Where Will You Go?

A/N: Ugh, okay, so I made this into a chapter story because I got a surprising amount of requests. I don't know who suggested Gobber...doing what he does in this chapter, but whoever you are, thanks for the idea. It gave me a clue as to what could happen next. There'll be more chapters after this one.


Mom and Gobber, they didn't talk to me. They talked at me. The whole time she cleaned the cut, Mom talked at me. And it was mostly stupid stuff, like, "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"or "Hiccup, honestly, thank Thor Gobber found you when he did!"and "Do you bandage these cuts properly?"

"Yes," I snapped a little at that last question. Honestly, how stupid do you have to be? You cut, you clean, you bandage. It's as simple as that.

"Something tells me you don't appreciate how serious the situation is," Gobber put in.

I glared at him. "It's no big deal, so stop acting like it is!"

"Whether you like it or not, Hiccup, self-harm—

I flinched, then shifted irritably.

"What?" Gobber demanded, stopping short to look at me.

"I don't like that word," I mumbled.

"What? Self-harm?" He emphasized it, in a rather hard voice.

I snapped. "It's not self-harm!"

"Grabbing a knife and taking it your own skin is self-harm!" Gobber yelled as Mom put the last bandage on and stood, putting a gentle hand on the blacksmith's chest, then mine.

"Calm down, both of you," she said in her soft accent. "Gobber, if Hiccup doesn't like something, you should not be throwing it in his face. You're acting like a child. And Hiccup…" And then she turned to me, her eyes speaking for her. I found I couldn't meet her gaze.

"Promise me you'll stop," she whispered, her hand traveling down my chest and giving my hand a small squeeze.

"Promises don't mean anything," I mumbled, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. I pretended to have found a fascinating crack in the wall as I spoke. "I need to get upstairs."

Mom's shoulders visibly slumped, and I hated myself for making things so hard on her. Things were bad enough right now, after everything that had happened without adding me in.

"You're not going up there, young man," Gobber snapped, folding his arms resolutely across his chest. "Not until we've gotten every last knife, anyway."

"Seriously?!" My voice came out much louder than I'd meant it to. "No! You're crossing the line—

"You broke our trust," Gobber intoned sternly.

I snorted. "You can't be serious! Broke your trust? How did I break your trust when—?"

"Maybe by cutting your own stupid ass!"

"That's enough, Gobber!" Mom glared fiercely at the blacksmith.

"Actually, it's remarkably difficult to cut your own ass," I remarked.

"You'd know, wouldn't you?" Gobber said venomously.

"No, I wouldn't know," I snapped. "I've never tried to cut there!"

"Wouldn't surprise me if you had!"

"Gobber!"

"Either way, I want your knives!"

"Don't have any more!"

"Oh, we'll see about that." And Gobber stomped out of the room, up the wooden stairs and into my bedroom, my safe haven.

"Gobber!" I screamed, frustrated beyond belief. "Get out of my room!"

"No!" He hollered back bravely, so I followed him up.

When I reached the landing and looked inside my bedroom, I saw Gobber running his hands along the floor beneath my bed. Anger licked my insides. "Get out of there!"

Gobber glared up at me. "If you weren't so stupid, I wouldn't be having to do this!"

"You get out of there right now!" I screamed. "I'm telling you, get out!" I rushed into the room, trying to rip his hands away, but I wasn't strong enough and he moved easily from the bed to the closet. There was nothing in my closet, either, and nothing in my top two bedside table drawers.

The fiery anger burned stronger than ever when he took my scissors and pocketed them.

"Those are mine!" I yelled, and he yanked out three small knives from the bottom drawer as well.

"Why do you have so many?" he asked incredulously, as Mom joined us on the landing.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked softly. "Yelling at him isn't going to do any good, Gobber. You're just making it worse."

"Well, if we don't stop him, your son's going to kill himself."

Rage flared in my stomach. "I'm not suicidal!"

"Then stop acting like it!"

"I'm not acting like it!"

"Oh, so, this is just a fluke?" Gobber demanded harshly, making a slashing motion across his own wrist.

My cheeks flushed. "Stop it!"

He glared at me for a moment.

"Hiccup. Gobber. Both of you. I need both of you to stop." Mom finally interrupted us, stepping carefully in between us. "Yelling at him doesn't do any good, Gobber, I said this already. You're only shaming him."

"I'm not ashamed."

"I would be, if I was in your shoe," Gobber bit out.

"Thank Thor you're not, then."

"Both of you," Mom's voice turned a little harder, a little colder. "I need both of you to please act your age. And Gobber – try to remember that Hiccup is the child here, not you."

"I'm not a child," I interrupted.

"Then stop acting like one," Gobber glowered.

"Gobber." If looks could kill, the blacksmith wouldn't have been standing there, judging by Mom's fierce expression. "We need to help Hiccup, not yell at him."

"I don't need help," I snapped.

"Then why are you self-injuring?" Gobber snapped right back.

I shifted uncomfortably again. I didn't like that word, either. "Doesn't mean I need help."

"Hiccup…" Mom took my hand, and led me down to the bed. I collapsed onto the wooden structure and she knelt in front of it, our intertwined hands in my lap. "Why would you do something like this?" She brushed my hair out of my eyes.

I stared down at our hands, unable to look at her. Gobber's fierceness, all his yelling…that I could understand. But I couldn't take Mom's gentle tone, because it was hurting me worse than anything Gobber could have said. Without words, she was telling me that she was disappointed in me, that she had expected better of me. I shrugged. "I…I told you at the table…I miss him. I miss him, and…and it's just…I'm supposed to be chief. It's not the Viking thing to talk things out, in case you hadn't noticed. It's better for everyone if I just—

"No." Mom shook her head vehemently. "No, Hiccup, don't think like that, not for a second. You can talk to me, or Gobber, or Toothless, or Astrid. You have so many people here who care about you, why didn't you just talk to them when you started grieving?"

"I'm not like you, Mom," I whispered. "I'm not like you, I'm not good with words. It's easier to just…" I trailed off, unable to state exactly what I was thinking.

She ran a gentle finger over the cuts and scars. "How long have you been doing this?"

"I…well…does it matter?"

Her eyes grew sad. "Hiccup…"

I shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know. A couple days after…you know, everything that happened."

"Oh." She put a hand to her mouth, squeezing mine tightly. "Hiccup, you need to stop. Promise me you'll stop."

I met her eyes, and I hesitated for a split second, wondering if I could make the promise, give up my only form of relief since everything that had happened. "I…I…" I knew I could have just pretended to be really into stopping and then continuing in secret, but the thing was, I didn't know if I could lie like that to my mom. I didn't know if she had one of those built-in bullshit detectors that other moms had, but it was more my stupid conscience that wouldn't let me lie to her. Gobber, I could've lied to. I could have fibbed to the moon and back, considering how angry I was with him at the moment.

But my mom? I couldn't promise her this.

I was already planning my next cut, imagining where it would be.