A oneshot (my first in a LONG time for HTTYD - for a period there, Avatar conquered my life) about how Hiccup's different.
If you didn't guess that from the whole theme of the story...and (as usual) Astrid makes him feel better.
When he was little he didn't care much about differences. What mattered was safety and security and warmth, and most of the time that was cuddled up against his mother, with his father, at home.
He didn't quite understand the dragon raids, nor did he care to. When he grew a little more, he began to realize things – and log them into his memory – about the other children that called Berk home.
They were bigger than him. That was the most important thing, because that meant the others could push him down easier. They were meaner, and they were happy.
Once his mother got sick and disappeared, Hiccup was never happy.
Of course, that passed with time, and as he got older, he began to see that he didn't fit in. He used his left hand instead of his right. He only had a birthday seventy-five percent of the time, which was confusing and ridiculous for everyone. He wasn't big or strong or tall or wide, he tried to keep clean. He couldn't lift any weapons or anything, and the only thing he was talented at was whatever job at the smithy.
But as long as the weapons arrived when needed, no one really cared how they got there.
He noticed around the time his mother died about the dragons – how the Village revolved around them. The society would not exist if not for the subplot of their lives – exterminating the dragons. Or, at least (or best, depending on the season) forcing them to leave.
He was the son of the Chief. Shouldn't he be the best? He needed to be responsible.
He tried. So hard. After he realized the traditional brute-force way didn't work, he began to think deeper, and for six years he never gave up, building whatever contraptions he figured would be able to kill/capture/injure the ultimate prize.
Because they were only prizes.
Recognition.
Praise.
Love from his dad.
And then, suddenly, just when things were going so right, he wasn't able to do it.
And then, before he knew it, he spent all his hours outside. He never wanted to go back. His first friend was a dragon. He was needed. Wanted.
He loved him. He didn't figure this out until he was pleading and begging with his dad not to hurt him. He wondered when it was Toothless than had become his family instead of his father, but too many other important things were happening to figure it out.
And he knew Toothless meant as much to him when he dove in and fished him out of the flames, saving his life.
Taking his leg.
The whole village was different now. If he hadn't done it, he might have fit in, but even now, living in a dream (except for that one little bit, but it was totally worth it) he didn't fit in.
Did he mind?
Someone sat next to him, and he blinked quickly as he realized it was Astrid. Her skirt scraped against the rock, and so did his leg. They made something of the same noise. Match? Like him and Toothless.
"What're you thinking about?" her voice was quiet, intimate, curious. He exhaled slowly, thinking it over. He never let anyone in.
But Astrid was different.
"About…how different I am… was…from the rest of the village." He trained his eyes on a beetle making its way across the loam.
She squinted. "Different how?"
"Well, you know. All the regular stuff. And now… this." He gestured at the cove, full of scrapes from Toothless' claws, burn marks on the ground, marks from their many falls. His eyes fell on his leg. He could feel hers, too.
"You know…" she inhaled. "When it comes to you, different's pretty cool."
He cocked an eyebrow at her, but she wasn't looking.
Suddenly, he came to a decision. "'S not so bad, I guess."
She punched him.