A/N Hello, lovely readers!

As much as I would love to keep this fic child-appropriate, there are things in life that just aren't. And no, I am not referring to sex. I have never and will never write a smut-fic. I'm serious. I did ONCE, ONCE, and my mother found it and acted like it was the end of the world. Yet another reason why I hate Jack Frost...

Anyway...

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Life Has A Price

Time Period: Canon, Pre-HTTYD

Ship(s): None

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Rating: M, for self-harm and a suicide attempt.

Hiccup slowly closed up the forge for the night, putting away tools, banking the fire, and hanging up weapons. He slowly made his way to his house, avoiding Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut, who were on their way to the Great Hall. He watched them. A bit with apprehension. A bit with jealousy. Why couldn't anyone see him as a friend? Well, except for Gobber. He didn't count. He was more like an uncle.

Hiccup closed the front door and walked into an empty house. His father was in the Great Hall again. He waited until he had climbed the stairs to his room and collapsed onto his chair before breaking down. He ran his hands down his face and then wrapped his arms around his legs, which he had drawn up to his chest. He knew he was on the verge of tears. He also knew that they wouldn't come. They almost never did. Most nights it wasn't this bad. Most nights he could hold off the agony.

But not tonight.

Tonight Hiccup felt as if his entire body was the heaviest of anvils, as if his mind was shattered, as if his heart were being crushed. His chest heaved, panting as if trying to expel the pain with each breath. Desperate to stop, he bit his knuckles, hard. He slowly calmed down, then realized that tonight was one of the nights he'd have to do something about the pain. Had to make it stop. And, if not stop, then fade, dull. Just for a little while. He reached into a drawer on his desk and brought out his dagger. It had been a Snoggletog present from his father a few years ago. Hiccup hadn't really ever used it.

Except to make the scars.

Scars were strange. When they were fresh, they were red, angry, sore. Then the soreness faded and they turned purple. Then mottled pink. Then they faded, faded, faded, to white. Thick white lines. Hiccup had all kinds of scars. Red, purple, pink, white. All over. Wrists, arms, shoulders, chest, stomach, thighs.

He hadn't meant to, the first time. He'd been sharpening his charcoal stick, trying to get the finest of lines. The knife had slipped. He'd watched the blade slice into his wrist. He'd watched it clatter to the desk. He'd felt...a lifting. A lessening. The dull agony in his soul had been replaced by sharp, stinging pain in his wrist. He'd been curious. Would it have the same effect a second time? So he'd lifted the knife. He'd pressed it against his other wrist. Again, he felt the internal pain ease, and been replaced by sharp throbbing.

Addictions were easy, he soon discovered. Easy to slip into, impossible to escape. Easily in but not easily out, as the lobster said in the lobster pot. Dark, dry humor was his only way to find any comfort in the shame of what he knew to be wrong: hurting himself. But it was always such a welcome relief, to push the knife against his skin and have his pain ease with every drop of blood that left his body. He knew he was addicted. He knew it was a problem. But he couldn't stop.

But tonight, staring at the knife, choking back a dry sob, a different thought hit Hiccup. He shoved it away as quickly as he could, but it left a scorching imprint in his brain. He took a deep breath. He steeled himself. And he slowly let it back.

Why not just...end it?

No one would miss him, they all made that quite clear. Well...maybe Gobber would. but what was one person against a village full? Especially on this particular day. It would be nice to leave behind the disappointed looks, the disgust, the daily bruises from Snotlout's eager fists. But even still...

Yes.

He'd do it.

He didn't even care anymore that suicide was the greatest act of cowardice there was. He didn't care that the village would only see him as more Useless after he was gone. He didn't care about anything anymore. He just wanted the pain to end.

With that thought, Hiccup lowered the blade. It slid into his skin with the smallest of sounds, slicing deeper than he'd ever dared to go before. He watched the red pouring over his arm, dripping out of skin, over bone, splashing onto his desk, running onto the floor. He raised the knife to his other wrist...

Only to be interrupted by a knocking on his front door. He paused, the deep throbbing in his wrist distracting him. Deciding he had imagined it, he started to move the knife again.

"Hiccup? Are you home?"

He froze. Astrid. What?

Sudden panic seized him.

"Ye-yeah, I'm home, uh...hang on a minute, I'll be right down!" he called out. He frantically pulled a spare bandage from his desk drawer and wrapped it around his wrist as tight as he could. He'd take it off when Astrid left, he'd keep going. As he stumbled down the stairs, he realized he still had the knife in his hand. Panicked, he put it on the table, trying to hide it behind a mug.

He yanked open the door and leaned against it, dizzy but trying to act natural.

"Hey, Astrid, hi, um, uh, what brings you here?" He faintly registered that he was slurring slightly.

Astrid peered at him confusedly.

"...Hiccup, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, why on earth wouldn't I be. Just, you know, hanging out at home..."

