A/N: Advisory-details of wounds. And Stoick will be OOC in this-he has his reasons...he's just not very good at explaining them...

-0-

Thirty Two: Abandoned

The girl stared after Chief Stoick as he walked away from the battered shape of Hiccup, wrapped in the blanket and then back up to Fishlegs.

"Did that just happen?" she asked. "Did he…look away?" Fishlegs nodded.

"I think so," he admitted.

"He s-spoke t-to Alvin," Hiccup rasped from his blankets. Astrid leaned close: he really was very difficult to understand, with his broken voice and head tucked away from scrutiny in his overwhelming shame.

"Hiccup?" she asked. He winced.

"He…r-raped m-me," he admitted almost in a whisper. "R-repeatedly. S-Stoick kn-knows. I-I am r-ruined b-because he s-sees Al-Alvin when he s-sees m-me…"

"B-but…it wasn't your fault!" Astrid told him. She could see him curl tighter, though the movement must have cost him a world of pain with his lacerated back.

"I know," he murmured. She leaned closer.

"We need to treat you," she told him. He groaned.

"Just leave me," he whimpered. She sighed.

"My Chief has ordered me to tend your wounds," she told him. "So I will do just that."

"D-does what I w-want matter?" he asked her slowly, determinedly curled up.

"Not really," she admitted, though there was sympathy in her tone. He sighed.

"Go ahead," his tone defeated. Then she gently unfolded the blanket and stared at him, scooching round in inspect his back and then nodded to Fishlegs. The twins made gagging noises and drifted away to banter with the warriors-a couple of whom were kin. Fishlegs had been given some healer training by Gothi for this eventuality as one of the most responsible of their generation. The big teen helped Astrid clean the horrific wounds and the two tried to be as gentle as possible, though Hiccup's whole body clenched in agony and he managed a couple of strangled grunts before he went limp. Astrid shared a horrified glance with her friend: Hiccup had passed out and she was feeling horribly guilty. They both knew Gothi would have been gentler and could have given the boy a painkilling draft before she started, but that option was not open to them. They had just added to the boy's suffering and both looked as guilty as they felt. Fishlegs sighed and slathered paste-carefully-over the wounds, then they wrapped bandages completely around the unconscious boy's body.

Astrid looked up and saw the Chief deliberately staring away from them and she sighed. The voyage back to Berk would take the best part of a day but the Chief had separated himself from the blood-soaked scraps of the boy that lay curled in unconsciousness on the deck. Astrid and Fishlegs took turns to keep him company. The girl felt embarrassed as they were brought dried fish and bread and the Chief maintained his distance. Hiccup regained consciousness shortly after Berk came into sight and she saw him shift painfully, then open his eyes. He stared up at her.

"He's not been-been back, has he?" he rasped. Astrid stared at him and lowered her eyes. His emerald gaze darkened with sadness.

"Sorry," she whispered. He managed a lopsided smile.

"He-he owes m-me nothing," he croaked. "And he-he did c-come for me…" She pulled the blanket tighter around him.

"You need to see Gothi," she advised him and he sighed.

"Yeah, that'd be n-nice," he admitted and sagged. "Wh-where can I go, Astrid? He-he won't want me n-near him now!" Fishlegs sat down heavily.

"I'm sure he will," he assured the beaten boy. "It may just take a little adjustment…"

Close to the prow, Stoick was staring aimlessly at the sea, the bow wave preceding the carven dragon's head as Gobber limped up. The blacksmith peered at him for a long moment and scowled.

"Yer a fool, Stoick!" he decided. The Chief looked up, his mental image of the boy servicing Alvin evaporating. And the horrific image of the brand remaining.

"What?" His tone was sharper and colder than he had intended but Gobber's skin was Gronckle-thick.

"Did the boy tell yer he had joined the Outcasts?" he asked. "Did he renounce yer? Or did he just survive a few days of Hel at the hands of Alvin?" Stoick scowled at him.

"You know what he's been doing?" he asked his friend shortly. Gobber stared at him.

"He's been doing?" he asked incredulously. "Yer make it sound like the lad sidled up to Alvin and talked the Outcast into reluctantly coming to bed with him. But I saw him go, Stoick. He was utterly terrified at the mere thought that he would be touched, assaulted in that way. He only went because it was the only way to save your life, to save Berk. Yet the way Snotlout sold him to Alvin, it was plain Alvin would be raping him as soon as he returned here. I heard what Alvin said as well. That boy has suffered too much abuse in his life: he doesn't need you to hurt him as well." Stoick's face reddened and his eyes grew hard. From the conversations he had been overhearing, he knew what many of his people were thinking and they would be listening to what he said now. And until they were back on Berk, he had to behave how they would expect-no matter how it conflicted with his real intentions.

