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mrslilyrogers · 3 years

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All I have to do is Dream Part 2

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Telepath! Reader (X-men reader)

Summary: It’s been five years since the snap. You and Steve are stuck at an impasse. You want a family, he doesn’t. He says he’s moved on but has he really? With your doubts growing, you consider risking his trust and use your powers on him to get your answers once and for all.

Author’s note: I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before but reader here has studied at the Xavier Institute so she’s basically part of the X-men. You don’t have to read the comics or watch their movies, it is just part of her background. This is based on Endgame and would follow its progression. If you want to be tagged, please send an ask!! Thank you all for reading!!!

Part 1

Steve’s jaw twitched, his throat muscles working, eyes never leaving the photo on his phone. He pursed his lips and let out a huge exhale, running a hand on his face. What the hell had you done?

Nat didn’t question when he came back to the compound late last night nor when he didn’t show up the morning after, only learning from F.R.I.D.A.Y, he was up earlier than his usual and left. He came back a few hours ago, sweaty and gruff, immediately rushing to lock himself up at the gym. Wallowing there until now.

She had known Steve long enough to know he was blowing off steam. She knew better than to pry, letting him keep to himself until he was ready to talk, and Steve was glad for it. Glad he still had one friend who cared.

What the hell had you done?

—————————-

You jolted from the bed, Steve’s eyes drilling holes in your direction from where he sat stiffly beside you, his mouth pressed into a thin disapproving line. If only looks could kill. You had never seen him so angry in your life. His breath coming in rapid pants, his fists clenched tight at his sides, the muscles around his neck and arms bulging. You felt naked under his gaze, bared to the soul with nowhere to hide. Ironic when just a few moments ago, you had breached into his mind, violating his privacy to the utmost.

“Y/N,” he said, deathly low and lethal, a warning.

“Steve, I’m sorry I didn’t know--” you scrambled to your feet, panic rising up to your throat, cheeks wet with tears.

“Bullshit!” He roared, not letting you finish, shooting up to his feet like the soldier he was. His tightly coiled temper finally unleashed. “You went inside my head! Don’t you fucking give me any excuses!”

In his anger, he threw the analog clock from his bedside table to the floor, breaking it into tiny pieces instantly, the sound of it cracking and your crying the only things filling the air. You didn’t recognize the sobs coming from you, not even knowing if it was from what you’ve just discovered or the way he looked at you now. As if he didn’t know you, as if he could never trust you again.

“I’m sorry,” was all you said. And you were. In every sense of the word. Sorry for yourself, sorry for what you’ve learned, sorry for what you’ve done.

“How could you do this to me?” Steve asked, disbelieving.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just… I overheard you at grief counseling--”

“You what?” He hissed, eyes incredulous and accusing. “Are you fucking spying on me now?” he pointed his finger at you, circling the bed to stand in front of you, his steps quick and long. He looked like he did on missions. One purpose, ready to attack. It was a miracle he kept his fists at his sides instead of shaking you.

“NO! No, I was waiting outside and I heard what you said, and it’s made me think…”

“No, you didn’t think! I told you time and time again, I love you. What more do you fucking need?” His voice grew even louder, exasperation and impatience seeping out of him as if he had been putting up with you for so long.

What more do you need? What more do you need?

“The truth, Steve! I just wanted to know the truth!” You answered back, voice rising in return. The whole time you thought you were only being paranoid, insecure, blaming it on yourself when you weren’t wrong all along. He still wanted her. Yearned for her.

“And are you happy now? You happy that you’ve forced it out of me?” Steve’s tone turned mocking, his eyes hard and jaw tensed. No denial, no guilt. He baited you and if he had enough presence of mind, he wouldn’t have said that, wouldn’t have deliberately gone out of his way to cut you deep. But right at this moment, all he saw was red. He wanted to hurt you, to punch, to scream. His hands shook, in the need to destroy something, to fight someone. Fists bringing out what he couldn’t put forth into words. He knew he had to leave.

You flinched from his words as if you’ve been physically slapped. Eyes full of hurt, you were speechless, immobilized to the spot, no other choice but to take it all in and watch him as he bristled past you, heading to the direction of your shared closet, grabbing his duffel bag and stuffing it with whatever he could get his hands on.

“Wait, where are you going?” your voice was small, hands shaking while you clutched the end of your shirt.

“I can’t even look at you right now,”

“So is this it? Is that all you have to say?” You pleaded, a part of you still hoping he’d deny everything you saw. That it was just all it ever was, a dream. A fantasy from another life. That it didn’t mean anything. That he’d pick you, the one who was here, someone he could actually build a future with. Over a dead woman, a woman who belonged to another decade, another lifetime.

“Since you’re so good at getting into people’s minds, why don’t you tell me?” He taunted, turning his back to you, roughly shoving his toiletries in his bag.

“That’s not fair, Steve!”

“Fair? You want to talk about being fair when you broke my trust! You promised, Y/N. Does that only mean something when it’s convenient to you?” He turned around this time, nostrils flaring, finger pointing offensively at you again. You were so close to him now, could practically feel the heat radiating off his body. And you were scared. You were scared to lose him. Because you knew whatever happened tonight couldn’t be reversed. The things he said, the things you did, there was no going around it anymore.