Astrid gasped. "Hiccup, is that blood?" She demanded, pointing at his wrist. He looked down to see that the bandage had come slightly unraveled, and blood was dripping from it.

He slumped against the door as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and made a weak attempt to hide his wrist.

"N-no..isss..is'not...I'm fine..." His tongue felt like a wad of wool in his mouth. His lips were numb.

"Hiccup, you are not fine." Astrid grabbed his uninjured arm and dragged him into his house, half-carrying him to a bench by the fire. He all but fell onto it as she snatched at the end of the bandage and wrapped it tighter around his wrist, but it was getting slippery.

"Hiccup, where's another bandage I can use?" She snapped at him. He stared at her uncomprehendingly. Why was she helping him?

"Hiccup!" He shook his head.

"Upstairs...desk."

She darted away, and he slumped against a wooden beam, hearing her move around upstairs. Hearing the drawer rattle closed. Hearing her footsteps pause for a long moment. Hearing them clomp down the stairs and back over to him.

Astrid unwrapped the red bandage from around Hiccup's wrist and replaced it with the clean one, wrapping it better than he'd done in his panicked state. He felt dizzy. And tired. And confused. Why was she helping him?

When Astrid spoke again, her voice was somewhat calmer. She knotted the bandage quickly and efficiently and asked him her first question.

"Hiccup, there was a lot of blood in your room. Why? What happened?"

As if she didn't know.

He didn't answer and she leaned closer, staring at him with that angry intensity she usually reserved for people who messed with her.

"Hiccup?"

His eyes involuntarily flicked to the knife on the table. She followed his gaze and gasped slightly. She looked at the bloody fingerprints on the handle, then at Hiccup's own hands, and he knew she was getting the picture.

"Hiccup...why?" She whispered, clearly horrified.

Hiccup snorted. "Why..do you..care?" He muttered. She leaned back, slightly affronted, but Hiccup had just gotten started.

"You're jus' like...the rest of themm...they don't give a damn for anything that has to do with me..I'm the Useless, remember?...And...I ruin everything...stupid life...I've got nothing here...I just thought..maybe...maybe death hurts less than life."

He stopped, he was dizzy again.

Astrid stared at him in horror. Then her gaze turned hard again.

"Listen up, Hiccup." She shook his shoulder, made him look at her. "Hiccup, you're not useless. Those three are muttonheads," she said, referring to Snotlout and the twins. "Everyone is good for something, no matter who you are or what you've done. My mom told me that. I know your mom...isn't around to tell you stuff like that, but take my word on it, okay?"

Astrid took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm not good at talking to people. But please listen to me. You're. Not. Useless."

Hiccup dropped his eyes to his bandaged wrist.

"Why did you come here, anyway?"

Astrid sat back again.

"Apparently Gothi told my mom I should come see you. And it was a good thing I did."

Hiccup looked up at her. "Really. Why?"

Astrid shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, fine." She finally said. "...I came to say happy birthday."

Hiccup blinked in surprise. Out of all the things she could of said, he had not expected that.

"S'not even my 'real birthday.'" He shrugged. "That's usually when Snotlout and the twins remember that I get older.."

Astrid gave him a look. "What do you mean by that?"

Hiccup shrugged. "That's when they hit me the hardest."

Astrid gaped. "They hit you? Hiccup, how long has this been going on?"

Hiccup rolled his eyes. "About ten years. Wouldn't have expected anyone to care, but was noticing beneath you, too?" He asked spitefully. Then his eyes widened. "I'm sorry." He mumbled.

Astrid shook her head. "No, Hiccup, you're right. Someone should have noticed. Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Hiccup gave her a pointed look. "Do you really need to ask?"

"No. I'm so sorry, Hiccup."

Hiccup wouldn't look at her. Astrid sighed.

"Hiccup, I have to go. I told my dad I was checking the Great Hall to see if they were serving mutton or fish. He'll be wondering where I am. But I want you to promise me something, okay?"

"Depends on what it is."

She made him look at her again.

"Don't go back to..what you were doing before I came here. And if you ever feel like doing that again, you will come and tell me. I'll help you. Promise?"

Hiccup gazed at her dully. She shook him a little. "Promise?"

He dropped his gaze. "Promise."

She let go. "Okay."

"Astrid..." he stopped her.

"Yeah?"

"Please don't tell anyone about this. Please."

"Okay. But you should."

She turned to leave, and he distinctly heard her say, "Happy fifteenth, Hiccup." Then the door closed, and she was gone.

This One-Shot was inspired by the song "Undercover" by Hive Riot.

A/N ...sorry about this being so depressing.

In case anyone was wondering, yes, I do write from experience, except my first time was my fingernails, and I never tried the last thing...did want to though. Some days I still do. But I won't. Wanna know why? Because I made a promise not to. And my word is my bond.

...Wow. Getting deep and depressing here, huh? Sorry.

Okay, I have a question for you guys.

OTP. What doe that stand for?

Thanks for reading this, and for all those faves, follows, and reviews!

Love you all!

XOXO