CHAPTER ONE (HICCUP)

Testing…

Check check…

Is this thing on? Good.

Hi.

No "hi" sounds way too informal…

Hello?

Sure.

This is my fourth attempt at the first journal entry I've decided to put together, officially to document the full unaltered story to be used as anti-propaganda just in case we lose. In all honesty, I just thought it would help me reorganise and keep my head screwed on straight. I'm not sure if I should leave that part in…

Note to self: edit that out… maybe.

Anyway…

Hello.

I already said that…

My name is Henry Horton Haddock III, yeah, make your jokes I hate it too. Everyone calls me Hiccup. I had diaphragm issues when I was small, and kids are cruel, but I've gotten used to answering to the nickname. I was born in Berk, a pretty small bubble-town in lower Michigan; lived there all my life until we moved just north of here. Here being my room at my school, Hercules Academy.

…

Sorry, hold on. My roommate snores.

…

Okay, I'm back. Now, where was I? Oh, right.

For anyone that doesn't know, Hercules Academy is a combat preparatory school for Otherkind, founded with the sole purpose of training underage combatants on how to use their unique abilities. I've been attending here for about four months now, doing my best to get a handle on powers I didn't have until a week before admission.

I guess I should start at the beginning…

Thud.

"Shit!" Hiccup hissed, clutching his rapidly purpling big toe. "Son of a rat-fucking munge-bucket half-arsed…" his rather creative swearing trailed off into little more than unintelligible mutterings and shaky gasps. The offending party that injured his poor toe stood proud, completely unmoved from Hiccup's last act of desperation.

He had already spent twenty minutes trying to push that damn box, and as a final-ditch effort born out of frustration, he reeled back and kicked the stupid thing with everything he was worth.

Evidently, when compared to a metre cube of sodding cardboard filled with stacks of books, he wasn't worth much.

And thus, his swollen toe, which was starting to have an off-putting resemblance to that one fast-food mascot. Grimmauld? Grimer? Grimace, that was it.

His well-deserved rage finally started to subside as the sharp, burning pain in his foot dulled down into a dull, pulsing throb.

"Damnit, Dad…" he muttered to himself, as audible as he dared. His father's hearing, whilst rather selective, was very sharp.

"The Haddock men have never relied on others to do our menial labour, son, and we are all the better for it. Why should he start now, just because we have the means to be lazy?" His father has always been stern about things like that, never once addressing the irony behind the question.

'Got it in one, Dad,' Hiccup thought tiredly. 'Because we have the means.'

Deciding to stave off on trying again for a bit, he ran up to their new penthouse, slightly perturbed by the totally bare floorboards, save a few still-packed boxes tucked into various corners. If the desert was an apartment, it would probably look like the Haddocks'; from the blank white walls to the near-complete absence of life, the description was so apt Hiccup half-expected a tumbleweed to start rolling by.

As furniture went, there was only one indicator they had moved in at all: an unplugged floor-to-ceiling lamp.

Hiccup scoffed at it. At best, it was the one, cliché cactus everyone thinks about when told to imagine a barren setting.

The sight of the lone decorative piece did little to improve Hiccup's opinion of the penthouse. As a matter of fact, it was almost depressing to appraise, so he turned away, choosing to go back to his original task of quenching his thirst.

More desert parallels, how fun.

After filling up the least dusty glass he could find with water and giving up searching for the icebox, Hiccup sat up at the marble counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the living room. It was the closest thing in the entire apartment resembling an interior wall and coupled with the switch from wood to patterned linoleum, the only part of the apartment where it was clear where one "room" ended and another began. His father claimed that it would "bring them closer together and really open up the floor."

Hiccup translated that to "do away with privacy and avoid countless accidents involving his father's remarkable size and cramped (for him) rooms." Incidentally, all the 'opened up' space only helped accentuate how empty their new home was.

Well, their new house. Hiccup wasn't anywhere near ready to call it home just yet.

Legs swinging from his ridiculously high chair, Hiccup thought about what he had left behind in Berk.

His father used to be this local wrestling legend at Berk's local high school, leading the Vikings through three state-wide championships. They called him Stoick the Vast, famous (and aptly nicknamed) for his completely emotionless face. His total lack of reaction to any development during a match was set in stone and seared into the minds of his opponents, doing more to intimidate than his sheer size and stature ever could. Talk about subverting expectations, when the only son of Stanley Haddock grew up looking thinner than an underfed sloth, with just about the equivalent athletic inclination.