“Do you want me to say I don’t love Peggy anymore, is that it? Is that what you wanna hear? Because I can’t. I still love her!” His voice boomed around you, shaking you to your core. Fresh, hot tears trailed down your cheeks. You were helpless. Broken.

As soon as the words left him, he knew he’d regret it. At the way you looked, so small and vulnerable, hugging your arms to your chest, his eyes softened, “Y/N…” he moved towards you, hands out to comfort you but you backed away.

Shaking your head vehemently, you took another step back. You didn’t want his touch, didn’t want him near you.

“No, no. Don’t.” you stayed a hand up to stop him. “It’s alright. You’re right,”

“Y/N, that’s not--”

“I think you should leave.” you pointed to the bag already in his hand. Your resolve, sure and strong.

“Y/N, I didn’t--” he tried again, shaking his head. How could he take those words back? Did he not mean them too? God help him but he loved them both.

“Steve, please stop. Just stop. Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” you pleaded, not knowing what else he wanted from you. You gave him an out; clear and easy. Wasn’t that enough? Did he have to hurt you even more?

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” He let out on a sigh, shaking his head. “But sweetheart, please don’t look at me like that,” You looked like a terrified deer, ready to run at the first sign of danger and he couldn’t bear that it was directed at him. He could handle your tenacity, your fire, anything else but the defeated look on your face. It made his heart ache.

He tried again, speaking gently, “Y/N, if you want me to leave for the night, I will. I think you might be right, we need some space after this, clear our heads,”

This time, he went near you and you let him, you let his hands hold your arms like he’s done in past arguments. You let him look you straight in the eye like he’s done so many times before. You let him say his piece, already knowing where it was headed like the back of your hand. You operated like this. Clockwork. When one pushed, the other shoved.

One last time.

“But promise me you’ll be here in the morning to talk. You went inside my head, Y/N, but I wanna work through this. I love you,” he said it like he meant it, his heart on his sleeve but you weren’t so sure you believed him anymore.

“You know I love you, right?” He asked just like the last time. Clockwork.

No. I don’t.

You nodded your head.

-----------------

He tossed and turned that night, the look of hurt on your face scarred in his memory. He knew he shouldn’t have left, knew he should’ve fought to stay.

It was true that he was furious but any animosity he felt immediately simmered after the mention of Peggy. He was way out of line. He wanted to apologize, to pull you into his arms and kiss away the bitter words he spoke but he was still so shaken about what you had done, what you had seen, and so he figured he should let it rest first, giving you both time and space to calm down. Everything looked better in the morning, right?

But your face came unbidden in his mind, he could still remember the exact moment you closed yourself off to him, your eyes hauntingly empty and hollow, shoulders hunched, arms instinctively wrapped to yourself. So small and vulnerable.

He should’ve stayed, dammit!

He let out a grunt as he stared up at the ceiling. He still couldn’t believe you used your abilities on him, couldn’t believe you’d go so far when you’d never ever shied away from asking him anything. Heck, you’d basically proposed to him with all your nagging of starting a family.

Why did you have to see that?

He hissed and shook his head, guilt gnawing in his stomach. Your power was able to force out his deepest dreams and desires. But was that the whole truth? If he hadn’t woken up and you’d stuck a little longer then you would’ve known just how scared and confused he was. What you saw was the Steve who still clung to the past, the part of him that wanted to go back, yearned to go back because it was safer, it was where he truly belonged.

But then again, he wasn’t that same man anymore, was he? Not fully anyway. In more ways than one, he had moved on. For the past couple of years, he did, in fact, envision a future with you. He was going to propose until the snap happened and then, everything changed. He saw his friends, his family, gone to dust. He could still hear Bucky’s echoing words, calling out to him. All those lost souls vanished as if they never existed while he stood, helpless and useless. Why spare him again? Why did he have to go through it all again? Didn’t he have enough pain and loss in one lifetime?

And so he started thinking of the past. The good ol’ days, if you could even really call it that. It started out as a tiny flicker of curiosity. You both had just found a new apartment in New York, it wasn’t all that hard with the sudden vacancies. You were standing in the middle of the room, hands on your hips while he sat at the edge of the bed his head bowed, elbows resting on his knees.

“Steve, we need to start thinking of the future. I know it’s hard but they’re not coming back and we can’t keep doing what we’re doing. We can get away from all this, you know, start a new life. Don’t you want that too?”

He swallowed a lump in his throat. He wanted to fight, to try again and again until he got everyone back. He was grieving, angry, and above all, guilty. Why couldn’t he do what he was made for in the first place? How did he let all of this happen? And why, for god’s sake, why did he have to survive while the others vanished?

But you were right. Of course, you were right. The ever practical and optimistic you. He looked at you with tired eyes, not wanting to argue, and nodded his head. He still had you, that was a win. For every shitty thing that happened since, at least you were alive and he wouldn’t trade that for the world but some jaded, cynical part of him questioned how long that would last. The universe clearly had a bone to pick with him and it was only a matter of time before you were taken from him too and that scared the living shit out of him.

