A/N: Welcome to Digital. This is a pretty epic oneshot centred around the digital world, hence the name. I'm hoping it's going to make you smile, laugh and maybe even cry at times, and I'd just like to thank ModestDragon (previously GuySuper) for putting up with all of the iterations (there were quite a few scenes that didn't make it) and helping me make some really tough decisions over the age this story has taken. This story is particularly close to my heart because of the friendships I've formed through this amazing place.
Now you've listened to me rambling, go forth and enjoy more of it!
A drawing. That's how this started. I can't tell you how this ends just yet, but it all began when I uploaded my first drawing onto ArtPad and a kid I only knew as _Toothless_ responded:
Nice art. You like dragons?
Yes, I like dragons. Quite a lot, actually. Some may go so far as to say that I am obsessed with dragons. I love the mystery that surrounds them, because it gives me the ultimate freedom to draw them however I want. I can make them huge, with vast, sweeping wings and long, whiplike tails; or I can make them small and nimble, with streamlined bodies and oversized control surfaces. They can be cute, they can be fearsome; and every character I create is mine alone. They're so unique and beautiful that I can't help but be captivated by them.
My obsession with dragons doesn't really have a beginning. At least, not one that I can remember. As far back as my memories allow me to go, I have always loved combining my passions for drawing and for dragons. They mesh in my mind so naturally, and I am blessed with a hand that seems to be able to replicate perfectly what my mind requires of it.
Anyway, I messaged the kid back, somewhat bemused at the comment mere minutes after I'd posted the picture. Your first comment and appreciation is always the most memorable; this one, probably more than most. I said to him:
How did you guess? And thanks, you've got the honour of being my first reviewer. What do you think of it (in more detail, if you can)?
I went onto my drawing program to start another painting, galvanised into action by this positive response, only to get an alert about ten minutes later. I won't tell you what he said, because I don't think many of you are interested in reading a very large paragraph about the finer points of my artistic talent (or lack thereof).
I hadn't even finished reading his first reply when another message came through:
How well do you think a collaborative painting would work?
I paused for a moment, considering this proposition I'd received after only one day on the site.
Depends on how well you can draw, I replied.
Take a look at my profile and you'll see my work.
He'd linked his profile along with the message, so I clicked on it and a page filled with colours and drawings greeted me. I clicked on one of the folders, simply labelled 'Dragons', and my eyes marvelled at the incredible detail and anatomy of these digital creatures. He was a master of dragons, far better than I; I looked at his work and wondered how on earth a collaboration could improve on something already so perfect.
Your work is incredible! Are you sure you want to try and collaborate when yours is already so good?
Well, I'd consider my work to be perfectly flawed more than anything. And of course I do. I need some more variety in my work (and my life) anyway. Are you willing to work with me?
I was bubbling with excitement as I replied:
I would LOVE to collaborate with such a great artist. But how is it all going to work?
And so began the lengthy and complicated process of deciding how we were to collaborate. It took so long that I had to pretend to go to bed then quietly type out my answers, being careful not to let my keyboard clicks become too loud. We were talking for hours, just using ArtPad's messaging system.
At midnight on my first day on ArtPad I'd found a collaborator and decided on a project. I had no idea who he was, where he lived, how old he was or even what his interests were. We were just two strangers, brought together by our love for drawing dragons.
Over the next few days I worked on a single drawing, so intent on making it perfect I would go over tiny sections of outline again and again to make sure they were absolutely perfect. Our plan was that I would draw an outline, then he would colour it and add a background, then we would swap. A tantalising empty folder had already been created on _Toothless_'s account (I'm just going to refer to him as Toothless from now on, I think), waiting to be filled with our first collaborative effort. I stayed up later than I ever had before (having been a goody two shoes before I joined ArtPad), working by the light of my screen in a pitch black bedroom. The first few times I did it, I was filled with a thrill that I was breaking the unwritten rules, and I tried to hide the light from my computer, terrified, every time my father came upstairs or near to my door.
We talked a lot, too, and more often than not I'd stay up late because Toothless would distract me so much from drawing I never got where I wanted to. I can't remember exactly what we discussed, but after a while and a few awkward starts we'd be able to talk about everything and nothing for hours upon end.
I found out a lot about him, too. It's probably more interesting to hear him say it, so may I present my erstwhile friend Toothless.
Can I ask you something?
You just did, but ask me again.
Um... I just don't know much about you. Why won't you tell me anything about yourself?
I'm a kid, I'm roughly your age, I like to draw dragons and I don't have a life any more. What else is there to know?
But that doesn't tell me who you are! I know /what you are, but what about who you are inside? Your personality, your memories. I don't know any of that. Why won't you tell me?
*sighs* I guess I should tell you, then.
Don't sound so reluctant! You don't have to tell me. I know I was being nosy, and I'm sorry.
No, it's okay. You've already told me a lot about yourself, after all, and it's only fair that I return the gesture so you're not talking to a complete stranger.
I should say at this point that I'd spilled out to him quite a lot. I told him about my school life and the friends that came and went as quickly as the seasons, my solace in drawing and ArtPad, my lack of a social life and my general nerdiness that drove off anybody who looked to like me.
I said I don't have a social life any more. I used to, about a year ago. I was quite the party animal, as they say. I was a rebel at school, never working, always playing. I wore ratty clothes and swaggered around school not giving a shit about anyone around me. I had my friends, the cool ones, and everyone else was inferior and not worth my time. Once upon a time, I would have put you in that group too. I stayed out late at parties and my parents pretended not to care, but I knew it hurt them.
I liked seeing them hurt.
About three years ago, I got into some stuff a little worse than partying. All my friends were doing it, and since my one aim in life back then was to be popular and fit in with the cool kids I did it anyway. My parents never noticed, and I kept getting wasted and throwing my life away. I skipped school, stole money from my parents just to get a fix. My life was falling apart, but I didn't see it that way. I was having the time of my life, not caring if I slept or stayed awake, eyes wide open, all night. School didn't matter, having a meaningful life didn't matter. All that mattered was the next party, and the next fix.
Live life to the full, I'd always tell myself. And it felt like I was.
Until one night, when I was at a friend's party and I got too cocky. I'd been a user for two years then, so I was used to it, and I just kept going. I needed more than ever to get the high I wanted, and my friends just pushed me further than ever before. They egged me on, seeing someone ballsy enough to try.
They only stopped when I finally passed out, head hitting the concrete, my lungs only just sucking in air and my heart barely breathing.
My parents found out what I'd been doing at last. I don't remember any of that night, but the most vivid memory I have is when I woke up with the worst headache of my life and the feeling that my insides had been scrubbed with a wire brush. And I craved yet another fix. What had almost killed me had such a complete hold over me that I didn't care about what it had almost ended. I didn't care that I couldn't live with it; I thought that I wouldn't be able to live without it, either. I just needed one more dose.
But then I didn't. I hated my terrible withdrawal with every fibre of my being, my body's desire for a fix but my mind's disgust at the cravings. I lay in bed, alone and silently crying, and wanting it to be over. I told myself how much I hated myself and my life over and over again when it came back at me bad, and I didn't give in.
I want to live my life to the full, and I don't want for the fullness of my life to be decided by anyone or anything but myself.
The first day I went back to school, my old friends took me back, trying to get me back into it. I went to a few parties, but my heart wasn't in it anymore. In my head, I wondered how long they'd have left. It didn't fill me with joy to see my friends competing to get high like it used to. I guess it took that reminder of my own frail existence to stop me before I went even further.
I withdrew from the world, leaving my old friends and my old life behind. And I've never used since.
Know enough about the 'real' me now?
I read it through, skimming it twice to make sure I took it all in. After a while, I tried a tentative reply.
Um... I don't really know what to say. That's not what I was expecting to hear at all.
What, you were expecting to hear that I've always been a loner artist with no social life?
Yeah, I thought you were just like me. Lonely and awkward.
I am like you. But a year ago I was nothing like you. People change; I've changed more than most. Don't worry, I don't have plans to go back to the person I was then. :)
That was the first time he'd used an emoticon in our exchanges.
After that, I thought I wouldn't be able to talk to him in the same way. I couldn't imagine him as cocksure and happy, grinning as he swaggered down the halls with a casual disregard for all but his own. From our conversations before he opened up to me, I'd thought he'd always been how he was. Dryly comedic, and a little sceptical of everything and everyone. I'll admit, I liked his company more than anyone else's. After all, he knew more about me than any of my real life friends did.
In fact, it turned out that all my preconceptions about speaking again went straight out the window as we just kept joking and sharing funny stories with each other. I forgot who he used to be most of the time, because it was so clear to me that I wasn't talking to that kid.
I kept drawing and collaborating with him, staying up late and generally being a rebel. Schoolwork went out of the window as I strived to perfect just one more line in my drawing. The days and sleepless nights went by, and the drawings kept coming. It was like I existed in another world, and I was only awake when I was drawing and talking to Toothless; the days were like delirious dreams to me.
I began to push my other friends away, friendships ended more abruptly than they usually did and I generally withdrew from society. I'd found a better society on ArtPad and I didn't want to ruin my fresh start. I'll admit, I wasn't a particularly huge part of the society because I only spoke to one person, but I felt far more included. I drew, I collaborated, people commented and enjoyed my work. I was recognised for what I had, not infamous for what I was lacking.
This cycle went on for a while until, after a message history numbering almost 3,000 and countless illicit hours spent talking and drawing, Toothless asked:
Have you got Skype?
So, here was my dilemma. I did have Skype, but even though we knew everything about each other I was reluctant to take the last step and show him my name. So I lied.
Not right now, no. I wouldn't really use it if I had it because most of my friends never use Skype anyway.
In fact, I kept Skype open all the time, even if nobody felt the need to message me. I guess it was my misguided hope that someone might want to befriend me again.
I think you should get it. It means we can IM each other and even do a voice chat, and it's taking way too long to scroll through all these messages.
I'll see what I can do.
This was the point at which my mind reminded me of the nature of our friendship- secret and forbidden. It told me that I shouldn't create a second Skype account because it would mean lying to my father. Of course, I'd already been leading a double life unbeknownst to him for a fair few months then, and another part of my mind was quick to point this out as well. The argument within myself stopped almost as quickly as it had begun, and the idea of truly instant messaging began to exercise a strong attraction.
I created a new email account and then a new Skype account with that. I kept my username the same as it was on ArtPad- Shy_Flyer. Despite the fact that my name was almost faded into insignificance by the other, far deeper, things I'd told him, I was still too nervous to tell him even my first name.
Add me. My username is Shy_Flyer.
Guy called Hiccup. Is that you?
Yeah, that's right.
A few minutes after I sent the message, I got the request. It seemed that Toothless had gone for the same idea, as his Skype name was Toothless as well.
I accepted, and messaged a tentative greeting. It was weird, how I'd been talking to him for so long and yet I was still afraid of instigating a conversation.
Hi. Long time, no see
You're American? (I'd spotted this new fact on his profile)
Uh, yeah. How did you not guess that before?
It's hard to place people when you've never met someone similar to them before. I just thought you were weird.
We aren't weird. It's just everyone who isn't American that thinks we are. Which must mean that you're not American.
Yeah, I live in the UK. Sucks to be me.
England is a cute country though. I'd like to visit someday, if I get a job and get enough money.
Oh, you don't want to come here. It's cold and rainy and there's nothing interesting at all.
Weird, isn't it, how we both hate our respective countries but really like each other's?
And I can't even understand why. I think it's because only the people who live here know what it's really like.
Why is your username Hiccup? Is that your real name? he asked.
Very subtle change of topic there, I replied, laughing aloud to myself.
I'm not one for subtlety. Just barge in and say it straight up, that's more my style. :)
Second emoticon and counting.
I've had that nickname for as long as I can remember. I think it's just from my weediness and general 'runt of the litter' appearance. Everyone always blames any mistakes on the hiccup, and nobody takes more of the blame than I do.
Do you mind if I call you Hiccup?
Not at all.
Suddenly from my computer blared a ringtone, and I saw that Toothless wanted a voice call. I took a deep breath, steadied my hands and pressed the 'answer' button.
"Hello?" The voice behind the hello was not one with which I was familiar. The voice was deep and resonant, assured and at once self- confident. It was an American accent at its finest. I felt stupid at the thought of how bizarre I would sound to him if I spoke. I instantly felt my every last drop of moisture in my mouth disappear as I was too afraid to utter a reply. He kept talking, trying to raise a sound from me, and I was just sitting there, too scared to say anything back.
In the end, I came out of my trance long enough to type out a few words.
Sorry. Bit nervous about talking.
"Why's that? I won't laugh at you, don't worry."
I always get nervous talking to strangers.
"I'm guessing I know you better than most of your real life friends do. C'mon, Hiccup, just say something. Otherwise this whole Skype thing was pointless."
It felt so strange to hear him say my name. I couldn't even do the same for him.
I swallowed and licked my lips. "H-Hello?"
"There you are. How are you?"
I won't write the words how he said them, but I'm sure that most of you will be able to figure out how he sounded anyway.
"Um, fine, thanks. You sound so weird."
"You're the one that sounds weird to me. And stop whispering, I can't really hear you."
"Sorry. I'm meant to be asleep," I whispered anyway.
"You're not really doing a very good job, all this talking," he replied jokingly. I already loved his warm voice and wished I didn't sound like such a nervous weed all the time.
"I gave up caring a long time ago. But don't yell if I suddenly shut up and type to you."
"You 'gave up caring'?" he asked, and I could hear the inverted commas in his tone. "What kind of person just gives up caring?"
"I didn't mean about everything, just about following the rules all the time. I'm enjoying staying up late, talking to you and drawing all the time."
"You and me both, my friend. But I've never really been one to follow the rules anyway."
"You want to draw together?" I asked.
"Sure," he replied, and I clicked open my drawing program.
