In case you need the disclaimer, I am no closer to owning httyd than I was at the start of this story. Be glad.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. Wow, I didn't realise I was so loved!

10 points goes to the guest. Much clap.

Personal revelation: Snotlout's eyes are blue.

Thoughts: fuck.

I should probably put a warning for sarcasm and Heather is a chill ass adult in this. Everyone else is the age they'd be in the first movie. The ANs are so long in this chapter, I usually do really short ones. Anyway, read!

Hiccup's eyes fluttered open, the not unwelcome but slightly ticklish sensation of his eyelashes on his cheek pulling him out of slumber. The first thing he noticed was a quiet but incessant beeping noise from a machine next to his bed. The dark figure clouding his vision reminds him of his panic attack and the door opening.

Must have been the nurse, he concluded.

But his slightly hazy vision picked up on a note lying on the plastic grey table. He stretched up to grab it, hissing in pain. He slumped back in the pillows, adjusting to the fact that there was a needle in his arm, attached to some very appetising looking brown sludgy liquid.

Great, he thought. New and improved: dog shit! Cures all ailments.

On closer inspection, it didn't really look like poison so he let it slide. Dragging his thoughts back to the note, he steeled himself and lifted his body off the bed to snatch it, flopping gracelessly back down.

Oh yes, incredible core strength strikes again. I managed to almost sit up. Wow.

He strained his eyes to read the scrawled letter.

Hic,

I'm rlly sorry bout this. Didn't mean to get u in hospital. But stay safe, alright? I'm glad ur still alive.

This changes nothing, fishbone.

Snot

He stared at the scribbled, blotchy short note for a bit longer. Snotlout? Snotlout Jorgensen? His beat-you-up first, kill you later, heartless cousin? The most anti police person in the history of authorities?

Snotlout the fucking druggie. Called the police. To protect him.

Hiccup wasn't stupid. He knew what hospitals meant. They all did. Going to any sort of authority would mean too many questions, medical procedures, spooks and some sort of home or orphanage for fucked up rejects like him.

He gulped, spreading his arms out to grab the sides of the bed and every inch of air his fingers felt making him feel sicker. Smaller. Hiccup knew he was small, he had always been small. Having a parent with vast in his nickname dwarfed him. But even being grabbed by a hand twice the size of his head didn't make him feel as small as he did now.

He finally reached the sides of the bed, hating how wide his arms had to spread to reach them. He was weak, defenceless. He couldn't fucking walk, for gods sake.

He was useless and helpless. The overwhelming sense of defeat returned. The kind he felt when he gave up trying to stand on broken legs, or take deep breaths with broken ribs. When he realised after an embarrassing long time that makeup did not hide swelling, but it did hide his telltale freckles. Now he knew the game was up. He is going to have to talk about it.

Somehow, reliving experiences is worse than living them, like the first time fear clouds the senses and feeling numbs. Sensations jumble together into an overwhelming feeling of pain, dark and red. It's not until the dreams begin until it hits exactly what he just survived. He doesn't want to talk, or explain. He sucks at talking. He learnt far too quickly exactly what do do with his body, the most placating stance, the least painful positions, the sounds that make him back off slightly and how to be submissive.

Talking is something else. Something he's never had to do properly. Talking never helps. Speaking up earns a slap. Yelling and pleading are pointless. Crying is an absolute weakness that just hardens the heart of any attacker. Over the years, Hiccup decided it was better just to say silent. So he uses sarcasm as his shield, his soft, unthreatening voice as a weapon and silence as his preferred battle tactic. Until suddenly he is in a clean, white bed wrapped in bandages and feeling better than he has in months. And he's terrified.

The door opens, outside noise and chatter invading the silence for a few seconds, before it clicks shut again. It's a woman, probably a nurse, but she doesn't really look like one. She was slim, with black hair braided in a ponytail. He just watched her as she checked all his machines and wrote some things down. He hadn't seen a girl for a while. It was nice, he guesses.

Finally, she stops in front of the bed and takes a steadying breath.

"So, would you like to tell me why you're here?"

Hiccup just gaped at her. "What, you're not going to fake smile and rattle off all my injuries and ask me if I'm ok?"

