh gods…"

"And it's all because of me. If I hadn't hit my head. If I hadn't given her a reason to run to get help. Then she's still be alive. She'd still be here and alive and happy and-"

"What? No. Jack, that's not true," I argue, getting up from the hammock and turning to face him, my hand running through my hair as I try to piece together his confusing thought process. He looks like he's about to protest, but I decide to not give him that chance. "How could you have known? I mean… there's no way you could've known that that one thing would lead to all of that other stuff. No one could've."

"But if-" He looks lost, but I can see what looks like anger growing behind his eyes.

"No, listen. Things just… things just happen sometimes, y'know. And sometime we don't have control over what those things are. And you can't go around blaming yourself for something you couldn't control."

"You don't understand," he says through gritted teeth, jumping up from the hammock and stepping in front of me. He's a whole head taller, and the irritation resting in his eyes makes him actually look intimidating, like he could punch me in the stomach right now if he really wanted to. "I was her brother. It was my job to look after her and I failed her. If I had just…"

His whole body begins to shake this time as he trails off. Before I can say or do anything, he stumbles and falls back to sitting on the hammock again, planting his face in his palms. The redness that had once been just surrounding the rims of his eyes has spread to his cheeks and ears now. I want to comfort him, but his body is trembling like crazy, and I don't want him to withdraw from my advances again, like when I had tried to touch his shoulder earlier.

So I just stand there and watch him break.

"Jack…"

"If I had just been more careful," I hear him whimper into his hands. "If I had just warned her about the slippery rocks, none of this would've happened."

"But you didn't know there were slippery rocks. Neither of you did."

"You don't understand."

"Well… then make me understand. Explain it to me."

Removing his face from his hands, he quickly wipes a series of tears from his flushed cheeks. He looks over towards me, his eyes looking more alive than before, but in the worse kind of way.

"I… I can't," he tells me. "It's… it's hard to explain."

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There's a silence between us. Hiccup's piercing green-yellow eyes are staring into me, a stare I eventually have to break because holding it becomes too difficult.

I can't help but wonder what must be going through that mind of his right now. Have I got him? Has he given up with trying to reason with me? Part of me wishes this to be true, since I'm tired of quarreling with him - and just tired in general. The other part of me though hopes that his brain is ticking, thinking in overdrive of the words that he could use to make me feel better, even if I don't know what they are myself.

"No," he finally says. "It's not hard to explain."

I look back up at him, still standing where I had left him.

"I know exactly what you're going through. I've… geez, Jack. I've lived this. I know exactly how you feel."

His eyes, only a moment ago clouded with thoughts of what to say, are now clear and full of what looks like understanding. He claims he knows how I feel. I'm intrigued by this, but also a little agitated - I'm allowed to feel agitated, right? You know, at his seemingly magical comprehension of the situation.

"How could you know?" I ask, maybe a little more contentious than I had attended. "You've never lost someone. Not like this. Not like-"

"Yes, I have."

His expression confuses me; I can't tell if what he's referring to is something that he's okay with or not, and the urge to question him on it builds increasingly large inside of me. Before I can say a word though, he's already stepping back towards the hammock, returning to his seat on my left. He leans forwards once he's settled, resting his elbows on his thighs as I hear him let out a tiny sigh.

"I've never actually told you why my mom's not around anymore, have I?" he asks.

I suddenly feel stupid.

His mother. I should've known.

"No," I whisper. "You've always spoken of her in the past tense. I just… I assumed she'd left when you were little."

"She left, oh yeah. But in a… a different kinda way."

"How different?"

"I… well…" He closes his tired looking eyes and lets out another sigh. I'm about to tell him he doesn't have to tell me if he doesn't want to, but he continues before I can. "I had been at Fish's house, playing, and she had called to tell me to come home. Y'know, for dinner. Well… I didn't want to, because I was having such a good time and stuff. Astrid had actually laughed at something I had said, right? And for an eight-year-old with a crush, that meant everything.

