Someone had given me the idea that Hiccup might have some PTSD from his traumatic experience as a young teenager. Though I don't think I can do the disorder justice, it was interesting to play with the idea a little.
Also, I should probably point out that I don't own How to Train Your Dragon the movie, the tv-shows, or the book series. As awesome as that would be, I only own this fic.
And now on with the chapter.
What Friendship Can Do: Chapter 3 - From Bad to Worse
Yesterday hadn't been the best day for Hiccup.
It had started out with a pleasant argument between him and his mentor blacksmithing, then moved on to another delightful session of taunting from one Snotlout Jorgenson, and closed with a truly joyful conversation with Astrid about topics he'd rather not discuss but everyone was simply so obsessed with bringing up around him.
There was also the fact he had to personally deliver Mildew's order back to his house way outside of Berk, extra work the man requested purely out of spite, but thankfully the man hadn't been home at the time of the delivery. It was what he had called a lucky break.
Once he could finally close down the forge for the night, he returned home to his bed while hoping to avoid his dad. He had expected the man to be sitting in front of the fire like every other evening, stoking it with a fireplace stoker in thought.
Often enough the sight would be accompanied by a block of rapidly melting ice pressed against his temple to combat the pounding headache still growing. A deep frown on the man's face as a clear indication that his father's day hadn't been the best either. Chiefing could be quite troublesome, particularly in a Viking village like theirs.
But when he entered their home, the man wasn't there. It seemed like his father hadn't returned from his duties just yet.
Hiccup had felt a little comforted by the fact that his peace could continue for a little while longer and made his way up the stairs to his room. He hoped for an easy night's rest.
However, his tired body had barely even hit the hard wooden boards of his bed before the loud warning horn of their village signaled the start of another raid and Hiccup promptly wondered if the Gods were especially displeased with him today.
"Hiccup!" Upon hearing his father's voice calling him from downstairs following the front door roughly being thrown open, the teen pushed himself back up again and left his room to quickly go down the stairs. Looks like no one would be getting a good night's rest tonight.
Stoick the Vast had always been an intimidating sight of a man. Tall at a staggering seven feet and just as broad, he carried a presence that would make a lesser man curl up and cry. His sole trait more fiercer than his booming voice or hair and beard as vibrant as fire, was his sense of duty as chief of Berk.
Hiccup met the man as he was already wearing his horned helmet and holding his signature weapon of choice in one hand. It was an axe with intricate designs made on its surface.
In his other he held a sword, which he handed to Hiccup as soon as the young man set foot on the groundfloor. As the blade was pushed into his hands, he took it without question and looked up to his father. A sigh was already threatening to be released.
"The blasted beasts have come to raid us again. Hiccup, while I'm out there fighting for the village, I trust you to keep our home safe." The Viking chief told him and his son had to bite his tongue to keep any snide comments from leaving.
"Dad, the forge-" Instead the brunette tried to remind him of his duty as a blacksmith, but he was quickly cut off by a Viking often just as unwilling to listen as he was.
A heavy hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. Hiccup couldn't quite tell if it had been meant to be commanding or reassuring.
"Hiccup, don't set a single foot outside of this house and only engage if you have to. When the raid is over, I expect to return to see both you and our home still in one piece. Good luck, son." Brief instructions for his only child was all Stoick had the time for as the horn sounded again and the urgency to be out there and help his people grew.
Sword already clutched tightly in one hand, he watched the large shape of the man leave through the front door to fight for the men, women, and children of his village.
At least there was still one responsibility his father entrusted him with.
House sitting.
With a battle cry did Stoick the Vast engage the nearest dragon, a Gronckle which threatened a young boy, and the front door fell back closed behind him.
Hiccup dropped down on the stairs with a frustrated sigh as he was once again left to listen to the raid raging on outside when he should be out there with everyone else. Shouts from Vikings and roars from the dragons, as loud as they could come, filled his ears. The sword he had never been trained to handle fell with a clatter to the wooden floor.
This was a near weekly thing and the Berkians were used to this, but that didn't make this right. He wasn't supposed to sit around and do nothing.
Stoick was aware his son could barely defend himself. He had gotten stronger than his much smaller fifteen year old self by continuing his work in the forge and could now hold the heavy weapons with utter ease in one hand, but still had no idea how to use them effectively in battle. Giving him this 'responsibility' was simply a way to keep him out of danger and out of the way.