"The boy is ruined, owned by the Outcasts," he said ruthlessly. "I am the Chief of Berk, Gobber. Even without the abuse, you know the laws of the Council of Chiefs are clear. It was just about understandable when he was owned by another Tribe but that brand irrevocably makes him an Outcast…"

"Yak shit!" Gobber said with characteristic bluntness. "You lived with him like father and son. You claim he was your son, only two days ago. So what has changed? Can't yer bear it that yer little boy was ridden by Alvin? That the boy was put in an impossible situation and forced the service him? That he must have angered the man to be flayed at the post? He saved your life! He doesn't deserve to be rejected for his sacrifice!"

"It's not the sacrifice," Stoick repeated, gritting his teeth in anger-partly because the pernicious image of Hiccup with Alvin was troubling him-much to his shame-and Gobber continually bringing Alvin up really wasn't helping. And he knew none of that had been the boy's fault. But it was the matter Gobber hadn't even acknowledged that was a much graver problem.

"Then what?" Gobber sneered.

"I can't adopt him," Stoick said coldly.

"I never said yer had to," Gobber told him urgently. "Just don't reject him either. He's already horribly ashamed of what he had to do to survive back in the Port. He never-and I mean-never-stops telling me how grateful he was that you came to rescue him in the whorehouse. He loves you, Stoick. You've become his father. Do you know how much it would harm him to be cast aside by you?" Stock stared up at the cliffs of Berk and folded his arms. In truth, his heart was broken at the course of action he had to take-but he was the Chief and he had no options. Not in this. Not now.

"Take him to Gothi, please," he ordered. "I have things to do when we return." Gobber turned and started to walk slowly back towards the teens and the small huddled shape. The blacksmith leaned down and offered the boy a smile.

"How yer doing, Hiccup?" he asked. The boy sighed.

"F-fine, considering," he croaked. Gobber sighed: his voice sounded awful and his appearance was worse. "M-may not b-be at w-work tomorrow…" Gobber gave his brand grin.

"I'll cut yer some slack," he offered. "At least until the day after tomorrow!" Hiccup managed a slight smile at the teasing: they both knew he would be out of action for many days. The shouts of the vikings at the dock and the thud as the longboat butted against the mooring made him jump and he moved his head-to see Stoick leap lightly over the side and onto the dock, stalking away briskly. The boy felt himself slump in despair. Then Gobber lifted the boy carefully, watching Astrid's face follow the Chief's retreat. "I'll take yer to Gothi now. He's got a lot to do-fixing up after that Outcast attack."

But this time, the boy wasn't fooled and he went limp in the blacksmith's arms. "Of-of course," he breathed raspingly and closed his eyes. "Th-thanks, Gobber." The old Blacksmith felt for once he had nothing he could say as he carried the boy up the ramp and round to Gothi's isolated hut. He knocked the door with his helmet and then barged in. The Elder was already waiting, her wrinkled face filled with dismay and anxiety at his state. She motioned to a hard wooden couch and Gobber put him down heavily, hampered by his missing limbs. But the boy still landed hard on his rear and his back smacked onto the couch with equal force. The boy's frightened green eyes snapped open and his mouth flew wide in a soundless scream of agony as he fought to get onto his side. He was trembling all over.

"Gobber…" he whined painfully.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that," Gobber said with some repentance before peering at Gothi's scratchings in the sand on the floor. "Hmm. She says she'll need to see your wounds. All of them." Hiccup closed this eyes.

"C-can't she take Astrid's word for-for it?" he begged hoarsely.

"She says you need proper treatment and that means a door. Door?" He repeated. Gothi glared at him. "Draft. Sorry. Painkilling draft because this will hurt." Hiccup swallowed warily.

"Will-will it?" he gasped. Gothic scratched away.

"How many times?" Gobber read and then shut up. He was feeling very embarrassed now. "Should I just leave now?" he asked Hiccup suddenly. "I din't want yer to feel ashamed, lad…" Hiccup screwed his eyes closed and he shook his head slightly.

"Al-Alvin twice…Savage once, though I don't think Al knew…and Alvin made me…in my mouth…twice…" he groaned. "B-but I bit him the second t-time…which is w-why they whipped me…" Tears welled from his tragic eyes and he buried his face in the bed. Gobber looked up helplessly at Gothi and she shrugged, then mixed the draft. She offered it to the boy.

"She says drink this," Gobber said quietly. "It will help." Hiccup sighed.

"Doubt anything can now," he murmured.

oOo

Gothi's draught made him sleep right through until the next afternoon, when he awoke on his front: weak, in pain and dehydrated. He tried to move but all he felt was pain, swathing his scrawny shape. He gave a low moan and shuffled slightly in his bed before he heard the old woman's steps and the Elder came into view. She offered him water and he greedily drank it, his mouth parchment dry and his throat painfully sore still. Finally, when he had emptied the cup, he glanced up and gave a watery smile.