And so he had started to wonder what if?

What if he never had to wake up from the ice? What if he never had to crash the plane in the first place? What if he was where he was really supposed to be?

All those questions drifted down into one person, the one that got away. Peggy. She was his link to the past, everything that was sweet and wonderful. The dance he missed, the future he wanted when everything settled down into peace after the war. Peace. As ironic as that sounded, she reminded him of peace. The little dream he had in the back of his head whenever he infiltrated a nazi base camp. Every mission, every fight, he would think one more of this and the war would be over, one more and I get back to her. Peace.

He craved for that peace so much, he didn’t even realize what he had been doing. He lived in that dream, longing for the time he could never get back. All the while you were hurting, so desperately trying to cling on to him while he slipped into himself. You needed him but he continued to chase the life he lost, for all his talk of moving on. He didn’t even realize how his fear of losing you has led him down to the very verge of it and now, he was anxious and afraid. So so afraid. You wouldn’t leave him, would you? God, he’d do anything, drop everything, to follow you.

That realization just made his head spin, was he really willing to let everything go just like that? Of course, he was. There was no question about it. Nothing else mattered if it meant losing you. It was a damned shame he only realized that now.

We can work through this, he thought to himself. He couldn’t let you go, wouldn’t let you go. It didn’t even matter what you had done anymore, not right now, not when all he wanted was for you to know everything, that above all, he was choosing you. He loves you.

I’ll make this work. We’ll make this work.

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He stared at his friend’s face, her red hair already outgrowing the blonde curls that framed her frowning face. She couldn’t believe it. Hell, even he didn’t believe it. How could you?

Before the sun had even risen, he was already up, tying his shoelaces with his jittery hands. He had never been so nervous in his life. Not even when he had to crash his own plane, with that came a sense of doom and certainty but this? This was torture. This was hell.

What was he going to say? How was he going to explain himself? What could he do to make you stay?

What you had done the night before, invading his most private thoughts, had been pushed to the side. In his heart, he had already forgiven you, understood why you had to do what you did. He knew you, the kind of person you were and you would never have done it had you not thought it was necessary. And with everything that he’s done and what you heard, could he really judge you for it?

He rushed into the apartment, his heart already heavy. He couldn’t find it in himself to wait until you woke up and instead gave a tentative, “Y/N?” as he poked his head into the bedroom door, the sight of it knocking the air right out of him.

No, no, no, no, no.

The neatly made up bed greeted him, curtains drawn back to illuminate the empty room. His heart dropped to his stomach, “No, no, no, no, no,”

“Y/N?” he shouted into the room, somehow hoping he was mistaken, that you were still here, that you’d show up.

Did you really leave him? Could you really have done that?

He ran to the bathroom, calling out to you, but it was the same as he had left it. Except all of your stuff was gone. Your toiletries by the sink, all the little hair ties you kept lying around. Gone.

How could you do this to him? How could you leave without saying goodbye?

All the clothes he had always folded for you after you tossed them in the closet weren’t there anymore. Any trace of you was now gone. He let out a curse, his cold hand fumbling for his phone in his pocket. No messages, no calls.

“Come on, pick up,” He prayed into the phone. Please, please, please. When the monotonous operator answered, he let out a shout,

“Fuck!”

Throwing his phone unto the bed, he realized even the clock he had thrown in his temper had been cleaned away, a letter laid down on where it was supposed to be.

He picked it up quickly, his breathing rapid at the two simple words scrawled in your distinct handwriting.

I’m sorry.

Crumbling the paper in his fist, he shakily put it to his pale lips. Breathe...

What were you thinking? You couldn’t have even left a number to contact you? How was he supposed to find you now? He felt himself grow weak in the knees. He knew the type of training you had with the X-men, if you didn’t want to found, you wouldn’t.

Had he lost you forever?

Hands shaking at the thought, he ran. Ran to get away from his emotions. Lost, angry and hurt. What the hell had you done?

What the hell had you done?

Natasha let out an exhale, bringing him out of his reverie. The look of hurt still evident on her face, she couldn’t believe you’d just leave without saying goodbye.

“If there’s one thing I know is that she loves you. You need to fix this, Steve,”

Before he could even reply, the front gate’s access flashed before her. Mindlessly swiping it, they both turned to the monitor, their minds still preoccupied on where you could be. The man standing outside, waving his arms about looked eerily familiar but that couldn’t be...

Scott Lang?

Oh god, what now?

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #avengers #marvel #marvel fic #captain america #captain america angst

984 notes · View notes

strawberry-skies-xx · 3 years

Text

a million reasons to let you go

C H A P T E R E I G H T

word count: 3200

tags: eventual hiccup/astrid, slow burn, fluff, angst, happy ending, feral hiccup, hiccup whump, bamf hiccup, protective astrid, protective hiccup, interrogation, aftermath of torture, implied/referenced torture, hurt/comfort, stoick’s a+ parenting, stoick’s bad parenting, hiccstrid fluff, hiccup and toothless friendship

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

The third day, she gets nothing exciting except for the looming threat of her marriage to Snotlout in three weeks, the villagers asking her about it and being pestered about the wedding choices. It’s when she nearly stabs a man with her axe that they finally leave her alone, and she stalks off to the forest to clear her head before she actually does stab someone with her axe.