Out of sight, out of mind, right?
At least like this Stoick didn't need to needlessly look after his own son too.
While it was obviously a gesture done by a protective father, everyone was out there risking their lives. Including teens even younger than him of the new fire crew under the lead of Gustav Larson. He had effectively been ordered to stay inside like a coward and be a burden to his village instead.
It is true that he had been told to stay inside for as long as he could remember. And like Gobber had said, for a while he had no qualms about avoiding danger, if just to be safe from that Night Fury. But he was eighteen now. In other words, he was a man in the eyes of his tribe. He could no longer afford to be mere dead weight.
He was expected to go out there and fight until his very last breath, to hold his position at the forge, defend the village from the scourge of dragons they were all facing, redeem himself as the heir of Berk before Snotlout could run away with his birthright for good.
Instead he had to stay here on orders of his overbearing old man and was told to become unwanted extra weight when there was finally some way he could help and be of use without causing more destruction than the dragons themselves.
He could help. He was of use now. To think that his father, the chief who was supposed to have all of Berk's best interest at heart, was telling him to stay out of it after years of disappointment with his runt of a son trying in vain to proof he could pull his own weight in this village, was incromprehensible.
Stoick didn't want to lose his son and only child. That was what Astrid had said and Hiccup had no reason not to believe her, but this was doing more harm than good too.
His father wouldn't always be there to protect him. He couldn't always depend on his old man on the slight chance that things might end badly.
Hiccup supposed it was a good thing he never learned to listen.
Picking the sword up from the floor, the brunette jumped up from the stairs to lunge for the front door and threw it open, escaping from his own house and making a beeline straight for the forge.
His father would certainly not be pleased with his disobedience once he found out, and he will find out, but this was something he had to do. As a blacksmith, he had his impeccable skills to offer. At least this way he could still help.
He knew where he was needed.
Dodging fighting Vikings and raiding dragons left and right, Hiccup ran as fast as his two legs could carry him. He ducked underneath the claws of a swooping dragon just in time, evaded being set on fire by a Deadly Nadder with his dark green tunic still singed at the hem, and narrowingly escaped a stray slash of a sword, but despites the danger still kept on going.
The high and massive torches to light up the sky and keep the dragons from hiding in the darkness of the night were already set ablaze. The young fire crew lead by Gustav Larson, a group of about four to five other fourteen to sixteen year olds, was dousing the flames. His father was heard shouting orders even through the loud noises plaguing his eardrums.
It was pure and utter chaos all around him, made even worse in the long shadows created by the dim light of fire.
Out of the corner of his left eye he noticed Astrid successfully fending off a Nadder as he passed and saving a small family trapped inside their burning house, but he kept on running. She might've called his name, but Hiccup was honestly much too set on reaching the forge.
He could already see it up ahead, could see Gobber working hard to meet up to the demands on weaponry and shields, could even hear Berkians urgently ordering him to move faster. Hollering and whistling without end. If the blacksmith wasn't such a busy man and this wasn't such a dire time, he would've taken a moment to club a few of them with his very heavy stone hammer.
Hiccup was almost there. Gobber already flashed him a smile, spotting his lean shape between the other burly Vikings of Berk.
And then he heard it.
The whistling sound of a Night Fury in full flight.
Hiccup froze in place immediately. His eyes widened, his heart stopped beating, his next breath got caught in his throat, any coherent thought was instantly lost. He didn't move, he didn't breathe, he could barely even think.
In that moment, only one single thought ran through his mind.
'It came back for me.'
Panic set in and chased common sense away. If he wasn't absolutely frozen in fear already, he just might've curled up and cried. What a perfect picture of a Viking he was.
'It came back.'
It kept on relentlessly repeating in his mind without end, torturing him with memories he didn't want to relive.
'It came back.'
He could already feel the sharp claws cutting into his face and torso, could feel the teeth digging painfully into his arm, the heavy weight pinning his teenaged scrawny body down suffocating him and making any sort of escape impossible, his voice crying out for help until his throat was sore and any sound made by him hoarse and inaudible.
Even now escape was improbable.
Hiccup had no idea for how long he had been standing there frozen in the midst of chaos, but it was right in the path of a raging Monstrous Nightmare and he was pulled out of the way in just the nick of time. One second later and he would've been engulfed in flames and would've died screaming.