We chatted while we worked, laughing about how an aspect of our drawings had gone hopelessly wrong or sharing funny anecdotes about our day. This time, I was drawing an outline for Toothless, and he was just finishing my last one off.
"I'm just going to go get some water," he said eventually, and disappeared for a few moments.
When he came back, I said, "You said that really weirdly."
"What, you mean water?" he asked, saying it in the characteristic American way.
"Yeah, it sounds really weird to me."
"Well, how do you say it then. Water?" he tried, pronouncing it with the most ridiculous accent I'd ever heard.
"Oh, god. Is that really what I sound like?"
"I don't know. Say water for me."
"Water," I said, feeling a little self-conscious. He let out a small laugh. "You were pretty close," I joked, and he laughed a little more. I laughed too, although quietly. Despite my new dislike for rules, I didn't want to be found breaking them.
I quickly ran though all of the things I'd heard on shows and online clips that sounded weird to me. "Here, try saying this," I said, typing out the word simultaneous.
"What, simultaneous?"
I giggled. "That's not right. Your pronunciation is the worst. It's simultaneous," I said, shortening the i sound he had dragged on.
"You seriously don't pronounce it like that. You sound so stupid saying it that way," he chastised, mock serious.
"Well maybe you should get a better accent 'cause your one can't seem to get around all the proper pronunciations for things,"I said back, even though I secretly loved his accent.
"Nah, you need a better one. One that sounds less posh. One like mine."
At this, I heard a door open and a hurried shush from Toothless.
"You ready for some dinner?" a voice asked.
"Yeah, mom," I heard Toothless replying. "What's cooking?"
"Salmon. It'll be about twenty minutes, okay?"
"Sure, mom," he said, evidently attempting to make her leave.
She didn't get the message. "Have you done your homework?"
"Of course I haven't. I never do homework. Now, please leave my inner sanctum."
I heard a faint sigh. "Why don't you actually try and do something with your life rather than just while it away on your computer? You could get so far if you only tried."
"I'm not up for trying right now, mom. I'm not ever up for trying. I can get through school and get good grades even though I'm not doing any homework, so why should I try any harder?"
"Well, you could be exceptional if you tried but you just won't, and it's frustrating to see you wasting your potential like this."
I felt like I was eavesdropping on a conversation I probably shouldn't have, but try as I might I couldn't end the call because I was too nosy and wanted to hear each point and rebuttal.
"It's my own potential to waste, mom. Leave me to it. I know what I want."
"I don't trust your judgement. Not after what you've done to yourself."
"I thought I told you never to mention that."
"Honey, you can't just ignore it and pretend it didn't happen."
"Don't honey me. I can and I will. I'm not that person anymore. I've seen what it can do to me, and I don't want it to happen again." I felt like this was going to turn into a full- blown argument.
"You're too stubborn for your own good," his mother said.
"Yeah, my body was too stubborn to die when it needed to," Toothless said angrily, and I heard a sharp intake of breath and a door slamming, before a long silence fell over us.
"Sorry you had to hear all that," he said. His composure was obviously regained, as there was no hint of the bitter and stubborn boy from before.
"I should have hung up. I'm sorry for eavesdropping like I did. Did you really mean what you said just then?"
"Not really. I just said it to get her to piss off. And it worked."
"It wasn't very nice."
"Trust me, I've said worse to her."
"What can be worse than saying you wished you were dead?"
"Oh, a load of things," he said airily.
"Like what?"
"I don't want to remember because they were from before, but some of the things I said made my mom react a lot worse than that."
I thought to myself what could be worse, and we fell silent once again.
"So, what's for dinner?"'I asked, just out of politeness more than anything. Because of the six hour time difference, he was about to eat and I was trying to pretend to sleep. My body was rebelling against my late night capers, and I had to keep the conversation going lest I fall asleep to the silence and awake to a computer on my lap.
"Salmon," he said shortly.
"What, the whole fish?" I was, as yet, not introduced to the wonders of omega 3 and the real size of salmon. Don't ask why my mother never thought that salmon was a good idea. I don't think she likes fish.
"No, just fillets." Except he pronounced it in a mock- French way, and I stifled a laugh.
"Filets?" I said, trying hard to hide my laughter.
"Yeah, that's right. What's so funny?" he asked as a small gasp escaped my mouth.
At this, I just started laughing breathlessly, shoulders shaking, with the occasional pause for a gasped lungful of air.
"What? What did I do?" He was completely baffled as to why I was so amused.
"Just how... how you said it," I said between fits of giggles. "Fillets," I said, my way.
Now it was his turn to snort incredulously. "That's a dumb way to say it. It sounds so crude. Filets sounds ten times better," he replied, saying the offending word with a flourish.
"Stop saying it," I said, trying to keep another bout of laughter at bay having just managed to make a straight face.
"What? Filets? Filets?" he joked, saying the word over and over until I begged for mercy.
The torment having stopped at last, I dragged in a deep breath for the first time in a fair few minutes.
I'd just picked up my pen again when he said," My dinner's ready- I've gotta go. I'm gonna hang up now, but I'll come back soon."
"Okay," I replied, stifling a yawn. It was early in the morning and I wasn't up for more conversation. Besides, I had school the next day. I pushed the lid shut on my laptop and let my heavy eyelids pull me down to the pillow to sleep.
Time passed; our relationship grew. We Skyped, we drew, we shared our lives with each other. Toothless confided in me like he did to nobody else; and I did the same. I still had to hide him from my father, but he didn't seem to mind letting his know what he was doing. His mum was really relaxed about everything, and she always seemed kind.
Sometimes, it seemed a shame that the kindness she gave was not returned by her son.
I even got a job, working at a place that provided a safe haven for the homeless. I could have found a job that actually paid, but I didn't need the money and volunteering for that place was far better than waking up at the crack of dawn to do a paper round for peanuts.
"How's the job going?" Toothless would ask.
"Okay, I guess," I would always say, adding an anecdote about the people who came through the door if I had one. Working in a homeless shelter meant that a lot of new people came through the door daily, as well as the regulars.
A few weeks after I'd started, Toothless began asking me weird questions. Things like,"Where did you say you worked again?" and, "Why don't you use your real name?"
I did eventually explain to him why I didn't use my real name. "Even the teachers don't use it. They see my name on the register, and some of them don't even realise it's me. Besides, I'm not the biggest fan of my first name either," I told him one night at the end of a marathon Skype session.
"What is it?"
I sucked in a breath. I figured my real name wouldn't change things. "Okay. It's Wyatt. But just call me Hiccup."
"What about the people at the homeless shelter? What do they call you?"
"Whatever's on my name tag, I guess, so Hiccup. I apply for things using my real name, but I'm so used to being called Hiccup it would be too hard remembering who knew me by my real name and who knew me by my nickname. I prefer my nickname, which was given to me as a joke, and use it myself. And I've only just realised how weird that is."
"Well, nobody can be completely normal," he said.
"Too true," I replied with a laugh and a yawn. Our conversations only ended when my eyes were drifting shut and the morning light began to edge its way into my room. More than once somebody had to shake me awake mid-lesson because I was about to doze off. I gained more and more attention by being the kid who never did homework and paid no attention in lessons.
I was falling to pieces in my real life, but I couldn't see the carnage through the utopian new city that was my online presence.
It always seems that when you're in a time of greatest need, the person you need most is never there for you. You have to suffer on your own, and it's like they know when they're needed and leave you alone. It's like they know when you need to be alone to learn to be strong and handle things yourself, even though you think at the time they're the worst person in the world for leaving you.
And so it was with me, one day. The half term had just started, so I was spending more time at the homeless shelter for a lack of people to see and better things to do. I handed out meals and chatted to the people who turned up on the doorstep. Sometimes I found out something I had to find an adult for, like if they wanted help because they were addicted to something or if they were seriously ill. But mostly, I just talked to them about trivial things because I found that they didn't like talking about their homelessness.
I was wiping the food counter, getting ready to fend off the inevitable lunchtime crush, when a woman walked in. She had straggly brown hair and features made harsh by her rough life; her clothes were old and barely more than threads; her hazel eyes were wide, and she seemed spaced out. A blanket was draped over her shoulders like a cape, but she was short so the blanket dragged on the floor and collected the dirt lying there.
I called out, "Are you hungry?"
She shuffled over to me and I saw that she was much younger than her haggard appearance would suggest: underneath the tired black smudges under her eyes and the thin lips was a face with few lines, and two eyes still full of a fierce gaze.
"Oh yes, please, um..." She peered at my name badge. "Hiccup."
"We've got a meaty and a veggie pasta bake, or some tomato soup if you're less hungry. What would you like?"
I glanced up at her and noticed she was staring intently at my face.
"Did you want anything?" I repeated, and she snapped to attention.
"Oh! Yes, I'll have the veggie pasta bake please."
There was a short silence broken only by the scraping of my serving spoon on the metal tray until she said, "Hiccup's a strange name for a boy."
"It's not my real name," I said, looking down at the plates. "My real name is-"
"Wyatt."
"Yeah. How do you know me?"
When I looked up to hand her the plate on a tray, she was again staring at my face with a look of realisation and joy; more specifically, the spot that caused her most joy was located on my chin. I realised what she was looking at and reached up to rub my scar absent-mindedly.
"I got cut on a broken mirror when I was a kid," I said by way of explanation.
"You did?" she replied.
"Well, that's what my dad tells me. I don't remember it."
"That's not how I remember it," she said mysteriously.
With that, she turned and carried her tray over to a table. I shot around the counter and darted over to her table, sliding into the seat opposite her.
"Why would you say that? I don't even know you."
"Oh, but I did know you," she replied.
"Will you stop being so freaking cryptic and just explain to me what on earth it is you are going on about?" I asked angrily, my patience already wearing thin.
"It's not hard to guess. Why-"
"I don't want to guess! Just. Tell. Me," I yelled, standing up from the table. "Unless you're just messing with my head, in which case leave now."
"I am going to mess with your head, but I'm not lying. I know how you got that scar, and I did know you. I knew you over ten years ago."
"Well, I don't know you now. Will you just tell me your name? If you can't give me reason to stay here in the next minute, I'm leaving and I won't speak to you again."
"My name now is Vicky, but it wasn't that when I knew you. My name then was Valka."
Bells began to chime melodically in my head as I recognised the name of my dead mother.
"I'm still not interested," I said, trying to remain impassive and hide the interest in my voice.
"Wyatt, your mother isn't dead. She's sitting right in this chair. How can I prove it to you?"
"You can't," I said shortly, making for the back room and turning my back on this madwoman.
"Wyatt, wait!" she exclaimed, getting out of her seat and following me through the room.
I felt a hand grab my arm and I slapped it off angrily. "I won't listen to mad people who claim to be my dead relatives. She's dead, and I trust my father enough to know that he wouldn't lie to me about that."
"What lie did he tell you then?" she asked.
"She died from Huntington's. I don't remember anything about her."
"Have you ever seen her grave?"
"No, he's never wanted to take me to see it."
"That's because there isn't one since she never died! It's me. He wants to pretend I'm dead because of what happened."
"This is stupid. You still haven't told me anything to make me believe you."
"She 'died' on your first birthday, didn't she?" the woman asked.
"Yeah..."
"She didn't die. I left. I had to leave because I almost tore the family in two when I couldn't control my actions one day."
"What happened?" I asked, a little more interested in her words.
"You didn't get that scar because you cut it on a mirror. I gave it to you," she said cryptically.
"Will you please stop with the cryptic clues! I want the truth!" I shouted, my anger flaring up again.
"Fine," she sighed. "Just come back and sit down and I'll tell you."
I followed her obediently through the kitchen and back to her table, asking Jane to cover for me as I passed.
We sat, and my 'mother' began her tale.
"I guess I'll have to go back a long way for this one. After you were born, I started showing signs of post-natal depression. I didn't realise it at the time, though; I was spending all my time with you or alone inside, but I thought it was all part of being a mother. Stoick went out and to work every day, and I'd just be alone and unable to find a good thing in the world save for you.
"You were almost a year old when I sank even lower. I was listless, barely caring to do anything, even looking after you. I did the bare minimum, but I didn't have the heart to love you any more. I think Stoick began to notice in the way I wasn't quite as happy when I was around him- I mostly kept positive when he was around- but I don't think he realised what was really going on.
"It came to your birthday. We'd bought you some small toys and you were, of course, far more interested in your old ones. Stoick watched you for a while, savouring every second before he had to leave for work.
"I chose your birthday because then he would have been left with the happiest memories. I didn't want it to be just me; I wanted to make sure you didn't have to grow up without a mother, and with the shame that she was too weak to be there for you. I waited until the door shut behind him as he left, then I hid myself away and grabbed what I needed from the cupboard in the bathroom.
"I started feeding you the tablets, but after about the fourth one I heard the door open nearby and Stoick yelled, saying he'd forgotten some random object. You made a noise, despite everything, and he burst into the bathroom and saw me."
I realised what she'd tried to do, and I saw this weird look in her eyes when she told me. It was half- regretful, half... almost maniacal. Like she regretted doing it, but remembered some kind of perverse pleasure from that moment. A wave of rejection washed over me because I was the thing she loved most in this world, and even I couldn't save her from trying to leave. My head was bowed, but I raised my gaze to observe her as she continued.
"I froze, but he was galvanised into action, and he lunged for you. My hands wouldn't move, couldn't move, and there was a brief struggle between us as I refused to let go. He yelled at me to let go, shouted and shouted, and finally I suddenly lost my grip and you slipped from both our grasps.
"There was this section of the bath that had the edge of a tile exposed. We'd intended to fix it so many times, but we never got round to it. You fell, and your chin got sliced on the tile as you passed it by. Thankfully, Stoick managed to come to his senses and grab you before you hit the ground, and he looked at you so lovingly for a moment I couldn't contain my shame at being so weak; I started to sob.