Of course, everything manages to go even more wrong than it is, right then.

She gets half an hour of peace in the forest before she hears yelling from the village - very recognizable yelling. There’s a raid happening, given by the shouts of get down! and grab a weapon!

Astrid looks back at the village - strange, there’s no dragons flying above it like a normal raid, but it’s just begun. Some raids take twenty minutes for the full flock of dragons to catch up to the ones who shot ahead - and they get to see what happens to those who fly ahead and take on Berk alone.

She starts running back, but she gets closer and two things happen. Two very important things.

One, she looks up at the sky and remembers the cold wind in her hair, the clouds drifting through her fingers and the ocean rising to meet her just before its mist sprayed her face and she skimmed just above it, on the back of Toothless. She remembers his imitation of a smile, the way he curled around Hiccup and the way they defended each other, moving like they were not two beings, but one singular creature, mind and body and soul.

Astrid runs into the village, for the first time not to kill dragons, but to scare them away from Berk.

The second thing is that the villagers are gathered all around one spot, rather than running in every direction, and they’re all hitting something black in the center. Something that’s a familiar, bluish-tinted black, and Astrid’s stomach drops as she hears Toothless’s shriek of pain from the center of the villagers.

She slows a few feet from the crowd, because she can’t give herself away by defending him, and one hand comes up to her mouth as the crowd opens just for a moment. She stands there, eyes wide and her entire body going cold, as she watches ropes tie around Toothless’s wings and body, leather circle his mouth. She recognizes the look of panic on his face - not for himself, never for himself, but as his eyes dart around, for Hiccup. He came looking for Hiccup. “Oh, gods,” she breathes, in sheer shock and horror.

Toothless’s eyes land on her, meeting her gaze, and she watches his panicked expression dissipate, replaced by betrayal. Astrid feels everything she’s built, all the trust and the lies to keep herself safe from Berk and safe from Toothless and Hiccup, drop out from under her, as Toothless’s pupils narrow into angry slits at her and he huffs out smoke. He looks away, his head dropping to the side and eyes closing. Astrid watches his body go limp in the villager’s hands, sees his mouth open just enough to give a quiet, mournful whistle.

She stands there for a few more seconds, and then she turns and runs for Gothi’s. For Hiccup.

Astrid finds Stoick sitting by Hiccup’s bed when she comes in. He looks oddly perplexed, studying Hiccup’s sleeping face with a tension in his body that makes her think he’s trying to find something, or figure something out.

“Chief,” she says, out of breath. Stoick looks up abruptly, leaning back and standing up - and, oddly, smoothing his expression out quickly.

“What is it?”

Astrid glances past him to Hiccup, considering for a brief moment asking him about what he was thinking, but she puts it aside in favor of the much larger problem. “They have a Night Fury in the village.”

Stoick’s eyes harden. “Don’t lie to me, Astrid,” he starts, a threatening growl in his voice, but she shakes her head quickly. Something about the panicked light in her eyes must make him believe her, because he goes quiet and watches her sharply.

“No, I’m not lying, Chief. The villagers have a Night Fury, trapped and bound,” she says, and she ignores the pang in her heart at those words, ignores the image of Toothless’s look of betrayal flashing through her mind as she does the only thing that will give Hiccup and Toothless the slightest of chances. “You have to come see it.”

Him, her mind screams, it’s a he, but she ignores it and keeps looking up at Stoick. There’s no room for error here if she wants Hiccup and Toothless to survive as well as her.

The chief glances out at the village from the window, then turns and rushes out and down the stairs. Astrid watches him go, and then turns to Hiccup.

She walks to his bedside, where she can see the bandages wrapping around the brand poking out from beneath his shirt, and bandages on the cuts on his face, and yellow-green bruises coloring his cheeks and throat. She reaches out in an aborted movement to take his hand, and moves her hand to her stomach instead.

She turns away after a long moment, guilt over his injuries and guilt over the way Toothless looked at her flooding through her, and she runs out the door and down the stairs, following Stoick’s path.

By the time she gets to the bottom of the stairs, her emotions have been neatly locked away, and she finds Stoick hefting his axe and walking purposefully towards Toothless. The faces of the villagers around him are smug and satisfied.

Astrid runs forward without thinking, the ice-cold horror shooting through her causing her to pull Stoick’s arm down as it lifts, one hand holding the axe and pulling it away from Toothless.

She freezes as Stoick looks at her, expression stormy, and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through her, cursing herself for not thinking before she acted. That’s pretty much her entire motto, to think before she acts, rather than rush headlong into battle without a plan.

But if she didn’t do this, then Toothless would be killed.

“No, you can’t kill it!” she says, mind racing as she tries to think of an excuse. Stoick’s face grows darker. “We need to- to research it. I mean, we don’t know a-anything about Night Furies, right?” She curses the slight stutter in her voice, her mouth trying to go as fast as her mind is. “So put it in the cells. Study it, and then we’ll know more about them next time.”

