Ten.

Hiccup didn't go home, his hitching breaths and dizzy head meaning he felt too ill to walk all the way up the hill. So he reached the forge and stumbled into the little backroom, his own little workroom and scrabbled for the satchel he had stowed there with a small pot of ointments and bandages. He found his last spare tunic-an old one with patched elbows-wiped his face and slathered the ointment on his bruised and battered chest before spreading the blanket on the floor and curling up like a small animal. He wished with all his heart that he was in the cove with Toothless or, better, that he was somewhere other than Berk.

The sounds of Gobber crashing around the forge jolted him from his sleep some hours later and he lifted his buzzing head and gave a groan. The noises stopped and the blacksmith poked his head into the little workroom, seeing the bleary shape of the boy lift his battered head. Gobber sighed and crouched down by him. "Can't even follow a simple order, eh?" he muttered. Hiccup gave a pained wince as he sat up and shook his head.

"Wouldn't make it home," he murmured. "Just needed to rest…" He blinked slowly and tried to clear his head. "Sorry, Gobber." His tone was weary. Then he took a shuddering breath and scrambled to his feet. "I owe you some work in the forge," he said with quiet determination. The smith patted him gently-which nearly knocked the slight boy to the floor-then grinned, his stone prosthetic tooth gleaming dully.

"Not saying I couldnae use a hand…" he quipped, waving his hook. "Have you eaten?" Hiccup shook his head wildly.

"But I don't think I…" he began, visualising Snotlout pouring stew over his head. Gobber patted him again.

"I'll bring something back," he reassured his apprentice as he ambled up the hill. Hiccup stared after him and a slight smile tilted his lips. He guessed he'd have an hour to work on upgrading the saddle and then he could actually do some work to earn off the materials he had stolen from Gobber. He paused and winced. Stole. It was an ugly word but accurately described what he had done.

And then he stared up at the village. They had stolen as well: stolen his childhood, his innocence, his sense of safety, his father's love, any hope of acceptance, his birthright. When he was younger, his father had loved him, he had enjoyed friends, he felt he belonged. Until they took it. And they never even let him see him when he begged to see his dying father. They just beat and punched him until his vision, his life contracted into red and white and pain and utter darkness…

He turned and ducked under the table, dragging out the saddle and peering at it. He needed some way to prevent himself just falling off. Safety lines…a harness…a seat belt! He cast around the fire, visualising the end result without even having to draw the plans. This was just too simple! All he needed was a belt with straps and hooks for attachment to the saddle. Of course, if he could prove the concept, he would need a much more secure riding vest with a better harness but for the moment, all he needed was a belt…and a pretty small one if it had to be tight around his narrow waist. He shrugged. He was a toothpick: everything about him was narrow!

He had fitted two hooks to the saddle and finished a wide, sturdy belt long before Gobber returned. In fact, the man returned to find him hammering a crooked sword straight, another already dug into the flames warming to red-hot pliability. The sound of even clangs belied the boy's battered condition, but Gobber could read the tension in his bruised face and the occasional hitch in his motion as he pulled cracked ribs or heavy bruising. Gently, the old blacksmith walked up to the boy and laid a bowl by him and a flask.

"Time for a break," he said awkwardly, eyeing his apprentice. "You need some meat on those bones, lad. Even if yer father is too bone-headed to notice, I can see yer wasting away!" Hiccup laid the hammer down, dipped the sword back into the fire and scooted onto the bench next to Gobber. His nose was already detecting the aroma of a rich chicken broth and his stomach was growling that it was rather interested in joining in the party. His mouth started watering, not wanting to feel left out. He clutched at his middle. It was sore from the kicking and felt extremely hollow. He snatched the lid off the bowl and began shovelling the food in. Gobber watched him with sorrowful eyes. Sometimes, he wondered if he was the only one who had any parental feelings for the boy. Hiccup was eating like a starving waif, his spoon scraping the base of the bowl before he looked up, astonished.

"Th-thanks," he said honestly. He gave his slightly crooked grin to his boss. "I-I needed that!" Gobber handed him the flask of watered down mead.

"Lad, yer my apprentice and my friend," he said seriously. "If yer need to talk, yer know yer can come to me, right?" Hiccup imagined himself having a conversation with the crazy blacksmith about his own insecurities…or Toothless…or Astrid… He forced a smile onto his face.

"Sure," he said cautiously.

"Any time, right?"

"Promise."

oOo

Toothless was less resistant to the saddle-as long as the salmon kept coming-but he was beginning to realise that the saddle signalled a flight and, to put it bluntly, Toothless lived to fly. He was the most accomplished flier of any dragon, perfectly designed for his purpose. So he was happy when Hiccup clambered into the saddle and they kicked off. It still wasn't easy and they crashed a lot but every time Hiccup improved the saddle or the tail, the result was better. Of course, there were hitches along the way. When they slammed down into a bank of rather unusual garlic grass, Hiccup had been thrown from he saddle, which prompted a redesign of the attachment clips. But when he looked back, Toothless was rolling and pawing like a kitten rolling in a catmint plant. He lifted the grass and sniffed: the scent was vaguely heady but he didn't notice his world melting or head spinning, though it clearly had that effect on the Night Fury.