"He asked me what I'd given you and how much, and I couldn't do much more than gasp one word answers between sobs. He took you away from me and I tried to get up and follow him to the car, but he shoved me back down and I was alone again.
"Your father came home late that night, without you, and said a lot of things. He told me what had happened, and he yelled at me for being so stupid. He said that I could have easily caused you to need more than just what they did, that giving someone that much of a drug could leave their kidneys wrecked or something. He said that I was lucky you were so fortunate that hadn't happened.
"And lastly, he just asked me why. He wondered what had made me do it. I told him I didn't really know, it had just felt right. I was still lost and broken by the things that I had done, and the pain I had caused you.
"That night, I grabbed what I could and got out of there. I couldn't face seeing you again, knowing what I'd almost done. Knowing that every time I saw your face I'd be reminded of my moment of weakness. I ended up here, and I found you again at last.
"I regretted leaving, you know. I realised I wouldn't see you grow up, take your first steps, go to school, fall in love- everything that makes a parent the happiest person alive. But now, I've been given a chance again. Will you let me take it?"
"Um..." I was dazed, unsure of what to do. I looked out of the window, trying to find some guidance through the smudged panes. The window was not forgiving of its secrets, though, and I had to think for a long time before speaking again
"Why would I? You... you tried to kill me. Why should I trust you, or your stories?"
"Yes, but it was for the greater good! Don't you see?"
"No! I don't think my dying would have been for the greater good! It would just have been for your own selfishness, so you wouldn't have to die alone."
"I didn't want to leave you to live in shame, Wyatt," she said frantically, her eyes darting around and searching my face for agreement.
"Well, you've left me to live in shame anyway. Guess your master plan failed on all accounts," I said with finality, pushing back my chair and standing up.
"I need to make you believe I'm real," she said, shooting from her chair and grabbing my arm. "Take me home with you. Let Stoick see me again and then you'll know the truth. Please," she begged.
I shook her off my arm, turning my back on her and dodging around the queue to return to my place behind the counter. "I don't think so."
"I'll come back every day and tell you something more until you say yes," she replied, turning away and making for the door.
"Well, I won't listen to a word of it," I said loudly to her departing back, then turned to face the wall. I started measuring out flour, sugar and butter into a bowl, ignoring everyone else as I was lost in my own thoughts. I also didn't want them to see my twisted expression as I pounded the mixture with a wooden spoon.
When the mixture had been made, quite violently, I left the cakes in the oven to bake and went through to the back room. I sank down to the tiled floor and looked at the clock; my shift was almost over.
I stared listlessly at the minutes until they were up, then collected my belongings and left. I remained silent and sombre for the rest of the journey home, letting myself in as quietly as possible and slinking up the stairs to my room.
I closed the door and went over to my bed, shaking hands pulling out my phone as I went. I quickly logged on to Skype, clicking on the lone contact and messaging a short greeting.
I then sat, awaiting a reply. Usually Toothless would reply within a few minutes of me messaging him unless he was sleeping or distracted, but it wasn't super early in the morning for him or anything.
The minutes ticked by, and I grew more and more agitated. I sent message after message telling him I needed to talk.
I wanted to talk about my mother who had come back from the dead, and learning that she'd almost been the death of me. How she was just a woman who was too weak to care for another when they needed it the most. I felt cheated of my happy memories.
And, most of all, I felt ashamed.
Toothless? Where are you?
Toothless?
Hello?
I really need to talk.
Are you there?
Please answer me.
Toothless, c'mon. I'm serious!
Please just SAY SOMETHING
TOOTHLESS.
TOOTHLESS! This isn't a joke! I need you.
PLEASE
As time went by, I grew more frantic until I threw my phone onto the mattress in a rage. I angrily pounded my pillow a few times, until my anger subsided into frustration and then into tears. My best friend had left me alone to be destroyed by my own brutal thoughts.
I sobbed quietly for a while, lamenting the revelations of the day and the lack of anyone to talk to about it. I was lonely, angry and broken.
Maybe he should have left me alone to deal with my demons. I just didn't feel that way at the time.
I signed off the call with my usual "Seeya later," then shut down my laptop and put it on my desk to gather dust. I pulled my phone and its charger out of the wall, shoving them into the small backpack containing all the things I cared about most. I'd also gotten hold of almost a thousand dollars, from raiding my mother's various cash stashes around the house a little at a time. I'd bought my ticket earlier that day so nobody would know until it was too late.
Leaving the house at the late hour, I took a look along the row of houses I'd lived among since I was born, then glanced back at my own abode before stepping out and shutting the door silently behind me. It wasn't much, but I'd loved it there.
A little over twelve hours later I stepped out into a chilly British evening, having had to squash my tall frame into a seat designed for someone far less than my size, cope with the lack of sleep problem and the sickening plane food; basically, the ultimate pissed off teenager combination.
I could travel alone, just about, because I was sixteen. I spent most of the journey trying in vain to sleep, and listening to my music (in case you're wondering, my taste is usually rock with a side interest in songs with the most depressing lyrics I could find) at a volume high enough to annoy even the most patient of people. But that's what teenagers do, so I figured it wasn't any different to normal.
Anyway, what did I do normally? Sit in my room, curtains closed, and listen to my music and work. Or play video games. My mom basically left me alone except to tell me there was food, because most of the time when she enquired about me further than my taste for food, she got a spiteful (and not so subtle) hint that she might want to leave.
I wasn't annoyed at her, most of the time. I was just pissed off with life and I took it out on the only person in my life I could.
Pulling my hood over my tangled black hair and shoving my hands in my pockets, I tried to stave off the cold while looking out for some transport.
Being an airport, there were taxis aplenty. I picked one at random and gave it the closest destination I could.
We drove for about half an hour before I just told the driver to let me out and leave me. I'd asked him to stop at a place that seemed cheap but not too nasty, and hoped the owner wouldn't realise I was sixteen. I didn't really look my age, after all; my height, and the fuzzy stubble that had sprung up as a result of not shaving for two days made me look far tougher.
I greeted the man and paid for one night; no questions were asked. I threw my backpack down in a chair, stripped off my clothes and slept solidly until the sun shone through my window; I'd left the curtains open to create a natural alarm clock.
When I awoke at some point mid- morning, I showered and cursed myself for forgetting a razor before checking out and taking all my worldly possessions out into the unknown.
I'd printed off a map back home, so I vaguely knew my way to my destination. A passing woman helpfully directed me to the right street, smiling at my confused ignorance and American accent. I wandered around, vaguely on the route I had been told, before I finally happened across it. The sign told me it was the right place, and after a moment's pause I pushed open the door and let the sight meet my eyes.
I saw a row of people waiting for trays of food, and some sitting down to eat. I looked around eagerly, but saw no sign of the person I was seeking.
I found an empty table and sat down to wait out the rush of people being served. When the last man had been given his food, something that looked like macaroni cheese and a chunk of bread, I stood up and walked to the counter to enquire about my quarry.
"Excuse me," I said to the girl behind the counter.
"How can I help?" she said politely, and I felt really out of place at once.
"Uh, I'm looking for Hiccup. Is he here today?" I felt the eyes on my back as my accent stood out among the meaningless chatter of those around me.
"Not right now, but he said he'd be coming in at around two if you're willing to wait."
"Sure. Don't tell him I'm here, though."
"Right," was all she said in return, moving back to the empty food trays she had been cleaning.
I went back to my chair and relaxed, letting my eyes slip closed and sleep wrap me in its embrace amid the hubbub of voices.
"Hey, wake up," I said, shaking the unfamiliar man's shoulder gently. He twitched slightly but didn't stir, so I continued to shake him gently until he roused.
"Hey," he said when his eyes were open, breaking into a lazy grin. "I've been waiting for you." His voice was rough and scratchy, but I guessed that was because he'd just woken up so thought nothing of it.
"You have?" I asked, sitting down before this total stranger. His hair was jet black and unkempt, and a thin dark fuzz coated his jawline. His long, lanky frame stretched out beside me; dark shoes, dark jeans, dark hoodie. And even his eyes were surrounded by dark smudges of tiredness, but the eyes themselves were sharp and green.
"Hiccup, right?" he said, pulling himself up a little and running a hand through his hair.
I assumed he'd read it off my name tag, so I thought nothing of it and replied, "Why did you want me specifically? I'm sure Jane would have been more than happy to help you."
"I'm not homeless. Well, I wasn't. I might be now," he said, a little sheepishly. "I wanted to talk to Wyatt."
I looked suspiciously at him, still uncomprehending of the meaning this person was meant to have to me. I was tired, and hearing my name made me jump to my mother after the sleepless night thinking about her. "You're not here to get information from me for my mother, are you?"
"No. You told me your mom was dead?"
I must have looked as confused as I felt, because he said, "Still haven't worked out who I am yet, have you, Shy Flyer?"
And then all the pieces fell into place and I felt stupid for not seeing it before. I guess I never would have expected it.
"No. No way," was all I could manage.
"Yes way," he said with a grin.
"T- Toothless?" I stuttered.
"Call me Leo."
The last thing I saw before everything got sucked into the black void was another dark figure darting towards me.
I lunged to grab my falling friend, but my grasping fingers were not quite nimble enough and his head cracked against the floor before I could catch him. I crouched down beside him, waiting for his eyelids to flicker and for him to show signs of waking before I moved him.
A minute or so later, he opened his eyes and I helped him sit up.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"God, that was embarrassing," he replied. "My head hurts," he added.
"That would be from your meeting with the floor. I don't think it went very well. Sorry I couldn't quite catch you in time."
"Of course," he said, rubbing his head and swaying slightly. I saw a faint smile, though, but if it was from my words or my presence I couldn't tell.
"I'll leave you down there until you're ready. What were we talking about?"
"Um..." Hiccup thought for a moment. "How did you get here? I mean, you can't have come alone..."
"I flew, dummy. And sixteen is the minimum age for flying without a chaperone."
"I... I still can't believe this."
"I never would have guessed." I laughed out loud. "Believe it, brother. I'm here," I said, nudging his leg with mine and smiling.
"But... what..." Evidently, he still didn't have the capacity to form coherent sentences.
"C'mon. Walk with me," I said, getting up and towering over him. I offered my hand, and pulled his scrawny frame up effortlessly.
"I'll be back in a few," finding my voice and yelling in an aside to Jane, realising I was about to just walk out and leave her to all the work.
"See you then," she yelled back.
We left the building, me leading the way and turning us towards the park.
"Why... why did you come?" I asked, looking up to address him.
"You don't want me here?"
"Um..."
"Great. This was seven hundred dollars well spent."
"No... I mean... sorry, I just can't think straight right now."
I ran my head through what had been said, trying to latch onto something concrete I could say. "You said... you said you were probably homeless now?
It was weird, how I could talk for hours to him before, but as soon I was faced with an actual person I could barely produce a word.
"Well, I don't think my mom is going to be too pleased with me. I did just run away from home, and steal her money to go to another country to meet some kid I saw on the internet. It's not the greatest excuse, is it?"
"She's your mum. Of course she'll take you back!"
"Nah, she was kinda at the end of her tether. I know I pissed her off a lot. You know that, too," he finished, glancing sidelong at me.
By this point we'd almost reached the park, and I tried to increase my pace fractionally in order to reach my favourite bench more quickly.
"Anyway," he breezed on after a moment, "What about your mom? You told me she was dead."
We reached the bench and I sat down, glad I had the opportunity before we'd reached this topic.
"Yeah. She was... is... I'm not sure any more. This woman came in yesterday, claiming to be my mother. She told me all these things about me, and I don't know whether or not to believe her. I tried to tell you yesterday, but I know now you were in the middle of the ocean so it wasn't exactly convenient."
"Okay," was all he said.
I continued, "Before she left, she said she was going to come back every day and tell me something more until I believed her. She hasn't come back yet today," I added.
"How can I help?" With Toothless, it was never a case of shying away from the problem and just giving advice from afar. He would never be content with just saying something and then moving on; he had to make sure there was nothing else to be done.
"You could watch and see what she's like, I guess. See if she's being genuine."
"I don't know much about being genuine," he said with a smile, "but I'll give it a shot."
There was a silence as we watched a jogger run past and a few birds pecking at the grass. I sat there and let my thoughts wash over me like I was a beach and they were the waves; I thought about Toothless, about my mother, about what was going to happen next.
"What's going to happen now?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said, after a moment.
"Well, you can't sleep outside forever. I'm going to have to convince my dad to let you stay."
"I can't just turn up. We need to make up an excuse or something."
"Easy. We just say you're some kid who came into the homeless shelter and I offered to let you have a home for a bit cause you looked in a really bad way."
"And how are you going to explain away my American accent? I don't really sound like I'm from around here."
"Um... how about we say that you lived in America for most of your childhood, but then you had to move here with your parents. I don't know. Maybe we can say you ran away from home or something. It doesn't have to be great, anyway- we can just pretend you have a history."
"Phone him now. It'll be easier than face to face."
I pulled out my phone and speed dialled 2, for my home phone.
He picked up almost immediately. "Hello?"
"Hi, dad."
"Are you okay? You don't usually call in the middle of a shift like this."
"Yeah, I'm fine. This kid came in today and he looks in a bad way- I said we might be able to let him stay for a bit but I'd have to ask you first. Can he stay?"
I could almost hear the mental war being waged inside my father's head. I looked at Toothless and gave him a hopeful smile, holding up crossed fingers. He stayed tense, leaning forwards and trying to listen to what my father was saying to me.
"I'm not sure..." my father trailed off uncertainly.
"He wouldn't tell me a lot, but I've seen scars and bruises he's trying hard to hide. I think something else has been going on."
A short silence reigned. "He needs our help, dad. We have to do something."
After what felt like the longest silence, he finally said, "If he looks that bad then I think we should help. Bring him tonight after your shift and I'll be ready."
