WARING mentions of killing and blood!
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The first time Hiccup held a gun he was 6. His father wanted him to learn early, his mother wanted him to stay out of it. Then his mother disappeared and his father started ignoring him. For a long time Gobber was more of a father figure to him than his own blood.
Then, suddenly, one day his father walked into his room, took his hand and lead him into a dark blue car with even darker windows. Hiccup remembers looking around and thinking about how lucky he was, 'cause it was a cool car, damnit. He was 6 and it didn't matter if he had no idea where they were going, he was in a nice car with comfy, black leather seats. And he was with his father who he practically never saw.
They turned a lot of times. Hiccup did not know at the time, since he was so young, but one of the other gangs had been doing some damage to their dealings. Often times some of their trade were stolen, and random cars would follow them. His father always was very precautionary, and he had had plenty of assassination attempts.
Hiccup watched as they drove by houses with nice gardens and kids his age playing with various toys and animals. He listened to them laugh and couldn't help but want to play with them, even with his shy nature. The urge to ask his father was strong, but he was taught not to speak unless spoken to, so he held his mouth and kept looking instead.
When the driver turned again and they ended in a small, hidden forest, he glanced at his father. The trees with tall with big, green leafs, the same color as his eyes. At least that was what people told him – that he had forest green eyes, and he had no reason not to believe them.
Looking closer at the trees, he saw that most of them had what looked like drawn circles on them and lots of holes. His first thought was 'it looks weird' and the second was 'why would you draw on a tree?' His father called his name before he could think too much about it or the reasons.
They walked deeper into the forest together, though not much, just a couple of minutes. There were even more circles there. When Hiccup got too curious and couldn't help but ask what they were, his father told him they were called targets. He also told him that they were used for training, but not anything other than that. It caused more questions than answers, honestly.
Hiccup was so lost in thought that he almost didn't notice his father opening his pocket and taking something out. It was shiny and silver, formed like what Hiccup compared to a boomerang, or half a firkant with the other half missing. He wanted to touch it so bad.
It seemed his father noticed this, because the older man chuckled and shook his head at him with a small smile. It was almost invisible, hiding under the enormous beard, but Hiccup saw.
Then his father gave him the thing. It was a gun, or that's what his father called it. His father then moved his arms and hands, showing him how to hold it. It was a little too big, but they made it work.
His father told him how to shoot.
He was, apparently, a natural at it. He hit the middle of the target in his first try. His ears were ringing uncomfortably, but his father looked very proud, so he tried again. It didn't hit the middle like the first time, but it was still inside the circle, so he took that as a win.
When he looked at his father again the man had a glint in his eyes, the small smile on his face once again. The man nodded and pointed with a thick finger to another circle a little farther away.
His ears were still ringing.
When Hiccup shot his first human, he was 11.
He was with his father and Gobber in a dark room, only two small lambs hanging in the ceiling, and black table sitting in the middle of the room. A man was tied to a chair at one end of the small table while his father was standing at the other end, a big, scary scowl on his face. He was angry, very angry.
Gobber was standing beside him by the door, he too wearing a scowl. He didn't look angry, however, he just scowled. And because Hiccup was still a child, he was scowling too. If the grownups did it, he should too. Sound logic, mostly easy execution.
His father had started yelling at one point, slamming his hand on the table multiple times. It was shaking. Hiccup was afraid of it breaking.
Then his father sighed, clearly irritated.
Hiccup was a smart child. He knew what death was, he knew what killing was, he knew all people died at some point. But he had never seen a dead person in his life, never seen anyone get killed. So when his father took out the pretty gun, the gun he sometimes practiced with in the basement, his eyes went wide and the fake scowl disappeared. When his father pointed the gun at the mans head and told him to come over, he went stiff. When Gobber pushed him and he started walking, he was looking at his feet, slowly moving across the dirty floor.
When his father told him to take the gun, he was shaking worse than the table his father abused what felt like only seconds ago. When he looked into the man on the chair's face and saw pure, raw fear, water fell down his face.
When his father told him to pull the trigger, he did, because his father knew best. His father was a grownup. His father was his family.
He closed his eyes as his father told him he'd done a good job. When he opened his eyes and saw the blood, he vomited.
When he went to bed that night he cried himself to sleep.
When he fell asleep he had nightmares about killing the people he knew.
Hiccup was 14 when he stopped flinching at the sound of bullets breaking skulls.
He was 16 when he stopped crying at the thought of all the people he'd killed.
He was 20 when he stopped caring at all.