Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sleeping in class, generally, is fun.

 Sleeping in gym class, though, is another matter.

 Hard enough when you need peace and quiet to hunker down and snooze off to dreamland (something readily available in any of my classes), but the constant thud of the rubber balls pounding on the gym bleachers as I slept behind them was starting to grate on my nerves.

Well, granted, here in Burgess all we have are Neanderthals in the high school range. And snow. Unlike Berk, my hometown where it snow nine months a year and the remainder it hails, here it snows only for about half of the year. The summers aren't that bad too, just mild for my tastes.

I was about to do another attempt at napping when a familiar, feminine voice yelled “Hic, catch it!”, and a ball rebounded off a corner and shot at my head.

 I grunted my displeasure, glaring at the ball with bloody murder written all over my face. I guess I'd make a good actor, since whoever (I had a sneaky suspicion who it was.) had tossed the dodge ball was now giggling unashamedly at my utter dorkiness. Turning around, I fired off a glare that would make mum proud.

 “Astrid.”

 The girl in question did nothing but smirk cruelly at my pain. Her blond hair graced her face's frame, accentuating it to the point of glaring beauty. Her skin was flawless porcelain waiting to be smacked by my hand. The fringe of her hair was downright irritating. She plopped carelessly beside my and punched my arm.

 “What, can't I play with my best friend once in a while?”

 No, you may not. I rolled my eyes at her and blew a raspberry as she turned around to check if the coach was asleep. She relaxed, relieved in the fact that the P.E. Teacher was dead asleep in a plastic chair across the gym.

 “God, Hiccup. You're so disgusting and annoying. Please stop that.” She monotonously replied.

 I have to retract my previous statement. Not all of the high schoolers here in Burgess are Neanderthals or sluts. Some, like Astrid over here, can be really friendly. If you call teasing each other like a brother and sister friendly.

 I yawned, trying to show her my utter tiredness and boredom at life. “I'm sleepy.”

Pulling her signature do-I-look-like-I-care bitchfaces, she stoically folded my sleeping bag (which doubles, really, as my schoolbag) and handed it to me. “It's only ten minutes till lunch. I can pull some strings for us, want to skive?”

 I nodded numbly, hoping she meant for us to go where I was hoping we were headed to.

 She stood up, put on her usual unreadable face, and marched out of the gym's doors with my tailing closely behind. As we trundled on, I noticed we weren't headed for the school exits; rather, we were making our way to the cafeteria.

 “Why are we here?” I questioned her, obviously not getting the memo.

 “You'll see.” She shoved the cafeteria doors wide open and went to the line, grabbing as much pre-packed lunches as she could. “Help please?”

 Moving towards her, I glanced at the clock. We only had about 10 minutes left before the rest of the student body floods the cafeteria. Hurriedly, I grabbed a portion off of her stack and piled on some desserts, the both of us awkwardly stuffing my bag with the foodstuff. Then, as quick as we could, we exited the school proper and ran, turning and twisting around Burgess, until we came to a stop at the nearby park.

 “Well? Ladies first, after all.” I elegantly told her, adding a small bow for a dramatic effect, despite the burden I was carrying.

 She huffed, and pick up a nearby stick, not dry enough for kindling, but not large enough for barricade enforcement, and began to whack the weeds that surrounded the beaten path.

 "What fun.”

The beaten path was still there, if a bit faded from lack of use. Astrid whacked and cut the tall weeds that hugged the path wildly. After two minutes of walking, we came across the fork and headed left, just as we usually did.

 “Hey.” I tried to cut the silence with a conversation, “Why did we skive again?”

 “Because I said so.”

 Leave it to your best friend to sass the richest kid around. But then again, I was pathetic and lanky, so eh.

 “We're almost at the drop, you know. Better get the bag ready.” She told me.

 I nodded, obviously asking our telepathic friendship to relay the message. She seemed to get it though, since she played around with the stick more, giving the ambiance a more carefree feel. I hugged the bag against my chest, prying it from its earlier position of battering my knees. I glanced around my surroundings, almost immediately knowing that we were here.

 “Get ready.” She warned me.

 “I know, we've been here before, ri-AAAAAAAAAAGH!”

 She vaulted around me, obviously experienced with the action since I didn't register it until I was falling down a steep slope of dry leaves and twigs. She then pushed me and cackled maniacally, pulling out a small cardboard slab that just barely allowed her feet to place themselves atop it. She jump, positioned the board under her feet, and slid straight beside me as I was sliding, uncontrolled, on my bum.

 “Haha, Hic, you should see your face, it's all green and stuff!” She grinned, her face lighting up in my misery.

 Whatever string of curses that I wanted to spit at my best friend came out as a garbled noise, which she found even more amusing. She then slipped ahead of me and stopped as the forest floor returned to stable again. I managed to get myself up as I skidded down to a halt, accepting the proffered hand Astrid held out.

 “Thank you. Now,” I puffed myself up, in an attempt to regain my composure, “where's the Hideout?”

 She pointed to a boulder propped against a small cave. It looked ominous, but for us, it was the closest home the two of us had. We walked towards the object barring the entrance and heaved it as much as we could, (Astrid obviously doing most of the work) and slipped into the yawning void.

 “Hic, did you bring the goods?” She asked.

 I pulled out several rechargeable lamps and turned one on, instantly illuminating the cavern. It was really not that big, about the size of a two-storey house, with a funky second floor. Astrid and I built that place, with a bit of help from Uncle Hugh (I like to call him Uncle Bunnymund, since he has big ears and because of his second name, Ester. Another story for another day.), who swore to keep this place a secret. So far, nobody except the three of us knew about it.