"Thanks, dad. See you later," I finished, trying hard not to sound triumphant about my victory.
"'Scars and bruises?'" Toothless said incredulously.
"Got any?"
To my surprise, he rolled up his sleeves to reveal a multitude of marks. "There are more on my back. You know, you weren't really lying to your dad."
"Oh, that's a relief. I thought I'd have to beat you up," I said, quickly realising how insensitive I sounded. "Oh, god, I didn't mean it that way. I meant-"
"It's okay. I know what you meant."
"Sorry."
"You've got no need to be. I know how useless you are with people, anyway," he jested.
"Hey!" I exclaimed, shoving him to the side and sending him tumbling off the bench. "I'm not that useless."
Picking himself up and sitting back on the bench, he said, "I thought we agreed I didn't need any more scars?"
"You didn't say anything about bruises," I pointed out. "And besides, there was no actual verbal agreement of that fact."
"I definitely told you. Maybe you should listen out on the telepathic frequencies next time."
I laughed loudly, happiness sweeping me up and landing me back next to my best friend. He grinned too, his eyes lighting up, and it felt like old times; only now, I could see and touch the person to whom I was talking.
I glanced at my watch and realised that the 'few' I'd told Jane had become almost an hour. "Damn, we've been gone for ages," I said. "I told Jane I wouldn't be long."
"We'd better go back then. I'll help out to make up for it," Toothless offered, standing up and starting towards the shelter with long strides. I scurried like a terrier to catch up, my strides being about half the length of his.
He saw me half- jogging after a while and checked his pace slightly so I could walk with him. "Sorry; I'm not used to people walking next to me," he apologised.
"It's fine," I returned, a little breathlessly.
We made it back to the shelter and I opened the door, apology at the ready.
But when I looked inside, my apology died on my lips as I was greeted by the woman from the previous day.
"Tooth- Leo, go through to the back and see what you can do to help. I need to deal with this," I said in an aside to my friend.
"Sure," he breathed back, taking three long strides to cross the space and disappearing almost immediately.
"What do you want now?" I asked, as I sat down in front of my 'mother'.
"All I want is for you to believe me," she said. "Is that too much to ask?"
"Maybe," I replied, non-committal.
"I brought some photos. They're old, but maybe you'll believe me when you've seen them."
She reached into the moth-eaten pocket of her ratty jacket and produced a selection of crumpled photos. I glanced at the first few. I recognised my father immediately, of course; the bright ginger hair and bushy beard were always a big giveaway. It wasn't quite as ginger now as it was then, but it was still definitely my dad.
I took a look at those around him, and recognised the bright green eyes that were my own in the arms of a woman. Studying the face carefully, I glanced back up at the woman before me, looking back to the woman in the photos and wondering if there really was any resemblance.
Standing up, I said, "Wait here a moment," before striding into the kitchen and beckoning silently to Toothless. He came over right away.
"I need you to take a look at some photos, and tell me if the person in them the same as the woman who showed them to me."
He didn't even ask any questions, just followed me back to the table and sat down opposite my 'mother'. He pulled the photos close, studying both them and the real woman closely.
"She looks pretty similar. See, her eyes are the same colour, her face has the same kind of shape and she's still quite slim. I'd say these two people were the same."
"Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't lie to you," he said, sounding a little irritated.
"Yeah..." I trailed off, realising what it meant. "But how do I know you're not just a friend of the family?"
"Take this photo home tonight," she said, her eyes pleading, "and ask Stoick who she is. I'm sure he'll be able to confirm it." She held out the piece of paper to me and I took it gingerly, pushing it into my pocket where I couldn't see it. She stood up, matching my stature with her own, then turned and left without another word.
As soon as the door had swung shut, I sat down heavily opposite Toothless. "I'm pretty sure that's your mother, Hiccup, much as you don't want to believe it," he said to me.
"I just... I just don't want it to be true, because I was happier not knowing the truth," I replied. "I'd rather be oblivious but happy, than knowledgeable but sad."
"You don't need to think about it right now. C'mon, let's go and help your friend. You've left her to do everything alone for ages."
"Right. Yeah." I stood up again and went to find Jane, who quickly threw a bunch of jobs at Toothless and I.
I found that, as I worked, I gradually forgot about everything as Toothless had said. I washed dishes, I laughed and talked with Toothless and Jane, and we got all the jobs done without them feeling like chores.
When it was finally time to leave I remembered the picture in my pocket and my heart dropped once more; not long until I'd have to face my father.
Toothless joined me for the half hour walk home, the contents of his backpack the only meagre possessions he had.
When I finally plucked up the courage to ask about his scars, he tried to evade my questions.
"Aw, man. This was all so relaxed and happy, and then you go straight for the serious shit."
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I said quickly, not wanting to force him into a conversation he didn't like.
"I don't mind talking about it, it's just we were having fun until you said that. What did you want to know?"
"I don't know. How, or maybe why? Just tell me what you want to tell me."
"There's not much to tell, really. My dad liked to take it out on my mom, and I got in the way where I could. I couldn't count the number of times I went to school with a black eye or bruised face, yet nobody cared to notice. I managed to skive off Phys Ed unless it was cold, when I could wear long sleeved shirts, and I never swam. I actually can't swim, so don't go dumping me in any lakes cause I won't be able to get back out." No matter the subject, Toothless always managed to finish any story with a joke.
It was at this point that we approached my house. I didn't want to probe any deeper anyway, because it was clear he didn't want me to know right then. "Right, look nervous, pretend you don't know me very well and walk behind me," I muttered sideways, and Toothless dropped back as we turned into my driveway.
I approached the door as I usually did, fumbling in my pocket for my key and brushing against the photograph as I did so. I pulled out the key and slotted it into the lock, yelling out a greeting as I pushed open the door.
"Hey, dad, I'm back! I brought Leo with me," I yelled as he poked his head out from the kitchen.
"Hi, Leo. Would you like a drink?"
"No thanks, sir," Toothless replied politely, drawing a hearty chuckle from my father.
"You don't need to talk to me like that. Call me Stoick. Wyatt tells me you need a place to stay for a while?"
"I hope you don't mind," he said sheepishly, bowing his head and avoiding eye contact. He really was good at acting. At least, I hoped it was all an act.
"Of course not. I've made up the spare room, and you'll have to put up with my cooking, but otherwise you're welcome. You can keep Wyatt company; I know he's always moping around the house with nothing constructive to do anyway."
"Thanks, dad," I said sarcastically, starting up the stairs. "C'mon, I'll show you your room."
Toothless followed me up the stairs and I opened the door to our tiny spare bedroom. A narrow single bed lay hemmed in by a side table and set of sliding-door wardrobes, decked out with a faded stripy blue sheet and covered in old throw pillows.
He threw himself down on the bed, his feet sticking comically off the edge. "Think it's a little small," he joked.
"I would offer you my bed, but it's got railings at the end so it'll probably be even worse," I replied. "Besides, it's far comfier than this bed."
"I thought you were meant to be polite to your guests?"
"Not when your guest is you. I can be as rude to you as I like," I said, turning my nose up as if disgusted.
"Nice to know I'm appreciated," he said sarcastically, cracking a lazy grin and making me smile too. "You got any entertainment around here?"
"Well..." I mused. "There might be something we could do down in the den. C'mon." I led the way back downstairs, turning left and opening the door to the den. Toothless followed me in, and I heard a small intake of breath as he beheld the spectacle.
Before I started drawing more often, I was a keen gamer. I'd collected a good number of consoles, games and accessories, and there was a beast- like computer sitting on the desk at the rear of the room. The walls of the den were lined with shelves, containing games, and a flat screen TV dominated one wall.
"Something, you said?"
We spent a few happy hours mashing buttons and coordinating our movements through manic shouting. Mostly I sucked, because I'd only played a couple of computer games before. Hiccup pounded me into the ground when we fought each other at the start, so pretty quickly we moved to cooperative playing before his dad called us for dinner.
Hiccup hit pause and we both stood up, riding the adrenaline high from the fast-paced game we'd just been playing.
"Race you to the food," I said quickly, before yanking open the door and racing down the hallway in what I hoped was the direction of the kitchen. But I wasn't to be uncontested; Hiccup came barrelling out behind me, and I tried to turn at high speed but only succeeded in tripping and power sliding across the wooden floor towards a wall.
He made the corner safely and I glimpsed the kitchen table as I whizzed by the opening, with enticing plates of food sending up delicate wisps of steam.
My imagination was brought back to the real world with a bump, as I finally made contact with the wall. I decided to stay there for a moment and let the dizziness pass, before clambering to my feet and walking into the kitchen.
"Looks like you won," I said to the small boy confronted by a hefty serving of steak and fries.
"Do I get a prize?"
"Uh... bragging rights? But I definitely should be praised for my unparalleled power sliding skills," I replied.
"I must admit that your ability to recover from a knockout blow by a wall is quite impressive," he said with a hint of a smile.
"I see that you two are getting on pretty well already," Stoick interjected, and we both nodded.
"Wyatt's made me feel really welcome," I said as I sat down, Hiccup's real name tasting weird in my mouth.
"Where did you get your accent?" Stoick asked, seeming to notice it for the first time.
"I lived in the States for thirteen years and the accent's hard to shake. Makes me stand out in the crowd for sure."
"I think you stand out anyway cause you're so tall," Hiccup mumbled through his food, and I snorted.
"I'm not that tall. You're just short. How are you ever going to reach the top shelves in a store?"
"I'll drag you along and demand you get the stuff for me," he said impertinently, and I allowed myself a tiny smile.
The conversation fell into the usual dinner time small talk after that, where Stoick would ask little things about me between mouthfuls and I'd try to make up some viable answer on the spot.
"So, why'd you choose to come to England?" he asked.
"It was my parents' choice. Well, my mom's. They split up and she wanted to get as far away from him as possible, so we moved here."
"Is that where all the scars came from?"
"Huh?"
"Your dad."
"Uh, yeah," I said quietly, trying to indicate I wanted nothing more to do with the matter.
"Did he have a particular bone to pick with you, or someone else?"
I shifted in my seat and took a mouthful of fries, not looking up.
"Leave it, Dad. You can see he doesn't want to talk about it," Hiccup interjected; and I was hugely grateful. I nudged his foot and smiled at him when his dad wasn't looking.
The rest of the meal passed by in silence, until it was finally over and I escaped upstairs.
"Sorry about my dad," Hiccup said as he closed the door to his bedroom. "He just doesn't know when to stop sometimes."
"It's okay. I just don't want to tell someone I barely know my whole life history."
"You told me," he observed, and I nodded.
"Not all of it." I sighed. "I guess you want to hear what I won't tell your dad?"
"I'll listen if you want someone else to know," he said placidly.
I sighed again. "Okay. Well... I wasn't exactly telling the truth earlier. My dad did try and abuse my mom, and every time I wasn't there for her or when I saw another mark destroyed me, because it was my fault I wasn't there to take that blow for her. But it wasn't just her- he was out to hurt me sometimes, too.
He'd blow up over the smallest things, like if his footstool was in the wrong place, or if the TV wasn't turned on to the football when he got home. To me, even though he was far shorter and smaller than the footballers running around on the screen, he was far more terrifying than they were."
"Footballers aren't that big, are they?" Hiccup was vexed.
"Uh, yeah, they are. They've gotta be huge- I mean, how else are they gonna handle it all the time? I'm talking about the linemen here-"
"What? That's not a position..."
"Sure it is... oh. Wait. You're talking about soccer, aren't you?"
"Oh... yeah," he said, bowing his head, the argument dying on his lips. "Forgot you were American," he added quietly.
"I don't put on my accent just for show, you know," I said gently with a smile, trying to cheer him up. "Anyway, where was I?"
"Your dad was scarier than the footballers?" Hiccup said timidly.
"Right, yeah." I noticed his expression and I paused. "Stop looking so sad! I know I'm telling a shitty story, but there's no need for you to cry about it." I pulled his chin up, grinning at him, and was rewarded with a watery smile.
"Hey, a smile. You want me to stop for a bit?"
"Stop pussyfooting around and get to the story. Please?" His smile seemed more natural.
Confident that he wasn't about to break down any time soon, I continued. "Most of the time he laid into me for the TV thing. I'd get home from school and I'd stay there just to piss him off. I learned to fight quickly, and soon enough I could fend him off. If I couldn't, sometimes I was beat up bad enough that I could skip school- that made the pain a little sweeter."
"Did he ever do anything worse to you than just give you black eyes?"
"Oh, yeah. But I'll get to that in a minute. Anyway, he didn't want to stop losing. One night, he came home and he just picked up a baseball bat. I couldn't win then, right?
He laid into me and my mom tried to stop him, but all she got was a bat in the face and she was down. Then it was just me and him. I should mention that the first hit broke my arm, so I was pretty defenceless," I added, rolling up my sleeve to show a jagged scar running from my elbow almost to my shoulder, still starkly visible against my skin. Even I hated the sight of it.
"He just kept on hitting me, probably not as hard as the first time. I remember he hit my arm loads of times, and eventually I just collapsed. I remember lying face up, then the bat came down and that was it.
I woke up where I was, and all I could feel was pain. All I could hear was my mom, groaning where she had been struck down the night before. I remember that it was still dark out of the window, but the sky was just brightening. I don't even know how long I was out for, I just heard my mom, shoved the scream back down my throat and ran for the phone. I don't even remember that call; all I know after that is the moment the doorbell rang, I opened the door and fell into their arms."
"Oh god," Hiccup said, shaking his head. "How did you even manage to get up?"
"I heard my mom, and to me that was a stronger incentive than any sense of self- preservation. That bastard hurt her, Hiccup, and I didn't want him to get away with it. I wanted us to get him and put an end to this. But I don't know how I managed to stay standing for so long. I had a powerful will then, I guess. He'd battered my arm so hard that the bone had just sliced through my skin- that's why the scar is so big- and it was barely holding itself in. I remember feeling the white thing, realising what it was and not wanting to hold it any more.
