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Title: Engines and Outcasts

Based on: How to Train your Dragon (Dreamworks - 2010) | Tangled (Disney - 2010) | Rise of the Guardians (Dreamworks - 2012) | Brave (Disney Pixar - 2012) | Frozen (Disney - 2013)

Fandom: The Big Five i.e. 'Rise of the Brave Tangled Frozen Dragons' (RotBTFD)

Universe: Steampunk(-ish) AU

Time setting: Own setting, you do not need to have watched all of the above listed films, even though numerous quotes and plot references will be made to them.

Genre: Science-Fiction | Fantasy | Adventure | Romance | Society

Pairings: HiccupxJack (Frostcup/HiJack), HansxAnna (Hanna), RapunzelxFlynn (Eugunzel), SandyxTooth (FeatherPillow) [No Jelsa.]

Rating: T (unless said otherwise before given chapter)

Synopsis: A world of steel, helium, steam. Humans are but cogs & gears in the immense clockwork engine of the Southeastern Extremesian colonies. An inventor and pilot, a mischievous outlaw, a golden-haired heiress, a rebellious archer & an eccentric baroness. All improbable outcasts who may alter the engine forever.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and plot elements that belong to any of the studios listed above. References and shout-outs may be made to other works, which I may mention in the author's notes. The AU comes from my weird imagination. The cover image belongs to me.

So, yeesh. This is my first fanfic on here. Hope you enjoy, please review, follow, favourite etc. Feedback/suggestions very welcome.

A rather short-looking chapter, considering it includes some Berk Steel backstory, aircrafty actiony thingies and Hiccup meeting Jack.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except for a weirdish universe and a handful of plot points.

"Control tower to unidentified winged object. Please identify yourself."

The metallic voice resonated in Hiccup's headphones integrated in his flying helmet. With a flick of a lever, he set up a set of wooden pulleys and iron gears to switch on the old gramophone. What a fine notion, a gramophone to accompany him in his solitude aboard his aeroglider. The sizzling notes of the classic Northern Extremesian tune submerged the radio message.

"Please identify yourself. Unidentified flying object, this is control tower. Corona & Sons Plant Alpha."

He could not care less. He could easily see it was Plant Alpha. The crown jewel of the Corona empire. The mighty family's hegemony, started off in luxury goods, had extended to gold, silver, constellite and precious gems in all the colonies of Southeastern Extremesia. On their purchase of the supposedly promising gold and constellite mine, they had made Plant Alpha into this gigantic termite mound, buzzing with humans and engines. A grotesque imitation of a flowering Cornucopian city at the heart of the primitive jungle.

Through the large glass windows of his vessel, Hiccup saw the sea of colossal zeppelins, turbines lazily rotating on their axes, the colourful hot air balloons of various sizes, oscillating slightly in the breeze, all chained to the ground with solid rope, all at such altitude they challenged the supremacy of the evergreen rainforest. Between the flying engines were multitudes of steel cranes and wooden platforms, ever in motion like the parts of an automaton. Everywhere, people of all ages and colours moved restlessly, carrying diverse objects from the walking cane to the sack of gold nuggets, from the heavy sepia scroll to the rusty iron pipe.

"Ready? Here we go, bud."

Hiccup had contracted that strange tendency to talk to his aeroglider during lonely flying time. Quite worrying for a twenty-year-old young man. The ship dove through the emerald canopy into the swarming activity of Plant Alpha. Everywhere around were puffs of steam, human shouts and glowering violet blue constellite light. With agility, Hiccup swayed the glider into the vertical plane. Slid in between two zeppelin helices. Sank to duck under a massive container pulled up by pulleys. Brushed past the side of a metallic tower. Rocketed into the canopy at top speed. None of the titanic ships could outmatch the velocity of his one-passenger engine.

"Woohoo!"

