Was it a dream? Or was it a memory?
Hiccup was sitting on metal bleachers, using his knee as a hard surface for his thin leather notebook. He had two legs and two feet. Commotion rang in his ears, the cheering of classmates.
He was stretching this girl with sunshine hair, she was kicking a soccer ball, with such force one was left to wonder where it was gone. The ball ended up hitting a kid in between his legs, he curled over, while the girl and her friends started laughing.
She was cruel, but not always.
Much like the problem Elsa encountered, Hiccup had no recollection of the girl's name.
There were certain things, certain memories. His face always became red at the sight or mention of her.
The next day at breakfast, Hiccup saw Elsa in her usual spot, sipping on the oatmeal. A bloodied bandage was stuck just next to her eye, and another near her lip. Yet more color had left her eyes, leaving them an aegean blue instead of the crystal arctic color. She seemed angrier than ever, she wasn't approached by anyone.
Hiccup had gotten her in trouble last time, he wasn't about to let that happen once again.
She seemed quieter this time. The children asked her to read for them, she refused.
Hiccup would not dare talk to Elsa, but he approached Emilie, her face screwed up into frustration.
"Hey," Hiccup leaned to get to her eye level.
"What?" The girl said licking her lips.
"Do you know what happened to Elsa?" He asked.
"Elsie?" Emilie crossed her arms.
Hiccup nodded. "Y- yea."
"She always said we were too young when we asked her." Emilie shifted in her place. "Elsie would disappear for a little while, and come back with bandaids."
The girl paused, thinking it over.
"It never stopped her before."
Hiccup couldn't very well sneak into the library with a large wheelchair, so that wasn't an option. He was sitting in his room, staring out the window into the gardens.
When he came here, he was cradled and comforted, his questions weren't answered, but he didn't bother asking them. He was under some sort of enchantment, it confused him really.
The nurses had always been kind to him, even more now after the incident. He suspected it was because they thought Elsa had roped him into the situation,but what wasn't true, at least not wholly true.
Hiccup sat up, straightening his spine. He looked around his room, bland. The doctor had left a note book and black ink pen on a flimsy desk. The pen started to roll off the table.
As if by fate, it started to roll across three floor and hit the rubber wheel of his chair.
He stared at it for a moment, it beckoned for him to pick it up.
Something else hit him, another memory.
He was sitting on the ground, leaning on his bed. He was drawing, with a black ink pen like the one in front of him.
A cat strolled up to him, on four light stepping paws. He had thick black fur, and large green eyes.
His name was Toothless.
Such a strange name, but so was Hiccup.
Toothless pushed the side of his face across Hiccup's arm. His ear folded when it pushed onto his light skin, and popped up again.
Tootles looked blankly at Hiccup.
"What do you want?" Hiccup snarled.
The cat remained silent.
Hiccup held out the tip of his pen to the cat. Toothless started to sniff the tip, the black ink inside. He even poked himself several times, recoiling, but returning to sniff the pen.
Hiccup put it back down to the paper and started to sketch.
The cat's pupil started to narrow, into one thin black line.
Hiccup continued to draw the picture of a vase in front of him.
Almost out of nowhere, two clawed paws attacked the pen, causing Hiccup to stop and stare at the cat.
Hiccup saw Toothless's pupils widen again, a quiled tongue stuck out of his mouth.
Hiccup chuckled, petting Toothless's soft thick fur.
Hiccup bit his lip at the memory. It was so sweet, but so sad. He would probably not see Toothless ever again.
Hiccup picked up the pen, he held it in his hand for a moment. The cap had clearly been chewed on, the ink canister was easily seen through the grey casing.
Hiccup rolled over to the desk and grabbed the notebook. He took of the cap, popping it on the other end like he'd done in his memory. He put pen to paper.
Almost by habit, he pulled a distinct memory from his mind. Elsa, sitting on the bench, flipping through her dictionary.
Her diamond shaped face was pulled into concentration, the uniform that hugged her body, and the hair that wouldn't stay out of her face, hanging like vines as she looked down at the book.
She wasn't a sad girl, she wasn't angry, she was concentrated, inspired, truly interested in what that book was telling her.
His drawing didn't end up like the girl he saw in his mind, it was loose, the lines bare and messy. There was no color in her eyes and no motion in her hair, it was not swinging in the wind as he had imagined.
Hiccup capped the pen and sighed. "I guess it's not that easy."
He looked around for places to hide the notebook. The nurses wouldn't let him keep it, the doctor probably would want it back.
He lifted the mattress of his bed, and slipped the notebook and pen beneath it.
It made him feel very paranoid, he even stuck his dictionary underneath it too.
Hiccup turned to the window, where he saw the gardens.
The door opened behind him, he didn't bother to turn towards the man in the doorway, he knew who it was.
"Hiccup, I'll need to run some tests." Dr. Phillip said.
He said that every time, it no longer worried him.
He did simple tests, having him stand on his one good leg and weigh him. He'd check his blood pressure with a sleeve that squeezed his arm.
When he finished Dr. Phillip said "Alright."
"Oh by the way." He remembered. "I lost my notebook somewhere. Have you seen it?"
Hiccup shook his head. "No."
It was surprisingly easy to lie to the man.
"Ok." Dr. Phillip was suddenly disappointed.
The door opened, a nurse stepped inside. She whispered something in his ear, he kept nodding, slow and controlled, as he came to a sudden realization.
The nurse turned to Hiccup as Dr. Phillip left. She put her hands on her knees, putting her greasy face towards him.
"I'm sorry, Dear." She started.
Oh boy. He'd learned to hate those nicknames. It meant they were babying him.
"Dr. Phillip has to tend to some issues."
Issues. How vague.
That night, Hiccup lay awake. His foot hung off the side of his bed, feeling the cold air outside his blankets.
The dictionary poked into his back, he felt connected to it.
Hiccup imagined the sketch he'd made earlier, paper crumbled, ink smudged.
