okay so this is my first httyd fic don't leave hate please. I'm going through a rough time. Self-harm. Don't like don't read. Set before and during the movie.
Hiccup tossed and turned. He was a failure. He was never going to amount to anything. He had no friends. None who were his age anyway. He guessed that he had Gobber, but even he made fun of him.
The laughing. The taunting. He couldn't stand it. He wanted to be alive, to feel it as he had when he was young, but that wasn't likely to happen again.
He sighed and sat up. It was the middle of the night. He didn't want to wake anyone, but maybe it would help him feel alive, feeling the pain again. He remembered cutting his hand on a blade he was making earlier. He remembered the way it felt.
He needed to feel that again. He wouldn't have been able to explain it to anyone else, the way it made him feel. It was relief. It was freedom.
Hiccup pulled the blade from his belt and rolled up his sleeve. He had heard about people doing this before, and being exiled. If they found out, so be it. He took a deep breath, wondering if it actually helped.
He gently brought the blade down on his skin and moved it slowly, leaving a small scrape. It was small, but it helped a lot. He wondered if making it bleed would feel even better.
It was dark, and he couldn't see anything. He set the point of the blade on his skin and dragged it. There was blood everywhere. He never wanted it to go this far.
He was glad that he couldn't feel any of the hate welled up inside, but there was blood everywhere. There was nothing to wipe it on to keep it from getting on his bed. He stood up and held it over the floorboards. He tried to light a lamp as well as he could with his condition.
The sudden light almost hurt his eyes. He looked down. There was one cut flowing with blood, another with tiny beads he hadn't noticed before. Hiccup attempted to stop the bleeding by pressing the edges of the larger gash together.
Blood started to hit the floor and he licked up what was still on his arm in an attempt to get rid of it. He didn't like the taste, but what else was he supposed to do.
His dagger became his best friend. He always kept his sleeves down now, never taking off his shirt in front of anyone. It was hard to live like this. He was weak.
Some nights, he didn't sleep. Sometimes, he wanted to end it all, but knew that there had to be something out there for him. He wouldn't give in to that. He promised it to himself.
Hiccup was soon covered in old scars and new cuts. He began to use the space on his stomach and chest, but that only reminded him of how weak and scrawny he was.
He began to love the scars, and sometimes would stand in his room, admiring them, wondering where to make his next mark. Some of them were lines, but others formed words. He was covered in things such as "useless" and "no more" and his favorite "hate them".
He didn't want to eat anymore. He stopped eating most of his meals.
Hiccup was skinny, finding it hard to hold a weapon, making clumsy mistakes, he was always tired and pale. He hated himself. He wanted it to all end so bad, but his heart told him that there was something there worth fighting for, but he couldn't figure out what it was.
He loved the pain so much, and grew very fond of the taste of blood. He wanted to kill a dragon, make himself popular. It was the only living thing he could think of hurting besides the other Vikings. He wanted friends.
Stoick began to worry. He had honestly had doubts about his son's sanity, but mostly because of the way he stormed out during a dragon attack, trying to fight like the others.
One day, Hiccup had just "finished" his meal, going to throw most of it to the animals, when Stoick confronted him. "Son," he said, " what's going on?" he gestured to the nearly full plate. "What do you mean?" he asked, irritated.
"Hiccup, you don't eat anymore, spend ALL of your free time in your room, and you're getting weaker," he said mumbling, "if that's possible." "dad, I just want to be alone," Hiccup tried to get out the door.
Stoick blocked him, "son, what's wrong?" Hiccup had never seen Stoick that fatherly before, but he still didn't want anyone to know. It was his secret.
"I'm just tired," Hiccup replied, not wanting to give anything away. Stoick looked like he wanted to protest to his son's sudden leaving, but he didn't quite know what to say.
Hiccup went outside, tossing the contents of the plate on the ground. He came in and walked towards his room, only to find Stoik unhinging the door.
"Dad, what are you doing?" he demanded, upset. "Hiccup I have to know what you're doing up there all the time. Hiccup tried to protest, but it was useless. He had to move out of the way as Stoick carried a large piece of wood down the stairs.
He walked into the room, already forgetting the door wasn't there and reaching for it, but falling over. He was a mess. He climbed into bed, wanting his blade at that exact moment, but Stoick came up to look in on his son.