Considering that Hiccup's street was comprised almost entirely of his father's old wrestling team, plus their subsequent families, he spent his childhood avoiding disappointed alumni and running from petulant bullies.

It took him fifteen years in that stupid town to be accepted by one person, and finally, after things start to look up for him, they moved, two months into the school year.

'How unfortunately ironic,' Hiccup bitterly sneered. Though he did miss Astrid, the first to believe in him. With her thickly braided blonde hair, heart-shaped face and badass countenance, she was beautiful, passionate and everything Hiccup wanted to be.

He had also held just about the biggest crush possible on her.

Given time, he thought their new friendship may have been able to bloom into something more, especially with that kiss on his cheek…

But it was all a moot point now.

Finishing off his glass, Hiccup hopped down from the seat, revitalised to try moving the impossibly heavy books once more. Just as he reached the door, however, it swung open much faster than Hiccup's admittedly poor reflexes were ready for.

"Henry! Are you all right?" Stanley's brogue boomed, the ringing in Hiccup's head only intensifying. White spots danced around his vision, bouncing and skipping to an invisible tune as he crashed down to the unforgiving floor.

"That looked painful, son."

'Thank you for summing that up. You're a real help, Dad.'

"It's not a problem, Hiccup."

Shit, he must have said that out loud. Thankfully his father, while not unintelligent, had little more than a rudimentary grasp of sarcasm.

"Anyway, son, I saw that you forgot one last box downstairs, so I brought it up for you."

Hiccup, still rather dizzy, turned to look up at his behemoth of a father, and sure enough, the previously unmovable box was tucked under one gigantic arm without any visible strain from the arm's owner.

'Of course…'

Seriously, what was that thing, Mjölnir? Was he just unworthy?

Sigh. Probably.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Well, don't thank me yet, lad. I just came up to tell you that our furniture's here. Up you get, we're bringing up the beds first."

Damnit.

"… Liberty and Justice for all. You may be seated. Stay sharp, Arrows!"

Click. The sound was definitely the Principal shutting off whatever microphone they used for the morning announcements, but to Hiccup it sounded like a revolver duct-taped to his temple being cocked. He had seen it happen back in Berk enough to understandably dread what was coming. After announcements in a homeroom class, the teacher would say a few words. And if the occasion called for it, once in a while they would…

"Everyone, we have a new student joining us today. Please welcome our greenest Arrow Acceptance, Henry Haddock, to Arendelle Academy for New Achievers!" The bespectacled man (who Hiccup remembered was called Mr Thatch) held his hand out enthusiastically in Hiccup's direction, clearly overjoyed that he was in his classroom.

'I guess that makes one of us.' Though it was a distinct possibility that Thatch simply found an uncanny joy in alliteration.

Even though he should have known better, Hiccup had held the barest hope that since the school was a placement-based prestigious magnet institution, the cliché wouldn't hold.

He really should have known better.

As one, twenty-two heads all turned to stare at the out-of-the-way, back-corner desk Hiccup had crammed himself in the second the words 'sit yourself wherever you'd like' had left the teacher's lips.

"Henry, could you tell us something about yourself?" he asked, leaning against a hanging map of the world. Mr Thatch, Hiccup had been informed, was the Geography teacher.

He had to go through rigorous testing to even apply to attend there, and after all of it, he still got singled out in class the first day, as far as being asked to speak?

The gods must hate him. Alternatively, they loved him like they would an impressive dolphin, jumping through hoops for their entertainment.

"Uh…"

'Sure, that's great. Lead with 'uh…' like an idiot who's forgotten words exist. That'll leave a grand first impression on all the smart kids!' Sometimes, Hiccup wondered why his inner voice constantly had to toe the line of too-facetious-to be-useful-in-any-capacity.

"Hi… I'm Henry, you already knew that…"

A few kids snickered.

Mr Thatch's face remained genuine, though, as he implored Hiccup to keep going.

"I… umm… build bikes?" It came out like a question. He coughed.

"I build bikes. For my Godfather's garage. Motorcycles, I mean, not… regular bicycles. Though I know how to fix those… too. A-and… uh… and cars. Too. Also. Also, build cars. But bikes are easier. They make sense, you know? I, umm..." he faltered. "I guess you wouldn't..."

"That's really cool, Henry. Anything else?"

"Uh…"

"Hobbies, perhaps?"

"Um… yeah. Blacksmithing. I do blacksmithing. Sometimes."

The teacher's eyes widened dramatically behind his glasses. "Really?"

Hiccup's head spasmed in what he hoped somewhat resembled a nod.