"They had to do more than just stick my arm in a cast, so I was holed up in there for a few days. They had to fix my nose, too. He broke that when he hit me in the face. I'm pretty sure they saw what else he'd done while I was out.
"My mom was fine, just concussion, they said. They asked a lot of questions about what had happened- there was blood on the floor when we got home and neither us could bring ourselves to clean it up- like they would, I guess, with a call from two people who clearly didn't hurt themselves that badly.
"And so I guess that pretty much brings you up to date," I finished.
"Wait," Hiccup said, looking up at me. "What about the ending?"
"What, where my mom and I hunt for my dad and finally bring him to justice?"
"Yeah."
"It still hasn't happened yet," I said and, cued by Hiccup's uncomprehending glance, continued. "When I left, we were still looking for him. The incident I told you about happened five months ago. I'm still not even up to full strength yet."
"Why... why did you come, if he's still out there?"
"We were never going to find him, Hiccup. I was just the first to give up hope," I finished, rolling down my sleeve.
There was a silence as I sat down gently on the bed, before Hiccup followed suit, brushing my arm gently.
"Thanks for telling the truth."
"Now it's my turn." I took a deep breath, then began to tell the story of my mother, and my real history. The life I never knew I had.
When I finished, Toothless only wanted to know one thing: "When are you going to show your dad that photo?"
I sighed. "No time like the present, I guess. C'mon." I stood up and led the way back downstairs. Toothless stayed in the doorway just out of sight of my father, who was sitting by the doors that led out to our garden.
"Dad?" I asked. He was often working, and I didn't like to disturb him.
"What is it, Wyatt?" he asked.
I fumbled in my pocket. "Who is this person?" I asked, showing him the photo and pointing a nail at the woman holding the infant me.
I saw him stiffen and his gaze harden; I knew the answer to my question even before it was said aloud.
This was his reaction to any mention of my mother. It was a taboo subject, not to be brought up at any point. Ever. I think he wanted to believe she never existed, and I was always confused as to why, before now. He would always get irritated and emotionless whenever someone mentioned her name or there was some reminder of her; I just assumed the memory was too painful to remember.
In a way, I guess it was. It just wasn't too painful in the way I thought it was.
"That's your mother," he said briskly, turning his eyes away. "Where did you get it?"
"I was just reading an old book from the shelf in the living room and it fell out from one of the pages. I just wanted to know who was holding me."
"Well, it's your mother. Just throw that photo away. Don't let me see it again," he ordered, and I could see the hints of grief behind his mask of impassiveness. I knew he thought himself lucky that I was still here, and that I wasn't dying of some terrible illness brought on by my traumatic early life. I guess every day of my life is all thanks to his forgetfulness.
I left silently, but didn't throw the photo away. Toothless followed me to the den, his tall shadow looming across my shoulders as we padded silently across the floor.
Shutting the door, I sat heavily on the sofa and took another look at the photo. I stared at it until Toothless gently took it from my fingers and put it into his pocket.
"You've got better things to do than stare at that photo and imagine what might have been," he said, and I started at him knowing exactly what I was thinking. "I've done it often enough to know it doesn't help anyone, least of all you." He hit the button on the console and I immersed myself in shooting the imaginary bad guys, forgetting for whispers of a moment about my mess of a past and my complete unknown of a future.
My life was a whirlwind after that. The days of the break passed quickly, filled with movies and games and happy memories. After that, I left Toothless behind to go back to school- there wasn't any way for him to go with me. He often walked with me in the mornings, though, and that would be the best conversation I'd have all day, until I got back home.
One day, I noticed the guys at school giving me funny looks. I asked what was going on and all I got was a laugh and a cryptic smile. Eventually, the day came when somebody yelled at me across the classroom and all became crystal clear.
"Hey, Hiccup, how's your boyfriend doing?" a particularly bulky kid from our year yelled across our history classroom, and the rest of the class immediately roared with laughter. Obviously he'd seen Toothless walking with me to school and drawn his own conclusions.
I flushed scarlet, and when the laughter had died down said quietly, "He's just my friend."
"Oh, I'm sure he is." This comment drew another round of jeering and laughter. I just couldn't take another moment of them mocking my friend, so I stood up and left silently. I walked right out of the gates and all the way home, my face still red and my eyes brimming with watery shame.
Toothless opened the door with surprise. "Why are you back so early?" he asked.
I sighed. "Let's go into the den."
When we were seated I told him what had happened. "He thinks... he thinks I'm... we're..."
"Gay?"
"Yeah. I wanted to try and tell them they were wrong, but everyone was laughing at me and it wasn't a fair fight, so I just walked out and didn't look back. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."
"There's always some idiot that doesn't have any real friendships, who tries to turn two friends into infamous lovers," he said. "Don't worry about him. They've just found another way to get to you. Nothing will ever come of this."
"Really?"
"I promise. But I can see why they think we're gay." That earned him a punch.
After the incident in history, Hiccup tried to make everything normal again but it was clear it wasn't. He came home each day and put on his happy face for me, pretending his day had been great and he couldn't be happier. I saw through every faked smile in an instant, and made it my mission to turn each fake smile into a genuine one. I did stupid things, I messed around and I tried to make a joke of things; anything that would make his eyes light up with joy.
One night, while we were mowing down foes with our unstoppable army of two, I just asked straight out what was going on.
"What do you mean?" was his reply.
"At school. I'm guessing it's even worse now."
"Yeah." Hiccup sighed, pausing the game and putting his controller down on the table. "It's everyone that believes it now, and I'm powerless to stop them. I just don't know what to do about it."
"Stop putting on a front and pretending it's all fine when it's not. I can see through it in a second, and I'd much rather know how you really feel. Do whatever you want in front of your dad, but be honest with me, yeah?"
"Okay."
"This weekend, we'll just hide in here all day and all night and watch movies and eat candy. All night long. How about it?"
Hiccup gave me a small smile. "That sounds like fun."
The rest of the week dragged by painfully slowly; as the minutes lengthened into hours and the hours lengthened into days, I felt the weekend would never come. But arrive, at last, it did, and I practically sprinted out of school to meet Toothless, who was no doubt leaning on his favourite wall just round the corner from my school.
I spotted him and we walked together back home, where I found a stack of movies and bags of every kind of candy imaginable in the den.
"I bought some supplies. I told your dad what we were doing, and he gave me some cash and I spent all of it. I bought a lot of candy," he admitted sheepishly.
"I'm sure we can get through it," I said with a smile. "Dad, we won't be needing any food for the next few days!"'
"Don't worry, I've seen the stash. I won't ruin your appetites for all that sugar," he called back, and Toothless grinned at me.
"What movie do you want to watch?" I asked, but he was already shaking his head.
"No, you choose. This is your night to forget about those dicks. What do you want to watch?"I bent down to the mound of movies, closing my eyes and rooting around for a familiar box. I made it look like I was choosing at random, but I was in fact searching for one box I knew too well. It had a small hole in the top left corner where I'd accidentally stood on it one day, and I'd opened that box so many times I knew it by feel.
It was, of course, my favourite movie: one about a fantasy world where dragons rampaged about and fought with the humans. I found it, and opened my eyes to see the familiar cover.
"What's that about?" Toothless asked, taking the box from my hands and reading the back cover to himself.
"Dragons. I should have guessed, really," he said to himself.
"It's one of my favourites," I said, pulling open the box and unclipping the disk from the worn plastic holdings. I set everything up whilst Toothless arrayed the food on the sofa, leaving two tiny spaces where we could both sit.
I loaded up the DVD, closed the curtains, and let my mind race off into the world where dragons were the greatest threat, and nobody mocked people for their friendships.
We spent the whole night watching movies and downing bag after bag of candy, poking each other and throwing pillows around in order to stay awake. By the time the dawn light began to break through the chink in the material armour on the window, we were reduced to doggedly continuing the fight and half-concentrating on the movie; I can't remember how many movies we got through in the end.
"Well, that was fun," I said, yawning, as the final movie of the morning finished and neither of us could be bothered to get up to turn it off. I dug my hand into the nearest bag of candy and ate a mouthful, not caring what flavours burst on my tastebuds. Hiccup mimicked my yawn and laid back on the cushions, and seconds later I heard his breathing fall deep and even; he'd finally given up and fallen asleep.
I stayed awake, forcing my eyelids open with my fingers despite the fact they weighed a million tons and just watching Hiccup snore peacefully. At least I'd be able to make fun of him for his snoring after I was finished.
I thought about what was happening every day for him, and how it was so at odds with his serene smile as he slept. How I'd caused him to be constantly mocked because I talked to him and befriended him. I saw the scar on his chin and thought of his mother; and then my own mother sitting, probably shit-scared, in the house, alone, because I wasn't there to protect her. I wondered how much he hadn't told me, how much pain he was keeping from me because he thought that I already had enough pain of my own to deal with.
Maybe he was right- maybe I did have enough pain to deal with. But that didn't stop me wanting to help.
It was in the middle of my deep musings that the doorbell spelt out its irritating chime, and I groaned inwardly. I continued to stare at Hiccup, searching for any sign that the noise might be dragging him from his slumber, but he was completely out of it and didn't stir.
Stoick padded to the door, and I heard the metallic click of the lock opening. I wondered through my exhausted haze who would be calling so early in the morning; then, any doubt as to the identity of the visitor was erased from my mind as I heard Stoick exclaim, "What are you doing here?!"
This last exclamation woke Hiccup, and he opened his eyes sleepily. "I think your mom just turned up. Stay here," I told the half- awake teen sprawled out over a multitude of cushions. He nodded a vague acquiescence, and I stuck my head out of the door to investigate.
The scene at the door was rather blocked from my view by the hulking figure of Stoick, but that didn't stop me hearing every word that was said.
"Why did you come back? So you could finish the job you started and take my son away from me for good this time?"
"No, of course not. I'm not who I was, Stoick," she pleaded. "Please, let me in. I just want to see him again!"
"I'm not letting you get anywhere near him," Stoick snapped.
"Too late," a voice behind me muttered, and Stoick and I both spun round to face Hiccup. "She's already told me everything." He was groggy and swaying slightly, but had enough sense to produce a short confession.
"WHAT?!" Stoick exclaimed. He strode over to Hiccup, towering over his son. "What did she tell you?"
"The truth. About you, me, her," Hiccup said sleepily. "I didn't expect you to lie to me like that."
"I was doing it for you, Hiccup. So you wouldn't have to live with the shame of having a mother like that." He was still furious, but he spoke with a strange calm only born from a sudden need to sound caring.
The slight woman still standing just inside the door now stepped forward. "Would it have been better if I'd died? If both of us had died? No. Just think, Stoick, there's always a worse scenario to be imagined."
"I think it would be better if you left," Stoick stated, without looking back.
"I'm not going anywhere. I've found my son again, and I want to make up for not being around for him." She stepped further into the house, her eyes searching for any sign of care in Stoick's stance.
"I think you've done enough damage already," Stoick replied.
"She hasn't," Hiccup broke in. "She's finally told me the truth and, though it's one I don't particularly like, at least my past isn't one big happy lie anymore."
"I don't care! She's not coming back just like that," Stoick said, snapping his fingers.
I did see his point. My mom and I would never let my dad back into the house if he suddenly turned up again, sober and polite. We'd turn him away in an instant because the past was too recent and raw for us to ever trust him again.
"He won't let you stay. Just like I wouldn't let my dad back into my house if he came back," I spoke of my musings. "Leave now; don't fight a battle you were doomed to lose from the second you pressed that doorbell." My words sounded oddly deep and prophetic in my ears, but they worked. She turned and left without another word, the clicking of the lock the only sign she had disappeared. Only then did Stoick look back, and I took the moment to usher Hiccup quietly back into the den.
"You okay?" I asked Hiccup when I saw his lost expression.
"Yeah. I guess. I don't know,"he finally admitted with a sigh. "I don't know if I want her back again or not. I mean, she told the truth, but I can see Dad doesn't want her back no matter what she says. I guess you feel the same."
I nodded. "We both have parents we wouldn't let back into our lives. But at least you have a father."
"What about your mum?"
"She won't let me back in, not now."
"Why don't you ask her yourself, rather than just second guessing her feelings?" he asked.
"She's a bit far away, and it's not like I have a phone to call her or anything," I explained. Hiccup's only reply was to hold out his phone to me. I took it with nervous hands, wondering if I really should phone my mom. I wondered what she'd say, what she'd do. I have to admit, I was almost scared of calling her.
"My mum told me the truth. Now you have to tell the truth to yours," Hiccup said, and that made up my mind. I didn't want to leave my mom in the dark like Hiccup's dad had left him in the dark.
I dialled carefully, holding the phone up to my ear and listening to the dial tone ring the phone thousands of miles away.
"Isn't this going to be really expensive?" I hissed at Hiccup, who just shrugged and waved it away.
I heard the click and fumble of a phone being answered; then, my mom's voice rang out, somewhat tinny: "Hello?"
"Hi," I squeaked, not sounding like myself at all.
"Who is this?" she asked.
"Me. Uh, I mean, hi, mom," I stuttered, afraid of what would happen when she realised who I was.
"Leo? Is that you? Oh, thank god. Where the hell are you?"
"I'm in England. What's been happening?" I tried to make it seem like everything was normal, and that running away from home to go to another country wasn't weird at all.
"No, really, where are you?"
"I'm really in England, mom."
"You never could have bought a plane ticket on your own. Are you hiding at a friend's or something?"
"You know I don't have any friends who would let me stay over for this long without saying anything. Or any friends in general. I'm not lying."
"You're not telling the truth, either. What hotel should I look at?"
"Mom, you won't find me because I'm not there!" I sighed. "Go to your stash. I took a thousand out of it. That paid for the ticket and nobody asked any questions."
