Not wasting any time with updating this, I guess. Oh well; it'll keep me sane through this week, if nothing else. I just saw the movie a second time the other day, and I was wondering; did any of you notice how freakishly small Hiccup's hands are compared to Snotlouts? In that one scene here he's passing off the Nightmare to him, Hiccup's hands are literally a third of the size. Just saying.
To address some of the reviews; (thank you so so much, by the way, all of you,) Yes, this will be one-sided. I can't for the life of me think why or how I could make this mutual. Not after that. Also, don't worry about Snotlout; he'll get his eventually. We reap what we sew, after all.
Also, I apologize for anything that's out of place time-wise. It's hard to write essays for school about pop-culture and then switch to writing this. xD Some thing might be off. Sorry.
HEY: Am I updating too quickly? I know that sounds like a stupid question because you guys all keep asking for updates, (again, thank you so much,) but I'm serious. I'm not sure how long this story will be, but if do you guys want me to pace myself more?
Longer chapter is longer. Hope you enjoy!
--x--
Chapter four - in which much fussing ensues.
Toothless lay curled around the pile of furs, his tail lying aside so that the warmth of the fire could directly reach the little form beneath the bundle. With the exception of the the popping of embers and the tinkering of metal, the room was hung with silence.
Gobber had been working on the new prosthetic for almost seven hours now, collectively. It wasn't as fancy or as specialized as the last one, but what choice did they have? Hiccup needed one, and his old one was lost - to, presumably, the ocean. Stoic's son would make a newer, better version eventually anyway.
He lifted his tired eyes toward the pile of furs. The heap looked warm, and soft, and camoflauged among the dark brown coats, a mop of auburn hair lay near-motionless. He could see the very top of Hiccup's forehead before the rest of the boy vanished beneath the blankets, sleeping through - and off, hopefully - a fever.
Toothless had smashed his way out of the forest the night prior, roaring in some sort of agony; emotionally or physically, they couldn't tell. Gobber wasn't a good judge of dragon's to begin with. With him, Toothless was carrying Hiccup awkwardly, the limp young Viking shivering horribly and completely unresponsive. The memory forced Gobber's eyes back to his work, as means of distraction. He had never liked seeing the lad get hurt.
It was evening already. He could imagine people down at the docks, hauling in the catch for the day while the nightly patrol boats loaded themselves up: dragons or not, no Viking felt safe after the sun went down. He thought of his forge, of the tools he had left, and the promise the twins had made to him that they would take care of it.
They've probably burnt the place down, he thought, a small smile on his face. The twins were just as clumsy in the midst of a fight as Hiccup was on a good day.
To his left, he could hear a rumbling murmur. Lifting his eyes upward from where he was forcing a short metal pole into a joint, he watched as the Night Fury lifted its tired head and leaned over the furs, nudging Hiccup's form gently. The boy showed no signs of acknowledgement, and the dragon sighed.
"I know how ya' feel," Gobber sighed, smiling despite himself at the look on the Night Fury's face. Despondent, Toothless dropped his head back down and closed his eyes.
The fire stirred suddenly, as the air in the room shifted with the opening of the door. It was a cold night, despite it being the middle of summer. In the doorway, backdropped by the fading light, Stoic stood solemnly for a moment before stepping into the room.
"Anything?" Gobber asked, minding the volume of his voice. Stoic closed the door quietly and turned, his face sunken with fatigue and disappointment.
"Nothing."
They shared a silence as the Viking Chief sat down on a bench beside Hiccup, only sparing Toothless a small nod. Reaching downward, he carefully pulled some of the blankets and furs off of his son's sleeping form, settling them back down on his shoulder.
"His cast dried a little bit ago," Gobber offered, peering at his old friend as the man sat there, stiff and silent, watching his son sleep. He was answered with further silence before Stoic drew in a great chestful of air. Releasing it slowly, he pushed the bench back and instead sat down on the floor, to be closer to the smallest Viking in the room.