 I climbed onto the second floor, the wood a welcome comfort to my sore feet. I placed the sleeping bag on the dusty surface and pulled out our lunch from it. I set them atop the bag, hoping Astrid would forgive me for battering up our lunch. She climbed up the ladder and hooked the last lamp onto its niche, illuminating the second floor.

 She hastily plopped onto the floor, tired and worn out from bushwhacking and walking. Her eyes settled on the food, which, thankfully, wasn't that beat-up and crushed. She opened a styro and motioned for a spork, to which I quickly obliged. Handing her her utensil, I began fishing out my lunch and dessert, opened the packages, and stuffed my mouth with the friend chicken and pineapple pie.

 After satisfying ourselves, we wrapped our litter in a plastic bag I brought with me. The cave was a good place to relax in, bare and empty. You could tell your secrets and no one would ever know. Astrid, I can trust with my life. No, rather, with the life of my family.

 So I guess it was fitting I told her my secret here.

 “Hey, Hic.” Her usually strong voice was now a fragile whisper, “What do you dream of?”

 “You first.” I retorted, wanting to know what was on her mind.

 “I dream...” Her mind trailed off for a while, thinking of the one word that summed up her dreams. “ ..of love.”

 I nodded, agreeing with this statement. It was, however, incomplete for me.

 “I dream...”

 Her ears perked up, obviously wanting to listen in to whatever our hearts wanted to pour out.

 “...of snow.”

Chapter Text

I hate waking up.

The harsh sunlight burned into my corneas, rousing me to half-consciousness. I growled lowly at the dull throb of a morning headache, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to relieve it. I sat up and glanced around my quaint room.

It was a mess.

Stray piles of clothes mucked up here and there. Notebooks and books thrown in frustration littered the wooden floor. Crisp wrappers scattered whichway across the boards. I picked one up, crumpled it into a ball, and angrily threw it at an empty space at the far wall.

I was a mess.

A bird settled on a branched that was pointing at my open window. The crisp, autmn breeze that creeped through helped me pacify my thoughts. I grabbed the roll of tissue that was cozing up on my desk, tugged a sizeable ply, hacked into the thing and tossed it out of the window, not caring about Mother freaking Earth.

I headed downstairs, wearing nothing but the t-shirt I slept in and my underwear. The faint sizzle of bacon tangoed with the autumn draft that came with school, luring me and my empty stomach to the kitchen. Heading towards it, I saw mom cooking breakfast, with the dining table set for only two.

"Dad at work already?" I asked her, despite already knowing what her reply would be.

She nodded, her calm face focused on making me and Emma breakfast. Mom turned off the stove, pulled a china plate, and set the pile of bacon strips in front of me. Yawning, I took snatched a fork from somewhere atop the table and speared several strips, shoveling it down my wide, watering mouth. A few mouthfuls later, my mom leaned against the kitchen countertop and nagged me, "Did you do your homework?"

"Yes." Not like I need it.

"Clean your room?"

"Yep." Who cares.

"What about your-"

I cut her off with an angry glare. "Yes, mom." I don't need to be reminded of that. "I'm done with breakfast, can I shower now?"

She looked at me, concern and hurt laced motherly over her face. She nodded.

Mom clattered off to wake Emma, who was probably still sleeping in her room. A moment after she skirted off, my chest began to itch. I grabbed a wad of tissue and hacked into it, chucking it into the garbage bin after I was done.

I slid my socked feet into my worn sneakers, cinching the neon laces in a tight knot.

Emma was at the kitchen table, drowsily slipping Lucky Charms into her mouth. Mom was beside her, budgeting the last weekly pay Dad recieved. I cantered over towards them, my sling bag looped and digging into my shoulder. I ruffled Emma's brown locks, who was too drowsy to protest, and sneaked a kiss on her cheek. I moved to Mom, who was wrapping up on food allotment and was calculating the savings she'd get.

"Don't get too tired out now." She reminded me.

I smiled at her failed attempt at hiding her motherly affection. I hugged her, kissed her on the temple, and replied, "I won't do anything crazy."

She eyed me suspiciously.

"Promise!" I yelled as I dodged her smacking hand and headed out of the door.

I hate school.

The sheer monotony of reading, writing, solving, answering, and so much more boring things about things we probably won't use in the adult life is so...boring.

I got out of advanced algebra early, claiming something about not feeling well, when a pair of students decided that I was the best punching bag for the day. They crunched into me, pushing me to the floor and generally making my day that much worse.

"Sorry!" two voices, a male and female cried. I didn't care about their apology, I just wanted to fucking eat in the school field, watch the students make total idiots of themselves, and in general have a shit-free day.

I rubbed my stomach, wiping away the dust and pain. Glaring at them, I saw that one had blonde hair, cut in a sort of fringe, while the other, the guy, his auburn hair flailing in the wind.

I saw him glimpse at me.

And for a second, I thought my lungs gave out.

I came home with a battered diaphragm and a mashed brain.

I closed the door and trudged along the hallway, too tired to check if Mom was out or not. Apparently, she was, because when I checked the fridge for snacks, a note was taped onto it-

"At the grocer's. Dinner is in the micro."

Her elegant script made me want to vomit. I tore the note off the plastic cover, chucked it into the bin, and pulled my body in front of the microwave. Opening it, I found a slice of lasagna, warm and steaming.

I pulled it out, grabbed a fork from the drawers, and sat on the table, listlessly shoveling pasta down my unwanting throat. The thing was hard to swallow. Granted, it was probably delicious, but I give no fucks if I feel like shit.

Which was almost all the time.

Finishing dinner, I placed the china on the sink and washed my hands. I gulped down a glass of water with a few pills, and proceeded to my room.

It was still the same.

I dodged the ever-present mounds of dirty laundry, the angrily-thrown notebooks and books, and slammed my head into my phlegm-crusted pillow.

Bothered by this, I turned it over.