A/N: Because I just had to screw up a pretty awesome movie with some syndrome. I apologize for my abuse of the fabulous ellipsis.
It's been a month since Berk's changed. For the better. And I can say with pride, that it was all because of me. Pretty much.
Yeah, shut up. Let a guy indulge.
But still, everything still seems so surreal. Walking around Berk, seeing dragons fly over my head - without Dad shouting war cries and seeing a dragon's head roll to my feet - , getting the girl, being a hero, and getting the girl. It's everything I could possibly imagine that I was pretty sure wouldn't get, wouldn't ever achieve; and… well, just look at me now.
Everything is perfect.
Yep.
Perfect.
Great.
Fine.
Well yeah, my left leg isn't there anymore, but hey. It's all about the battle scars, right? Uh, actually, I don't know if I should take pride in that.
I guess Toothless and I have some sort of a deeper connection now, huh? Thrown off balance, but getting back up again.
But, if my leg is gone, why does it still hurt? It's that one thing that reminds me that, maybe, maybe I'll wake up. Maybe I'll wake up and none of this, my intricate, living, breathing dream will be true. It'll be gone. I'll be Hiccup. Just Hiccup. Not Hiccup the Viking. Not Hiccup the Hero. Just Hiccup.
I indistinctively bit my lip.
Sometimes, it isn't that bad. But it's always there.
Sometimes, it's worse. Sometimes, I can't walk because I can feel it, I can feel my leg twisting and burning and it's not supposed to be like that.
Dad tells me to shake it off. Everyone does.
I chuckled to myself.
"It'll go away in no time!" Gobber would say, before hitting me heartily on the back and knocking the wind out of me. He should know the best; he has two limbs missing. Only one of mine is gone. But I think it gets worse when I'm messing around with it so it'll work better when I'm flying with Toothless. Every extra bolt, every time it presses against the ground. It's… a reminder. It's a reminder that this is real, but…
But what?
I inhaled sharply, clutching the knee of my metal leg.
My leg isn't there anymore.
The pain is real.
The smeared charcoal sketches, ripped out from my book, bent and swirled around me. A clamp, blackened from use, lay to the side.
Sun rays came in as shafts of light, silently casting shadows.
Please, don't wake me up.
Fin.