"Who could do this to him? All recent events aside, he's still so... weak. Who is so shameful?"
With nothing reasonable to respond with, Gobber sat in silence and continued to tinker with the leg.
"Even when he was younger, the other children wouldn't go so far. They knew better. They're-... We're Vikings. We have more honor than that."
"... You're saying you don't think it was one of us?"
Silence again, cold and thick and churning. Stoic's large hand made a short journey over Hiccup's hair, smoothing it despite its insistence of be messy.
"... No. How could it not be?" he said finally, in such a hushed tone that Gobber shuddered. "No one else is here. And these..."
He pushed the blankets and furs down a bit farther, revealing Hiccup's shirtless torso. The hideous black-and-blue welts that had formed around his chest and along his back looked back at them as they both fell still at the sight.
"These aren't from a dragon."
--x--
Snotlout's handywork had followed Hiccup through his state of unconsciousness, meeting up with him once his mind began to stir again. The ache was there as he pulled his brain from the murk of fever-induced sleep, a distant stiffness making it hard for him to move at first. With as much effort as he could muster, his eyelids separated to reveal more darkness.
Somewhere in front of him, a dying fire crackled. He was buried beneath something, wrapped in a warmth he hadn't expected to find himself in. He could feel, all around him, a familiar vibrating rumble before something black moved into his line of sight. He peeked cautiously out from the blankets he was cocooned in, slowly recognizing the orbs of pale green.
His mouth parted, hardly more than a centimeter, but no sound came out. Trying again in vain, he gave up and allowed himself to smile instead. Toothless warbled a sort of purr and ducked his head down, nudging his nose against Hiccup's forehead.
"Now, now, leave him alone, beast," came a deep, warm voice from somewhere outside of the warmth. Hiccup's eyes fell closed, but the weak smile remained.
"Dad," he exhaled, with a bit of effort. The man crossed over to him and knelt carefully, minding the bruises as he helped him sit up. Annoyed that the large Viking had gotten in his way, Toothless stood and walked quickly around them before lying back down on Hiccup's other side.
"Careful, son, careful." Hiccup winced, leaning heavily against his father to cope with the pain. Stoic sighed and held an arm around him reassuringly.
"So-...rry," came the faint response, sounding more like two breaths then coherent words. Stoic's frown deepened, his thick eyebrows knitting together across his forehead.
"It's alright, son, don't speak if you can't." The words directly contradicted the demand for answers that pounded in his brain. He wanted to know what had happened, and only Hiccup could tell him.
Stubbornly, the scrawny teen shook his head and pushed off of his father, tilting a bit before steadying himself. His chest ached in harmony with his back and head, but it was all numb compared his arm.
"It wasn't Toothless," he exhaled, addressing some distant fear that perhaps his father would blame the Night Fury for his condition. Stoic had developed the habit of blaming Toothless for every little thing, desperate to get the dragon out of his house. None of it worked, obviously, but at the sound of his son's weak words, the man blinked.
"I know," he replied, leaning down a bit awkwardly, "but can you tell me... who?"
Who. He hoped to Thor it was a what, but deep in his mind he knew otherwise.
Hiccup tilted his head back, trying to look up at his father, but the shift of weight sent him falling backwards toward the blankets. His father sighed and caught him, rolling his eyes despite the situation at hand. Even half conscious, Hiccup was Hiccup.
The boy looked at him for only a moment longer before dropping his eyes and shaking his head.
"Hiccup, tell me," the man pushed, trying a more sensitive tone. It came out feeling awkward and mismatched, like a helmet with the horns of two different animals.
"It..."
Stoic leaned forward encouragingly, causing his son to shrink down into his shoulders. Toothless nudged him from behind, drawing their attention to him. The Night Fury returned the looks with narrowed eyes, and grunted twice. If you don't, I will.
Though Stoic couldn't interpret Toothless's implication, Hiccup got the gist of it, and sighed.
"It was Snotlout."
