Nighmare

"Hiccup. Hiccup, son."

The voice drifted in from the darkness, a quiet but jarring noise in the silence which threatened to awaken the slumbering form of Hiccup. Barely conscious, Hiccup barely recognized the sound and simply settled back to his sleep. A pleasant dream of tinkering in the workshop, book open on his desk, replaced the darkness. And then another voice filtered into the background.

"It's not working Stoic. We'll have to wake him up some other way."

That was Gobber's voice now, a much gruffer, thicker voice than that of his father's.

"The boy needs his rest."

"He's been sleeping for three days! We need to wake him up so he doesn't go comatose. Dr. Gothi thinks he's going to sleep forever if we don't shake him out of it."

"Oh fine. Bring the voice amplifier."

"Going big I see, no gradual progression, just knock his eardrums right out. I like it."

These words barely registered, but some part of him realized that something bad was going to happen. His dream suddenly turned violent, the tranquil workshop replaced by the last few moments of his battle, if you could call it that, with the rogue dragon. He started to twitch, to toss and turn as the horrible events wove their way back through his psyche and turned his mind to panic.

Stoic didn't realize his distress at all. "Hiccup!" yelled Stoic through the voice amplifier, which was an odd looking mechanical device, about the shape of a megaphone, but much louder.

This, of course, did not help Hiccup's panic stricken brain, which returned to consciousness and proceeded to sucker punch the nearest object, his father's doughy chest. He saw red as the panic overtook him and he almost got out of the bed and ran out the door before Gobber managed to pin him down and calm him.

After Hiccup caught his breath, and then subsequently Stoic, He laid back against the headboard and sighed.

"Sorry about that. I just, I just panicked there for a second. Bad nightmare about that dragon," said Hiccup.

"Not a problem, Hiccup. Just glad to see you're okay. You don't have much strength behind that punch anyway," laughed Stoic. Although Hiccup might have spent most of his day in the workshop at the forge, he didn't do a lot of the hammering. That was left to Gobber while Hiccup did the detail work and most of the assembly.

"How long was I out?"

"Three days."

"Three days!" yelled Hiccup, who then proceeded to attempt to get out of bed, before Stoic, Gobber, and his lingering headache forced him back into it.

"And where do you think you're going?" asked Gobber, obviously amused by his eagerness to be out and about again.

"I shot down the Night Fury that night. What, I did! I saw it go down just off Raven Point, right outside the village! Let's get a search party out there to collect it, because I made sure that it wouldn't…"

"Hiccup. Stop." Said Stoic. "You know about the Protocol as well as I do. It can't be disabled, and you probably just hit an escaping Nadder. I applaud you for your efforts, but let the weapons technicians do their job, and you stay out of it. No more projects involving dragons, you got it? I don't want to bury you."

Stoic then left the room, and Hiccup was left alone with Gobber.

"Who spit in his porridge this morning?" Hiccup cracked.

"He's serious Hiccup. We were worried you might die. You were so pale, we figured you would croak on us at any minute. You had burns all up your arms and chest, although they're mostly healed now. But seriously Hiccup, stay out of it. You're not built for fighting."

Gobber then left too, and Hiccup was left alone with his thoughts again. He really had hit a Night Fury, he was sure of it! Why wouldn't they believe that he could do it? He could be a fighter if he wanted to, and he was going to track down his dragon and figure it out. He would be the one to unravel the dragons, the one that would solve the problem once and for all.

But for now, he was confined to the bed, at least for the rest of the day. Opening his journal, Hiccup started to draw again, bur the sight of that dragon's face, the mutilated, gruesome metal framework poking through, stirred some deep, primal fear inside him. The face had looked so angry, and yet so afraid, but how could that be? Surely it was a trick of the memory, since steel and gears couldn't have emotions.

Regardless, that face haunted him, even in waking, its image plastered behind his eyelids and seared into his brain. Why did they attack? They rarely took anything, and they seemed to be designed to be suicidal. Who created them and why? What did he have against them? These questions and more whirled around his head, increasing the headache, and he was forced to lie down again.

But even in his dreams again, that face followed him. It was always following him, always staring, its golden eyes burning holes deep into his soul. His mind tried to conjure up defenses against it, some way that he could have stopped it, something to take the fear away, but it kept coming.

It exploded again and again, the heat searing his flesh before restarting again. The terrified face of his father also persisted in his dreams, sending the spiral of panic deeper and deeper.

It was a vicious cycle, fear and panic, followed by brief relief in the interim, only to start over again. After so many cycles, the dragon seemed alive, as if it were seeking him out, crying out for his blood and for his death. It seemed to have anger, and a deep desire for revenge against the people that killed it.

Just a machine, just a machine. He repeated the mantra behind closed eyes, not actually believing any of it. How could this thing be nothing anything but machinery? It was just a collection of moving parts, programmed to attack him at all costs. So why did he see an emotion behind that metallic face, an almost bestial anger, not like a machine at all?

The image continued to haunt him into the night, mercifully letting him sleep, but his sleep was filled with the nightmare. It was almost worse, since the dream kept him under, constantly staring at its face.

He eventually woke up to the sunlight streaming through the window. His mind was fogged up, but his body was rested, and he was finally ready to go. He swung out of bed, testing his legs. They seemed fine, so he got up and made his way downtown to the workshop.

The streets bustled with the usual hubbub of people on their way to the market or simply greeting friends at the start of a nice day. The attack had just glossed over their lives, just another event which had happened, something that just needed some repairs and then just moving on again. Why had no one ever been haunted as he had? That one damn dragon! Why couldn't it get out of his head!

Head in his hands, he walked into the shop, picked up his apron, and surveyed the scrap on the table. While the dragons might not able to be studied, most of them were melted down or repurposed, since metal was quite valuable. So it wasn't a surprise to find things that looked like legs and wings strewn over the shop. Gobber obviously hadn't gotten around to melting them down without Hiccup.

"Oy Hiccup! You're not supposed to be out and about yet," proclaimed Gobber.

"I feel fine Gobber. You clearly couldn't keep up without me."

"Fair point. Something you might want to see though. We managed to secure the pieces of that monstrosity that blew you up. Figured you might want to melt it down yourself."

Before he could stop him, Gobber whipped out the charred and melted face of that dragon, that cursed, haunted beast.

"Monstrous Nightmare, looks like. You can tell by the elongated snout and the raised eyes. Hiccup, are you okay?"

Hiccup had his hands pressed firmly against the desk, breathing heavily. His legs wanted to run, but his brain forced him not to turn away. That face stared back at him, but without the emotion his dreams had put on it. It was nothing more than a façade, a collection of parts. It was just a part.

"Sorry Gobber. Just stubbed my toe. Hurts like hell."

Gobber just shrugged and handed the face to Hiccup. He placed it in a massive crucible and set it over the forge. He watched as it slowly reddened and then liquefied, that face disappearing. But before it went, it left one wicked grin for it to be remembered by, as if it knew the pain it was causing.

When it was reduced to a puddle, Hiccup took it off the fire, and set it down with a sigh. Hopefully the nightmare, ironic as the naming was, wouldn't return that night. He shook off the shakes and went back to work.

After work he hurriedly packed a bag with a flashlight, his notebook, a pencil, some field glasses, a water bottle, and some food. He would never be able to sleep tonight, so he might as well find that dragon. Tonight, he would find out if he would make history.