He pretended to sleep until he heard footsteps going down the stairs again. He sighed softly. Hiccup would often cry and began to do so. He had lost his father's trust completely.
He waited another hour, but still being early, his father was still awake. He knew it would be dangerous to do it while he was still there, but he couldn't take it any longer.
He was about to sit up when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He shut his eyes again, and after a minute, he heard them go back down again. He waited a few seconds to sit up, but he didn't have to be so secretive anyway. He could feel a cold gust of air coming up from the open door.
The icy blade felt good against his stomach. He never wanted to stop doing this. If anyone found out, they would try to make him stop, but if his father did, he would be sent away.
He decided right there and then never to tell anyone. They would take this away from him. It was his only way to get away from them. He needed to feel alone. He couldn't take any more rejection.
Hiccup grew tired. It always had done that. It calmed him. Made him sleep. He loved the way it comforted him, as if it were the mother he never had; clearing his mind, but mostly, making him feel loved.
He woke early, as it was still half dark outside. He could see relatively clearly, although he suddenly wished he couldn't.
Everything was stained a deep red. He would have to go to the river to clean it. People would see him on the shore and wonder what he was doing.
He hoped that nobody would notice him slipping out the back of his house, sheets and a clean shirt in hand. He was cold due to the fact that there was fresh blood still soaking his shirt.
He had to move fast. He was glad that the sheets were not a light color, but for his shirt, well, he needed a new one anyway. It was ragged and torn and tight on him. He cleaned up his scar-filled stomach and winced as the water wasn't entirely clean.
Hiccup finished washing his sheets, but didn't quite know what to do with the shirt. He wanted to bury it, but knew he wouldn't have time. He decided to throw it in the river and let the current sweep it away. He ran back to his house.
He climbed into the back window, trying not to wake his father who was most likely still sleeping. He hung the sheets over a beam on the ceiling.
Hiccup started to walk down the stairs to find his father standing next to the table, watching him angrily. "oh hi dad," he stumbled over a step. "Hiccup," he said sternly, "where have you been?"
"Um, well dad I umm," he stumbled on his words, trying to find the right syllables, "I went to wash the sheets on my bed," he said, " I knew it was laundry day, and umm, I wanted to lighten your load," he half lied.
"You should have told me where you were going first son," Stoick was upset, but asked, "did you get all your clothes too?" Hiccup didn't want to sound suspicious, so he told his father that he had.
Stoick knew that his son had just wanted to get out of the house. He would have too if his father had done that to him. "Hiccup?" he asked, "umm, I'm sorry about taking your door down. It'll be back up by tomorrow." Hiccup was happy that his privacy was no longer being invaded, and replied, "thanks dad!"
Hiccup was grateful, but was still filled with hatred. It was half for himself, half for the human race. He was lonely though. He needed a friend. He wondered if he should just give up. He wanted to end it all again, but he was strong. He had to stay strong. He didn't know what it was, only that his future would be great.
He didn't want a friend as much as someone who loved him. He could get by without friends. He wanted a true love.
The next morning, there was a huge dragon attack. "Get back inside!" and "what are you doing?" were the only things he could hear, but he didn't care.
A large hand grabbed him and he heard, "Hiccup!" he knew he was in trouble but he didn't care. "what is he doing outside?" heard his father angrily say and repeat the question to him, "What are you doing outside?"
He ran off to Gobber's shop to deal with the most likely overwhelming repair orders. Sure enough, they were. It was the middle of an attack and people were worried about who had the sharpest blade. If it could cut through a dragon, it was good enough for him.
Gobber made a remark about Hiccup being a toothpick, and he took it hard, but didn't say anything to defend himself. He saw the girl he liked, Astrid, and watched her put out a fire. She was beautiful. Not like anything would ever happen between them though.
Hiccup made more mistakes on his workmanship, and Gobber scolded him. Hiccup didn't care. He picked up a blade and began to sharpen it at the grindstone. He suddenly heard someone scream "NIGHTFURY!" and a bellowing sound came through the town.
Gobber left to fight, and this was his chance. It was his chance to be recognized. He wheeled his catapult out of the smith and ran. He ran as fast as he could. He was going to take down a nightfury.
Wasn't gonna have multiple chapters, but oh well.