#i was messing with ibis filters and this just. happened

[frost-faerie]

Sonic the hedgehog: oh no!! Where did the chaos emeralds go!?

Super-charged Apollo Justice:

[fuckyeahhiccuphaddock]

The Red Grapple Grounder - DagCup

TITLE: The Red Grapple Grounder

DESCRIPTION: When Hiccup is born unable to walk, Dagur is forced to grow closer to him every time he visits Berk, and forgets to appreciate him for what he can do — only realizing this when it is too little too late.

CHAPTER #: Chapter 1/2.

GENRE: fanfiction

MATURE RATING: OFF ✖️

LANGUAGE: English

COPYRIGHT: all rights reserved. ©️ to DreamWorks and Cressida Cowell. 

Find the AO3 Link to this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20795195/chapters/49423094

The Red Grapple Grouder,

Inspired by James Hurst’s

”The Scarlett Ibis”.

It was during winter when Hayden had been born — it would be his first winter and Dagur’s fifth. Dagur had only been to Berk a few times, when his father and the chief talked of things that had yet to concern him. He came to the group of elevated islands at the tip of the boat, pretending he was leading the fleet. Dagur had always been like that — desperate for leadership he could yet to have.

He heard that when he was chief, Hayden — that was what they had named the prince of Berk —  would be a future ally. Eventually the boats landed near the shore, and it hadn’t took long before Dagur stood next to his father, eager to meet the person who was going to be in his later life, foot bouncing. He hoped Hayden would grow up quickly, that before they became chiefs, they would get to run and jump and fight. Dagur was looking for a new opponent; he had bested every other kid at home.

And so when they entered the room, Dagur had seen what he didn’t expect.

“Why is he so small?” He asked Valka, who had, still, days after giving birth, fresh tears on her face. Her expression was laced with pain and a despair he couldn’t understand. “I wasn’t that small when I was born.”

”I know, Dagur,” Valka whispered, and her eyebrows furrowed downwards. She began to sob softly, and Dagur had yet to know why, but he was confused, as his father guided him out of the room, told him to go to bed and closed the door in his face.

He hadn’t thought much of it, not til the next morning when he came to visit Valka again.

”His legs!” Dagur had yelled, no filter between his mouth and his brain. “Why do they look like that? They’re bent!”

And it was true. Hayden had legs unlike no other. They were scarred and twisted so abnormally that it made Dagur uncomfortable. It was an ugly sight; Dagur had never seen anyone look so strange. Not only his legs, but Hayden was red and shriveled, like an old man coming out of a hot bath.

”Yes, Dagur. They are,” Valka told him, but unlike the day before, she instead wore a smile on her face. “But they’re apart of him. We should love him anyways.”

Dagur frowned. It seemed like such a strange idea. He didn’t love many people; most of the time made fun of them, unless they were his friends, people he played with. “Will he be able to run?”

”No, unfortunately. But Stoick and I are still going to take care of him.”

At that, Dagur had huffed. “Would he live past this winter?” It was a strong question — but he’d always ask those.

In that moment, Valka was very silent. “Yes, he will.” She said, and then she added another blanket around Hayden, all the while Dagur watched.

“How do you know?” Dagur asked, and at that moment Hayden began to fuss, tiny fists bundled and his eyes shut, yet he was barely moving.

”He was born during Thor’s blessing. He was born during the sounds of Thor crashing his mighty hammer down on his foes. He will live.”

At that moment, Dagur decided that Valka was a crazy lady.

From the beginning, Hayden had thousand of surprises up his sleeve. Dagur had never expected so much from someone who could do so little with their body. Around Hayden’s second winter, the prince of Berk had yet been able to crawl, nonetheless walk, and Dgaur had found that as sickening and weak. It was the first thing he thought when Hayden came to his mind — that he was weak, and because of that, he was different.

There were other children around his age on Berk that he’d play with when he visited. Snotface, who was always trying to suck up to him. Dumb and Stupid, the twins that Dagur tried avoiding at all costs, who annoyed him so much he’d walk off storming towards the woods in a fit. Blondie, who he’d gotten into fights with more often than him breathing. And Fishlegs, who Dagur had also seen as weak.

