A/N: Uncle Gobber: Chapter 10
C'mon! xD You didn't REALLY think it was going to be the flu, didya? xD no, no, no. I write way too angsty of stuff for that. xD You'll find out what it is next chapter.
Hiccup fell back asleep soon after that, head resting on Gobber's real arm, breathing shallowly in and out.
Gobber gently smoothed out his hair, disliking the circles under the boy's eyes and the way his breathing wasn't normal for a sleeping person. It was rapid and shallow and the blacksmith didn't like it one bit.
He wasn't sure anymore if he could get through this on his own. He was just starting to think about calling the village healer when Hiccup shifted in his arms.
He sighed a little, rubbing circles on the boy's back with his real hand. The boy in his arms looked so unhealthy, which made sense, seeing as he was sick, but Gobber was starting to worry that this illness might be bigger than the flu.
He wasn't sure what other symptoms would reveal themselves and nothing else could match the symptoms but the flu, at least with what he'd seen.
But then, there were those diseases intruding from the mainland. There was one he'd heard of recently that had all the signs and symptoms of what Hiccup was showing now. It was said this illness had claimed countless lives and the Vikings of the other islands were still trying to find experienced healers to end the epidemic.
He felt a wave of panic threatening to rise, to destroy the temporary, early morning peace.
More than anything, he felt the desire to move. Sitting still and thinking about all of the possibilities of Hiccup's sickness was bad enough, but actually looking at the boy's pale face and the dark circles under his eyes made everything ten times worse.
Gobber stood, carefully disentangling himself from Hiccup, who simply fell back on the floor and kept sleeping (a rather impressive, although worrying, feat, Gobber had to admit).
He began pacing the Haddocks' living room, caught between two options, each with advantages and disadvantages.
He could go to Gothi, the village healer, and ask her if there was anything wrong with Hiccup besides a nasty case of the flu.
Problem with that was, going to the village healer meant leaving Hiccup alone for who knows how long and that was something he simply could not do.
He could stay here and be able to watch Hiccup every hour of the day, making sure that his condition didn't worsen, but there were downsides to this, as well.
If he stayed here, he'd miss his chance to go to the village healer, because when Hiccup awoke he was certain to try and discourage Gobber from thinking too hard about this.
But if he didn't go now, he might never figure out what was wrong with Hiccup and who knew how serious it could be?
He was torn between wishing Stoick were here and being glad he wasn't.
Everybody on Berk knew Stoick the Vast didn't exactly have a great thing going with his son – some of their fights had been the talk of the village.
On the other hand, Stoick would most definitely know what to do in this situation and he had raised his son.
'But you do know Hiccup better than Stoick does,' argued a voice in Gobber's head. 'He may have been Stoick's blood son, but the pair certainly doesn't act it.'
Gobber sighed to himself, stopping in the middle of the room, looking down at the ill teen by the fireplace, a blanket thrown over him, curled into a ball, forehead practically touching his knees.
Stoick would know what to do.
He shook those thoughts off. He had to keep his head. He would go and get the village healer and he would ask her to come take a look at Hiccup.
He would be quick about it, so hopefully Hiccup wouldn't wake up while he was gone and by the time he came back, Hiccup might hate him for dragging the healer into this, but at least Gobber would officially know what was wrong with his apprentice, so he could stop worrying.
He left the house, the door swinging slightly open, running as fast as his real leg and prosthetic could take him to Gothi.
The word was strange to Gobber and when Gothi saw his confusion, she picked up her little staff and wrote something else in the dirt.
"It's one of the diseases you've been hearing about. Off the mainland."
Gobber glanced over at Hiccup, vomiting in the bucket again. "Will he get better?"
"There is no cure."
"What…what do you mean?" Gobber asked worriedly. "Do you mean he won't ever get better? Will he…will he stay like this or…?" He couldn't even voice the thought. No matter how much he complained, life without his little boy was unimaginable. Hiccup added color everywhere he went, he added imagination, creativity and life. He was like a son to Gobber, though the blacksmith would never admit it. He simply could not die. He just couldn't.
"Some die. Some don't. Almost half pull through."
"Hiccup has to pull through," Gobber said, sending the boy a worried glance.