There’s a long, heart-stopping moment in which Stoick is completely silent, glaring at her, and Astrid thinks she’s finally lost. All the lies, all the building trust, all the sneaking around, and here’s where she finally loses the game.

Stoick steps back, lowering his axe, but suspicion still simmers in his gaze as he nods. He turns to the villagers. “Bring it to the cells and lock it up!” he yells, and Astrid watches the villagers rush to follow his command. Snotlout, Fishlegs, and the twins meet her gaze from across the circle.

Somehow, it doesn't seem like a victory.

Hiccup finally wakes up early the next day, with Astrid sitting right next to him, and his first question is predictable - besides his quick glance around and the recognition in his gaze, and then the flash of betrayal in his eyes when he looks at her. That makes her glance away, the weight of what she’s done heavy on her shoulders. “Where's my dragon?” Hiccup asks, tone dark as he watches her. Astrid doesn't look up. She can almost feel his gaze as it darts around, and when he speaks next, his voice is quiet, filled with pain and betrayal and anger.

“You took me to Berk.”

Astrid can’t do anything but nod. She feels like she wants to cry, as Hiccup exhales and falls limp against the bed.

“They killed Toothless,” he says, half question and half statement, and it’s the horror and despair of it that makes her look up, at Hiccup, who’s staring blankly at the ceiling.

“No, they didn’t- I convinced them not to,” she blurts, and Hiccup’s green eyes flick to her, intelligent and sharp. “He’s in the cells. They’re studying him.”

Hiccup looks back at the ceiling, and a bitter smile twists his mouth. “Well, congratulations. You got both of us. Everything you ever wanted,” he says, bitter like his smile, and sarcastic. It’s such a twist of how he usually is, that Astrid’s guilt increases and she looks down.

She doesn’t know what to say, and she doesn’t get the chance to, because Stoick walks in and glances between the two of them.

“You’re awake,” he says to Hiccup, who, predictably, doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at him. Instead, he sits up slightly and pulls his hood up, leaning against the wall and staring down at the bandages on his arm, as if examining the work of them.

Stoick frowns when he doesn’t, his gaze darkening slightly. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Hiccup’s green eyes flick to Stoick quickly, and they’re filled with such vehemence and hatred that Astrid instinctively leans back, every instinct in her telling her to run. She stays sitting, but her entire body is tense as she glances between the two.

Stoick takes that as understanding, and he glares as well, his temper easily flaring. “We’re providing you medical care, thanks to Astrid here. The least you could do is answer me,” he says harshly.

Hiccup scoffs quietly and stares back at the ceiling. Astrid notices then how his entire body is tense, and then she glances at Stoick, who’s studying his face like he was before, like he’s trying to figure something out, and she thinks there’s something she doesn’t know about these two. Something big, something important.

Astrid stands up, putting herself between the two and the rising tension, and faces Stoick. It takes him a long moment to go from staring past her, at Hiccup, to looking at her, but when he does, she tries to keep his attention. “Let’s disarm him, since we don’t know if he’s friend or foe, and then put him in the prison,” she says as calmly and soothingly as she can. “You can talk to him there. You won’t get anywhere here.”

Stoick frowns. “How is the prison going to be any different than here?”

“Being imprisoned, not being imprisoned… there’s a difference. It could work, Chief,” -and she glances back at Hiccup, who’s glaring at her, and knows it most likely won’t, but she keeps going- “you never know.”

Stoick watches her for a long, silent moment. Astrid stares back, silently willing him to agree. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do if he doesn’t.

“Fine,” he says finally, and Astrid has to fight not to breathe out in relief.

“I can take him, Chief,” she says.

Stoick nods. Astrid looks at Hiccup, who sits up when he realizes what’s happening and rises into a crouch with that weirdly smooth grace, hissing at them and glaring between the both of them, apparently weaponless since he doesn’t pull out his flaming sword or any other dagger.

Stoick glares. “What, does he think he’s a dragon?”

Astrid nods - there’s no other explanation she can think of on the spot, and if she says this, maybe Stoick will allow Hiccup with Toothless. “I found him with the Night Fury. I think the dragon came looking for him.”

Stoick looks at her, his brow furrowing and the first tendrils of suspicion creeping into his gaze. Astrid doesn’t notice, still watching Hiccup and half-tense like before a fight, and Stoick nods slowly.

“Then we’ll give him what he wants,” he says, and Astrid doesn’t notice the strange note in his voice as Stoick still watches her. “Put him with the Night Fury.”

Astrid looks back at him, nodding, then at Hiccup. She sees him back up against the wall the bed is against, still crouched, eyes scared and angry at the same time, hissing at them when they look back at him.

“Hey,” she says softly - have to make this real, she knows, which means treating him like a wild animal, though she knows he’s smarter and sharper than any animal. “It’s fine, I’m going to bring you to your Night Fury.”

Stoick growls, his patience apparently having already run out. “Enough of this,” he says, and Astrid doesn’t have time to protest before Stoick grabs a bundle of rope from the table nearby and leaps forward, tackling Hiccup. Predictably, Hiccup leaps gracefully aside, eyes darting between Astrid and Stoick as Stoick recovers and starts for him again, and Astrid stands frozen between the two.