"That's awesome. Make sure you talk to Belle," he pointed towards the rightward wall, next to one of the doors. "Belle, raise your hand, please." A rather attractive girl in denim overalls waved distractedly, her eyes never leaving the large book open in front of her.

"Yeah, hi," she tilted her head, flipping a page.

"She's the current President of our school's Renaissance Fair committee, and I'm sure we could get Administration to agree to a smithing booth. How cool would that be?"

Seeing how engrossed she appeared to be in her book, Hiccup doubted that the girl had even registered what they were talking about, and simply greeted him on practised reflex.

"Well, we've added a new student to our roster, let's see if anyone's missing. Everyone here?"

"Lilo's not here yet," one voice called out.

"I'm sure she's on her way," the teacher rolled her eyes.

"Lewis!"

"No! I'm right here!"

"Oh sorry, Lewis."

"I'm here!" A small, dishevelled Polynesian girl burst into the room, a flower pinned into her hair, backpack unzipped and half a peanut butter sandwich clutched in her fist.

"I'm… h-here," she wheezed, keeling over to clutch her sides.

"Hello, Lilo. What was it this time?" Thatch asked, clearly tired but amused at the girl's antics.

"I had to feed Pudge! Every day I go to the koi pond and feed him a peanut butter sandwich, but we were out of peanut butter!" A girl up at the front sarcastically gasped, her friends giggling around her. Lilo glared at them, before continuing her story. "So then Nani told me to bring him a tuna sandwich! A tuna sandwich! To a fish! Do you know what tuna is?"

"It's fish, Lilo."

"IT'S FISH!" She yelled out-loud, not even hearing her teacher speak.

"If I gave Pudge tuna, I'd be an abomination! So I spent another ten minutes running from door to door until Mr Coney let me borrow some peanut butter." Her eyes were wide now, imploring Mr Thatch to believe her.

Thatch sighed, taking off his oversized glasses and cleaning them with his shirt. Hiccup was slightly surprised to see just how small the man's eyes actually looked. "And why, exactly, did you need to give Pudge his sandwich. Surely one day without it couldn't hurt."

"Pudge controls the weather." The diminutive girl said this with such conviction, Hiccup had no doubt she believed it to be absolutely true.

"Lilo… sit down, please." He put his glasses back on.

She sat.

"Alright, so that's everyone? Good. We have five more minutes until the first period, so just do whatever until then."

Chairs scraped across the floor as cliques converged and the excitable teens all started talking a mile a minute. The dull roar of high school settled in, and Hiccup did his best to shrink and avoid it all, putting his head down and letting his mind wander.

… For about thirteen seconds.

"Hey," someone implored, poking him on the shoulder, hard. "Henry, right?"

Hiccup's head shot up, spinning wildly towards the source on his sudden pain. "Ouch! What the hell?"

It was the bookish girl. "You're Henry. The Blacksmith." It wasn't a question.

'I guess she really was paying attention.'

Hiccup rubbed his upper arm. She was deceptively strong; that hurt. "Yeah. But everyone calls me 'Hiccup'. And it's more of a pastime than anything." He winced. 'Why would I tell her that stupid nickname.'

"Hiccup? As in—" she made a strangled choking sound.

"I'm sorry, was that supposed to be a hiccough?"

She gave him a flat stare.

Sigh. "Yes, as in an actual hiccough. I had a swollen diaphragm when I was younger, and well, kids are mean."

"Indeed. You look like a 'Hiccup'. Do you have pictures?"

"Pictures?"

"Well its entirely likely that you were lying about your ability to smith because your new, and no one can verify either way, so I would like to see some evidence of your work before I sign you on."

'She really isn't one to mince words, is she?'

Hiccup reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It wasn't the best model on the market, nor even the second-best, but it was functional. Another one of his father's policies to "build character".

Opening up the 'images' app and scrolling back a bit, he presented the screen to his impatient classmate. "Here."

She swiped the phone from his hand, tapping away with her dainty little fingers. She kept swiping through the various pictures of Hiccup's creations, her eyebrow raised.

He very much felt like he was being judged by a rather hungry predator trying to determine if his flesh would be suitably satiating to be worth the energy required to kill him.

Five sweaty minutes later, she handed him back the device, before holding out her hand. "Belle."

Hiccup wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was she referring to his work as pretty? She did look vaguely French. "Uh… thanks?"

…

Or not.

She gave him a look like he was a that she couldn't decide was disgusting or adorable, and Hiccup felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 'Way to go, Haddock.'

