A/N: I got this idea from a poem I wrote called, 'Being Perfect'. :D When I reread it, it occurred to me that if Hiccup had been in the modern world, his grades would have been fantastic and his report card filled with A's. Then I began associating with that with how Hiccup's father most likely wouldn't care.
Then it got a little off-track...*coughs* Hiccup...*coughs* angst *coughs* perfection *coughs* wasn't supposed to end up that way *coughs* :D
I walk in the house and see Dad sitting at the kitchen table, calmly chewing something from a take-out bag.
He barely glances at me as he shoves the bag my way and raises a can of beer to his lips.
I throw myself in the chair and drop my backpack on the ground.
I sift through the mail Dad neglected to get again, and spot a letter from my school. Ripping it open, I see it's my report card.
I smile as I see it – school is the only thing I really excel at, besides bungling things up.
"Hey, Dad," I say, slamming the report card down on the table. "Look, I got my report card in the mail today."
He doesn't even look at it. He stands, throws his paper in the trash, picks up his beer can and goes into his bedroom. "'Night, Hiccup! Your old man's going to bed!"
I sit there staring at my report card, every single 'A' marked in black ink on the sheet of paper mocking me. Of course it's all A's.
Every single year, every single damn semester, it's all stupid, damn straight A's, never a single thing lower.
Never an 'F', never a 'D', never a 'C'. Never even a 'B'.
Nothing but perfect little A's.
I wish I was as perfect as those A's. If I was perfect, Dad would look at me.
Or maybe not…because I know I'll find this in the trash later on. Dad won't even bother looking at it.
Maybe he's planning on tossing me in the trash, too.