Stoick tries once more, stalking forward and then lunging for Hiccup, but the dragon-boy slips past again. Astrid moves now, breaking out of her frozen trance and making her own lunge for Hiccup.

Hers works, because she manages to grab his arm, spinning him so his back is against her chest and she holds both his wrists in one hand. She leans towards his ear. “Stop fighting, I’m bringing you to Toothless,” she hisses, fingers working to swiftly tie the rope Stoick hands her around his wrists.

Hiccup turns his head, green eyes filled with hate as he glares at her, and he vehemently hisses, twisting out of her hold. He doesn’t stumble, his fluid, draconic grace doesn’t allow for that, but he does stop a few steps away, eyes widening as he realizes she succeeded in tying his wrists behind his back. He looks up at her, betrayal and pain flooding his gaze once again, and Astrid can only stare helplessly back.

She watches his shoulders drop, watches Stoick put his hands on his shoulders and start leading him away, and even when Hiccup looks away she can’t get the image of the betrayal in his eyes out of her mind.

Astrid sighs, following Stoick to the prison, and watches as Hiccup is led to Toothless’s cell. She sees Toothless’s eyes meet hers, sees him put together the pieces, and his eyes narrow. He puffs out smoke at her through his nose and turns away, looking over only to keep track of Hiccup.

Astrid stares down at the ground. She feels Hiccup’s gaze on her from where he crouches in the cell, flinches when the door slams shut. Stoick glares at the dragon and boy, then turns and leaves without a word. He doesn’t insist on her leaving with him, so she finally looks up when the door to the prison closes.

“Hiccup,” she says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen-“

Hiccup walks forward, for the first time more like a human than she’s ever seen him, and Astrid goes quiet from the sheer surprise of it and the intensity of his gaze as he stops inches away from her, separated by the bars of the cell. “You made your choice,” he says quietly, but his voice is hard and his eyes are flinty. “Now go.”

Astrid watches as Hiccup turns away, walking over to Toothless, now in that half-crouch of his, who slices a claw through the ropes around his wrists. Neither of them look at her as Hiccup sits in the curve of Toothless’s body, curling up and then being hidden by Toothless’s wing as it opens and folds over him. Toothless rests his head on his paws and watches her with the same sharp, hostile glare as the first day she met them, in a dark cave like the prisons, with Toothless covering Hiccup with his wing just like right now.

Astrid’s shoulders drop. She nods, understanding just how much she messed up. Even if she does rescue Hiccup and Toothless, it’s likely they won’t ever come near her again.

“Okay,” she says, in a soft whisper. She looks at the place where Hiccup is hidden beneath Toothless’s wing. “See you later, Hiccup,” she whispers, and turns to walk out of the prison.

She doesn’t get a response.

Hiccup listens to Astrid’s footsteps as they fade away, hears the door to the prison close, and he curls up tighter beneath Toothless’s wing. Pain shoots through him, both from his healing injuries and Astrid’s betrayal.

He knew he shouldn’t have trusted her. His own father betrayed him, eleven years ago. Some random Viking girl shouldn’t have been any different.

But he was stupid, and let himself get caught up in golden-blond hair and blue eyes and her bright smile, like the sun. He thought that her defense of him and Toothless meant she was safe, that he could put his trust in a Viking like he hadn’t done in years.

Look where that got him, he thinks as he shivers in the cold prison, pressing against Toothless’s warm scales. Imprisoned, cold, injured, unarmed. In Berk, of all places. And she took him there.

He lets out a quiet whimper, and Toothless whines, looking back at him from where he’s curled beneath his wing. Hiccup gives a small, weak smile, shifting to rest his head on Toothless’s paws and stretching out. Toothless leans to his side, his front and back paws closing around Hiccup, tail curling around him and his wing folding over him until he’s entirely hidden.

Toothless buries his head down into the curve of his wing and Hiccup stretches up to nuzzle at the underside of his jaw. Toothless warbles softly, pressing his nose to Hiccup’s hair as he relaxes and closes his eyes, slowly falling asleep.

Astrid makes it to the edge of the forest before she’s accosted by Fishlegs, Snotlout, and the twins, who put themselves in front of her and who all start talking at once, voices high and panicked.

“That’s the Night Fury, that’s him that got captured-“

“Astrid, what are we going to do?”

“The Chief knows about them now!”

Astrid cuts them all off. “Enough!” she says, glaring at each of them. All four go suitably silent, shrinking away slightly from her anger.

To be honest, she really couldn’t care less about what the others thought about their predicament. She’s concerned about her predicament, which is infinitely more complicated and involves so many more lies and subterfuge, and above all that, she can’t get the image of green eyes filled with pain out of her mind.

“I’m not in the mood to listen to all of your theories and interruptions and jokes, okay?” she says, a bit harsher than necessary, but Astrid doesn’t care right now. “So shut up and listen to me.”

Silence. Astrid keeps her glare up before sighing and continuing in a slightly softer voice.