"You stole from me? When you know we can barely keep ourselves, and then you go gallivanting off to England to have a nice vacation? I can't believe you, Leo."
"It's not as bad as it sounds. At least you know where I am now."
"Oh, that really helps. It's not like I can just come and take you back now, is it?"
"Not unless you want a fight." I wouldn't let her take me back to something worse. I wouldn't leave Hiccup.
She sighed, her anger dissipating. "I guess I don't have a choice but to leave you to it, then, do I?"
"I won't come back. I like it here. Over there, it's just us trying to hide from dad, and that's no life. "
"Well, it's the only one we have. I'm trying to make up for my mistakes. We'll find him."
"I don't know how much I can help from here, but I'll call you every day. Don't give up, mom. I'll tell you the whole story later. Right now, I've gotta go, this call is getting expensive. Bye," I finished, hearing a final farewell from her as I hung up.
"That wasn't too painful, right?" Hiccup asked, and I just groaned.
"I'm going to have to tell her the whole thing now, aren't I?" I asked, and Hiccup nodded silently.
"That's not a bad thing. She should know the truth, remember?"
I wasn't sure if I ever remembered not knowing a truth about my family. They were always so violently honest.
Toothless continued to phone his mum every day, waking up at odd hours and staying up late into the night to catch her at the right time. Their conversations were never long, because of the cost of the calls that Toothless insisted on worrying about despite my attempts to convince him otherwise, and so were conducted in a whistle stop way with a lot of speedy speaking.
He told his mum all about me, and I think she took it better than he expected. I think she'd just resigned herself to whatever truth came her way after their first conversation. If I were to tell my father the true reason this random kid had turned up at our house, he'd probably fly into another rage and ground me indefinitely.
I continued to go to school and get humiliated daily by the hordes of people who now fully believed in the rumour. But I didn't really care at that point. I could take the humiliation because I knew that I had a friend like none of theirs: one who was truthful, resolute, and always faithful without question. I guess if you want to have something amazing, you have to make a few sacrifices. I sacrificed my sleep and my popularity (not that I really had much of either to begin with) for him; he sacrificed his mother and his chance at justice for me.
Then, like all good things, it came to an end rather abruptly.
I remember the day in every painstaking detail, from the feel of the wall on my back as I leaned and waited for Hiccup to the pattern of endless blobs of gum on the sidewalk. I met Hiccup in my usual spot, and we talked about his day like we always did. My days were never interesting enough to warrant discussing- all I ever did was sit around playing video games and watching movies. Not forgetting drawing, of course.
Now I was actually with Hiccup, our collaboration was easier than ever. I would do a lot of work during the day to create the outlines and themes for artworks, then Hiccup would finish them off or design a new one for me to which I could add colour. We were the perfect team, balanced in our contributions and filled with the same purpose.
The door opened and admitted us into Hiccup's hallway; Hiccup threw down his bag, and we both dived into the den to get stuck into our long-awaited daily deathmatch.
Hiccup won, like always, but he never made it feel like he did. I even managed to kill him a few times, and he always gave me hints and showed me how to improve, so I didn't mind getting walked over all the time. He'd just finished giving me his tips when Stoick called for dinner, so we ran out and quickly wolfed down the lasagne.
"Another game?" Hiccup asked.
"I just want to call my mom quickly," I replied as we both stood up. "Get it set up, I'll be right there."
The phone rang a couple times before I heard the familiar voice come through, slightly cracked and distorted because of the distance. "Hello?"
"Hey, mom. How's everything?"
"Freezing. It's snowing already and I think the heating just turned off. Have you got any snow yet?"
"Wyatt said they don't get much snow here," I explained. "And it's not even that cold right now- I mean, I need a jacket, but it's not snow boots and ski gloves weather or anything." I walked through into the living room, slouching lazily on the couch. My mom didn't reply for a while, so all I heard was her footsteps as she wandered about the house.
"Yeah, heating's down. Are you sure I can't come over there and actually keep warm?"
"Yeah. You can't come just yet."
"Well, I hope one of us finds the other soon. I think I'm going to have to go outside to see what's going on," she said, but before she could do anything else the doorbell rang.
"Huh. I wonder who it is." I heard her walking back towards the door. "Hang on a sec, I'll leave the phone on while I get this." I heard the clatter of the phone being put down on the sideboard, and I listened to the door creaking open in its usual way. We'd never bothered to oil the thing.
"Hey, darlin'." It was the familiar drawl I had always hated. It meant pain.
"What are you- hey, I didn't say you could come in!" my mother exclaimed. I heard the table rock as it was knocked around by somebody.
My first instinct was to shout out, yell and make my presence known. But instead, I shoved back the impulse and waited to see what would happen.
"Now, where's that son of ours? He should be here for this."
"He's not here," my mother said defiantly, and I could tell that for the first time she was grateful that I'd run away. I heard a thud, and a groan, as I pictured my dad hitting my mom somehow.
"Don't give me that crap. Where's his room these days?"
"It's still in the same place. But you won't find him. He's gone. Run away. Search every room if you don't believe me."
"Okay then," he said, and I heard my mother struggling a little, like she was trying to break free from his grasp or something.
"Don't go anywhere," he said with a laugh, before I heard faintly the creaking of the steps as he ascended.
"Leo?" my mother hissed.
"Hey, mom," I whispered, hopefully loudly enough for her to hear. "I'm not leaving."
"You should go."
"I said I'm not leaving. Not with that monster in the house."
"What can you do to help?" she asked, and I had to think fast.
"Nothing, but I want to just talk to you. And I can record everything, so we can prove what he's done."
"Do it," I heard her hiss quickly, accompanied by the thundering of my father barrelling back down the stairs. I ran into the den, grabbing Hiccup's shoulder.
"I need something to record this call," I whispered, pointing the phone away in case my voice could be heard at the other end. He said nothing, but nodded silently, and rushed out of the room to grab something.
Less than a minute later, he was back with a small voice recorder. He pressed the record button and I held it up to the speaker on the phone, turning up the volume as high as it would go.
There was nothing but quiet rustling and shifting for a few minutes, until my father returned.
"He's pretty good at hiding, I'll tell you that." Yeah, he's hiding right in front of your face and you can't even see him. He even disguised himself as a phone, I thought.
"If running away before you even got here is hiding, then you're spot on," my mother replied.
"Well, it's a shame he's not here. I'm sure he would have loved to be a part of this," my father said mysteriously.
After that, my world fell apart as I heard my mother gasp and my father laugh maniacally. I registered the crashing of two wooden objects- the door slamming shut. The rattling sounds continued to echo in my ears until a few moments later I heard a panicked, "Leo?"
My mother sounded breathless, suddenly exhausted. "Mom?" I asked, afraid.
"Leo... he got me." I heard her laboured breathing and finally connected the dots.
"Oh, god, mom," I said, my heart collapsing inside me until it was nothing but a tiny black hole of hate. But I wouldn't cry. I needed to be strong until she was gone.
"Find him for... for me Leo," she murmured, her voice fading fast.
"I'll find him, I promise. I won't let him hide from me any more," I said savagely.
Then silence fell, as neither of us knew what to say. I didn't mind the silence, as long as I could hear my mother breathing on the other end. I stayed with her, just listening and occasionally murmuring things like 'it'll be okay,' and 'I love you.' Thankfully Hiccup didn't ask what was going on.
Eventually, I heard her breathing become fainter and fainter; knowing the time would soon come when I was alone, I started talking and apologising for everything, telling her all the things I thought but had never said because this was my last chance. I rambled on and on, until I came to a break in my monologue and didn't hear a sound at the other end.
I stood still, straining my ears for even the slightest whisper of life. But there was none. The world around me froze as the sound of nothing became everything. I imagined the scene at my house, and with my first sob the world came to life again and I felt my knees crash to the ground; what pain there was felt irrelevant to me when compared to the pain my father had just caused. Hiccup rushed over to my side and I could hear his voice asking me if I was okay, but all I could do was clutch the phone and cry.
Hiccup reached around me and turned off the voice recorder, then wrapped his arm around my shoulders. My breath shuddered in and out in heaving gasps as I struggled to catch breaths like my mother never would again. The salty taste rang sharp in my mouth as the tears ran haphazardly down my face. Every motion was petrifying, and the more I breathed and the more I cried the more I felt the urge to just stop. Stop and give up, and never have to think again.
But then my mind was suddenly galvanised into action as I remembered my promise to my mother, and then I just let the sadness pour out until I was a hollow, emotionless shell.
Hiccup stood by me silently whilst I mourned, not speaking and not moving. He was just a presence, slicing through my grief and making me feel comforted just by being there. There were no pointless words of pity. There were no stupid platitudes. There was no hug and a smile.
And I was comforted, by the outward lack of care.
When at length my sobs faded and my tears just ran silently down my cheeks, I had the strength to form a word or two.
"I'm sorry."
"You've got nothing to be sorry about. I don't care about my shirt that much. Do you want to stay here some more?"
I noticed with the barest smile that my incessant liquid sadness had soaked the shoulder of Hiccup's shirt, leaving a dark stain. Then I said,"Upstairs?" I restricted myself to one word answers because I didn't trust the steadiness of my tone just yet.
Hiccup stood and pulled me to my feet, my knees shaking unsteadily as I looked down at the floor where I had been sitting. The phone was still clutched in my hand, and I realised I hadn't even ended the call. Ending the call would have meant leaving my mother behind in the empty house, even though there was nothing left to feel alone. I just handed the phone to Hiccup, still emitting no sound, who took it down to his side and walked with me upstairs. I don't know exactly when he turned it off, which was nice. It meant I didn't know the exact moment I'd deserted her.
I guess I'd deserted her the moment I took the money and ran.
Hiccup shut us inside his bedroom as the light outside was fading, leaving the sky as littered with bruises as my skin, and we sat in silence on his bed. I felt like all my words had been taken from me anyway.
"You want to sleep in here tonight?" Hiccup asked, and I just nodded mutely. The wrenching sadness had suddenly been replaced with shocked realisation, and now I was doing the bare minimum to communicate. He left and, with nothing to distract it, my mind went wild, flashing up images of my mother's final moments. I rolled onto my side, shoving my fists into my eyes and seeing sweet stars replace the horrifying hallucinations.
I heard the door open and I tried to hastily rearrange my face to make it appear more normal. Hiccup walked back in with a sleeping bag and inflatable mattress, dropping them onto the floor and unrolling the mattress.
"Want to inflate the mattress?" he asked, and I just fell to my knees and grabbed the pump in reply. Once it was all hooked up, I pounded at the pump with both fists, urging it to greater speed. I imagined that each punch on the pump was a punch to my father's face, and I kept at it until the mattress was almost bursting with air and my knuckles were raw and scraped.
When I was done I fell back onto the bed, massaging my knuckles and rubbing my arm where it had begun to ache. The repeated impacts were obviously not on the physio's agenda. I left Hiccup to prepare everything else; I was too preoccupied with keeping my imagination at bay.
The task complete, Hiccup disappeared downstairs for a few moments and reappeared brandishing some chocolate chip cookies. He offered me one, and I took it out of politeness more than anything else, but I barely nibbled it before I lost my appetite. All I could think about was how the taste of chocolate chip cookie would never pass the lips of my mother again, and maybe I should do the same.
My hand just dropped to my side, cookie crumbling into the covers, and I fell onto the pillow. Hiccup bustled over and pulled the duvet out from underneath me, shaking off the crumbs and putting it over my curled up body. I took a corner of the duvet and hugged it tightly to my chest, nestling it in the gap and giving me a solid thing to hold onto.
I shut my eyes, and tried to dream peacefully.
I watched Toothless' eyes flickering beneath closed lids, and the murmuring whisper of each breath. I watched him clutch at the duvet, hold onto it like it was keeping him from falling to his death. Maybe it was an anchor, keeping him from drifting too far from this world.
I had some inkling of what was going on. I knew he'd been talking to his mother, and when I'd picked up the phone I'd heard the silence and connected the dots. I didn't want to say anything just then, because I knew he'd be eating himself up over the fact that he ran away and so couldn't be there to save her; I didn't want to add to the guilt.
I lay down on the inflatable mattress, pulling the sheets over me and arranging my head on the unfamiliar pillows. I made all the motions of trying to sleep, but I knew I'd never make it to the land of nod. I didn't want Toothless to wake up suddenly and be alone.
In the end, I just watched silently until it was abruptly broken. Suddenly Toothless shot up, eyes wide open, gasping for breath as jumbled nonsense tried to wrestle between his lips. He looked around for a moment, checking every corner and not noticing my awake state. He sagged slightly, eyes glancing back down at the duvet as fresh tears began to emerge, sighing.
"Goddamned dream," he whispered quietly to himself; but, of course, I heard everything. "Stupid brain." He slapped his forehead a few times before throwing himself back down onto the pillows, turning his back to me angrily.
I watched a little longer, listening to his breathing steady as he fell asleep once more.
Then I suddenly awoke, my own eyes shooting open as I lurched forwards to behold my surroundings. I saw the light lancing through the chink in the curtains, and I cursed myself for having fallen asleep. I quickly glanced up to the bed, but it was empty.
Throwing the covers away, I scrambled to find my feet on the undulating mattress. I made it up successfully, and darted out of my room and down the stairs.
There, I checked the kitchen, the lounge, the den; when all the obvious places had been checked, I stuck my head into every room. Still, nothing was to be found. I ran back up the stairs, searching every room but my father's bedroom, until finally I found Toothless.
He was cowering on the bathroom floor, hugging his knees and sobbing uncontrollably. I rushed over, wrapping my arms around him and whispering nonsense words of consolation.
"It's going to be okay," I whispered, and he looked up at me with fury written all over the frown lines on his face.
"No! It's not going to be okay, is it?"
"It will be one day. I promise."
"It won't. I killed her, Hiccup."
