I Didn't Mean to Hurt You, Too
A/N: Oh, Lord. It's been so long. Can I just...can I just look back on 2013 me and ask what the hell was I thinking? Like...why did I think this was a good idea? Why did I do this to myself and why did I go accidentally get readers, why did I somehow by some enormous stroke of luck find people who actually enjoy this story and then go off the map? I'm so sorry guys. I cannot even believe I did this, and I would like to give 2013 me a thorough beat-down, but unfortunately 2013 me would wonder how present me got there and the time machine is supposed to be a secret until the exhibition in October.
Anyway, if I still have any readers, I actually had a bit of fun with this chapter, made it longer than normal to make up for my absence - not too much longer but you know - and even had Alvin physically harming our favorite little Viking baby.
Outcast Island.
Located on the extreme edge of the Archipelago, home to the bloodthirsty, pelt-wearing, murderous savages known as Outcasts, it was a place carefully avoided and feared by all others; it was the sort of island that could bring nightmares to any Viking, from the soft-hearted Peaceables to the brutal Murderous.
It rose sharply out of the waters, looming eerily above any ship brave enough to venture into its waters like an enormous bird of prey; Hiccup had never seen it before, but his first impression was that it appeared rather unwelcoming and given the choice, he would have kept sailing right on past it.
Unfortunately, he was not given the choice.
As a matter of fact, he was handcuffed in a most inhospitable manner alongside his cousin, yanked roughly out of his cage by his bound wrists and kicked harshly in the ribs before the Outcasts let him rise; yet the instant he tried, a horrible, searing pain ran up his amputated leg, and he fell, with a horrendously loud crack, back onto the wooden planks.
The first Outcast kicked him again. "Up on your feet, runt."
This second blow landed in the region of his stomach, and left him nearly breathless; yet he forced himself to his knees, preparing for the pain again. He must stand. And he must do this as well as he could, must rise and remain straight, must stand tall, must carry himself with dignity – Alvin could take his freedom, but he couldn't strip him of his strength.
Hiccup leaned on his good leg first, and remained upright; but the slightest bit of weight upon the rusted metal contraption and he fell against the wall this time, digging his short, dirt-caked nails into the wood, drawing in ragged, heaving gasps, leg fit to burst with agony.
"Walk."
Stand, remember to stand, remember to do it straight and tall, with dignity…
His fingers slipped down to the burning stump; it felt strangely hot to the touch, and the torment was so acute he nearly forgot how to breathe. But he must. He must breathe, and he must stand, and he must walk…
"You're not fooling anyone," the man sneered from somewhere above him; out of nowhere, the Outcast's grimy hand came, slamming into the back of his skull, and he saw stars; a cry tumbled off his lips before he could stop it.
"Stop it!" Snotlout twisted away from the soldier holding him, glaring up at the other. "He's not trying to fool you! He's hurt! He can't walk!"
"He can," the man responded coolly. "And he will, if he knows what's good for him. Let's go, both of you. The chief doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Snotlout achieved the dignity Hiccup had hoped to master; the muscled, dark-haired boy pushed past the Outcasts with a scowl on his face, disdain rolling off him in thick, palpable waves and he marched proudly up the steps with his nose in the air. Hiccup trailed twenty paces behind him; with his stump in this condition, the steps were akin to torture and it must, he thought tiredly, have taken him a good thirty minutes to conquer the flight – he expected at any moment for the Outcasts behind him to grow impatient, to hit him again, to send him to the floor. And if he went down, he rather thought he would not be able to get back up.
He reached the deck, but received no rest; one of the Outcasts prodded him roughly in the shoulder until he moved again, and repeated this action as many times as necessary to get him across the deck and down the gangplank to the docks, onto the murky, pebbled shore of Outcast Island.
Snotlout awaited them here, flanked by two Outcast soldiers, at the edge of the ocean, with arms folded and eyes narrowed, looking every inch the Hooligan soldier; Hiccup reckoned that his father would have been quite proud upon seeing this. The sight was enough for him to gather his strength and straighten his own shoulders. He must be strong now, he must be strong for his cousin and for Toothless—
The thought sent him screeching to a halt and he whirled suddenly to face his Outcast captor. "Where's my dragon?"
"Keep walking." The Outcast raised thick eyebrows in a challenge. "Or you'll lose both your legs."
"Where is he? What have you done to him?"
"Oh, don't you worry, runt, he's being handled."
"Handled?" Hiccup repeated; icy fear clawed at his heart at the words. If anything had happened to Toothless…if anything had happened to his dragon, his best friend, his other half…
"Keep walking," the man reminded him, giving him a nasty shove.