“The Night Fury and the boy were captured. They’re in Berk’s prisons,” she says, and can practically see the questions rising in their minds. She sighs and responds with the truth, because it’s time that they knew and she can’t lie to anyone else.

“So here’s the story...”

next chapter >>

#httyd fic #how to train your dragon #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #hiccstrid

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farmhandler · 7 years

Text

Anger

Rating: T

Pairing: Jack/Johnny, aka “Samruai Bravo

Summary: Over his time in the world of Aku, Jack developed a temper.

A/N: This was inspired by the latest episode. I really like seeing other sides to Jack’s character and I wanted to explore this a little more.

Anger is often quick to rise inside Jack. It has always been a point of hidden shame for him, sitting inside him long after he finally defeated Aku and found his way to this timeline. He thought he had left behind his rage, meditated enough to cast it off, but as he settled into his routine with Johnny, it quickly became clear that that was not the case.

He loves Johnny, and he loves this town. But in some ways, it is maddening.

The people are slow, yet impatient. They move as though the world is ending, but rarely do they make room for others. They are selfish, concerned only for their own well-being.

In the other future, the people were quick to give him a fight, an outlet for his anger at the Aku and his world. Here, he is a slave to the master of time, waiting, waiting until the people move. His fingers tighten on the bars. He want to scream and run over the laughing teenagers crossing the street.

Jack has learned to drive an extra mile towards a quieter route.

He expressed these feelings to Johnny once, unsure how it would be taken, only to be given a quick dismissal.

“Everyone ‘round here’s a bad driver, Jack,” he’d said, swirling his spoon through his cereal. Jack watched him bring it up to his mouth and chew, impossibly loud. His fingers tightened their hold on the dining table.

“Perhaps you are right,” he replied, loudly enough to drown out the sound.

Johnny did not understand. He still does not understand. There are plenty of irritants that bother most people, but sometimes Jack will be struck with a rage so acute for something entirely undeserved that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

There is an old woman who lives near them. She crosses the street every morning to swim at the local pool. She is slow and cumbersome, and it hurts Jack to admit that as she crosses, ever so slowly, on occasion he squeezes through the small opening she creates. One morning, when Johnny offered to drive them to the local part, Jack had to wait for he to cross the road entirely.

It should not have angered him. Such a small, simple thing--the span of a few minutes. Yet his temper flared inside him as he waited in agony until he could bear it no longer.

“Must we wait until she reaches the end? It feels like it’s been hours!”

Johnny glances at him, raising a brow at his outburst.

“It’s the law. And you know I can’t get another ticket, Jack. If they take my license away mama will kill me.”

This appeased Jack, but only a little. He was still angry.

Once they finally moved, his anger dissipated, and he barely remembers why he was angry in the first place.

He knows it’s a problem, but he does not know how to overcome it. No amount of meditation has cured him of this ailment. On his attempts to complete a traditional tea ceremony, with its steps and instructions, a strange impulsiveness overcomes him, and he inevitably fails.

Have my sensibilities abandoned me? Jack wonders one morning, staring at his sword hanging up on the wall. He has not told Johnny much about the sword or his past, and he doesn’t want to, lest Johnny’s opinion of him change. Johnny sees him as a pillar of tranquility and good morals. It would crush him to know that Jack has not been living up to those expectations.

So Jack tries to deal with it. He shoves down angry remarks when small things irritate him, and takes longer rides to clear his head. It doesn’t really help, but he does get quite good at hiding his anger.

Until one evening when he comes home and Johnny has left his shoes in front of the door.

This is something they have spoken about, once or twice. Johnny is faithful and lives a very active lifestyle, but sometimes he is very lazy. When he comes home from work, he prefers to step out of his shoes and move into the house without a second thought. Jack has expressed that he would prefer if Johnny put his shoes away in the closet so that he might not trip over them.

It should not annoy Jack that Johnny has defied his wishes. After all, it has only been a handful of times that it has happened.

But they have talked about it. They have talked about it.

Jack stumbles over them as he’s stepping out of his sandals and slams his shoulder into the closet door. The doorknob bites into his side. Anger that has been simmering all day bursts up into his throat; fire licks at his lips, and he is shouting, calling Johnny out of the kitchen before he can even give it a second thought.

“Jack? What’s wrong?” he asks, innocent, wide eyed, an apron wrapped around his waist.

What’s wrong. It makes him want to laugh. He is not just angry now, he is furious. Jack’s lips curl back into a snarl and he points to the shoes.

“What have I said about leaving these out, Johnny? How many times have we spoken about this?!”

His voice rings loudly in the small apartment. Rage flows through him, and he feels powerless to stop it. This is the first time he has spoken to Johnny like this.

Johnny’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds before he speaks. Jack counts every one.

“Sorry, Jack, I’ll--”

“Just once, is it so hard to put your shoes away?” Jack picks them up and tosses them into the closet, with more force than is necessary. “I am not your babysitter, Johnny!”

“’Course not, Jack. I--”

“And another thing!” Jack whips around to look at Johnny, only to stop dead in his tracks. What he sees makes his voice fail him, his anger fade.

Johnny looks frightened. For all his width and muscle he looks impossible small, his shoulders hunched inward. To top it all off, he’s looking at Jack as though he’ll swallow him if he makes one wrong move.