She chuckled, bringing an overly wide smile to her face. "Well, Mr Haddock, you appear to have a severe case of cynicism and sarcasm, and by the way, are you ok?"

He snorted, ducking his head and looking at her curiously through his long hair.

"I'm Heather."

"Hiccup."

"Really Hiccup, you seem way too smart for all of that, and I'm not going to treat you like you don't know anything. I'm sure you could give a better account of your injuries than I could, and I'm sure you don't need to hear them. But I will need to ask you how you got into this state."

Hiccup made a little chuffing sound, pretending to think hard.

"I ran into a door." He drawled with a wry smile.

Heather put her hand over her heart, gasping. "Oh no, poor child. That sounds absolutely horrific. Well now, it seems you and the door have quite a history! You were here only three years ago. Was it the same door?"

"Oh yes, the door seemed quite intent on ruining my day. Rather rude if you ask me."

Hiccup grinned impishly, watching Heather with amusement as she shook her head. He had no intention of staying here, as soon as he was off all these machines and had something he could actually walk on, he was out of here. But it was nice to have someone to play around with this time.

Yes, he had been here once before. In what he can only assume as a moment of madness, Stoick picked a customer with actual morals who took him to the hospital because he thought he could save him. Hiccup doesn't need saving. He has survived on his own for too long, he has too many rules and survival techniques to just throw it all away. He would not know what to do with a normal family. He doesn't need one. And you know what? He doesn't even want one.

As for the door, he was young and foolish. He has a past. Let it go.

She hums softly, taking notes. "Alright Hiccup. Here's the plan. You're going to keep the machines for a couple more days. This one alerts us if your heart stops beating or *cough* removes itself, and the other one is nutrients to help your body recover. After that, we'll keep you here until you can walk with crutches, and then you'll go and stay with a lovely woman called Mrs Ingerman. I will warn you, she likes dogs."

Hiccup caught his breath. They had a home set up for him already? He couldn't leave? His heart pumped in his chest, surprisingly regular, and he suddenly felt like he was underwater. He was trapped. He couldn't escape.

He flinched when he felt a hand on his arm. Slowly, his vision cleared and the beeps of his monitor stooped jarring his head and ringing in his ears.

"I'll leave you alone for a bit. By the way, you had a visitor last night. Short boy, in a hoodie. I didn't catch his name. Or anything really..."

Hiccup couldn't help the sly smile that spread over his face. Snotlout was loud, arrogant and overconfident. But brash as he was, Hiccup had to admit he was darn good at being inconspicuous when he wanted to be. He didn't want to think about Snotlout. He didn't want to think about some fucking drug addict who he just happened to be related to saving his life. Hiccup was under no delusions that he nearly died. He was just so used to the treatment that led up to it that it didn't faze him. Or maybe Snotlout snuck him some of his precious drugs. Maybe he was crazy, but he has lived through most people's darkest fears, and there's nothing left to be afraid of. He snorted bitterly.

This is supposed to be the easy part, the part when everything's sunshine and rainbows and I'm not going to get hurt. And this is what I'm terrified of. Good job, Haddock.

At some point during his rant, Heather had left and there was food on that horrible plastic table that he never wanted to move.

Holy sheesh that was a long chapter. I swear that doubled the length of the fic.

Right, we're going on a rant. Buckle up.

You should know by now that I'm a sarcastic little shit, which is one of the reasons I love Hiccup cos he's one too!

I know the Heather bit may not be entirely realistic, but I'm tired of social workers having 0 chill and I'm sure you are too. I would love to say this is based on a real life experience but I had the sort of person that talks about you like you're not here and the gives you fake smiles and fake pity. She did the whole 'you're fucked up, I was wondering if you'd noticed?' And then was like 'how does it feel to be fucked up?'

Also you see where this is going, don't you? That's right, I'm going to do a cliched Snotlout has misconceptions about Hiccup and Hiccup has misconceptions about Snotlout. Then they find out they're not who each other think they are, hug and live happily ever after. (So original) And it's going to be the best damn piece of shit you'll ever read. So there.

Anyway I'll stop ranting lol.

By the way, freckles are an absolute bitch. They fuck up everything.

Have a nice day, drive safely, and review!