"My name is Belle."

Oh. Right. He knew that.

"These are better than I expected. You will make a good addition to the Renaissance Fair. Make sure you go to room A1-13 during lunch today, and you can meet the rest of our group. Congratulations."

"Uh…" He felt like she was just a couple steps ahead of him.

"I'll see you there."

"Wait! I haven't even agreed—" Belle turned on her heel and walked back to her desk, her deliberate movements doing little to invite conversation. "… To join you guys. Okay, and I'm talking to no one."

Well, at least he didn't have to worry about where he was sitting during lunch.

Riiiinnnnggg!

Now, where was the Social Sciences building?

"Damnit!" Hiccup cursed under his breath, wincing as the quarter that had been rolling over his knuckles fell onto his desk with a very loud ringing noise.

The few remaining cognisant heads turned to see what the commotion was about, but most barely even flinched. Instead, the vast majority of students were slumped over in their seats, adopting a mush-like state.

Frankly, Hiccup couldn't even blame them. Especially considering that the teacher hadn't even broken stride.

"… Open negotiations between the Vectors and the Global Authorities Operative (more commonly referred to as 'GAO') let to the creation of the ECV (Enforcement of Common Values) Initiative, more commonly referred to as the Normalcy Policies, spearheaded by Daniel Richards in 1956. The Vector leaders acknowledged that their unnatural abilities posed a very serious risk to the greater whole, especially when you consider that they develop abilities when they're very young, and therefore have very little control. Together with GAO scientists, led by Dr Richards, Vector provided volunteers who would aid in the establishment of ThemisTechnologies, a research lab that conducted experiments to help neutralise the Otherkind, should they become a threat once again."

Hiccup's father had a saying about history.

"History is constantly trying to teach us about ourselves, Henry. Those who choose to listen? They thrive, son. Because they take the lessons learned by our forbearers and move past them. Our ability to learn is what makes us more than primates."

Hiccup had his own saying about history.

It was mind-numbingly boring.

"Hey man!" Someone was poking him in the shoulder, again. What was it with this school and bruising him?

Another poke. "What?" he hissed.

"You're Hiccup, right?" Hiccup froze. How in the world…? He wracked his brain to figure out if he had ever met the poker before. He was blond, tall and very broad, with a wide nose and soft jaw. He looked like a stereotypical jock, complete with a rather dim expression on his face.

'Maybe he was in my Homeroom?' Hiccup wondered.

"…Right. Have we met? Sorry, I'm not the best with faces."

"Nah, not at all. Actually, Belle told me that a new guy was going to join us as a blacksmith. That's you, isn't it? AANA doesn't often have newbies. Anyway, knowing Belle, she probably didn't actually ask you if you wanted to join up. Am I right?"

Hiccup wasn't sure what to say to that. (An odd occurrence, usually he always had the last word.) Instead, he just nodded.

"I think you'd really enjoy it. We're a relatively small group, so we're all pretty good friends. Drop by at lunch, you won't regret it."

Hiccup glanced at him with an eyebrow raised, very sceptical. He had quite a bit of experience with small, tight-knit groups; he had been barred from many for over a decade in Berk. He had no desire to repeat such an event. Nothing felt lonelier than being surrounded by people content with only each other.

Nevertheless, Hiccup found himself agreeing, if only for the sake of the dying common etiquette.

"See you then…" he trailed off, realising that he had yet to give a name.

"Kristoff. Well, Christopher, actually, but who has the time to say that? Kristoff was my Great Granddad's name, and he was a badass, so I haven't been called Christopher since I was seven."

"Okay… Kristoff, I'll see you at lunch."

The boy twisted back in his seat so that his wide shoulders were square with the teacher's podium. Not that it mattered anyway, as he immediately laid his head down on his forearms, obviously asleep.

He wasn't the only one flaunting his trip around Morpheus' patio, but still, the teacher droned on.

Mr Binns may as well have been a ghost incapable of any excitement.

Beware the Ghoul Professor lad! His numbing voice enchants even the most resilient of Heroes, slowly melting their mind into goo before slurping their brains down like Yaknog!

His snort at his own inner dialogue got him a glare thrown his way by one of his napping neighbours, and he sunk into his seat thoroughly embarrassed.

Room A1-13 was an art studio.

Well, Hiccup guessed that made sense. A bunch of artsy creative minds were gathering to discuss the logistics of a Renaissance Fair. Where else would they have met, a Science Lab?