They were either too boring or too annoying, and he had been filled with relief upon the news that Hayden was born. That relief was diminished when he saw Hayden the first and second time, and when he realized he’d have to wait years before Hayden could even talk. It infuriated the redhead to no end.

He held the small, weak thing in his arms, his green eyes narrowed and his cheeks huffed. There were a lot of things Dagur didn’t like about Hayden. The fact he couldn’t walk. The fact his name was too bold and strong to fit him. The fact that he couldn’t grow up faster, and his legs.

”Why do I have to carry him?” Dagur had complained, his arms beginning to strain after the long period of time. He was at the Mess Hall, where the adults acted stupid, stuffing their faces of food and drinks that he wasn’t allowed to taste. It was Snoggletog, and he wanted nothing more than to go out and chase the sun, which was drowning into the ocean.

“You need to spend time with him. He’s not all used to you, you know,” his father had glanced at him and responded briefly, before turning his head back towards the uproar of people seating at the long table.

I don’t want him to get used to me, Dagur had thought, his gaze going back to Hayden, who pulled at his hair. Dagur made a face, and when Hayden pulled a little too hard, he growled.

”Fine then! We’re going out, dad,” he told the chief of Berserkers, who merely grunted in return. With an eyeroll, the redhead quickly fled the scene, pushing open the heavy door of the Mess Hall and walking outside.

He felt Hayden squirm in his arms, and heard him cry. “Oh, yeah,” Dagur muttered to himself, quickly changing his detour towards the hut he and his father were currently staying at. “You need a coat or you’ll die.”

Hayden whimpered and cling to him, and Dagur rolled his eyes. He kicked open to door to their hut, letting his slam behind them. A candle was lit on top of a table, and he grabbed it before heading upstairs.

”You can have one my coats. Dad would kill me if I took his,” At this point, Dagur felt like he was talking to no one but himself. After all, Hayden couldn’t do or say anything back.

He set Hayden onto the bed, who flopped onto his stomach and squirmed. The redhead snorted and set the candle on the bedside drawer, walking to a trunk at the corner of the room. It hadn’t been snowing when he walked outside, but it was still cold, and he was certain that Hayden would freeze in a single minute if he wasn’t wrapped up.

”Here.” The coat would be way too big for Hayden, probably would reach his ankles, but it would have to do. It was better to be safe. After all, Dagur didn’t plan on staying around the Berkian village. He had some exploring to do, and if he had to take the other with him, then so be it.

When he reached the bed, Hayden was squirming and has reached the edge of the bed, trying to wiggle off. Dagur wasn’t surprised; it was the only movement Hayden could really do, and even when he did, his face would get red, sometimes even purple. In this case, it had reached a soft pink. Gothi — Berk’s doctor — had said that the strain of him moving around so would have put so much strain on his weak heart he’d die, but that had yet to happen. Dagur didn’t think it ever would.

He scooped up the two year old with a single arm, and Hayden responded with even more squirming. “Hold still, stupid,” Dagur muttered, and he set the oversized coat around Hayden’s shoulders, securing it by buttoning it up. When he was done, Dagur grinned proudly.

”Alright then. Let’s get out of here,” the redhead said, and he quickly fled from the hut, out the village and towards the large woods.

”Gods, Hayden. You’re heavy.”

With a grunt, the young, now seven year old set the young boy onto a rock. He wobbled a little, but then remained still after Dagur set a hand on his shoulder. He looked around, frowning slightly. The sun was now long gone, having drowned completely into the ocean. He was upset; Dagur had hoped he would catch it, but it seemed that no matter what direction he went it, he never got any closer to it.

”I don’t want to go back,” Dagur admitted, and he looked down to the Berkian. “What do you think? Should we head to the village again?”

There was no response from Hayden, and Dagur rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wished Hayden was old enough to talk; and he hoped that when Hayden did reach that age, he would.

Suddenly there was a little noise. It sounded strange, and he didn’t know what it was until it came back again. Hic. A pause. Hic. Hic!

“Hayden!” Dagur laughed, and he crouched to the younger eyelevel. “Did you hiccup?”

Hayden gave a little grin in response, based of his teeth showing. “Hic.”

