Eyes on the Sky
A/N: This is just an idea that was bouncing around in my head. I resisted it for a long time because I couldn't justify starting another HTTYD fic, but this will only be about five chapters - maybe more, maybe less. Hiccup will be anywhere from 17 to 18 by the time the fic ends.
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Throughout the entirety of that first year, Hiccup did absolutely everything with his eyes on the sky.
It had started innocently enough and at first, at least, nobody upon the tiny isle of Berk saw reason to question him; in happier days, he had always looked to the clouds for some reason or other, to gauge the time of day or perhaps to figure the possibility of rain, and seeing the boy, auburn head tipped back, emerald gaze raking the slate-gray skies, was not, in itself, an unusual sight.
But six months had come, and six months had gone; and Hiccup still worked in the forge like always, and he smiled absently yet politely at Gobber when the man told a joke, and he crafted weapons just the same, and his swords and knives turned out all right, Thor only knew how; and his axes and spears suffered not a bit the effects of neglect or inattention, and he acted not a bit different, and he smiled and said he was okay when people asked – but the blacksmith noticed, though he never said a word, that his apprentice had moved his work to the spot by the window.
And Gobber saw that the young Viking looked up every now and then, tearing his gaze from his work, hands fumbling to keep grip of the weapon, and green eyes would look hopefully to the clouds, and slim shoulders would rise in excitement – and every time, those shoulders fell, a bit deeper than before, and those eyes darkened and moistened, and fell back to the task at hand, and the blacksmith knew better than to broach the hurt breeding in the youthful soul.
The child's demeanor did not alter itself in the slightest; he walked the village streets as often as before, and when people smiled at him as he pounded the dusty paths, he smiled back and when Astrid spoke to him, took his hand or kissed him, there was visible joy spreading in his features; and Snotlout teased him rarely, and the twins fought over who got to sit beside him in the Great Hall every evening, and yet Hiccup still took his meals outside, on the stone steps leading to the grand building. Rain or shine made no difference in the routine; hail or ice, sleet or snow, the young Viking was seated upon the stairs, a plate balanced on his knees, the food upon it neglected and ignored until it had long since gone cold, and his gaze fixed, always and unfailingly, upon the winter sky.
Gradually, winter came to a close; and when it had ended, when the last of the ice had disappeared from the trees and rooftops, when the snow had melted and the flowers had bloomed, leaves had returned to branches and the skies had turned a bright, perfect blue, yet they remained empty, void of the thing Hiccup sought so desperately.
And as the bitter cold snows faded to pleasantly warm rainfalls, and winter at last released the inhabitants of Berk from its icy grip, as spring wrapped them in a season of bountiful hunt, beautiful, numberless blossoms and sunny, clear weather, Hiccup found he had ceased to desire sleep; the time of day mattered to him only vaguely, and he failed to come home in the evenings, preferring to spend them out in the open, where he might see the stars, where he might stand at the edge of the ocean or upon rocky, crumbling ledges, caring not for the hazards this position proposed. He settled himself, rather riskily, within the branches of trees, or waited upon the beaches, and he desired only the freedom to gaze at the sky as he pleased, to be out among the wild things, to remain always, staring at the heavens.
Hiccup did not think he could count the times, numerous as they were, that his father had happened across him within the dense forests; every time, the chieftain would extend a hand, close his fingers around the boy's small shoulder, and whisper – no, plead – for his son to rise and return with him to the village, for the child to tear his determined green gaze from the clouds and crawl into bed, to lay his head upon a pillow and let his tired, sleepless eyes fall closed at last.
Every time, Hiccup resisted; he loved his father, he understood the man was asking him only to rest – but to ask him to withdraw his gaze from the stars and ground himself, he thought, was to ask him to surrender his hope; and this was one thing he could not promise to anyone. And so he took his arm from the strong grip, extricating himself neatly from his father's hands, and he told the man in a hushed, gentle voice that he mustn't; he mustn't sleep, he mustn't look away, he wished to stay for just a bit longer, and his father mustn't trouble himself, mustn't worry or fret, must return home alone and rest himself, must leave him now and perhaps they would see each other in the morning – and though both father and son knew that they would not see each other again the following morning, the former left the latter to his silent, desperate vigil, and both knew it was hopeless for the former to attempt to persuade the latter. They knew, both of them, that Hiccup would keep his eyes on the sky for as long as it took.
When he returned – for he would return, Hiccup told himself, and on this, he stood firm and steadfast, even as the spring gave reluctant way to a harsh summer; even when the summer blossoms withered and the leaves browned and days shortened and chilled – when he returned, he would come down from those skies, and he, Hiccup, must be there to greet the other, they were a single soul within two separate bodies, they were one. And surely, surely, wherever he was now, the other remembered him, and would come back for him.
He would come back.
Toothless had to come back for him.