We Were…

Yeah don't expect much from this lol. A HTTYD AU one-shot I wrote in a night when I couldn't sleep! I'm tempted to maybe expand on my own headcanon sometime, but that will depend on how bogged down I get with uni work. I appreciate everyone who reads and reviews this. ?

We were five.

She was in the corner on her own, and I needed a friend. A huge, almost demented smile, complementing her thoughtful blue eyes and white blonde hair, cut in a scruffy-looking bob. There was a paintbrush in her hand with some pink glitter glue on the end, and bits of it were stuck unceremoniously over her face.

"I've been doing my make-up like mummy's! Do you want a makeover too!", she asked me eagerly, tugging my arm with her hand, her bony fingers digging into the flesh. I didn't really fancy the idea of being covered in glitter, but I figured that it wouldn't leave me friendless, so I nodded, and she commenced with her renovation. She was cheery and relaxed, but also vigilant and committed with the task at hand. Flailing limbs and a precocious attitude, she made it clear that my input wasn't needed, but just being there felt cool. I had made a friend.

Dad was complaining on the car ride home because she had gotten pink glitter glue all over my glasses, and the glue might have been bad for my health. He contested with mum about whether to pull me out of school altogether. It got quite heated and I went back to watching the world escape past the window.

We were eight.

It was the summer, and Berk looked stunning, with trees turning the greenest of green and the ocean sparkling in the warmest of blue. I had been up early, a light headache and a parched mouth, but it was going to take more than a cold to keep me inside. Hugging my parent's goodbye that morning, I ran through the fields to reach the Hofferson's home. Mum had finally let Astrid's family take me out for a day, and we were going to the beach.

Alice and Tom, Astrid's parents, were gentle and welcoming and seemed to like me around. Astrid had three older brothers too, George, Marc and Finn, but they were all sulky teenagers who wanted little to do with their home-loving family. Over the last few years, Astrid had become less of a wannabee makeup artist and more of a martial artist, with three big brothers to fight with. She was tomboyish and impetuous, wearing her hair in two dumpy braids and hanging out in loose-fitting shirts and jeans, rather than the mawkish princess dresses the other girls in class preferred. We would spend after school climbing trees and splashing down the river, digging up insects-well, on the rare occasion my parents let me out anyway.

The car journey was blissful, listening to Disney songs as Tom took the highway. My head was pounding, but I was going to hold it out. The journey felt like it was getting long, so I went for a quick catnap.

I was so excited about the beach trip, and yet I don't recall any of it.

When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. My parents looked very distressed, as if I had died or something. I had the sudden urge to ask about the beach trip, but then I realised that I couldn't talk because I had a tube down my throat and suddenly it all felt very melancholy.

It turned out I had been inflicted with a rare strain of bacterial meningitis, which had resulted in septicaemia, which in turn resulted in amputation of my left ankle and a few toes from my right foot. My parents and the doctors spoke in soft voices about paralysis and learning difficulties and so on. My attention was diverted by the prospect of never being allowed to ever go out alone again or hang out with Astrid.

We were nine.

It had taken me all of seven months to learn to walk again. Being wheelchair bound as a kid was no fun. My birthday was a barrel of laughs; no party, no cake, no junk food. But today, I could finally go back to school full-time and see my friends again. My parents really weren't sold on the idea, but the physiotherapist and the doctor said it would do me good to get a semblance of normality. They weren't particularly keen on keeping me cooped up in the house all day with not much to do.

Astrid had come around a couple of times after I was discharged, but the visits became less and less frequent, and in time, they stopped altogether. I suppose time passed us by. Dad insisted on going in with me on my first day back, much to my annoyance. He yakked to the headmaster and fretted and made sure I had everything I needed.

I sat in my class which wasn't my class anymore, and I had a teacher who wasn't my teacher anymore. It was different; different projects on the wall, different table layout, even some pupils who I hadn't recognised. My teacher, Miss Beecham, seemed nice and sunny, but I was in no mood for conversation. And then there was Astrid. She saw me, smiled, and sat on a different table. She had a group of gossipy friends around her; a lanky girl with very long blonde hair and a shorter one with black hair braided to the side. She gossiped with them and completely disregarded me.

It hurt.

I was seated with a lad named Fishlegs, who was very chubby and chatty and talked about frivolous things I didn't want to hear. I tried to focus on the lesson, but it seemed so muddled-I was sure it never used to be like this. I used to be good at sums and writing. The entire class was overwhelming, like everyone else was speaking in a different language. I felt like a bird trapped in a cage. I felt alone.

We were twelve.

