To Be Loved the Way You Love Me
Life on Berk turns upside down when a sixteen year old boy traveling with a dark past, a world of hurt, and a Night Fury washes up on its shores. The love-starved boy will only tell people one thing about his past: His name is Hiccup. But where did he live before? And why doesn't he trust anyone?
Chapter 29: Sledgehammer
Yes. I know. It's angst. Be quiet. The end was an idea given to me by Origami Star, so special thanks to her/him for this angst that I adored writing :D This chapter and what I have planned for the next actually kind of remind me of Lion King II when Kovu gets kicked out and all the animals sing that 'he is not one of us' song. IDK. It was sort of inspired by that. I don't know.
I guess it was pretty pathetic of me to hope that Gumboil wouldn't say anything. I guess it was even more pathetic to stand there like I did, then wave at him awkwardly saying, "Hi" which I did also.
Gumboil froze right there on the battlefield, and Madguts did, too, their small, beady eyes boring holes in me. I tried to avoid their gazes, noticing the other Murderous had followed their chief's lead and had stopped cold, looking at him for further directions.
I noticed other members of my tribe – I mean, Berk's tribe – sneaking up behind the Murderous and readying their weapons. It didn't seem like a very sporting way to win the fight, but I had more pressing problems. Such as, what was I going to do about Gumboil?
He definitely recognized me, as did Madguts.
"Er…so, great to see you all again!" I said brightly. "But I wish I'd known you guys were coming, I could've prepared something…tea, maybe some biscuits…I don't know…I'm terribly unprepared…I'm thinking maybe you guys should just go back to the Murderous Mountains and come back with a long-term notice instead."
"Very funny," Gumboil wagged a black-gloved finger at me. "But I'm afraid we don't have a choice but to stay." He shook his head, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Incidentally…" he added, almost as if it were an afterthought, "…how does one like you end up on Berk in the first place?"
"Oh, that's a long and complicated story," I replied politely. "I'd like to do it justice, you see, and I'm afraid I don't have time for that right now. You'll have to come back later if you want that particular tale."
"Oh, I think I'll survive without it," Gumboil spat, eyes glinting.
"Too bad," I responded, watching Helga take out another member of the Murderous tribe with one blow from her sword hilt.
"Yes, isn't it just?" Gumboil agreed. "Maybe next time, Hiccup."
"Er…so how do you two know each other?" Gobber asked, clearly trying to keep their attention off Helga.
"Well, we saw each other every year or so, I think it was?" Gumboil looked questioningly at Madguts, who nodded. "Yes, every year. When we visited Outcast Island."
"What?" Gobber had zoned back in at the worst possible moment. "O-Outcast Island, did you say?"
"Didn't you know?" Gumboil said, seemingly honestly surprised. "Hiccup's an Outcast."
A chill silence seemed to settle over the scene and the thunder rumbling overhead became very distant to me. Gobber turned to look at me and he didn't say any words, but then, he didn't need to: the betrayal in his eyes spoke for him.
"It's…it's not true, is it?" he managed through white lips, just as the sounds of splashing water and clinking chains reached our ears.
There was a sort of off-key whistling and then Stoick emerged from the other side of the forge. When he realized the Murderous were there, he rested a hand threateningly on the hilt of his sword, but Madguts simply gave him a curt nod and beckoned his tribe to follow him.
Gumboil looked longingly back at me, as if wanting to see how this played out, but he had no choice but to follow his chief.
As they disappeared around the corner of the forge, Stoick sent a few men and women after them to make sure all they did was get back in their boats and sail away, and when they'd disappeared, Stoick turned to us and smiled brightly. "So!" he said cheerfully. "What's…going on?" he seemed to realize something definitely was going on, because his smile flickered for just a second, and in the blip between when it did and when he managed to fix it back on his face, I saw a hint of uneasiness.
Gobber was still staring at me as if unable to believe his eyes and I knew nobody else was going to answer him.