"So, she told me to head home, and I told her I didn't want to. Instead of arguing with me, she said she was gonna come pick me up, and, well… that was the last time I ever heard her voice, because, on her way to pick me up… there was this truck that ran the stop sign and… we heard it from down the block… and… yeah. That's what happened. That's how she died."

All I can think of to say is "I'm sorry," so I do. He just nods, like this is all routine for him - which, I suppose, it is.

I'm afraid he's going to be the one to breakdown now, just like I had done, but he surprises me and stays calm and collected. Sure, I can tell he's fighting his emotions with the way he's blinking a whole bunch and refusing to make eye contact with me, but he's handling it a lot better than I had been. Though that may be because he has more practice than I do.

"And for seven years, I was convinced I could've stopped it from happening," he goes on, his voice staying impressively sturdy. "I was so sure that if I had just walked home, she'd be alive today. I'd have a mom and my dad would have a wife and we'd be a family and just... everything would be alright."

"Yeah, but… that doesn't make it your fault," I tell him. "You were just a kid. You didn't-"

"I know," I hear him say, letting out an unexpected laugh with his words. "I know I didn't know, and that's what I'm trying to tell you, you idiot. It wasn't my fault, and it's not your fault. Hell, in the end, it's no one's fault."

He's smiling at me - a weak one, but a smile nonetheless. I know I can't just leave him hanging there - not after everything he's just told me - so I tell him I get it: it's no one's fault, even if it seems like it is.

"But… how did you deal with… with this?"

"With what?"

"You know. This… this feeling." I gesture to my chest, hoping he understands what I mean.

"You mean the grief?"

"Um… yeah. Because it hurts."

"Well, of course it hurts. You'd probably be some sorta superhuman if it didn't. Or at least a sociopath."

"A what?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. What I'm saying is that, yeah, it's gonna hurt, but you just gotta… you just gotta learn to deal with it, y'know."

I ask him how, and he tells me about his father, both depressed and unsure of how to deal with the casualty of losing his wife, boxing up all of her belongings and storing them anywhere but in the open. All the pictures on the walls, all the favorite mugs and dishes and sweaters and shoes - all gone, like they had never been there to begin with. The only thing that he managed to leave behind was the feeling of her presence; the presence that lingered as Hiccup grew older; the presence that would never really go away.

"And then he found those old boxes while cleaning out the garage," he tells me, a smile spreading across his face again as if he's recalling the memory. "They had had everything in them. All the pictures and clothes. Everything. Even that stupid stuffed dragon she had made me."

"You have one of the pictures in your room," I point out.

"Yeah."

"So… you've moved on?"

"Well, you never really move on from something like that. You just… you just learn to accept it, y'know?"

Accept it. I stare down at my white hands and remember waking up in a hospital bed and seeing them for the first time. I remember looking passed those hands and seeing Emma for the first time. I remember seeing Emma for the last time; for the real last time, through blood stained water.

"You just gotta learn to accept it…" I whisper.

"Yep."

The pressure of his hand on my shoulder surprises me, but this time I don't flinch it away, like I had accidently done before. His fingers feel firm against my shoulder blade, like he's holding on to me for support. Or maybe like he's trying to tell me I have him for support. Either way, it feels reassuring, feeling his touch; feeling him there at me side.

"Thanks, Hiccup."

"Jonathan."

"Hm?"

"My real name's Jonathan."

At first, all I hear is a name coming from his lips; like he's calling out to someone else. Jonathan. I've heard that name somewhere - actually, I've probably read it somewhere, considering I don't know that many people.

Then I really think about what he's telling me - his real name - his real name - Jonathan. And suddenly, everything feels just a little sideways.

"Jack? Are you okay?" he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his clearly amused voice. "Stop doing that thing with your eyes, dude. You look like a demented fish."

"Your real name's Jonathan?" I ask.

"Uh, yeah." He does his trademark eye roll, shaking his head as he lets another little laugh escape his lips. "You didn't really think my name was Hiccup, did you?"

"Well… no."

"Okay, good."

"But why are you telling me this?"

