Where Will You Go?
A/N: Well, this was based off 'Where Will You Go' by Evanescence. Such a good song :3 and and I know I ended it on an angsty note, instead of a happy one, but I needed to, okay. All my other HTTYD2 one shots ended happily, except, Splintered, I think. But you know that the story ends happily anyway, so it doesn't really matter. And Protects His Own was kinda bittersweet, I guess.
Anyway, there is self-injury in this! If this makes you uncomfortable, or could trigger you please spare yourself the hurt and do not read this.
Also, this is going to sound odd, but I wrote this because I read a story where Hiccup self-injured, only it featured a verryyyy different plotline, and I realized I never had written one where he self-injured, and I wanted to try. Also, I might write a second part, just to see Hiccup get his happy ending. I'm a sucker like that.
It was in one of those rare times when Toothless was away, off frolicking with Stormfly and the others, for once just doing ordinary dragon things instead of hanging around a boring human like me all day. And, to be honest, I was kind of glad he was gone. Not because I didn't want to see him, or because I didn't want to be around him. I just…didn't think it would be a very good idea for him to see me right now.
I knew if he saw this, if he saw me looking upset, he would guess that I had begun thinking about my father, and he would nudge my hand comfortingly, but he would never understand that it wasn't really him I blamed anymore. You see, I'd been thinking about it a lot and I'd come to realize that I was the one who should be holding the guilt on my shoulders. If I hadn't gone charging off in search of Drago Bludvist in the first place, none of this would have happened, and Dad would still be here. I wouldn't have had to make a speech as I watched his funeral barge leave me behind. He'd still be there, solidly and dependably beside me, maybe giving me that stern look still because he wanted me to be chief, but I think he would have left me alone about it after a bit.
Speaking of being a chief… I sighed as I saw the people outside the forge, all lined up. "A chief's first duty is to his people." I wasn't doing a very good job of being chieftain, and everybody could tell. When I passed people by in the streets, they didn't sound admiring or awed when they spoke to me. They just sounded wearily sympathetic and pitying, because oh, that poor boy lost his father and isn't he just so strong, holding up under such circumstances…
I clenched my hand into a fist, feeling the nails digging deep into my palm, but it wasn't good enough. I needed more. "I think I left my designs for this saddle in the backroom, Gobber," I called to him before ducking behind the curtain separating my private room from the rest of the forge. "I'll be right back."
Gobber happily accepted the excuse, but then, I knew he would. Over the past few months, I had kind of become an expert on telling people lies, telling them that I would be right back, that I just had to duck away for a quick second. You see, I used to confine it to my bedroom, and tell myself I was never, ever allowed to do it outside of that tiny room. But the urge grew stronger and stronger, until I wasn't sure how I had gone even a couple hours without it.
I pulled the curtain shut behind me, and within seconds, I was quietly dismantling my armor, undoing buckle after buckle, cursing myself and asking Odin why I had had to make this stupid thing so complex…I had never thought I'd need to get it off so quickly.
I finally freed my torso, which was all I really needed, and then I rolled up the sleeve of my tunic underneath, bending down beneath my old work desk and pulling out the knife. Its blade was dark, so dark I could barely see my own reflection. But I saw my eyes. And for a split second, I hesitated. And then I pressed the metal into my skin.
I made the first cut slowly, almost savoring the pain. It hurt, but it cleared my head, made it easier to breathe. And I would take a bit of physical pain over the awful alternative. I did the second a bit quicker, because I felt that Gobber might start wondering where I was if I didn't get back soon, and I'd already taken enough time working my way out of the armor, but two cuts weren't nearly enough to drive it away completely. A third and fourth followed before I heard the blacksmith's voice. I was standing in the middle of the room with my eyes closed, knife in one hand, feeling warm blood trickling down my wrist and cold metal pressing into the skin of my arm.
But the moment Gobber cried, "Lad!" my eyes snapped open, watching in horror as the curtain began to rustle.
Oh, Thor, no, I pleaded silently with the god of thunder, freezing in place as I stared down at the knife. What would this look like to Gobber? He would question it, he would probably demand to know why I was doing it, and then I would be in an even bigger mess than before…
Just thinking of all the horrible possibilities made me feel like giving myself a quick fifth one, but all I had time to do was drop the knife on the ground and yank down my sleeve. I didn't want Gobber questioning why I was trying frantically to pull on my armor, so I just kicked the knife behind me, hopefully out of sight.
"Lad, your notes are right here—why don't you have your armor on?" Gobber stopped, looking rather curiously at me. He was right to question this – I rarely ever took my armor off anymore.
"Um…" I was suddenly and intensely aware of the knife at my feet. "I got too hot, so I decided to take it off."
"Oh. Well, as I was saying, your notes are—wait, you're bleeding!" He pointed to my arm and took several steps closer.
I backed quickly away, walking until I crashed into the wall. Sure enough, I could see a bright red stain appearing on my sleeve, the cuts I had just made bleeding through. "No, I think it's just dried from the battle, I haven't really washed my clothes, Gobber, no!"
Gobber had grabbed my hand, completely ignoring my protests, and was now rolling up the sleeve. For a second, he stared down at the scars in abject horror; next second, he was whispering. "What have you done?"
"Stop it! Stop it!" I yelled, trying vainly to yank my arm away, but Gobber held it fast.
"Why on earth would you do this, Hiccup?" he demanded, voice steadily gaining volume, coloring with anger. He locked his burning gaze on me.
"None of your goddamn business!" I howled angrily. "Stop it, let me go!"
"This is my goddamn business!"
"No, it isn't! Stop it, Gobber, and let me go!"
"I'm telling your mother!"
"No, you're not!"
"Well, I'm not letting you do this anymore!"
"Letting me? I'm doing what I want, I don't need your permission, or Mom's!"
"Oh, tough love! We're telling her anyway." And then, he held the hand not pinning me to the wall out in front of him, as if expecting me to give him something.
"What?" I snapped.
"I want your knife."
"Don't have it."
"Where is it?"
"None of your goddamn—
"I want that knife, Hiccup."
I looked away. "You're standing on it."
He grabbed it up from the ground, pocketing it.
"That's mine!"
"And now, it's not. C'mon, Hiccup. We're telling your mother."
"Hiccup? Show her your arm."
I studied the table.
"Hiccup, what's going on?" Mom seemed upset and slightly alarmed, looking from me to Gobber and back again.
"Your son has something to tell you. Or show you, more like. So go on, Hiccup, show her your arm."
I rolled my eyes, stretching it out in front of her on the table.
"Turn it over," Gobber ordered.
I gritted my teeth, reluctantly rolling it over so the scars and new cuts showed instead.
Mom gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. "Hiccup…" Then she raised a horrified gaze to me, but I looked down at the tabletop, pretending to have found a very interesting wood chip as I talked.
"Okay, great, you all know, can I go now?"
"No," Gobber snapped. "I think you and your mother have some things to work out."
"Hiccup…" she leaned forward across the table towards me, her green eyes dark. "Why would you do something like this…?" She ran a finger over the scars gingerly before her gaze returned to me questioningly.
I blew out a long breath and shrugged.
"So, you just did it for no reason?" Gobber spat, seething.
Mom sent him a sharp look. "Hiccup…?"
"I miss him," I mumbled, taking my hand away and studying the scars. Just get me through this and get me back upstairs. Please, I have another knife up there.