"Thanks," he rasped. She scattered sand on the floor and scratched symbols into the sand but he shook his head.

"I-I'm s-sorry," he murmured. "I-I can't understand what you're s-saying," he added helplessly. Her eyes narrowed but she didn't hit him with her staff as she would Gobber. She gently gave him a bowl and he inspected it anxiously then wearily drank. It was actually a cooled broth that tasted amazing and he eagerly finished the bowl. He stared up at her, his green eyes grateful. "Th-thanks," he managed. She wagged her finger at him and then leaned forward, removing the salve-soaked dressing from his back and he winced but lay still, though his hands closed tightly on the blankets at the pain. Her hands were gentle but it was agonising and he had to bury his head into his arms to hide his weakness.

The door slammed open and he lifted his face a little to see Gobber noisily clump in, his face concerned at the patient. "Eh-yer up at last!" he exclaimed inaccurately. Hiccup gulped down the groan of pain he was stifling.

"I'm awake," he croaked. Gobber gave him a grin.

"Yer look terrible," he added. Hiccup grimaced.

"Thanks," he rasped.

"Yer also buck-naked," Gobber added with a cheeky wink. Hiccup sighed.

"Erm…" he began then sagged. "I-I have my old c-clothes at-at Stoick's…" he admitted. Gobber frowned then rose.

"Right," he said. "I'll get them now." And he left. Hiccup knew that he meant well but he couldn't help feeling crushed: Gobber couldn't wait to get away from him. He folded his arms in front of him and buried his face in them.

"He left," he murmured, his eyes burning with tears. "No one wants to be near me any more."

It was dusk when Gobber returned, several hours after he left and looking in a bad mood. Hiccup knew that Gobber was staying up with Stoick after the damage to the forge so he should have known where to find Hiccup's things. The boy was tired, in pain and feeling horribly lonely. Gothi had fed him more broth and helped him use a bucket to relieve himself but mainly, he had lain still, his eyes staring without much hope at the door. When Gobber finally returned, he was holding a bundle of items and Hiccup stared, his eyes wide and heart rapidly sinking into his boots. The blacksmith gave a too-bright grin and held up his bundle.

"Yer spare clothes," he said cheerily. Hiccup saw his thin and patched tunic and leggings from the port, which he had painstakingly cleaned and mended. His fur vest-which he hadn't been wearing when he raced out to help Stoick was also there. And his journal and charcoal. He flinched. It was basically everything he owned. There was a huge lump in his throat.

"All my things, in fact," he said faintly. He pushed himself up to sit on his haunches, his back ramrod straight. "He's given you everything." Gothi stared at the blacksmith and scowled. "Th-thanks…" he added, grasping the meagre bundle and inspecting his pitiful clothes. Gothi had bound his wounds so he pulled the tunic over his head then tried to pull his leggings on. He hissed in pain and Gobber looked away as he painfully assembled his clothes. The Elder scratched instructions in the dirt and the blacksmith nodded.

"She says you'll be ready to go home tomorrow," he read. Hiccup paled and stared up at Gobber for a long moment before giving a false smile.

"Can't wait," he said bitterly and the blacksmith sighed.

"He's very busy," he said gently. Hiccup looked at him and there was betrayal bright in his eyes.

"Of course," he said tonelessly. "I am just grateful for being allowed to stay here."

But he had no visitors that night or the next morning and when Gothi released him, he stumbled out into the cool noon with just the clothes he wore and no clue where he could go. All he knew was he seemed to have become a pariah for his actions in saving the Chief. He swallowed and made his halting way to the forge, which, though partially demolished was working. The main forge area was clear and the uprights were still standing along with a few beams hammered in to support a new roof. But the back room was demolished still, as were all the living quarters. The clang of metal on metal told him that at least Gobber was working and he timidly made his way to the hatch which incongruously still standing with the only part of standing wall with a fringe of shingles at the top. Gobber eventually looked up to see the pale and battered shape waiting.

"Hey, laddie!" he greeted cheerfully. "Yer a bit late for work!" Hiccup sighed and his shoulders slumped.

"I-I was w-wondering if-if I could st-stay at the f-forge?" he asked haltingly. He was trembling, his shoulders slumped and his tone hopeless. Gobber stared at him.

"But-but I thought that you were staying with Stoick?" he said. The boy's cheeks flared scarlet with shame and embarrassment.

