It's too late to write a good AN. Hello, welcome, wipe your feet on the way in, read the shit my brain spawned. Good luck with your emotions. And no, I do not offer brain cleansing products. Just remember, you read this of your own free will.
Hiccup was so childish, Snotlout decided. Every little thing asked of him was replied with a snooty 'I don't want to.' Of course, being Stoick Haddock's bloody son, he got away with it. All he had to do was blink those damned huge green eyes and he got whatever he wanted.
What was worse, he never bragged about it.
He always sat there, drawing or staring into space, satisfied that he would never be asked to do anything. He knew, the arrogant spoiled little bastard. It was nothing he and his father didn't expect though. According to Spitelout, that was exactly how Stoick was as a child. According to Snotlout, his dad knew everything, because Spitelout was a real Viking warrior! He killed dragons! Snotlout was going to do that too, make his father proud. He was going to be better than his weak, spineless, useless little cousin.
Ugh. Cousin.
Why did they have to be related? They were practically opposites. Snotlout was brave, fierce, fearless and strong. Hiccup, in his eyes, was none of these things. He had made the mistake of trying to help hiccup become less of an embarrassment before. Every time he tried asking him to come hunting, play fighting or any other Viking activity, he would always reply with that infuriating 'I don't want to.'
So, he gave up on trying to help him be a Viking and please his father and tried a different tactic. Challenging him. Taunting him into fights, beating him into using his instincts and making him work for everything the spoiled little brat took for granted. But that didn't help either. He continued to avoid everyone and everything, cause trouble and generally waste space, food and time. He was just Hiccup the useless, a runt and a disappointment and Snotlout accepted that's all he will ever be.
Snotlout was aware that he'd never have a brave, brawny, down-to-earth, Viking-like cousin like him.
He resigned himself to the fact that Hiccup would continue to cheat life with those four maddening arrogant little words, cause all the trouble he wants and get away with everything with no interference from his father accept a light telling off in the middle of the village.
And he knew that hiccup was just a waste of space, embarrassment to the village and there was nothing Snotlout could do to save or help him.
But he wasn't aware of a dark, warm room filling with a vile, heady scent. Of hands grabbing, holding, bruising. Of harsh commands being punctuated by unnecessary jabs and squeezes. Of groans, pain and pleasure, filling the hazy, smoky air. Of spots of white flashing behind dark red photographs, frozen in time.
He never knew of an ominous trickle of blood sliding down a metal bed frame; harsh, hitching, panting breaths; salty blood mingling with salty tears slipping out of grungy, swollen, closed eyelashes.
And he never heard the soft, futile, raspy whisper:
"But I don't want to."
Yee, here we go again. Adios, don't hate me, review on your way out, have a nice day. Thank you and goodnight.