Disclaimer: HTTYD is not mine. No profit is being made.

Summary: A series of snapshots from Hiccup's early years. What childhood influences make a Hiccup? Add one boyhood crush, a tablespoon of Gobber's mentoring, two cups of childhood loneliness and ostracization, and a heaping helping of fatherly disapproval. Stir vigorously. Bake for fifteen years, then leave to cool in the brisk Berk climate.

Author's Note: Some parts of this chapter come from my RP with astridhofferson on LJ and are being used with her permission. Kara is awesome. Just giving credit where it's due.


Catching the Sun

By Saphie


Part 7

When Hiccup was thirteen and a half, he figured out what he could do. Maybe he couldn't fight dragons with his muscles, but he could make things that fought dragons for him. This never really worked out well, though, and neither did some of the other "improvements" he tried to implement around the village. The pump system he'd thought up to help fight fires was particularly disastrous. It was a good idea in theory—the bucket brigades barely put a dent in the flames sometimes, especially where Nadders were concerned. In execution, it ended with a drenched Hiccup following a drenched Astrid back to her house, leaving behind a bunch of drenched and angry villagers, who were busy prying wood from an exploded rolling water-cask from the outside walls of buildings.

Since Astrid was always on bucket duty, he'd hoped that she'd be really impressed that he made her job easier.

It hadn't really worked out that way.

"I'm not crazy, I just-you know, I thought it'd be a better idea than just waiting in the stall. I didn't really think all the water would get that pressurized."

He was trying to explain to her, because, like everyone else, she had that Look on her face. He was getting so tired of that Look, but he especially didn't want it to be on her face.

"What else is new? You created another stupid...thing," she shot at him. "And it blew up in your face."

Again. Just like three days ago. And the day before that. And the day before that. Even when he was scolded by his father for it, he still persisted.

"Are you done talking to me now?" she went on rather coldly. "I have to get changed."

He looked...hurt, and almost visibly flinched at her sharp tone. This was the longest he'd talked to her in a while, though. Even if there was anger there, they were still talking.

"I think I know what went wrong. I could-I could show you. I have all the plans at the forge-we could go hang out, and I can show you what I was trying to do. I think you'd be impress-"

"Stop."

"But Astrid, I-"

"Hiccup. Stop."

They hadn't played since they were younger. Now he just wandered around the island and did the weird...Hiccup things he did.

"But-"

"Stop."

How does Gobber put up with this? she wondered. Didn't he get the message when she deliberately would walk past him and not say anything?

"I'm getting changed. Then I'm going to go train. Then I'm going to help fix up some of the buildings that got set on fire in the raid. Then I'm going to eat supper, do more chores, and after that I'm sleeping. 'Hanging out' is just a waste of my time. There's too much to do that's important."

"I just thought, y'know, we haven't talked in a while, and I really think if I could just show you..."

Astrid, for her part, swore she could hear the sound of the last of her patience snapping. She shook her head at him, nearly astonished with his ignorance.

"What do you think we are? We're not eight anymore, Hiccup! Playtime is over. Our very futures are at stake."

Or at least hers was. All these raids would mean trouble for Berk's future as well. Her barrage of words continued, shooting into him like arrow after arrow.

"Maybe if you spent more time practicing and trying to get stronger like I do, instead of screwing around, you wouldn't cause trouble all the time for the village. You're the son of the chief! Do you even understand what that means? You're going to have to lead us someday, and I don't know how you're going to do that if you can't get your head out of the clouds for more than five minutes."

"I know I'm not as strong as everyone else, but I just-"

Seeing the hard look on her face, he cut himself off before she could, knowing that what he said next didn't matter, and looked utterly miserable.

Seeing his expression, her own went softer, and her blue eyes looked a little less cold.

"It isn't who or what you are that's the problem. It's what you do about it. You wander around the island with your little notebook drawing pictures instead of practicing. You're always looking for the easy way to do things instead of the way that takes hard work. And training. And it always hurts the village somehow."

She jabbed a finger in his scrawny chest.

"You could have hurt someone today." She shook her head at him, slowly, as if she couldn't believe that someone so smart could make the kinds of thoughtless mistakes he did. "You really need to take a long, hard look at yourself, Hiccup. That's all I have to say to you right now."

With that, she turned around, walked into her house, and slammed the door shut in his face.

For the longest time, he just stood there, looking at her closed door, speechless. Finally, he turned and started walking down the road. Somehow, he found himself back at home again, without being aware of any of the time that had passed as he walked. He was shivering horribly by the time he got there from his wet clothes.

His father was sitting by the fire, his back to the door, and Hiccup winced at the sight of him. His pretty-much-terrible day was about to get worse. He tried to sneak up up the stairs like he had many times before, but the creaking of the stairs gave him away.

"Hiccup."

He hated that tone. The anger mixed in with the disappointment. All of it barely contained, leaking out into his father's voice despite his father's best efforts to be calm, to be...well, stoic. Hiccup walked backwards down the stairs, and stood at the foot of them, his head hanging.

"I'm grounded, right?" he asked. "For how long?"

"Possibly until Ragnorak. I'm still thinkin' about it." Hiccup winced as his father started shaking his head. "Why can't you listen? I told you to stay in the stall."

"I just-I wanted to surprise everyone." And impress Astrid. "I thought, you know, I could rig up something to improve how we deliver water to the fires around the village. I just over-improved it. A little."