Flying was his greatest passion. Flying was what made him feel alive. As the only son of Stoick 'the Vast' Haddock, he was the heir of Berk Steel, a great metallurgical entreprise that played a key role in the production of all weapons in the colonies. Yes, weird names ran in the family. Some superstitious repel-the-ghost idea from their originary Miseralia. But Hiccup was no businessman. He was an inventor at heart.

From the youngest age, he had dismantled constellite-bullet rifles to make fireworks bloom over the familial ship deck. As he grew up, at his father's consternation, he started working on those small zeppelin-shipped military gliders to fabricate a self-sufficient engine for solo exploring flights. Crash after crash, mistake after mistake, desperately copious part scavenging after desperately copious part scavenging, he had finally achieved the current 'unidentified winged object'. He had become the only civilian aviator in the Eastern Extremesian colonies – who would ever be interested in doing so, anyways? – managed his first long-distance journeys and eventually reached Plant Alpha, to find finally be able to observe them.

They were the other main source of disagreement between Hiccup and Stoick. They were the worst of pests in Berk Steel, in Plant Alpha and in all trade around the rainforest. They were called the Drifters. They were robbers, smugglers, barefoot scum of Extremesia. Most of them were native savages, not men from the Old Continent. Clad in rags, dirty, always sleeping out in the wilderness, always planning raids for a steel shipment, a cotton delivery or a constellite caravan. Drifters were, between many others, the cause for Hiccup's mother's disappearance. They were the cause for Hiccup's injury and hence his prosthetic right foot. And for all those reasons Stoick would always have them in profound disgust.

The first time he had seen the Drifters, Hiccup had mistaken them for the mighty Valkyries. They raided from the skies, from some unfortunate-looking balloon. They wore leathery tissues between their legs and arms to glide like flying squirrels, and wielded long wooden sticks to keep their balance and assist their jumps. They lived on the roof of zeppelins, on the edge of balconies, on the narrowest end of tree branches. They vanished into the canopy as fast as they came, as if carried away by the winds, leaving no traces. They were humans with no fear for gravity. Humans with almost the gift of flight.

Some said, amongst the Berk clan, snickering behind his back, that he looked for them to claim his lost leg, or that he had naïve dreams his mother may have become one of them. Hiccup himself hardly knew the exact reason, but they had always fascinated him. His father's whole clan had coughed in disapproval as he started to incorporate squirrel-like wings to his flying gear or metal hooks to his prosthetic leg. Naturally, the overcrowded Plant Alpha was the Drifters' predilection playground, and Hiccup had pretexted a new-monocrystal-doped-turbine-blade-test flight to be able to come and see them in activity. As long as Berk Steel could get some patent out of it, Stoick was too taken with his own affairs to say no.

Adjusting the tail fins through a mechanism connected to his prosthetic foot, Hiccup headed his plane directly below one of the larger zeppelins, into which the gold was being charged. The yellow sun of Corona was painted on the proud vessel's side. He marveled at the precision and power of the steam-operated engines that stacked and lifted the immense containers into the monster's belly. Absent-mindedly he inserted a sheet of paper into his flight luxographer – a present from his father's associate Gobber. The image would be useful for a launching platform design he had in mind. Narrowly avoiding a small balloon floating upwards, he whizzed past –

Crash! Shock. Noise. And yes, pain. The collision was far from elastic. The friction set the small, dark zeppelin on fire. The sturdy military steel of Hiccup's vehicle saved him from the same fate. His glider effectuated a series of perilous barrell rolls before he could stabilise it by unfolding the tip of the bat-like wings.

Somewhat clumsily, he scrambled back to his seat in the tiny cockpit. Adjusted his aviator goggles onto his eyes. Cursed at the mug of hot – turned warm – chocolate, knocked over during the impact, that had stained his gear. Reached out for the lever that powered the gramophone distractingly roaring into his ears. Actually managed to pull the wrong lever, and serve a cup of boiling hot coffee onto where the ceramic mug should have been.