Dagur paused for a moment, before he too let out his own grin. “Hiccup. Yeah, I like that name a lot better. Way better than something like Hayden,” he muttered, “No way does it suit you.”

After that, he took Hiccup back to the village, where the adults party had long since ended. He told Valka and Stoick about what had happened, about the new name he came up with. His father and the Berkian chief had agreed, but Valka frowned and said that a baby born in the middle of Thor’s blessing was to be treated with better respect. Hiccup just, well, kept on hiccuping.

It was the first time Dagur had ever found Hiccup to be something other than useless.

Years had passed, and Dagur knew Hayden of only one name — Hiccup. For the longest time, he’d forgotten that it wasn’t his real one, and so whenever anyone referred to the prince of Berk by any other name than the one Dagur had given him, he’d ask, “Who?”

At this time, Hiccup was seven, and Dagur had just turned twelve. Hiccup had learned to crawl when he turned three, and for a long while it was the way he transported, up until the blacksmith of Berk had to make him a cart in which he was pulled around. It was usually Valka who took care of him, despite most of the citizens of Berk saying that Hiccup was in no way fit to be a future chief. Dagur had agreed, but when people began saying that Hiccup should be instead in Valhalla, he’d thrown a fit.

He came only seven times a year: Twice in the spring time for five days, twice in the summer for a week, once in the fall, and once again for Snoggletog. And every time he went, it seem the talk of what to do with Hiccup became more and more of an uproar.

And although Dagur had hated the idea of Hiccup off the earth and into Valhalla, there was a a knot of cruelty within him that he expressed every time he visited Berk, every time he saw Hiccup. A knot of cruelty, shame, and sadistic torture.

Every time Dagur had visited, Hiccup clung to his side like a leech, desperate to remain with him. Dagur knew exactly why, too. Despite treating Hiccup like a toy of entertainment each him he visited Berk, he was the only person who really talked to him. Unlike Snltface and the others, who sneered with disgust every time he saw Hiccup, Dagur was different. He held an anticipating grin to his face instead of that sneer, and Hiccup always grabbed onto that fact.

Dagur hadn’t been to Berk since Spring time, and at the moment, the Berserker tribe was at war, and hence their late visit. It was now fall, and Dagur had wanted to be there when his father and Stoick discussed helping the Berserkers through the war, but alas, he was told the same thing he was told years ago: “You need to spend time with him. He’s not all used to you, you know.”

And that was the reasoning to why the redhead was pulling Hiccup, who was sat in the small cart Gobber had crafted, through the forest.

“D-Dagur? Where are we going?”

When he was younger, the redhead always desperately hoped that when Hiccup was older, he would talk. Now, it seemed like he’d never shut up. “I already told you, stupid. We’re going dragon hunting,” he sighed in irritation. “Now just pipe down.”

”Okay,” Hiccup mumbled quickly after, and there was nothing but peaceful, welcoming silence. Dagur huffed through his nose, and he stepped over a branch, dragging Hiccup’s cart along with him.

”Dagur? Do you hate me?”

”For the gods sake, what the Hel did I just say, Hiccup?”

”Sorry. I just want to know.”

Dagur paused. He didn’t know how to answer that.

“You do hate me,” Hiccup said after a moment.

Dagur didn’t know what to say to that either.

There were mixed emotions Dagur had about the younger. He either hated Hiccup with a passion so strong he would play cruel pranks and thrive in the way he suffered, or he protected him and loved him in the way that he would fend off every bully, and there was no in between. It had always been one or the other.

And it didn’t take long before Dagur dragged himself and Hiccup to their sanctuary in the woods. They called it Rocklock Cavern, after hours of arguing. And it was just like its name, too. A system of tunnels made of rock, swooping down from ground level. Hiccup had thought it was originally the nest of a Catastrophic Quaken, and Dagur had thought so too.

He let go of the cart handle, and it produced a thud in return. Dagur stop on the edge, peering down into the abyss of Rocklock Cavern. They hadn’t told a soul about the mysterious place, not since originally finding it two years ago, when Hiccup was four.

“How long are we going to stay?” Came Hiccup’s voice from behind. The redhead kicked a rock down into the darkness, listening to it hit the ground.