"You didn't. Someone else did. Don't blame yourself for this."
"But I do blame myself! If I hadn't run away and come here, she never would have been alone and I would have been able to save her! The only reason she's dead is because of my own greed." He turned his head away in shame as his voice failed him and new tears fell. I only hugged him tighter, now silent as I remembered that words were no consolation.
The black hole of hatred lashed out from inside me, turned me into someone I never wanted to be. It made me yell at the person who only ever wanted to help and be kind. It made me reject help, reject things meant to stop my spiral into a well of self-hate.
And I just kept on letting it win.
I was crying on the cold bathroom floor for a long time. When at last there wasn't a drop of moisture left in my body for tears, I slowly silenced and became still.
I looked up at Hiccup. "Hey," I whispered. "Sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
"For yelling."
"It's fine. Yell at me all you like if it helps."
"I won't."
"Okay then." Hiccup sighed. "What are you going to do?"
Now it was my turn to sigh. "I don't know."
"Do you think you can tell me a little about what happened?" Hiccup asked gently.
My heart lurched a little, but my willpower beat it down. "My... my father... he hurt her. He was looking for me and I wasn't there and he tied up my mom for ages while he went looking, and then he came back and he said something then he hurt her and she knew it was over and I just stayed there and talked to her until all I could hear was silence and then-" The words burst out of me in a rush; I didn't want to lose heart or for my voice to break. "He killed her instead of me."
"He didn't. If he'd found you, you would have died too."
"He wouldn't have killed either of us. I could have stopped him," I said vehemently, stabbing at my chest.
"What if you couldn't stop him? What then? He'd do worse than just break your arm this time," Hiccup replied, but I was suddenly too blinded by rage to speak what I meant to.
"Are you doubting me? Are you doubting the fact that I can overpower him?"
"I don't doubt it for a second," Hiccup said hurriedly, "but he was armed this time."
"I don't care what happens to me. I can overpower him, weapon or not."
"Last time you didn't make it," he pointed out gently.
"Well, what hope did I have when he came at me from behind and smashed my arm with the first blow!"
I lashed out angrily.
"What if he'd come at you from behind this time?"
"I... I'd..." I stammered, trying to come up with a solution. Then, as silence fell and the fact I'd been outplayed sank in fully, I realised I'd let the hate overtake me again. "It doesn't matter."
"It does matter. If he'd come from behind and-"
"Leave it."
"You would have died, Toothless!"
I stood up abruptly. "That probably would have been better. At least then neither of us would have been alone," I said to the boy on the floor before walking out. I went back into his bedroom and hid under the sheets, curling up as if that would shield me from the pain stabbing me from the inside out.
Toothless grew moodier and more listless each day. It was a struggle to make him get up and eat a few mouthfuls at times. At first, he would come downstairs after some encouragement and draw with me, but I quickly saw his enthusiasm wane, and the pictures grew darker and bleaker as the days went by.
I told my dad what had happened and showed him the tape, and he began making calls to try and get Toothless' mum out of the house, and for some kind of investigation to begin. He managed to explain to some American cop what was going on, and finally everything was underway. We found out what happened, and we sent the tape so they could hear it and have proof of the culprit. They called and asked for Toothless to return to the US so he could give them more information, but we tried to give excuses and dodge them for as long as we could. We said he didn't have any more information.
All the while, Toothless was paling and becoming thinner each day; the light in his eyes was gone and he was just an empty shell, existing only to satisfy the basic desire of humans to continue to live. I tried to talk to him and get him to interact with the world, but it was no good. In the end, I had to go back to school because people would be asking questions if I stayed away for too long. And if they found out the /real reason why I'd stayed home, the rumour mills would have a field day.
The first day back was, predictably, filled with many questions about my whereabouts. I just used the same lie over and over: a family member had died, and I had to take a day or two to come to terms with it. Of course, it was just Toothless' story rewritten, but I couldn't lie about everything.
Incredibly, there were only a few people who laughed or pointed at me too. I guess word had gotten around, and they'd decided to be kind for once and let me off for a day. I moved mindlessly through the day, doing what I was asked without thought or emotion, just waiting until I could go home and make sure Toothless was okay.
When I walked out of school and turned the corner, I saw a very unexpected face looking for me. Toothless was leaning against his wall, black hood pulled low over his eyes, searching for me. He saw me, then I saw his eyes drop as he fell into step next to me.
"Didn't expect to see you out and about. Feeling better?" I asked, and was answered by a noncommittal grunt.
"Went for a walk. I found this bridge. It was nice so I stayed there then came here," he muttered, and I had to strain to catch every word. I could see in his body language how the world was dragging him down, almost literally. His shoulders were hunched and his gait was slow and shuffling. I had no trouble keeping up with him that day.
"I think I know where you went. Have you had a nice day?"
"Was okay. Walking is good. Lets me think. Yours?"
"Less mocking than usual. I enjoyed it." After that, we walked in silence for the rest of the way home.
Days used to blur into one another, so many insignificant things happening I didn't hope to remember exactly what I did when. Now, every day was burned into my mind because every day was one my mother never had. I was cursed with perfect recall of every moment since I became alone, every moment of regret and irritation. I sat inside and my thoughts were all around me, suffocating. When Hiccup left for school there wasn't really much for me to do at the house, so I took some money and just walked out the door.
Walking in the cool morning air, I felt more free than I had in days. The heavy musk of memories that had settled upon me had space to lift away and diffuse a little; I could breathe again. I turned in every direction, not caring where my steps would take me.
Eventually, I turned the corner of a small pathway I'd ended up on to find a bridge. It was small, and made of wood. The sides were strengthened by an intricate and beautiful lattice of more wooden strips, and the pathway curved slightly at its centre. The sun reflected off the water paddling idly along down below, making it shimmer and reflect wildly into my eyes; I had to blink with flashes seared into my eyelids quite a few times. I saw jagged rocks, too, disrupting the serenity of the flowing water by forcing the liquid into tiny eddies around them.
I walked quietly along the planks, listening for every tiny creak as I leaned tentatively over the edge. The barrier wasn't too high, and plenty wide enough for me to feel safe. I stood still, and watched the water shimmer and the trees away gently in time with the beat of the wind. Nature moved while I did not; I was the juggernaut, immovable and eternal in this ever-changing world. And while I was still on the outside, my mind was running around wildly, projecting images everywhere I looked: my mother's smile, her hair, her slight figure framed by the fire of the setting sun. My imagination dived in too- images of her lying alone in our house, her terrified eyes as she lived her last moments, her final breaths.
I stood still and let the tears fall, not caring to wipe them away. Let the world see my grief.
Vague memories pushed through the sights of blood. I remembered high wooden walls, a narrow walkway, my mom lifting me up. A bridge, a little like this one. Or maybe I was just using this bridge to fill in the gaps. I remember throwing a stick into the river with my mom, then racing across and seeing whose stick would win. I felt the strong, sure grasp of her slender fingers around my waist as I was lifted and held so that I could see the victor; and I could swear that I felt her fingers around my waist as I stood at that bridge, too.
Then, suddenly, my body unfroze and I moved in time with the world again. I walked to the nearest tree, breaking off two leafless branches, then returning to my spot. I held the branches out in front of me, dangling over the water for a second before I let go and they fell, splashing quietly into the river below.
I felt like a child again as I walked over to the other side of the bridge in a few short strides, leaning over to watch them come through. The left hand stick made it first, but it was less the victor and more the ritual that mattered to me.
I repeated the game many times over the course of that day. I threw down so many sticks that the branch of the tree where I'd been taking sticks was almost bare. Checking my watch, I realised it was time to meet Hiccup and surprise him as he came out of school. I walked quickly, and just about made it to my favourite leaning spot before he rounded the corner. I saw the surprised look on his eyes, then I looked away. Hiccup may have been my friend, and a pretty good one at that, but I just couldn't face looking at anyone properly any more.
I'd already lost one of the people closest to me in my life. If I didn't let anyone else get that close, nobody could hurt me again.
The next few weeks were hard for everyone. Toothless, most of all. He was starving himself, plain for everyone to see, but nothing and nobody could make him eat. There was always a plate for him at the table, but my father had seen what was going on. He would pick at his food when we dug in, maybe taking a mouthful or two of pasta or peas before pushing the rest of the food away. He spoke to me, but not like before. Now, he was morose and bleak, and any jokes I told to cheer him up fell flat. Whenever I tried to ask him about his mother or make it clear it wasn't his fault, he would become agitated and start yelling at me if I didn't back down soon enough.
It was like the Toothless I knew had been locked up in a lead-lined box and buried deep inside this empty shell of a boy. I'd lost my friend to his own father.
The investigation never seemed to get any further. They dithered and searched, but nobody could find any sign of the man. As far as I knew, the investigation was still ongoing, but nothing had come of it.
I felt trapped. Trapped in an infinite vortex where time was dragging me inexorably towards where Toothless was. And if I wanted to save Toothless from himself, I needed to be the one on dry land.
I visited that bridge every day. I began to find it each morning without much conscious thought. Each time I went, I would take two twigs from a tree and race them under the bridge, in a ritual known to nobody but myself. I still didn't care which one was the victor, as long as I did it and thought of her every single day.
After coming home one morning after my ritual twig tossing, I was feeling relatively upbeat so I decided to draw.
I sat down on the super ergonomic gaming chair in front of the desk and hit the power button. The computer loaded in seconds, and I typed in Hiccup's password before looking around for the drawing tablet. It wasn't anywhere to be seen, so I started throwing around cushions on the couch until I unearthed Hiccup's laptop attached to his tablet. I plugged it into the computer and pulled the pen from between the couch cushions (a place I had found it numerous times) before opening up the paint program we used.
Curiously, it wasn't a dragon my hand started to draw. A small oval appeared instead as I sketched a face. Eyes, nose, mouth. They all appeared as my memory was superimposed on my drawing. The face became a human, then a woman, then someone I knew better than anyone. I sketched out every line and shadow on her face as she smiled back at me, shading in her hair with the hundred and one colours it always used to have. The quick sketch turned into a masterpiece that took six hours. By the time I was done, she looked so close she could almost be real, and I'd added the backdrop of the setting sun blazing around her like my vision by the bridge. I saved it, then left it on the screen before shoving on my only pair of shoes and racing out to meet Hiccup from school.
We walked home, but I didn't mention my drawing. I wanted to surprise him. Instead, I asked him a little about school before lapsing into one of the silences that had become so common between us those past few weeks. When we got back, Hiccup opened the door and yelled a greeting to his dad, while I just bent down and pulled off my shoes before walking silently into the den.
I sat down on the sofa, the computer screen just to my right. Hiccup walked in after me, and soon enough his eyes were dragged past my face and to that of the woman I had drawn.
"Did you draw this?" Hiccup asked, with the tone that usually suggested that he already knew the answer. I just nodded silently.
Hiccup leaned closer to the screen, scanning the image. "This is incredible. She's very beautiful."
"Where do you think I get my dashing good looks from?" I replied, a tiny hint of a smile appearing. I think my muscles hadn't needed to smile for so long they'd forgotten how. It was almost painful to try.
"That's your mother?" he asked. Again, a nod. "Oh, Toothless, it looks incredible. It's so real! How long did it take?"
"Pretty much the whole day." Hiccup didn't reply, just looked at my drawing for a while longer, noting every edge and shade, murmuring words I couldn't quite catch.
"You want to play?" I asked, and Hiccup looked up in surprise. I hadn't wanted to do anything for ages.
"Sure," he replied, dragging his eyes from the screen and grabbing a controller from the side. I picked a game and slotted it into the console, ready to be totally pounded by Hiccup's skill.
This time, amazingly, I didn't lose. I actually won for the first time ever. Once or twice I glanced over at Hiccup and noted the vacant expression on his face; I knew I wasn't winning just because of what little skill I had.
Nevertheless, I had fun running round and doing my worst to the enemy while Hiccup tried to do his worst to me. There was silence between us, save for the occasional comment on the lucky streak of the other.
I didn't mind the silence.
When we were called for dinner, I did my customary playing with my food; my stomach had given up asking for sustenance when it realised it wasn't getting any. I think Hiccup was hoping I'd begun to come to terms with everything because I seemed to be getting back to normal, but the reality couldn't have been more different.
I hoped he wouldn't hate me for buoying him up like that, only for me to bring his world almost literally crashing down.
I watched Toothless playing, completely walking all over me, and my heart soared with hope. He'd drawn while I was at school, and it seemed like he was almost starting to find himself again. It seemed to me that this was the beginning of the long climb back up.
I don't think I stopped watching him for much of the evening. I watched him play with his food as unenthusiastically as before, but nothing could stop the feeling of hope growing inside me. Small steps, my mind said.
I hoped that day was the first small step.
I woke up and knew that day was to be the day. The sun was pushing across the horizon, entering a deep red sky. I recalled the proverb about red skies in the morning being a warning to shepherds, and that made up my mind. My surname is Sheppard, so it all worked out quite well. It was almost like the sky was telling all my long- lost relatives to watch out. Beware, something bad is going to happen to this guy you don't even know, that kind of thing. I pushed up out of bed on arms that were weakened by lack of nutrition, my scar looking bigger than ever. My legs were the only part of me that didn't appear weak; they were strong from my daily walks to the bridge and back. But I was nowhere near as strong as I had been. All those promises I'd made to my mom about getting justice seemed stupid then. I'd never have be able to fight him off like that. I was no longer part of any crack crime- fighting squad. I was no longer strong, fun, happy.
I was a failure.
I showered and dressed, the usual routine, then I joined Hiccup for his walk to school. I felt the wind on my face on the cold day and pulled my coat closer around my shoulders, matching Hiccup stride for stride. I'd found that slow walking was a lot better those days, letting my legs take their time and for the whole world to slow down just for me.
I walked to my corner, stopping to lean in my usual spot and touching Hiccup's shoulder gently to turn him.