"Calm down. Calm down," he muttered under his breath.

He had to check whether the burning vessel had any passengers in danger. On its flaming side he noticed the black bear sigil of DunBroch.

"Come on bud. We can do this," he whispered reassuringly, more to himself than to his plane.

He cautiously started to circle the endangered ship. Sparks bounced off his glider's metallic skin.

"Unidentified wing object. You have not identified yourself and attacked a registered aircraft. You are no longer under our protection. You have attacked…"

"By Odin's eye!" Hiccup cursed.

Of course they had to repeat everything in confusing chiasmi to annoy him further. And attacked, really? He was prepared to swear again, before an impact struck the carcass of his glider. Add the euphemism to the chiasmi. They were opening fire at him. Hiccup stared in panick as constellite arrows converged towards him. One of the typical weapons of the DunBroch militia hired by Corona. He flinched as a web of cracks propagated from the top of the cockpit's windshield. Driving with his right hand, Hiccup picked a roll of transparent tape – for glass, unfortunately the best he had on board – and applied it against the fracture. The arrows screeched like nails against steel. In a sickening crunch he heard an explosion from the left turbine.

"Calm down. Think. Calm down!"

The small motorless gliders released by the militia zeppelins dove down towards his plane. Berk Entreprise Dragonfang 180. Such irony. He could see the armed silhouettes of their archers aiming at him. His opponents went no faster than the ships that dropped them. Even without the balance of two side turbines, an accelerating boost would get them temporarily out of the way.

Teeth clenched, sweat beading his brow, he rotated the crank handle to deliver the impulse.

The ingenious system of rotating mirrors at the back of the plane adjusted to a parabola, focusing the light on the sample of raw constellite mineral that powered the whole machine. Constellite, the stuff of the stars, harnessed and stored the sunlight's energy with near-perfect yields. The purple blue hand-sized sample, at the centre of the aeronef, was connected by copper cables to all parts of the machinery. As, through the – actually – toughened glass roof, the sunbeam intensity was multiplied, the vessel was propelled forwards at maximal velocity by a jet of dark indigo plasma.

The Offspring of Lightning and Death. His clan's nickname for the plane was for once quite appropriate.

At a safe distance away from his followers, he was hovering directly above the mining pit, an unsettled motley crowd buzzing in panick just below. He turned off the still-functioning turbine to avoid going in circles, expanded the wings to their maximal span and prepared to open the safety helium balloons.

"Seriously? Can't you deploy?..."

He swallowed his saliva.

"Okay. Bud, I'll be right back."

One of the chains activating the mechanism must have been hit by an arrow, he could hear its worrying dangle against the carcass. He had to go out and fix it manually.

Hiccup opened the door and harnessed himself to the handle. He could do it. He had done it before. Just had not to look down. Not. Look. Down.

Oblivious to the hysterical crowd, he moved in tiny steps, clinging to the hot metal, towards the centre of the aircraft. If the greenhouse heat inside the cockpit was tiring, the outside was warm and moist. His hand was sweating heavily as he heaved himself over the wing onto the plane's glass roof. Using his prosthetic foot as a lever, he painstakingly slid a metal panel open to free the balloons.

"If I open the helium valve, I should be able to – "

He hardly noticed the dark arrow flying straight from above, from the deck of the largest militia zeppelin. The glass ceiling shattered. The arrowhead sank into the constellite sample. The massive amount of energy stored in the crystal's excitons and phonons was liberated.

But Hiccup's tetanised mind could only think: explosion. The plasma's intense radiation hurt the eye. The air was catching purple fire. Flames licked his fireproof suit and flying helmet. He was too shocked to scream. He was going to die. He was afraid. He was paralysed. He was falling. Freely.

Somehow, a silly old reflex took over, and he spread out his limbs. The coalstring reinforced membranes slowed down his fall. With a tap onto his abdomen, he deployed an artificial fin on the back of his suit to stabilise his direction. Somewhere deep inside his head he made a mental note to have a look at the springs that controlled the automatic opening of the mechanism.