”Until we find a dragon. I’ll kill it and bring it back.”

“You can’t kill a dragon, Dagur.”

And very swiftly he had turned, his dark green eyes holding a wicked glare. “Are you doubting me, Hiccup?”

Nervously, the younger shifted. “W-well, yeah. You’re not old enough, a-and you’re not strong... Yet! Not strong enough yet!”

”That’s it, you twerp!” Dagur growled, and he hoisted the other out of the wooden cart, and Hiccup gave a high pitched yelp in turn. He spun on his feet, tightly fisting Hiccup’s shirt, dangling him over the edge of the cavern with one hand. “You’ve been on my nerves all damn day!”

“D-Dagur! Put me down! This isn’t funny!” Hiccup cried, his nails reaching up and scratching at his hand. The redhead couldn’t help but chuckle.

”Put you down? You mean, like this?” He asked, teasingly, tauntingly, moving his arm and letting Hiccup dangle even further. “You want me to put you down now?”

“No!” Hiccup yelled, following by Dagur’s laughter. “Dagur, please!”

And then there was a roar. Dagur’s eyes widened and he had nearly flinched at the sound; so much that he had almost let go of Hiccup and dropped him down into the deep cavern. Said boy whimpered beneath him and clung harder, to which Dagur rolled his eyes, pulling the six year old away from the edge and tossing him carelessly back into his cart.

“Ow,” Hiccup muttered, but Dagur paid no mind. Making haste, he muttered and snatched up the thin, fur bag that he had placed in Hiccup’s cart, pulling out an encased long sword and a helmet with pointed horns.

“Stay here,” Dagur ordered, and he placed the helmet on his head, fastening it. “Don’t move.”

And Dagur had been about to leave, but there was a hand gripping his and Hiccup’s voice. “Dagur, wait! Take me with you! Don’t leave me,” he whispered, “Don’t leave me alone.”

“Fine,” Dagur glared in return. “But if you die or get hurt, it’s not my damn fault.”

And there was a light in Hiccup’s eyes, one that made Dagur want to slap it off his expression. “Okay! Just take me with you.”

With a roll of his eyes, Dagur hoisted the much smaller boy over his shoulders, and he ran through the woods until they found the entrance of a rock tunnel, kicking away branches and rocks. “Keep quiet, Hiccup, or I swear —“

”I’ll hush up, Dagur. I promise,” the boy whispered, his face right next to the redhead’s. “I’ll be the most quietest.”

He hadn’t believed it, but then there was another roar snatching his attention. It sounded pain and meek, to which Dagur deflated at slightly. He hoped the damn thing wasn’t injured; he wanted to take it out while it was at full strength, to flaunt his power, and show his father the things he could do. He wasn’t a child anymore.

With a shove to the vines blocking his path, Dagur made his way down the opening, into the dark cavern, tracing the walls with his hand. He reached the bottom and knew he had when his steps had became a complete echo.

“Matches,” Dagur said, and there was a soft ruffling before they were pressed into his hand. He took one out of the small box and scratched it against the rock wall, and light blossomed cooperatively.

”Get on my back, Hiccup. I’m not gonna hold you the whole way.”

”I know,” came the response, and Hiccup slid from his arm, his own arms going securely around Dagur’s neck, and legs around his waist. “What kind of dragon you think it is?”

”How the Hel should I know? Besides, didn’t I tell you to keep quiet?” Dagur growled, and he began walking, stepping heel-toe. “And when we get there, get off my back and hide behind a rock or something. I’ll handle the dragon from there.”

”Just be careful, Dagur,” Hiccup whispered, and then he grew quiet.

The roaring had continued, and Dagur was getting fed up. He unsheathed his sword and began running, his footsteps getting heavier and heavier. The match went out and with the snap of his fingers, another was pressed into his hand. With enough distance he travelled, light began to shine from the end of the long, Cavern hallway, and there was another monstrous roar.

They reached the end, and Dagur had expected a battle, but he didn’t see it all. What he had found instead had made his mood instantly turn sour, his sword falling to the ground with a clang. There was a soft gasp from Hiccup, and the legs and arms around him tightened.

“It’s a dragon!” Hiccup yelled, and Dagur had almost slapped him right then and there.