Hiccup immediately renamed the plant 'dragon nip' and stuffed his pockets with the stuff, a crazy idea forming in his mind. If it rendered the most dangerous dragon known to a harmless drooling mess, then he was at least 90% sure it would disable the other training dragons. He shook his head. Gods! Now he was sounding like Fishlegs-even in his own head! He blinked and remounted the staggering dragon, persuading it to walk unsteadily away from the narcotic plant and onto the cliff edge where-hopefully-the cool breeze would clear his head. Both their heads.

Back in the cove, he hadn't wanted to leave, his fear of being cornered by Snotlout real. He had left the saddle with Toothless because he was going to head straight for class. In truth, he didn't care if he was late because ultimately, he didn't want to kill dragons. He unfastened his flying belt and folded it up. He needed it to fit to the leather flying vest he was working on…and then he hissed in pain. His bruises pulled and he gave a slight whimper.

Toothless was immediately there, the dragon popping up by him and inclining his head with a worried croon. His pupils were wide, almost vertically rectangular, in his wide green eyes, as he inspected his little friend. Then he nudged hard against the boy and Hiccup groaned. The dragon gave a rumble and nudged his nose under the loose tunic, sniffing the bruises and giving a disapproving growl.

"Get off, useless reptile," Hiccup muttered half-heartedly. "It's not like I've gotten beaten up on purpose. I just…I just…"

Toothless began to lick the boy over his bruises and cracked ribs, the wide sloppy tongue coating slimy saliva across the scrawny and beaten shape. Hiccup gave a groan.

"Yeagh! I-I hope that washes out," he murmured as the dragon craned his mobile neck round and nudged at the slowly healing wounds from his thrashing. He jerked away and yipped. "NO!" he whimpered. "Get away…" But the dragon began methodically licking all across his lacerated back and the boy made to pull away-until a low, menacing growl froze him in his tracks. One large paw, the claws unsheathed, rested just hard enough against his chest to freeze the lad in place. Breathless, Hiccup almost dared not breathe as the dragon finished licking all over him. Then abruptly, he pulled away, gave an approving croon and nuzzled against the boy's hand as if nothing had happened.

"What-what was that, bud?" Hiccup asked in a dazed voice. He had no clue what was happening-whether his dragon had just groomed him, made some gesture of friendship or prepared him for mating! He gave a weak smile: he sincerely hoped it wasn't the last one! Then he rose. "Gotta go. Training." And he pulled a face. The Night Fury curled up in the sun and gave a little croon: he knew Hiccup didn't like dragon training and he didn't really like Hiccup smelling of other dragons but he knew the boy was careful. He just hoped he would be safe.

In the arena, the Gronckle was back. This time, it was hovering around the course with an almost chugging sound. The bulbous dragon easily slammed all opposition aside-except Astrid, who was looking even more focussed. She hadn't forgiven him for defeating the Zippleback and scoring bonus marks for effortlessly doing it on his own. So far, he had scored the highest score in Dragon training and she didn't like that at all. This was their next dragon fight and she knew she needed to win to move back into the lead. So she closed on the Gronckle which was heading directly for Hiccup, the boy it had almost killed in the first class. Hiccup stared towards it, his shield clutched nervously in his chest. His green eyes were wide with anxiety-and also, a little curiosity. He dug his hand in his pocket and grasped a handful of grass-dragon nip-and as the dragon came within range, his rubbed it hard against the dragon's snout.

There was an aeons long pause as the dragon froze and his eyes widened. The pupils dilated wide and a low, rumbling croon began in the barrel-like body. Then it gave a little sigh and collapsed to the ground, landing on its side and purring as he continued to rub the soporific against its snout.

There was a whoop from Gobber and a scream of frustration from Astrid, who was closing with her axe. She stared into his slightly shocked eyes and he read something there that made his heart sink into his boots: anger and hatred. He had stolen her victory and she could not-would not-forgive him that. She advanced on him and he backed away. She jabbed her axe at his neck and he swallowed, looking frightened.

"How the Hel did you do that?" she screamed at him. His mouth worked uselessly, like a fish gasping on deck.

"I-I-I…j-j-just…sorta…" he stammered and she gave him a contemptuous look, screamed at him and turned her back on him, stalking away. He swallowed. He thought-hoped-they had a sort of understanding after she had come and rescued him. He knew she wouldn't ever become his friend again but he had dreamed she maybe would treat him more like a human being. He sagged as the dragon was dragged back to its pen and the arena cleared. That ship, apparently, had sailed.

They were all waiting for him after class and he stared up in fear. They were all clustered around him, all speaking at once and firing questions at him about his unprecedented victory. He backed up, his heart racing and breathing accelerating. He was only ever surrounded by them when they ambushed him, when they poured hatred into his ears and slammed their fists and boots into his skinny and helpless form. He swallowed, the band tightening round his chest. His intellect was telling him that they were genuinely interested but his instincts were reminding him that they could turn in an instant and then it would be pain and screaming and blood and more hours of lying curled in agony, cursing his miserable existence. He shook his head.

"I-I left my axe back in the arena," he said weakly and turned to almost sprint back down into the dragon killing arena. Just to be sure, he hid there for over an hour until he was sure they had gotten bored and left and then he wearily dragged his aching shape up the hill and home.