Which is how he was momentarily distracted enough to be surprised as he landed over something soft. Well, relatively soft. It did hurt. And it did leave him stunned, lying face down and motionless, for seconds. Before sliding down from the unstable equilibrium point.

And he plummetted down. Screaming, this time. To his death in the darkness of the pit. To a fate worse than Hel…

It took him a fraction of a second to realise he had stopped screaming. A thin, unexpectedly strong arm was securely wrapped against his chest. The other one clung to a long wooden staff-like pole, the crooked end hooked onto the edge of a balloon's basket.

"Shh, it's going to be all right," murmured Hiccup's saviour into his ear, in a surprisingly youthful, playful voice. "We're going to have some fun."

Then he swung himself against the staff, launching both of them into an oscillation, and in mid-air – let go. With great elegance, the hooded man landed on top of a crane-suspended container. While holding Hiccup with one arm, he playfully caught his stick with the other. As their platform descended into the pit, he pounced onto a nearby aircraft, metal-plated like a giant insect. Pushed the young inventor aside to dodge a bullet from the surprised pilot. Scooped Hiccup off his feet. And jumped again into the void.

Without harness. Without parachute. Without even spreading his wings. It was as though the winds were his allies and friends. As though he could fully live in three dimensions. His slim, bare feet bounced gracefully against wood, metal, zeppelin, basket in their continous motion. Other hooded silhouettes were around them. Similarly jumping fearlessly and weightlessly. Of course, Hiccup knew who they were. Drifters.

They landed on the horizontal arm of a metallic crane, the aviator a few meters away from his saviour. The Drifter walked easily along the metallic cylinders towards the vacuum, oblivious of gravity, holding his stick like a balance pole. Hiccup attempted a hesitant step towards the other man. His prosthetic foot slid against the metallic tube. Before his heart had time to stop, the crooked end of the staff locked onto his foot and pushed him back to safety.

"Th-Thank you," was everything he managed.

The Drifter threw his pole at him. He understood he was to use it to keep his balance.

"Don't be afraid. You have to believe in me."

His saviour's reassuring words helped Hiccup catch his breath. Do. Not. Look. Down. Believe. One foot. In front. Of the other. You have to believe in me. One foot. The other.

Before he knew it, he had reached the other man, who stood nearly immobile, trying to maintain his equilibrium while waiting for him. Clumsily, he tried to hand him back his staff.

Their hands touched. The Drifter's were surprisingly cold, almost icy. In the surrounding heat, it was quite pleasant. He was cloaked in dark blue, bare white thread along the sleeves and the hood spreading like fractals of frost. His linen shirt and slightly short trousers were worn and simple. Beneath the shadow of the hood, Hiccup could distinguish sculptural traits, pale as alabaster. His eyes met the other man's. Blue like a winter morning sky after the storm. He felt himself blush under his flying helmet.

"Thanks. I-I'm-er – "

"And I'm Jack Frost. Nice to meet you," his saviour sneered with a point of humour.

Suddenly, the impact of the physical and mental shock hit the young inventor full on. A hurricane of sensations and emotions grew in his exhausted stomach. He felt his knees fold under his weight, and helplessly fainted into Jack's arms.

Random Fact: Plant Alpha's name evokes a power plant, as the constellite mined there is the main material used in energy harvesting. Also a euphemism for much less appealing 'mine' or 'massive hole in the ground'. And of course Alpha does reference Hiccup's nemesis in the second film. (Also, alpha particles - He nucleus - Helium - Zeppelins!) Feel free to express concern upon sneaky geeky references or complain about (non-)canon stuff.

Announcement: Beta reader would be very much appreciated, thank you! PM if interested! Thanks to everyone who made it to the end of this chapter. Constructive, justified criticism please. And please review, follow and favourite...