”No shit, idiot,” He grunted in return.

And said dragon was injured. Its wing bent and folded, so much that it almost reminded a Dagur of Hiccup’s legs when he had first seen them. The stupid thing was trying to fly out of the cavern; after all, at this point, there were multiple openings through the ceiling. It was cut up and in a malnourished state, if the way its ribs were visible was anything to go by.

Dagur might have thought it a worthy opponent, had he found it at its best point, but it looked pathetic instead, writhing writhing and flapping its broken wing, trying oh so desperately to fly but instead remaining in the same place, not getting any closer to the opening than it had before.

And although Dagur and Hiccup had made noise, the dragon didn’t seem to pay any attention to them. It gave one more attempt to fly out before falling onto the ground, laying there like a limp body. Puffs of white smoke exhaled through its nostrils, and Dagur was aware that it could have the potential to breathe fire.

”Grapple Grounder,” Hiccup whispered near his ear.

”What?”

”Grapple Grounder. That’s what it’s called. It coils around people and squeezes them to death,” he explained, and Dagur snorted.

”Well, isn’t that pleasant?”

”It breathes fire, too.”

”I know that, stupid,” Dgaur rolled his eyes again. He’d been doing that more and more frequently that he spent time with Hiccup. He grabbed his sword from the ground, sheathing it once more. “Well, it’s going to die. Let’s just leave it.”

”Wait,” Hiccup protested quickly. “Wait.”

”For God’s sakes, what now?” Dagur groaned. This entire mission had been pointless, and he wanted to head back to the village and terrorize some of the Berkians. Not only that, but he had drag Hiccup and his cart all the way back. He was irritated.

”Let’s stay,” Hiccup said. “It’s going to die, right? We should keep it company, at least...”

”You want to keep company for the dragon,” Dagur repeated dully.

”Stop being so mean! Let’s just stay, okay?” Hiccup said, his voice edging on to be pleading. “Come on, Dagur.”

He thought for a moment, before the redhead finally came to a decision. “We should kill it.”

”No!” Hiccup sighed, exasperated.

”Why not? Look at the damn thing, Hiccup. It can’t move. Can’t fly. Can’t do anything. It’s suffering, so we might as well get rid of it!” Dagur snapped. He was tired of the kid's damn antics.

Hiccup stayed silent, and Dagur would have ignored it and started walking if it weren't for the fact that something told him to stay there, nailed to the ground. "It's kind of like me, isn't it?" the brunette boy asked softly. "Would you put me down, Dagur? When I got older and was suffering, like you said, would you kill me and call it mercy? Or would it be different because I'm a person? Tell me the truth." And gods, Hiccup was a six year old, but he the way he said that sentence had sent shivers down his back. It made him feel transparent; ghostly, but most of all, it had him thinking, even though he shouldn't be. "No," Dagur said, after what had seemed like hours. "No, Hiccup, I wouldn't. Not even if you wanted me to."

"We should kill it," Hiccup said. "Like you said, it is hurting. I think it'll feel better not here anymore, right? It's too weak to fight back anyways." "Sure," Dagur agreed, and he set the boy in the corner, next to a pile of boulders. That urge or cruelty, of the want to hurt Hiccup had dispersed just slightly. Wordlessly, the Berkian prince took cover behind the multitude of rocks, peering from the cracks. Dagur made his way over to the used to be strong beast, his blade glinting through the veils of sunlight peering from the ceiling. He had gotten closer and closer, cautiously, and when he reached the dragon, it merely stared at him, giving a plead with its eyes that glanced at his sword and then to him. Its next action made Dagur's heart drop. The red Grapple Grounder prepared itself, eyes closing slowly and its head thudding gently onto the floor. Dagur raised his sword, and he tried not to look at Hiccup through the reflection. His breath wavered slightly, before he brought it down, straight through the dragon's temple.

The red seeped out of the wound. Gushed and poured, and Dagur hung his head. It was a dragon. He'd never felt sympathy for the creatures, yet at the moment, he felt as if his heart had been torn out of his chest, and he didn't know why. But the one thing he knew was that he would always remember this day - the death of the Red Grapple Grounder.