"Hiccup?" his voice went up just an octave, becoming higher with concern and fear. "What's going on?"
"WHAT'S GOING ON IS THAT THIS BOY IS AN OUTCAST!" Mildew had elbowed his way to the front of the crowd, and his staff was pointing at me.
"That's not funny, Mildew," Stoick growled.
"Good," he replied, "Because it's no joke, Stoick."
Stoick turned uneasily back to me. "He's kidding, isn't he, Hiccup?"
He waited for me to deny it. I just shook my head wordlessly, miserably, unable to even look Stoick in the eye as I did.
"No!" Stoick yelled, as if, if he said it loud and long enough, it might make it untrue. "No! Hiccup, it's not true…you're not…"
"I'm so sorry," I whispered hoarsely. "I…I didn't mean for it to happen…I meant to tell you before…"
"Oh, yeah?" some of the shock of five minutes ago seemed to have melted away, being replaced by cold, hard anger. "And when did you plan to tell us?"
I flinched back from the harshness in his voice, my hands still clasped in front of me, my eyes still fixed on the grass. "I…I don't know."
"Look at your chief when he's speaking to you," one of the men snarled at me.
"Apparently, he's not your chief," Mildew interjected, his pale blue eyes glinting dangerously.
But he could've been.
I swallowed. "I…"
"You know what we do to Outcasts," Mildew continued in a voice like steel. "You must've known the penalty, boy. Stoick." He turned expectantly to the chief, whose eyes were cold and hard, like stones.
It seemed incredible that just last night, this man had tucked me into bed. He'd called me 'son'. I'd called him 'dad'. There had been something. But now it was gone.
There were whispers from the crowd, all listing the punishment they thought Stoick should give me, but Stoick listened to none of them.
He stared at me for a long second, and I saw something there, betrayal and hurt and disappointment, but not anger, no, not anger. What was in his voice didn't carry to his heart, and that gave me hope, before his next words wiped it away. "Go, Hiccup. You are not welcome here anymore."
I should've expected this, but it didn't make it hurt any less. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
You deserve this.
The guilt eating away at me told me I did, but when I darted another anxious glance at Stoick, his eyes told me I didn't.
"I never meant for it to happen this way," I said quietly, and as I turned to go, Mildew's voice rang through, loud and clear and cracked.
"Wait a second, Stoick," he said, "you're just…sending him off the island?"
"Isn't that what we do to Outcasts?" Stoick demanded coolly.
"I thought we did it differently," Mildew argued. There was something about the way he said 'differently' that made me sure I didn't want to see this, but within a few minutes, the crowd was murmuring amongst themselves and then yelling their approval for whatever the tribe normally did.
Stoick glanced at me and I nearly gasped. He was standing straighter now, one hand resting firmly on the hilt of his sword, and the cold, sad look in his eyes had returned, stronger now more than ever.
It had been so long since I had last seen it.
It made it even worse to know I'd caused it, and so I said the only thing I had left to say. I began thinking of everything that had happened to me since I'd been on Berk, the way Stoick had given me the Viking helmet and just held me in his arms without making me talk, the way he'd carried me to bed even though I could've done it myself, the way he started making that stupid snow man with us, the way he would ruffle my hair sometimes and just smile and make me believe that everything was going to be all right. "I'm so sorry, Dad."
I didn't struggle to change it. I just stood there.
There was a collective gasp from the watching crowd, and nearly everybody's heads swiveled to look at Stoick, who, for just a second, looked as if he were about to hit me. His large hands clenched into fists, before he said, "Don't ever call me that again." His voice was low, deadly, dangerous. It was impossible to believe this was the same man from last night. "I am not your father. And you…" he looked down at me and shook his head very slightly, as if making a decision. "…you're not my son."
The words hit me like a sledgehammer, and, like a sledgehammer, there was actually a flash of physical pain, hitting me over and over again in the chest, in my heart, where I could feel it, and nothing could stop it. It didn't matter what happened to me now, because this pain was sure to kill me.