--x--
Shit! That little- He just-... Bu-
Snotlout dropped down from where he had been watching through the window, his feet hitting earth with a gentle thump. Though initially worried that the Night Fury would hear him, he didn't care anymore. The thing was too distracted with Hiccup anyway.
But, to be on the safe side, perhaps it was a good idea to leave. Snotlout pushed off of the wall and began to run toward the forest two houses down, darting out of sight as quickly as he could.
He was going to kill Hiccup. He was going to finish what he had started and leave him to die, and then that would settle that, and everything would return to normal. He could blame it on that god damned Night Fury and be fine with it. He could live without that annoying little imp, without his tripping and his excuses and his smiling and his eyes.
Snotlout fell to a pause several yards past the tree line, looking back through the branches at the village he was leaving behind. Since the evening prior, he had kept trying to rid himself of the thought that had crept into the outskirts of his mind when he was attacking the smaller Viking. Fragile? Beautiful? These were words he was surprised he knew as a Viking, let alone words he would use to describe that little runt.
He started moving again.
Once he had thought it, he couldn't simply cast it aside. Now the thought was growing in his mind, developing into more accurate words, more clever descriptions of Hiccup. Things he didn't want to think, or know, or feel, for fuck's sake he didn't want to feel any of this! Maybe it was all envy? Maybe he was just thinking these things because he was truly jealous of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third?
He wanted to believe it. On any other subject, he would have accepted it as fact immediately and moved on. Vikings didn't think after all. That was for wimps like Hiccup. But this time, it didn't sit right. He told himself that it was the truth again and again, but it simply wasn't. Hiccup wasn't an object of envy, he was...
An object of lust?
Snotlout nearly tripped as the words appeared in his head, clear out of the fog of confusion that had been buzzing around all day. No. No. Hell no. No way, in the name of any God he could think of, did he like Hiccup. No way did he find him cute, no way did he like his eyes, no way did he want to push him down and hold him against his chest like some sort of limp rag doll. No way did he think of Hiccup like any of that.
... But then, why did those things even come to mind? If he didn't feel that way, then why would he ever think those things?
He ran faster, focusing on the beat of his legs. He had to get out of there before they sent out a search party, and his Nightmare was waiting impatiently for him back in the clearing where he had attacked Hiccup. Head swirling, he burst out of the trees after long minutes of sprinting, and stumbled into the opening beside the sea. The sun had set by now, leaving only the moonlight to cast itself down onto the waves below. The Nightmare stirred, growling at his tardiness, but it had grown more and more loyal as of late, and so stopped at the snarl.
Snotlout was stalking toward it with every intention of leaving promptly when the toe of his shoe caught something. Dropping his gaze, his eyes fell upon a crumbled thing of fur on the ground. He stooped and picked it up cautiously, feeling the bearskin in his work-hardened hands.
It was Hiccup's vest. A long stretch of silence filled the air around him, where he stood listening to the roar of the ocean and the heavy breathing of his Nightmare. Then, after a long pause, he lifted the vest to his face and inhaled deeply.
It smelled like him. Like iron, and fish, and that damn Night Fury. But mostly it had the unique scent that was Hiccup, not nearly as nasty a smell as the other Vikings. Not sweaty, not musky, not even the faintest hint of blood. Just Hiccup.
Snotlout lowered the article of clothing and looked at it for a long time before he heard the distant, oh-so-faint sound of men shouting: they had started the search. Quickly darting forward, he mounted the Nightmare and the beast lifted off, up into the sky, into the blackness above, and out of sight.
All the while, he clutched the vest like a life-line.
--x--
Oh-kay. Boring chapter is boring. Sorry about that. But I'm a big fan of plot development, if you can't tell, so this had to happen. I really wanted to emphasize the mental struggle Snotlout is going through in order to come to terms with his new realization. And with that all sorted out, I'll leave you guys to guess what's going to happen next... Which will be action, hopefully. You all seem to enjoy that. xD
Please review!