"It left us without water when we needed it most! Do you know how many buildings we could've saved if you hadn't blown that cask up?"

"Probably not that many, given how inefficient the whole bucket thing is actually-" Hiccup said, gesturing with his hands.

"Hiccup!"

Hiccup shut his mouth immediately, recognizing the 'stop backtalking me' tone of voice. Lately, he seemed to be getting that tone no matter what he said.

Stoick pinched the bridge of his nose. "What am I going to do with you, Hiccup?"

"Let me fight dragons," Hiccup said immediately.

"You're not ready."

"Dad, I'll figure something out. I just need to get out there and then-"

Then everything would get better. He wouldn't be stuck doing things like trying to improve on their firefighting system and having it blow up in his face. (Literally.) He'd be out there being a real Viking, doing real Viking things, and then everything would be okay. People would stop talking about him like he was the plague, the other teens would respect him, Astrid would like him...

"I said no."

Hiccup just glowered, staring at the floor.

"You're not strong enough," Stoick went on, stating what was pretty much fact. "How can you fight dragons when you can't even lift an axe without costing someone else their toes?"

"Hey. First of all, I didn't drop the axe, per se-"

Stoick facepalmed. "Hiccup."

He sighed, and that was the worst part. Stoick usually wasn't that harsh when talking to him, but always, there was that look of disappointment on his face. Like Hiccup just didn't measure up.

Like he wished he had someone else for a son.

"Now get to bed," said Stoick, pointing towards the stairs. "You're staying in your room for the rest of the day."

The day had gotten to him, and Hiccup felt like being contrary for no reason, so he crossed his arms. "I'm not tired. It's early."

"Don't make me tell you again."

"Not. Tired."

"Do you want to be stuck in the house past Ragnorak now? That's what you're pushing for, son."

"I want to-I want-"

For a moment, he stood there, jaw working, his mouth opening and closing, trying to find the words he could never find, trying to figure out what he could say to make his father understand how lost he felt, how out of place he was, how so many important things were missing from his life, like friends, and the girl he liked actually tolerating him, and respect, and Stoick being proud of him, and, y'know, actually liking himself.

Gods, he wanted to be able to like himself.

But the words didn't come. They never came, and even if they did come, he wasn't sure his father would even really listen. Hiccup finally closed his mouth and for a moment, he looked pained. For a moment, Stoick saw that pain and almost understood or maybe at least wanted to understand, but then the moment was gone.

Hiccup's expression went blank, and without another word, he turned and bolted for the door. He had to get out of the house, felt like he was crawling out of his skin. So he ran and kept running into the woods, until his father's voice calling out the front door was lost on the wind.

He was shaking by the time he found himself in one of the clearings in the woods, from the cold and from something else.

Noticing a patch of daisies there, like he'd made into crowns for Astrid's hair when they were younger, he picked up a stick, and he thrashed at them, trying to destroy every. Single. One.

"She is never. Ever. Going to like you. Never. Ever. Because you're you. Because you can't be anyone other than you."

Letting out a cry of frustration, and throwing the stick as far as he could-which wasn't far-he dropped to his knees.

"Vikings don't cry, Vikings don't cry..." he muttered to himself, rubbing at his face, and then his hands went to his hair. He tugged on it, miserably, rocking in place, trying to hold everything in.

Astrid had been the closest thing he'd had to a friend and it turned out she just...wasn't one, and even worse: had plenty of reasons to not want to be. He'd failed once more at doing something that would impress the village. His dad was disappointed in him yet again.

Every time he tried to be useful, it blew up in his face, but he couldn't be useful the normal ways, because he was weak.

Eventually, he sat there in the grass, shoulders slumped, staring at nothing, trembling all over.

I can't do this anymore.

He couldn't. It hurt being this exposed, wanting it this badly.

And because he couldn't handle it, just like that, something inside him shut off. Whatever was left of the sweet, earnest little boy that made daisy crowns went quiet. Almost for good.

"You're an idiot," he muttered to himself, deadpan. "Get used to it."

He'd always defended himself from the others with sarcasm, because even if he had a weak body, he had a quicker mind, but that was when the sarcasm started in full force. The extreme self-deprecation. It hurt too much to leave himself exposed.

And it became very clear, very quickly, that the best thing for him to do was kill a dragon.

Fighting dragons became an obsession. He went over his projects and plans laboriously again and again, searching for flaws to weed out and components to improve. He kept his notebook next to his bed so he could wake up, light a candle, and scribble down notes if he had some breakthrough in bed. He lived and breathed dragons, daydreamed gears and bolas, and mulled over trajectories before he went to sleep. Would it be better if it was something that shot blades or bolas? Should it shoot a net? What if he hit one and it went down over the sea where he wouldn't have proof?

His need for the others to accept him gnawed at him, but that feeling was dulled when he was working. His father scolded him time and time again, after each invention failed, after each time he claimed he hit a dragon but the search parties found nothing, but he couldn't stop.

He was in too deep now. He'd made mistakes far too many times. There was no longer a way to cut his losses and walk away. If he stopped, he'd have nothing, and that was all he'd ever have. But if he could just kill one dragon, just one, then he could fix his whole life. He could make his father proud. Everyone would finally like him. Astrid would finally like him.

And maybe, just maybe, he could stop waking up in the morning feeling disappointed that he woke up as himself, because he'd be someone that was actually worthy of being liked.