The plaque on the door seemed innocent enough, with its polished brass gleaming happily in the noon sun. It was actually engraved, or maybe stamped, Hiccup couldn't tell, but regardless it seemed unnecessarily fanciful for its purpose of labelling the room. Again, he figured, that checked out.

He ignored his shaking hand as he reached up and knocked.

'Idiot. It's a classroom, not a private estate.'

Shaking his head to dispel his momentary lapse of societal prowess, he reached for the old fashioned knob when the door swung out towards…

He woke up in a bed.

It was stiff and unforgiving, just cushy enough for him to get used to, but inevitably waiting to cause him a plethora of back problems down the line. Infirmary cot. It was a familiar sensation, given how accident-prone he had been in his youth.

Well, not just his youth…

As he pushed himself up into a seated position, he took in his new surroundings.

The walls were a pale sea-foam green and the room was lit brightly by fluorescent tube lights mounted to the ceiling. The soft buzz of the lights made Hiccup a bit dizzy.

Scratch that, everything made him a bit dizzy.

Thor's Chiselled Dick. It was the second time that day he got hit with a door. It had to be a new record. Doors had it in for him! He would never open another -forsaken door

"Mr Haddock?" A warm—if slightly posh—voice spoke softly directly into his right ear.

Like the smooth individual he was, Hiccup tried to jump to the left, while simultaneously whipping his read towards the voice, causing him to lose his balance and fall out of the cot.

'Nice one, Haddock.'

"Are you alright!?" The nurse rushed to his side, helping him back up.

"I'm so sorry to startle you, really I should have known better." She muttered something under her breath, but Hiccup could only catch the phrase 'you stupid teapot', much to his confusion, and slight offence. She must have caught the brief flash of it across his face because she went bright red. "Oh, not you! Goodness, I'm so sorry, I was talking to myself. My husband used to call me 'His Little Teapot' before his passing because my name starts with the letter 'T' and my last name is 'Potts' and I got rather used to it…"

Hiccup didn't know if it was appropriate to laugh or not, so to stay on the safe side he simply nodded in understanding, waiting for her to continue.

"Anyways, you have a mild concussion, so of course your sense of balance would be completely confused."

He had a what-now? That was news to him.

"Your father couldn't make it, but he was able to send your emergency contact to take you off the premises. Mr Frederick Cobblepot. Do you recognise this name?"

He did. Oh… joy.

"Yeah… just, before I go and see him, did you perhaps tell him how I ended up with the concussion?"

"I'm afraid it's the proper procedure."

Sigh. Right. Because why wouldn't it be?

Hiccup shouldered his bag (someone had been kind enough to remember to take it to him in the infirmary) and walked out into the front office.

Sure enough, there in all his rotund, moustached, amputated glory, complete with a small flag attachment in place of his prosthetic and a wide shite-eating grin plastered on his jaw: Frederick "Gobber" Cobblepot, his Godfather. Gobber owned a relatively successful garage back in Berk, one that Hiccup himself had worked in for a while, part-time. While that may have been weighted in his favour (he was the only mechanic), he was good at what he did, so no one had any reason to complain.

Gobber always told everyone how his many-greats Grandad was a fierce Viking, and how his line was chock-full of strapping gentlemen ready to conquer. While running the garage, he always wore a plastic toy Viking helmet—complete with historically inaccurate horns and fur.

"Heard you lost a fight against a door." Gobber was waving his flag-hand back and forth. Hiccup's eyes were naturally drawn to the small text printed on the cloth: "Go Oak!"

How did he even get that on such short notice?

Impressive levels of haste for a dumb joke aside, Hiccup smiled at Gobber's antics. Even though he took inordinate amounts of pleasure needling him, Gobber was as kind as he was hardy. Plus, it wasn't like Hiccup couldn't dish it out.

"I'll have you know that the door was spruce, by the way, much hardier," Hiccup drawled at the chuckling mechanic. "I would never be so incompetent as to lose to measly oak. What do you take me for?"

"A boy who once knocked himself out with a foam play sword," Gobber deadpanned, much to Hiccup's embarrassment and chagrin.

"You have no evidence!" His godfather just chuckled.

"Alright, Hiccup. I'll bring you to the shop, you can have a lie-down."

They both waltzed out of the reception towards Gobber's truck, laughing at the appalled expression on the desk lady's face all the way.

The drive to Gobber's new shop was comfortably silent. While they could both talk for hours if given the opportunity, the majority of their time shared was spent with music blasting in their ears, totally focused on the task at hand. Distractions often led to disaster when dealing with heavy machinery.