The push sent the auburn-haired boy falling forward, nearly sprawling upon the beach, yet just when it seemed he would hit the rocky ground, his cousin stepped forward, offering a supporting, shackled arm.
Under ordinary circumstances, Hiccup would have ignored this sudden kindness, pretended it did not exist; would have glanced pointedly away in wordless rejection; would have assumed Snotlout was doing it only to highlight his cousin's weakness, to embarrass him.
But these circumstances, he reflected, leaning upon the older boy, were anything but ordinary.
The instant he regained his balance, the Outcast behind them leaned over and forced them apart again, one huge hand biting, none-too-gently, into Hiccup's small shoulder. It was an effort for the young Viking to keep the pain off his face; he looked quickly away from his cousin again and remained silent as they walked along the beach, through a wooden door and down into the dungeons. The steps here were carved stone, steep and unforgiving; the journey down them was, for Hiccup at least, another twenty minutes of near-unbearable agony – when the descent had reached an end, he felt he could have wept with relief.
The corridor was lined with crude cells on either side, nothing more than mere holes in the ground with dirt floors and crisscrossed metal bars serving as their doors; some stood dark and empty, others held groaning, bloodied prisoners within their confines – Hiccup couldn't look at these other Vikings without feeling horribly sick and sympathetic.
The Outcast led them to the very end of the corridor, and here they paused; the man unhooked a large key ring from a fraying black belt, picked out a small, rusty key and inserted it in the lock – it took a moment and the man had to jiggle it a few times, but the metal door at last creaked open and the Outcast shoved Snotlout inside.
Resistance, Hiccup realized suddenly, would be pointless. He needed time to come up with a plan, and he needed to sit down, give his throbbing stump a rest – yet when he moved immediately to follow his cousin into the cell's dark, unwelcoming confines, the Outcast extended a huge hand to stop him.
"Not you," he grunted.
"Really? Oh, I'm so flattered. Too special to go into a cell, huh?"
The Outcast was terribly unappreciative of his humor, and chose to give him a good cuff round the head before beckoning him to follow back down the corridor. "The chief wants to speak to you."
"What's happened to his leg?"
This was the first thing Alvin asked when Hiccup made it into the room, red-faced and gasping for breath from the exertion and pain; there had been quite a lot of staircases on the way here, and every step had brought a burst of torment racing inescapably up his leg.
But despite the pain, the Viking hadn't lost his courage. He lifted his chin. "Well, Al, there's this funny little thing called amputation, you see. How it works is, when a limb is too badly injured to save, somebody has to take an axe and go—
Alvin reached out a dirt-streaked hand and slapped him across the face.
Hiccup had never, as far as he could remember, been smacked with a grown man's open palm before, and it hurt far worse than he thought it would; his cheek stung, blazing fiery pink, and tears of pain sprang, unwelcome, into his eyes. There was an instant in which he could do nothing; he simply stood, gasping for breath and cradling the side of his face.
"Jokes," the Outcast chieftain ground out through clenched brown teeth, "don't get you very far here, boy."
"Yeah." Hiccup dropped his hand, choosing instead to fold his arms; he didn't want the other knowing how badly it hurt. "Tough crowd, I guess."
"So," Alvin's eyes burned with rage; he took to circling the boy, hands clasped behind his back, brown gaze raking over the weak body. "You know what I want, Hiccup."
"Actually, I don't." The young Viking shrugged. "I'm really pleased about that, actually, considering I would never want to know anything that goes on in your tiny little—
The Outcast chieftain raised his hand again, but it hung in the air unmoving; a silent warning.
Hiccup hated himself for how his voice faltered out afterward.
"Good. You're learning already." Alvin's scarred lips twisted in a grim smile. "Now…as I said, you know what I want, I'm sure you do. You're a smart boy, Hiccup."
"You know, you could have paid your compliments in a letter or something. Just saying, this is a little extreme."
The Outcast chieftain ignored this. "You know what I want – and I can get it the easy way, and let you and your brainless little cousin go free afterward."
After nearly three straight weeks spent in a cage so cramped he could not sit up straight or lie down fully; after three weeks of eating so little that his tunic hung frightfully loose; after three weeks of taunts, of pain and darkness and uncertainty, Hiccup was certainly bruised, definitely battered, and far beyond exhausted; but somewhere within him, there was strength. So he squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw, summoning his defiance. "I'm not going to train any dragons for you. So I guess you're out of luck."
"I see." Alvin's mouth twisted. "Then we'll have to do this the hard way."