His green and ghostly pale eyes came to rest on Astrid's bright blue ones. His saviour. Right now she was worried, that was what her gaze and furrowed brows told him, but he knew he would have to face her wrath later.
"Hiccup, answer me! Are you okay?!" The fierce blonde had apparently been asking him how he was feeling and he had been completely tuning her out by mistake, his shaking self unable to register anything right now.
"What're you doing?! You almost got yourself and Astrid killed!" It was Snotlout that pulled him out of his trance next by stomping up to him and giving him an angry shove for almost dying, quickly followed by his father as he came between them and took his son's shoulders in a vice grip and wordlessly commanded Hiccup return his glare.
"Hiccup, what're you doing out?! I told you to stay inside!" The man shouted in anger, fear having wrapped its cold and relentless hand around his heart and squeezing without remorse upon seeing his own son be nearly taken in such a gruesome way. What was the boy even doing out?
Now free from the clutches of his nightmares, Hiccup's gaze hastily swerved all over the skies in search of the offending creature that haunted both his dreams and his every waking moment.
But it was nowhere to be found.
There had been no blast following the haunting whistling sound, no dark shape flying past and aiming for Berk's defences, no creature taking him away to finish what it had started long ago.
There was no Night Fury. It had all been a figment of his overly active imagination. A creation conjured up by a tired and beaten mind.
The raid was still going on, but even then Vikings took a brief moment to stare at the scene before them. Gobber, too, looked out of his shop for a short few seconds to stare at his frightened apprentice until his attention was once again nabbed by his unarmed fellow Vikings.
He got back to work with a shake of his head.
When he had seen him come running to their place of work with determination, the limping man had actually believed the teen could get through one raid without shutting down out of nowhere again.
Hiccup could not meet their gaze. Couldn't look his father, Snotlout, or even Astrid in the eye anymore.
He froze in the middle of a dragon raid. Endangered not just himself, but the people around him and those trying to save him. Astrid, his only friend. The people she could be saving instead of wasting her time on him when he should've stayed inside exactly like his dad had ordered him to.
All he had wanted was to reach the forge in time and he had screwed that up. He left the house and disobeyed his father and chief to prove he still had some worth as a Viking and failed at doing even that.
Just like he screwed up every single other time.
The former heir of Berk, seeking redemption, had only once again shown how much of a broken coward he turned out to be. Not even worthy to be called a Viking.
Whatever Stoick might have been saying to his trembling son was falling on deaf ears. The young man found himself unable to focus on anything. Except for his miserable failure, horrid memories, and the shame of failing his village and his chief, he could think of nothing else.
The broad man sighed, knowing there were more important things to worry about than snapping his son out of whatever shock he found himself stuck in.
"Hiccup, get back to the house. There is still a raid going on. Astrid, make sure he stays there." Stoick knew it was useless to lecture the boy now, especially with how shaken up he appeared to be, and so requested this of the young warrior and she obliged without complaint.
The blonde placed a hand on Hiccup's upper back as she wordlessly guided him back to his house up the hill once the chief had relinquished his hold on him and the brunette, numbed by shock, followed. She picked up the sword in her other hand on the way, which he couldn't even remember dropping, with her axe already strapped securely to her back.
Together they quietly slinked away from judging eyes full of both pity and exasperation and left the chaos behind them.
"Hiccup-" Upon reaching the chief's house did the eighteen year old stomp his way in and slam the front door shut behind him before Astrid could mutter another word.
Only somewhat stunned by his behaviour, the blonde warrior heaved a sigh and briefly stared at the closed front door.
She could understand why he was upset and had an aching need for solitude. She had seen him freeze in the middle of a raid, staring up to the darkened sky in obvious fear at nothing, and had known his trauma from his attack was playing with his head again, like it had done before during similar stressful moments.
That was why Astrid Hofferson didn't feel angry when someone slammed the door shut in her face and instead gave Hiccup exactly what he needed. A moment of peace and quiet.
The sword was still clutched in her hand and she placed it against the front of the chief's house, stationing herself with her axe once more in a sturdy grip before the steps and doing exactly what Stoick had asked of her. Keep her compromised friend inside and the house safe from any dragon attack.
Like this the rest of the night, and the raid, slowly passed by for her.