So they didn't have to talk. Gobber kept his eyes on the road and Hiccup played with a particularly long pencil, spinning it around his fingers to his heart's content.

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

Someone was texting him. That was weird. Very few people had his number in the first place, and most of the relatively short list could be eliminated right of the bat.

His father, for one, never texted. He was a firm believer that verbal communication was vital, and that was only in case in-person conversation was impossible. If it wasn't urgent, Stoick Haddock had enough patience to simply wait for the opportune time.

Gobber was a no-brainer. Not only was he driving, but he was also literally two feet from Hiccup himself. If he had something to say, he would just say it.

His cousin back in Berk, Scott Jorgenson, had been given his number by his dad; but the likelihood of him even keeping it—much less texting him—was slim to nonexistent. It definitely wasn't him. While he was on the subject it probably wasn't his aunt either. She didn't like him very much.

That left…

Astrid!?

Hands shaking, he reached over to his phone to unlock it.

Unknown Number: Hey, it's belle from hmrm

Oh.

Hiccup Haddock: Hi…

Wait a tick… How did she have his contact?

Hiccup Haddock: Where did u get my no?

Unknown Number: I nabbed it when I had ur phone earlier. Duh.

Huh.

Wow.

He really should pay more attention to what people are doing on his phone when he hands it over all willy-nilly. Shaking his head at his own carelessness, he promptly saved her number in his contacts.

Belle RenFair

He never caught her last name, sue him.

Hiccup Haddock: Whats up?

Belle RenFair: Hows ur head?

Hiccup snorted in amusement.

Hiccup Haddock: Alright. They sent me off tho. Im in the car rn

Belle RenFair: Ok. Speaking of, we postponed our lunch mtg to after school. Will u be available to get on a video call?

Hiccup Haddock: Yah, np. 1515?

Belle RenFair: ?

Hiccup Haddock: Oh, 315. Sry. My dad was in the navy. He insists on using a 24hr clock and ig it rubbed off on me

Belle RenFair: lol ok. Talk to you then

Hiccup Haddock: later

Gobber peered curiously at him. "Who was that?" he asked, his thick brogue colouring his curiosity. "It's not like you to make friends this quickly."

Hiccup glared balefully, green eyes rolling in their sockets. "Thank you, for summing that up."

The heavy-set mechanic cackled in his seat, his impressive moustache bouncing in tune to his mirth. "You know I'm right, Hiccup."

He did; he was, but still. Not cool.

"So who is she? Is it Astrid?"

Hiccup was floored. How? It must have read on his face because Gobber chuckled.

"Boy, that look of frustrated happiness can only come from two things: junk food and women. I don't see any snacks, so it's got to be the latter."

Wow…

"It's, uh, it's just this girl from my homeroom. We aren't like that, promise. She's just in charge of the Renaissance Fair that the school puts on every year, and she wants me to run a panel for this next one."

"For your smithing?"

"Basically, yeah."

"Aye," Gobber nodded his head, before grinning mischievously. "So… is she pretty?"

Hiccup didn't need the heat that rushed to his cheeks to tell him that he was blushing, Gobber's delighted expression was enough.

Hiccup couldn't help it, he started to laugh along with his godfather. Even while embarrassing him to no end, Gobber never failed to cheer him up.

Unfortunately, the boisterous merriment led to a lapse in their ethic on focus and heavy machinery…

…So it was no surprise they hadn't noticed the wailing lorry until after it hit them.

Hiccup…? What's going on, man? It's like… two in the morning? Shit. Why are you up?

Oh. Hey, Jack. The Headmistress thought it would be a good idea for me to put my story on record. Kind of like a post-action diary, I guess.

On an ancient fucking tape recorder?

We're about to go against the entirety of the GAO and their nigh-infinite resources. A less-than-stellar audio quality is probably a worthy sacrifice to keep this recording out of the wrong hands. Actually, my throat is killing me, can you take over?

Who the fuck says 'nigh' anymore? And seriously? Take over? How the fuck am I supposed to give your side of the story.

You don't. Talk about yours. This is supposedly going to be an unfiltered truth about us, just in case, things go sideways. You're just as involved with this as I am.

What about… cohesion and shit?

We can edit it together. I'll hand the device to the girls in the morning so they can have their turn. It'll be a thing, I'm sure they'll be down for it. I'm going to grab some water.

Okay… Umm… I guess I should introduce myself…

…

Yeah, fuck this, I'm not going to be able to string more than a few words together right now. I'm going to grab some caffeine. Hiccup! Wait up, man!