"Seeya, Hiccup," I said, smiling as widely and genuinely as I could for the first time in weeks. He grinned back, and wrapped his arms around my chest in a hug.
"Careful; you'll only make the rumours worse," I said quietly, hugging him back anyway.
"Screw those idiots," Hiccup replied as he drew away, walking around the corner a happy kid.
I waited a few minutes before returning home, just watching the auburn hair recede into the distance. I went straight back, my long strides slow and carefree, and logged onto the computer. I loaded up a blank canvas, and let my hand do what it had to.
A few hours later, drawing complete in full colour and crystal clarity, I left for my daily walk. Stoick didn't mind my leaving any more; he never knew where I went, and never asked.
I meandered like the river under the bridge, tiptoeing and dancing along the sidewalk like I was a child again. I floated on a cushion of air, flew on a magic carpet. I was an angel, watching over everything.
My prancing took me to the bridge eventually, my feet knowing without orders exactly where to go. I leaned over the railing, reality coming back to ground me all of a sudden.
God, it was a long way down.
I turned the corner, expecting Toothless to be leaning on his wall with what now was his smile. Strangely, there was nobody to be seen. I paused for a moment and glanced around, in case he was hiding. I walked a little further, looking down all the side roads and hoping to see the familiar face. But there was nobody. I continued walking, thinking to myself that he'd probably just become so engrossed in another drawing that he'd forgotten the time and hadn't come to meet me. I walked a little faster, the thought of a new drawing motivating me to get home sooner.
I opened the door and yelled my daily greeting to my dad before pulling off my shoes quickly and diving into the den expecting to find Toothless. He wasn't anywhere to be seen, but I noticed that he had drawn something. I approached the screen, and an image similar to the one I had seen the day before came into focus. It was another one of his mother, but this time her hair was splayed out around her face like an auburn halo and her arms were spread wide. She looked pretty similar to the paintings of Jesus on the cross often seen in a lot of churches, but I knew he wasn't religious and wondered why he would paint her that way.
Then, I realised that she was making a sacrifice. Just like Jesus willingly died on the cross, his mother was falling through the sky. And at the top of the painting was the bottom edge of an intricate wooden structure. One that I knew Toothless visited almost religiously.
The last piece slotted into place and I sprung to attention, eyes frozen on the image for a moment as if disbelieving of its truths.
I bolted out of the door and scrambled for my shoes, before grabbing the garage keys from the side and slamming the door with a hasty yell to my dad that I'd be back later.
I unlocked the garage door and threw it up, snatching my bike from its leaning post and slinging my leg over it. I set off cycling as fast as I could, only slowing myself after a near miss with a car reminded me that it was no use if I got hurt or killed right then. My heart pounded as I pumped the pedals as fast as I could down the pathways and side roads, taking corners as fast as I dared. I turned the corner to the bridge as my vision began to blur, and all I saw was a fuzzy black shape high above me as I skidded my bike to a halt beside the bridge.
I twitched my toes over the edge, dangling over the water just like the branches I had thrown down. Only this time the branches were safe on dry land, and I'd be racing nobody to the other side of the bridge.
Here I was, ready to meet my mother once more. I fancied I could see her face glittering in the tiny eddies of the water below. A gust of wind made my shirt billow out, but seemed to go right through me; I felt as immovable as a giant boulder. Nothing could decide my time but me.
"Toothless!" a voice gasped, and I almost fell from the shock of the sound.
It was Hiccup.
"Toothless!" I gasped as I scrambled off my bike, assuming the black shape was him. My eyes opened; my vision cleared, and I saw him standing there, toes curling over the precipice.
"Toothless! Wait!" I took a tiny step towards him, holding my hands up.
"You can't do anything about this, Hiccup" he said.
"I can't?" I cried. "I just have to let you... let you die?"
"You weren't meant to come. The painting was my note. I didn't think you'd figure it out until it was too late."
"Toothless, I- just please, please come down. You don't need to do this."
"Just go away! I left you with a happy parting memory for a reason, Hiccup! I'd hoped you wouldn't find me, and I wish you would let me do what I want. Now leave me alone and let me find my mother again in peace." He moved closer to the edge as another gust of wind arrived.
"I was supposed to just have that memory of you? That's not much of a parting memory! You... you lied to me. You made me think you were getting better. That everything was looking up. And then you do this?!"
"Well, what else was I meant to do? Just come up to you and say, oh, by the way I'm going to be committing suicide tomorrow afternoon, would you like to spend the day saying goodbye? For once I want to be the one who makes the final decision. I want to be the one who makes the last decision of my life. And I'm not letting you, or the wind, or anything else decide for me. This needs to be mine, Hiccup. Leave me be."
"What about the whole lifetime of memories I'd miss out on if you just give up now? And what about the promises you made to your mother? You promised her you'd bring him to justice."
"I can't do that any more!" he shouted, defeated. "I'm a failure. I'm too weak."
"So you're going to find your mother only to tell her that you failed? You gave up because you didn't have the will to try without her?" I was talking out of my mind, my mouth running away without much thought behind the words that were said. I just wanted to see Toothless safe next to me again.
"Let me help you," I pleaded. "Come back, and we can work together to find him. You and me together, we're stronger than anything. If you jump now, we'll both be broken. I won't be strong enough to bring him down alone. I need your help, Toothless."
"He's not going to stick around and make my life a misery," he only shouted back.
"But don't you understand? He's going to make your death a misery too! You'll have to... live... knowing that he's still out there. Walk out next to your mum every single day knowing you could have tried to stop him but you gave up before the first round even began. Life needs you more than Death does. Stop, please. If you don't care about yourself enough not to do this, don't jump for my sake."
My head was whirling, emotions flying and colliding everywhere I thought. I let the wind wash over me as I stood in a stalemate with Hiccup. He wouldn't let me jump, and I wouldn't let myself go whilst he was still there.
Hiccup took a step closer; two. Then I folded like tissue paper with the oncoming gust, suddenly losing my steadfastness. I saw Hiccup lunge at me, felt his sure hand grasp my stick-thin wrist.
And then I fell.
I grabbed Toothless and pulled with a strength only given to those in the greatest, most desperate need. He toppled, arm flailing towards me, falling heavily onto the hard wooden deck. I winced at the contact, but chastised myself as I imagined what the sound might have been if he'd fallen the other way.
I scrambled to my feet, looking at Toothless anxiously.
"Are you okay?" I asked. The only answer I got for a few moments was a low moan.
Then: "More okay than ten seconds ago."
I sighed with relief, a grin flooding across my face for a second. Then, I realised what I was doing and assumed a more serious face. Toothless opened his eyes and looked at me and I said, "Why?"
He looked away. "Because there's nothing left for me here. I'm alone and broken, Hiccup. I'm worthless and the only things that meant anything to me are gone."
Now it was my turn to look away. "I'm not gone," I said quietly.
"What?"
"I said, I'm not gone. Don't I mean anything to you?"
"Yeah, you do. But-"
"I don't mean enough for you to want to actually /be here with me? You think I'm just another toy, to be discarded whenever you get tired of it?"
"Of course not. I tried to leave you with something. I tried-"
"You failed. No matter how much you think you've failed in this life, I'm still here, as yet un-failed. And you'd have failed me if you'd jumped just then." I met his gaze and held it, daring him to defy me.
I stared into his eyes for a long time. I watched the sunlight glimmer, turning his eyes into a kaleidoscope of green. He was still lying on the bridge, arms and legs splayed out. But I never looked properly at the world around. I just stared at him, the rest of the world blurring out as the only things in focus were the glittering green eyes before me.
When at last Toothless looked away, I leaned down and offered my hand to him silently. He lifted an arm to meet mine, and I pulled to bring him easily to his feet.
Two months ago, I never would have been able to do that.
He winced as he stood, rubbing his arm. "Awkward fall," he explained. I noticed a smudge of red on his fingers as he took his hand away, but didn't press the matter.
"You want to go home?" I asked.
He sighed, still ashamed of himself. "Can we stay awhile?"
I walked back to the railing, looked down. I thought back to fifteen minutes previously, when I'd done this for what I had thought was the last time. Hiccup followed, leaning on the side and watching me for any sign I was going to try something.
"You know what made me choose here?" I said.
Hiccup shifted uncomfortably, obviously not wanting to stray back to the topic so soon after it had been at the forefront of his mind, but asked anyway, "What?"
I turned towards the trees, now looking quite bare due in part to the approaching winter but also to my ritual branch theft, and began my story.
"When I was a kid, my mom took me to this place a bit like this one." I reached up and snapped off a branch as I spoke. "We found two sticks, and then we went over to the edge and threw them down. Like this," I demonstrated with my freshly picked visual aids. "Then, we ran over to the other side and watched to see whose stick would win." I walked over to the other side and watched for my sticks to come through. "I've been doing this every day since I first stumbled into this place, and since it seemed to have some kind of similarity with the place in my memory, I thought it would work. It's also a pretty long way down."
Hiccup listened, but didn't ask any more about the reason for the location. Instead, he asked, "Why did you draw your mum in that painting instead of you?"
"It's hard for me to draw myself. Besides, I didn't want you to get it too quickly. Otherwise... well, this would have happened." I walked back to the edge and Hiccup followed.
"You're not still thinking about it, are you?"
"Not when you're here."
"You know, you can always just tell me if you've got a problem. I always told you so many of my problems, but I never listened to any of yours. If you tell me, I won't let anything like this happen."
I shrugged. "It's okay. It's not like I ever tried to tell you anything anyway."
"Don't be afraid of telling me anything. I won't think any worse of you for anything you've done."
I sighed. "You got me. I didn't want to tell you because I hate seeming weak and needy. I was always the strong one, there for others to burden with their problems and make their lives just a little bit better. I never had problems of my own that anyone needed to know about. I just... handled it, I guess."
Hiccup actually laughed out loud at this. "Sorry, I shouldn't be laughing. This isn't that funny." I waited a few moments for him to calm down a little before explaining fully. "I just can't believe you'd think I'd ever pin either of those labels to you. And if you'll tell nobody else about what's going on, tell me. Tell me, even if it hurts you to say it and you want to shrink into the ground from shame."
"Okay."
Hiccup turned away, snatched another pair of branches from a tree and dropped them himself. "Next time, I'll come with you." I guess he didn't want me running off to fall the other way. He smiled, just a tiny show of happiness, and my only response was a solitary tear rolling down my cheek.
I resisted the urge to wipe it away as I said, "No shame." And a chink appeared in my granite expression, and I smiled a little too.
We stood for a little longer before I picked up my bike and we set off home. Neither of us could think of much to say; what we had wanted to say had already been said. The roads wound their way to my house, where I yelled our return to my dad and we both disappeared into the den.
I sat down on the sofa, ignoring the drawing still on the screen. Toothless leant over me and closed it before joining me on the sofa.
"So, what now?" he asked.
"Now, we get everything right. Together." I looked hopefully at him. "But first, I need to earn back my reputation," I added, pulling out the game disc and getting ready to play.
"You're on," Toothless replied, and a grin split his face.
It was at that moment that I felt safe to hope again.
Strange, how everything seems to come full circle. Hiccup kicks everything off with a drawing, and I end it with one. Let me describe it to you:
A small room, with a well-worn red couch covered in a random assortment of cushions, houses three people. The curtains hang, matching nothing, mostly closed, allowing a strip of light to illuminate the faces within. The rest of the room is lit by a huge TV sitting proudly in the corner, and all of the eyes of the inhabitants are turned its way.
There's a teenage boy, face scrunched in concentration as he wields his controller with a will to win, sitting on the left hand side of the sofa. He's puny and without any physical strength, but I know his strength lies where not many can see it. His auburn hair frames his hazel eyes, burning with their usual intensity.
Next to him sits a huge man, the boy's polar opposite; you would never think for a moment that they were related. He barely fits onto the couch, his massive shoulders hunched over a controller that looks comically tiny for his hands. His eyes squint, with the appearance of someone who insists they don't need glasses when they probably do, and his tongue pokes out of his mouth slightly as he concentrates on trying to beat his son. His beard adds a touch of fire to the otherwise cool room, the plaited flames rolling down his shirt.
And then there's me. I drew myself as I am now, still pretty skinny and with no muscle tone to speak of. My hair's still as manic and dark as ever; my eyes glint with mischief and intrigue. I don't look tough, but the guys on the couch will prove anyone who tries to contest that wrong in an instant. I'm sitting on the floor in front of the couch, face turned slightly towards the imaginary painter so you can see my expression.
A smile. No, more than that. A huge grin.
I'm happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long while. They've let me join their band of brothers as we fight the world together; as one, we are unstoppable. Stoick's taken me in like I was never a stranger to him. Like I was a long lost relation just waiting to be rediscovered. I've found my place in the world, just as I thought all hope had been lost. I fell a long way, and the path back to the top is a hard one. But I know I'll get there, eventually.
I sign my name in the corner and put the stylus in its holder, standing up. I walk in front of the couch, sitting on the floor in front of the father-son team battling it out on the screen before me. I turn slightly, angling my body towards the imaginary painter, and smile, the image complete.
The world slows; expressions freeze in place and I sit there, the painter and subject of the life and times of Toothless Sheppard.
A/N: Thanks for sticking it out to the end! I know this is one epic oneshot, and I hope you liked it. Leave a review if you've got a few moments!
I'd also like to say that if your name is Wyatt, congratulations, your name is awesome. I started this story thinking the name comical and silly, but pretty soon I started loving it. And apologies to any Americans or Brits who felt totally stereotyped in this one; I know I made some very sweeping generalisations. And yet more apologies for making Hiccup British.
This story is nothing more than fiction. I am not an advocate for meeting up with people you meet online in real life; it was only a plot device I needed for this story to take place. It wasn't even going to happen in the first draft of this story; I kinda got argued into it.