Jack’s anger is instantly replaced by shame.

“Johnny, I...I am so sorry. I should not have yelled at you.” He reaches out, hesitant, intensely relieved when Johnny doesn’t pull away. “That was silly of me. They are just shoes.”

Maybe if he repeats it enough in his head, it will finally stick. He will stop feeling like this.

“No, I get it,” Johnny says. “I mean, I knew it would make you mad, but I was really tired. Just didn’t feel like it. I should’ve--”

“No,”Jack interrupts, cupping Johnny’s cheek, forcing him to face Jack. “My reaction was unnecessary. I should not have raised my voice like that.”

His voice cracks at the last word. Jack feels like he’s going to crumble. He used to wake up every morning prepared for a battle or a fight, letting loose his feelings in a barrage of bullets. Now he is stuck inside himself, nursing his anger without realizing how much like a festering wound it has become.

“I am so sorry, Johnny. Forgive me.”

“You know I do, Jack,” Johnny says, holding onto his arm. “Something’s up. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Jack winces. If Johnny, one of the most oblivious people in this world has noticed his behavior, then truly has become paper thin.

“I do not want to burden you,” he whispers. “It is foolish. Old hurts that I cannot escape.”

“I want to be burdened,” Johnny insists. Jack cannot resist him; he melts in the face of his sincerity.

“Lately, or for a long time, I have become...angry.”

“About the shoes?”

“No, not the shoes. This specific anger has been with me since Aku. I...perhaps we should sit down.”

Johnny nods and leads them to the couch, but not before Jack slides out of his shoes and sets them aside with care. Johnny tosses his apron on the kitchen table and turns down the oven, allowing whatever is inside to simmer.

“All right. So you’re...angry?”

Jack bites his lip. It is difficult to explain how normal it feels to be enraged. Even now he feels threads of irritation building as Johnny soothes his thumbs over Jack’s fingers, movements that were once comforting.

“It is a long story. I’m not even sure where to begin.”

“C’mon, you can tell me anything, Jack. Just start from the beginning.”

He hesitates, but ultimately decides that it is time.

“All right. You deserve to know, so I will tell you.”

He does. He describes his tail from when he entered the future, skipping past most of the guts and gore in favor of the feelings.

“I had never been so angry,” he says, staring down at his hands, recalling the feelings that particular memory triggers. “Aku destroyed the last portal, my last chance to go home. That rage was what led me to lose my sword.”

He tells him of Ashi. How she helped him defeat Aku, and conquer his feelings. For a moment Johnny looks jealous, his lips curling at descriptions of the woman, and a strange relief washes over Jack. It becomes easier to talk about it, and before he knows it, he’s reached the present.

Once he’s completely finished, he gives Johnny time to absorb the information. It wasn’t easy to live, and it certainly isn’t easy to hear.

“I understand if you need time to think,” Jack offers.

“No, I’m fine. Just--thinkin’ real quick.” Johnny leans back, drumming his fingers against the arm of the sofa.

Jack waits, patient, almost meditatively. It amazes him how good he feels now that it’s out in the open.

“I think we should see a doctor.”

Jack raises a brow. “Doctor?”

“Er, brain doc.” He cocks his head. “Psychiatrist. Therapist. I mean, I’m no expert, but my dad, he--” Johnny swallows. “Long story short, he had a lot of issues and never went to see anybody, and eventually mama made him leave.”

“Not that you’re anything like that!” he hastens to add.

Jack smiles colorlessly. “But I could be.”

“That’s not what I’m sayin’. I just mean...I don’t want you to feel like this all the time, and I don’t know what to do about it. I could try, but...”

“No.” Jack sighs, folding his hands over Johnny’s and pulling him close. “You may be right. I have never seen a...therapist, but I cannot continue to let this consume me.” He raises Johnny’s hands and kisses the knuckles. “Not if it ends up hurting the ones I care about most.”

Johnny goes beet red, hands twitching like he’d like to pull them away.

“Shucks, Jack.” He rubs the back of his neck, a grin forming on his face. Then his gaze narrows, and his expression turns sharp. “You’re important to me, too, you know that, right?”

Johnny is not as free with his affection, but it never fails to make Jack amused to see him so concerned.

“Yes.” He slides closer, then climbs onto his lap--a move that Johnny loves--and peppers his face with slow-given, soft kisses. “I love you, Johnny.”

Johnny wraps his arms around Jack’s waist, fingers creeping towards his ass. “Love you, too, Jack.”

Jack leans in for a kiss, and feels a well of love and contentment rise inside him, washing away the negative emotions lying dormant.

It is by no means an immediate solution, but to have Johnny in his corner is a huge relief. The weight of what he was carrying has risen off of his shoulders.

Thank you, he thinks, trying to direct his thoughts into the space between their lips.

Johnny smiles, inexplicably, and pulls him closer.

#samurai bravo #samurai jack //#johnny bravo //#my fic #fic #this could become a thing #hmmmm #maybe #just felt like writing u know #and it's been too long #also: how the fuck does anyone end these things #gaaaahhh

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