He merely shrugs. "I figured I'd tell ya the truth since you kinda know everything else about me now. I mean, I've told you the story of how I lost my leg, I've told you about all my daddy issues. And now you know what happened to my mom. Sooooo, naturally, I think you've kinda leveled up enough on The Friend Scale to know what my real name is."

"The Friend Scale?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He narrows his eyes. "Don't mock me, Overland."

"But you told me you didn't remember your real name."

"I did?" He seems baffled by this idea, yet a little amused at the same time. "When was that?"

"When I asked you that one time after getting lemonade. You know, from Jamie and Sophie. You said people had been calling you Hiccup for so long that-"

"Oh my gods, Jack, I was kidding. That was a joke." He reaches up and covers his face with his hands, like he can't even look at me he's feeling such secondhand embarrassment. I can hear him laugh from in between his fingers though, so I allow myself to laugh a little too, at my own expense. It feels good, laughing.

"My real name isn't Jack," I decide to tell him. He looks up from his hands, actually looking a little surprised. "Yeah. I chose out the name Jack a couple days after I woke up. My real name's Christopher."

"Christopher?"

"Yeah."

He makes a face, one that tells me that he obviously disapproves of the name. "You don't seem like a Christopher to me. You're just too much of a Jack."

"And you don't seem like a Jonathan," I admit. "You're just too much of a Hiccup."

"Which is kinda sad."

"I think it's fine. It suits you."

"Thanks, I guess?"

All of the sudden, the sound of something vibrating fills the air. We both glance towards Hiccup's pocket at the same time, which is where the sound is coming from, and he fishes his hand in to retrieve his cell phone. After pressing a couple buttons, his eyes scanning over whatever it is that is on the screen, he turns towards me and says, "I, uh… I kinda gotta go. Astrid and I are gonna practice some more for the race tomorrow."

The race he has tomorrow with Lout becomes front and center in my mind, and I can't believe I had nearly forgotten about it. I guess this whole Emma fiasco has just taken over my life as of late - and with good reason - so everything else just seems second.

"Will you, uh… will you be there tomorrow? At the race?"

My train of through is broken by Hiccup's voice bringing me back into my backyard. He's standing now, shoving his cell phone back into his pocket, a look on his face that tells me that he really wants me to say yes, but he's not sure that I will.

I decide to comply with his hope. "Of course I'll be there."

He grins, his eyes lighting up and those crooked front teeth of his becoming visible. "Great," he goes. "That's great. I'll, uh… I'll see you there then. It's at noon and… well, you know all that stuff."

"Yeah."

"Okay. Cool."

"Yeah."

I hear his cell phone vibrate again in his pocket, and he rolls his eyes. "Astrid. She just… I really gotta go or she's gonna, like, tie my fingers to the spokes of my bike. You know how she is."

"No, it's fine," I tell him, waving him off towards the backdoor nonchalantly. "Go have fun on your little date."

"It's not a date," he tells me, though the way he looks down at his feet tells me he wishes otherwise.

"You just keep telling yourself that, Hic."

He shakes his head at me, running his fingers through his hair as he begins to turn to leave. "Has anyone ever told you that you're the worst? Because, quite frankly… you're the worst."

"Well, I've only learned from the best."

"You really need to stop saying that."

We say our final goodbyes, and I watch him march towards the backdoor and into my house, the door only making a slight click as it's shut all the way. There's a skip in his step as he goes and I notice it and it takes some weight off of my shoulders, if only by a couple of ounces. It makes all the difference though.

Hiccup had said that this whole "grieving" thing is going to take some time, and I believe that. Despite the fact that I've gotten what happened off of my chest, I can still feel the loss of Emma tugging at my heart, making me want to just hide away in my room, curtains pulled and door locked, for however long it'll take to move on. I know I can't do that though. I can't do that to my parents, I can't do that to my friends, but most importantly, I can't do that to myself. I've made it this far - I survived - and I'm not going to waste the extra time I'm getting on moping around over something I can't even change.

If Hiccup can eventually learn to accept the death of his mother, than I can eventually learn to accept this.

It's just going to take some time.