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     Furrowed brows soon raised at the suggestion, a high frown upon his lips. As hesitant as he was to take the device from a fellow boy, he eventually snatched it away and held it in between his own fingers. ❛i don’t need HELP — i’m master of games!❜ He declared, one finger tapping repeatedly on the button he was shown. 

“Yeah, you uh-- you sure showed me.” ‘Please don’t hurt my phone’ the sentence seemed to substitute this plea.

     ❛WAIT— do that again!❜

“Uh-- it doesn’t exactly work like that.” A slight glance the youth spared the figure just over his shoulder, focus still intent upon the blocks hastening their descent in a rousing game of Tetris. And, so following his eventual Game Over, he turned brown eyes upon his companion.

     So no, he did not flinch upon his young friend’s outburst, no fright nor offense colouring his expression, still nothing but writ with knowing; understanding. It was clear it had been nagging at his conscience all this time, demanding some kind of resolution and angling for the darker path. It saw retribution as the only right to this pain, but he knew– he knew revenge was a poison, and would underhandedly spur the hurt rather than soothe it. It would consume, and it would control, and once he would achieve these ends, his hands would never wash free of the blood and grime. 

     He would stain his hands with the filth, and it would never let go of his being forever after.

     The chieftain, face set in sorrow, decided then it was time to close their distance. He advanced, each step lagging and accented by the softest whine of his prosthetic. It clattered to a halt, when he fell to a knee, and drew the boy into his arms. He would take all of it; the sting, the anguish, if it meant there was no hurting anymore.

          ❝… Hey, it’s okay.❞ he murmured his consolations, hushed and gentle, ❝It’ll be okay.❞

     His brow wrinkled– this was all he could give for now.

Though it was soon that this imagined stroke of heat was replaced by the gentle warmth of limbs entwined about his form. The gesture struck him near-breathless, hands intended to shield his features from sight tightening their gap alongside tense limbs. Yet it was in the next moment that the other’s words appeared to breach what walls the brunette had amassed, rendering his body beyond the ability to stave off a gentle quake only to increase in magnitude as the seconds passed.

All at once were arms released from their position pinned to his side, willingly slinging themselves about the form of the elder who swore to Hiro his understanding. It was bracing-- Hiccup’s tangibility a distinct reminder that he wasn’t entirely alone in this world...as often as he felt inclined to entertain the contrary.

So for a time did words escape him, small fingers buried deep in the fabric of the other’s back. He clove him close, dark lashes lined with moisture buried in against the plane of the other’s shoulder as he permit long-overdue tears to bloom into fruition..

He’d never meant for Hiccup to see him like this-- an entity riddled with the flame of hate and fury the object of his injustices did beget. And, although the embrace did well to relieve him of his immediate loneliness, the object of vengeance he could not hope to forgive whilst he still drew breath.

                   Loss was a powerful thing– and it could turn most anyone rotten.

     Tightening his mouth and of temperate wording, the chieftain parried the notion his friend put forth.

          ❝There’s always another way.❞ he asserted; perhaps Hiro saw his optimism as empty, having no weight.

     He had to thwart this way of thinking, for all it promised was a new make of pain. Their situations were aligned, in a manner, and so, his statement wasn’t so much reassuring himself– but the other.

          ❝It doesn’t matter– because I’m not him. And I couldn’t let myself become him.❞ faith punctuated each word riding an steadfast delivery.

“Y-you don’t get it! None of you--” In the moment the words were issued did something arise from the boy’s throat which choked off speech, a great flood of emotion having wrought rubble of the cold and unyielding gates which formerly kept them at bay.

He’d practiced hard to play at normalcy; to pretend these thoughts were not a matter which plagued him at every waking hour. Even his brother, who did so undergo every trial to understand the struggles of his sibling was pointedly removed from this matter. An internal struggle which, Hiro thought, would only garner the elder’s disappointment, as well as his shame. But even this, in the face of his desperation, Hiro thought he could abide-- if only it would yield the results for which he so desperately pined.

“Tadashi…”

More Cas prompt haha!

Losing oneself in thought is often a habit of somebody sinking into a bad place, and this is evident in the son of Hephaestus especially. Despite the weight in his chest, his philosophy had always worked for him before…for the most part, anyway. So, trying it here wouldn’t hurt, would it? 

Just move on, don’t let the sadness catch up.

This meant submerging himself in the things he liked, which involved grabbing a hot beverage and a sandwich to sate his hunger from a nearby cafe with a double pistol and a wink tossed at the waitress on his way out. Never mind the fact his eating habits had been scarce lately, he could fix that. Nothing a little ham and cheese couldn’t fix.