"Erm…I was…but he gave you everything of mine so he must not want me under his roof any more," Hiccup said in a low, hoarse voice. "And he-he hasn't come to see me so I c-can't presume he would have anything more to-to do w-with me…" His eyes were shining suspiciously and the blacksmith felt a sigh of pity shudder through him. The boy's tone was heart-broken and he cursed his friend that he couldn't manage to prioritise the broken boy who had given so much in saving his Chief's life. And why Stoick was acting so strangely. The two had already had a stand up shouting match but the Chief had refused to explain himself, leading to Gobber stomping out and saying he would stay with Bucket and Mulch.

"I'm sure he's just busy, laddie," he insisted but Hiccup swallowed and his breaths were starting to hitch, fearing he would be rejected by his boss as well. "Of course you can stay!" he added, then laid down his work and beckoned the boy in. They walked through the remains of the little backroom that Hiccup had started to use as a workshop. A few of his sketches-concepts for weapons and pictures of the villagers-were still laid on the bench, though most were charred and destroyed by the fire and as they walked through, they reached the small store room back from the main Forge. There were a few skins of cured leather and some coal but there was a bench pushed against the far wall that could act as a cot. Gobber shrugged.

"It's not much, what with the forge still being repaired and it gets cold, but yer welcome!" He gently laid a hand on his shoulder. Hiccup winced but realised the man meant no ill. "I'll fetch yer a blanket as well."

Hiccup craned his neck and offered a watery smile. "Thanks, Gobber," he managed past the lump in his throat. The room was small, cramped and cold but at least he was allowed to stay. It was a roof over his head and for now, it would have to do, though a nagging voice told him that he would freeze to death here in the middle of winter. It wasn't a long term answer, just a stopgap until he could find a way off Berk for good. Gobber then steered the boy away and looked down at the battered, thoughtful shape.

"I reckon yer needs some lunch," he decided and they headed up to the Great Hall. Hiccup limped painfully, the sharp pain in his rear a constant reminder of his ordeals on Outcast Island and he felt himself stiffen as the noise level in the Hall dropped as he and Gobber walked in. He felt the tremble worsen in his hands as they walked up to help themselves to stew and meat but Hiccup caught words as he stumbled past.

"…got a nerve…"

"…heard he did half of the Outcasts…

"…ridden by Alvin…"

"…was his aim anyway…"

"…knew he was a whore so why should we be surprised…"

"…Chief regrets saving the traitor now…"

"…should be cast off the island…"

"…go back to his Outcast friends…"

"…he's been branded as an Outcast. He's an Outcast…"

"…should be driven out of the village…"

He closed his eyes and sat painfully, having to shift his weight because he really wasn't able to tolerate pressure through his rear. His appetite had gone but he forced himself to eat because he hadn't for days and his stomach was growling in hunger. Gobber watched him and chatted about the heavy workload he had after the attack. "All those new weapons to make and repairs after the fire," he sighed. "I really need my apprentice back…if he wants to come?" Hiccup chewed slowly then glanced up. He nodded.

"Please," he sighed, his hoarse voice defeated. "I-I need something to contribute to the village apart from gossip." Gobber looked awkward.

"Don't mind them, laddie," he said in a low voice. "They don't mean any real harm…" Hiccup suddenly dropped his spoon and stared at him.

"They d-don't…what?" he spat, his eyes suddenly flaring. "Have you heard what they're saying? Half-half of them think I-I'm in league with the Outcasts. Most of them want me off of Berk. And-and all of them seem th-think I wanted what happened to me and I-I enjoyed what they did! Harm is being done, whether they m-mean it or not!" Then he was up, heedless of the pain movement caused him and he ran for the door, his throat so thick with anger and misery that he couldn't breathe. His vision was swimming with tears and he was desperate to get out before he shamed himself even more by crying in front of them. But as he reached the door, a solid shape grabbed his arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" Snotlout sneered.

"Let me go!" Hiccup snapped.

"I don't take orders from you!" the larger boy menaced.

"What is it-Snottykins?" Hiccup growled, so fired up with anger and despair that he momentarily had no fear of his tormentor. "Feeling left out? I notice you didn't join the attack on Outcast Island!" Snotlout looked fit to kill but Hiccup had twisted away and was already racing down the long flight of steps from the Great Hall, risking a fall. But he no longer cared: he had to get away, had to find some quiet and privacy where he could try to compose himself before he completely fell apart. So he ran back to the forge, unaware of the hate-filled eyes tracking his progress from the door of the Great Hall.

He stumbled into the little storeroom, almost blinded by tears, and flung himself onto the little bench as sobs tore through him. His entire body hurt with the force of his grief as he buried his face in his arms and sobbed his heart out. He had allowed himself to believe he could make his home here, allowed himself to feel for the Chief and accept the home he had been offered. He had rashly run out to save the Chief-and his reward had been capture, torment, rape and finally total rejection.

"I can't take it any more," he whispered, his throat hurting and head aching from weeping. "I don't see what more I can do."