Things had gotten better. My family weren't so anxious and fearful anymore, and I was allowed out on my own for the first time. It had taken a lot of physiotherapy, family counselling, learning support and a brief intervention from social services, but I felt as normal as I would ever be.

Fishlegs and I became best friends, and as we got older and into new schools, we became inseparable. He was hilarious, always recommending me a good game to play or a cool book to read. I had forgotten about Astrid; in fact, we teased the girls in our class, complaining that they were all so stuck up. That hadn't stopped the beginnings of puberty taking place.

One evening, as Fish and I were playing video games in my room, mum received a phone call that shook us all up. She shouted out that she would be back shortly, and that Fishlegs better leave soon. Confused, we kept on playing. About 30 minutes later, mum's car pulled up in the drive, but someone else got out; a tall girl with long blonde hair.

Astrid.

Fishlegs quickly hobbled out of the house, and there in my living room was my former best friend; hair tied up in a constricted plait, an oversized jacket towering over her dress and leggings combo. Her face was tear streaked and pale.

"You can put your things in Hiccup's room if you'd like, he won't mind sleeping in here tonight", mum said finally, breaking the silence.

"Would anybody like to tell me what's going on?", I snapped back, immediately regretting how uncouth I sounded. Astrid began crying again. Mum admonished me visually and cleared her throat.

"There's been an accident. Alice Hofferson is dead. Astrid is staying with us for the night".

I couldn't bring myself to sleep. The sofa was scratchy, and it was going to play havoc with my leg. After a while, when I was sure everyone was asleep, I sat up and switched the lamp on. The clock read 2.03am. I put my glasses on, got out a book I had been reading and tried to skim over it, but the words were dancing along the page and I could barely keep my eyes open. I heard a door open and pacing up the corridor, and I prepared for my dad to tell me to go to sleep. But when I looked up, it was Astrid in a pair of red silky pyjamas. Her hair looked tousled and eyes puffy and red, but she spoke boldly as ever.

"Can I come and sit with you? I can't sleep".

We were fifteen.

I felt fairly popular. I had a group of friends around me at school-Astrid, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Snotlout and Heather-and we spent our evenings studying, playing D&D and hanging out, at least whenever I could sneak out. My parents still never let go their major overprotectiveness, and as a teenager this became quite annoying. I got grounded a lot.

Astrid was by my side again, and since her mum had died, she had become semi-regular in our home. My parents liked her spunkiness. I struggled with the friendship sometimes though. She made my head hurt and sometimes I didn't like the way she aroused me. Over the last few months, I realised that I had been falling for her hard. She was beautiful, athletic, tough and feisty. She didn't notice me.

One night, I decided to message her because I couldn't sleep and I couldn't keep pretending. I poured my heart out about my feelings for her, and that I wanted more. She read but never replied. The next meeting we had was super awkward.

The next day, she announced that she was dating Snotlout, and my world came crashing down bit by bit.

We were eighteen.

I had been struggling with a lot of things and had missed a lot of school. Firstly, I had had a bad flu, and then I started to get really bad pains in my right foot, making walking excruciating. Then came the mental health problems; the panic attacks and mood swings and depression. I was going to be finishing school within the year, but it was becoming an everyday battle to actually turn up.

Luckily, my friends stuck by me and were super sympathetic. My parents, not so much. They were not happy at the prospect of my anxiety being caused by their overprotectiveness; in fact, they found such a suggestion completely absurd. This blew up into a heated argument between the two of them and the schools counsellor. It was the most entertaining thing I had seen in a long time, as my dad is very tall and intimidating.

Astrid came around each morning to drag me out of bed. She went as far as dragging me out by my foot after one particularly bad sleep. She understood that sometimes it was too much though, so she'd be right there with the work I missed. She hadn't long broken up with Snotlout; it had been amicable, but she found him to be woefully unintelligent.

"You're too smart to fail, Hiccup."

I was reminded every morning, and she was the reason I graduated with good grades.

We were twenty-one.

I was back home with an arts degree and had agreed to stay for a while. Dad was unwell, and mum had to work, so things were tough. I had enjoyed the liberation whilst it had lasted.

A lot changed at university. I met new people, experienced new things and became an adult. I dated a few girls, had a group of friends and got excellent grades. My health was stable and I even took up sports, becoming a competent enough climber that they allowed me to teach others. I lost touch with everyone from Berk eventually; everyone did their own thing and lived their own lives.

The second day I came back, I went for a walk into town and saw a girl I knew with a paintbrush covered in glitter glue. She had long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, and she was tending to a child around five, giving her a princess makeover. She spotted me in the distance, glanced up, and smiled the largest smile I had ever seen.

I knew then that I was home.