He had loaded up on the parts he could find, ones that clicked with the ingrained sense that came with the kind of blood he had. It was like a second nature, picking through garbage and picking out had-been junk that would suit his needs well enough. He had loaded up on enough to fill two plastic bags, albeit heavy ones, and it had taken a bit of heaving to get it to a suitable workspace. One bite of a sandwich later and a messy pile dumped on scratched wood, he went to work, rolling dirty screws and wires between his fingers.

It happens without his knowledge, as it always done when he’s dead to everything but what’s in front of him, assembling pieces and using the occasional usage of heat to fix it into place, but this time it’s accompanied by a very unexpected happening. He’s just examining a joint, a half-finished creature in front of him, when all of a sudden a cold and sticky liquid shower assaults his skin. It’s in his hair, dripping down his face, staining his clean shirt, and Leo is on his feet and a torrent of spanish curses slip from his lips as he pushes wet curls out of his eyes.

“Dude!” That’s the first thing Hiro gets in response, demigod goosestepping out of his seat to squint at the culprit. Next comes the explanation, and a sigh of disbelief slips from his lips as he starts to wring out his shirt.

“How can I be mad when you’re pulling a face like that? Word of advice, next time, check to make sure the guy isn’t fireproof before you give him a cola bath. As nice and sugary as I smell, I’m gonna need another.” Giving up on his endeavor, Leo then holds up a finger, small flame springing to life at the tip as it would a lighter.

“See? No biggie for the human torch. But thanks for the attempt anyway, uh…”

Usually a “thank you” would have sufficed. But the point Leo was quick to make was not without its foundations.

“Hey, I said I was sorry! It’s not every day you see a guy nearly set himself alight in a park! What would you do?” Doubling back a few steps, Hiro gave him room to gain his own ground, dark eyes widening at the blossom of a flame elicited at his fingertip. The sight was nearly enough to make Hiro drop the empty can he held in hand-- nearly.

“Dude--!” The initial exclamation was slung right back at the stranger, the can landing with a light crunch upon the adjacent picnic table as Hiro moved in, brown eyes scouring the point of the flame’s manifestation in pursuit of any trickery of the eye. But if there was some clever way about this impression of magic...even he couldn’t see it.

“Wait so you’re seriously-- how!? Are you some kind of genetically-modified human? Bit by a radioactive spider? What’s your story? You gotta tell me now.” The demand left the boy’s lips without a second more spared to reinforce his former misgivings about dowsing the other in a shower of soda. After all, he’d just been about shelling out a public service...how was he supposed to know the guy-nearly-on-fire also happened to be Mr. Match?

“It’s no wonder you could do all this without breaking out a blowtorch.” The next observation came in regards to the scrap metal just beginning to manifest shape and form beneath Leo’s careful construction. And, with a brow quirked slightly at the strange assortment, Hiro couldn’t help but to regard ever closer the mess of aforementioned junk with a childish curiosity suited to his age.

Bastille - Things We Lost in the Fire

    When at last a response did grace his plea, coloured in discontent, Hiccup’s shoulders sagged. A shake of his head, casting aside his gaze while he gathered thought for another gently composed reply. Memory, like a waking nightmare, flooded his mind– of war, of fire, of Drago– and a weak sigh escaped him.

         ❝I was…. furious, I-I was–❞ his voice quaked.

         ❝… I lost my dad, I lost my best friend– but I….,❞ another shake of his head, partnered with a shrug starved its usual vigor, ❝… couldn’t.❞

     A brief silence settled amid the moment, before he fixed his young comrade with a look, once writ with conflict, now firm.

         ❝There was another way, and I chose it.❞

Of all people, Hiro thought he would understand most what it was to feel as though you had lost everything. And yet, unlike Hiccup, it was upon his sleeve that Hiro wore his wounded heart, alongside all the brashness of youth which did become him-- this being the very thing which stoked the fire in his chest beyond the breaking point. If the heat in itself was not too intense, then the smoke in turn did blind him (until now) to the truth Hiccup had brought to light: he did have a choice in the matter.

     That kind of pain was a gash on the heart. It either scarred, or it festered.

          ❝… I know, bud.❞ his brows drew together tightly, ❝But if you let yourself go to that place, if you let yourself become what you hate— you’ll never forgive yourself.❞

And-- suddenly, he felt to be every bit the disappointment he’d anticipated.

“I should have known that you’d be just like them.” Loathing, not only directed towards the murder on his mind-- but at himself boiled to a head; a reflection that in that moment left Hiro with the vague desire to be stripped of feeling entirely. If only this luxury were something he could turn off and on like a lightswitch...perhaps saying so wouldn’t have left him feeling so alone.