A/N: This chapter is probably the darkest in the book. Seriously. BIG Trigger warnings for sexual abuse and self harm. Tissues may be required.

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Thirty Three: Nothing but silence

The next three days were much the same: Hiccup refused to come from the forge except to see Gothi to have his bandages changed. He worked in the shop, his motions hampered by the savage wounds he carried; he slept in the back storeroom, alone and Gobber bought him food. He sketched in the back room by the light of candles and the forge fire and spent his evenings staring into the dark or curled up in his bed, recalling the evenings spent with Stoick. But he had no visitors-not the teens, not Stoick, no one. Worse, the normally friendly villagers of Berk seemed to have taken a collective decision to blank the boy-because news of his Outcast brand, of the penalty it carried had got out and everyone was ignoring him as they had to. There were a number-such as Alva and Snotlout-who gloried in vindication of their dislike of the outsider and who spent a disproportionate amount of time making sure everyone was aware of the brand and of their legal duties to the outcast…but for others, the restrictions were more difficult. Astrid and Fishlegs had been forbidden by their parents to speak to Hiccup, even though they knew he was innocent, because it was the law. The Council met several times but nothing could be done, causing the Chief to go and meet Earwig, the records clerk and see if he could find any solution to the problem.

But Hiccup didn't understand. No one had been outcast in Hiccup's experience so he had no idea what the experience carried or that by law, Outcasts were not allowed to be welcomed on Berk. All he knew was that when they greeted Gobber cheerily in the forge, they pointedly ignored the boy standing by him. Hiccup kept his head down but the blacksmith could see pain flash across his bruised face every time he was blanked.

"Don't mind them," he said in a low voice after the third villager in a row ignored Hiccup. The boy dropped his hammer and gave a grim smile, his eyes cold.

"How can I not?" he asked roughly, his healing throat still raw. "I don't know what I've done wrong, Gobber. I was given up as a hostage to save the Chief and the village. You came to rescue me! But as soon as I'm rescued, I'm less popular than a case of Eel Pox! And I feel like an Outcast, though I don't know WHY! I never committed a crime. I was never convicted." His voice was thick with emotion. He lifted his chin and stared directly into the blacksmith's eyes. "Gobber-why does he hate me now? What did I do wrong?" The blacksmith sighed.

"I really don't know, laddie," he admitted. "I mean, you were a prisoner, you had no choice. They hurt you. They branded you. But I don't know how to undo this. Yer'll have to ask him yourself." Hiccup stared suddenly at the floor.

"He hasn't come near me," he said in a small voice. "In fact, I've seen him change direction to avoid me. I-I…don't think he wants me here any more." Gobber patted him kindly on the shoulder, ignoring the wince as he compressed the boy's still-tender welts.

"Next time I see him, I'll have a word as well," he promised Hiccup and the boy quietly lifted his hammer. He forced a watery smile on his bruised face.

"Th-thanks, Gobber," he said.

That night, he was sitting quietly on his bunk, sketching a memory: the Chief sitting in his chair, a mug of mead in his hand a twinkle in his eyes. His hand moved swiftly, his charcoal skilled as he captured the details of the man's beard, the multiplicity of braids, the little lines round his eyes, the way his fingers splayed ever so slightly as he tensed to lift the mug to his lips, the play of firelight across his rugged face. It was the image he carried in his head of the Chief, of those heady few weeks when he had felt accepted and wanted-of when he had a home. Before he had been cast out and cold reality had reminded the friendless orphan that he was a slave and an outsider, unwanted and unloved and barely even tolerated. He laid his charcoal down.

The leather curtain he had hammered over the door to the store room flapped behind him and he sighed, then turned in shock as he heard steps. He rose and jumped back in horror, for Snotlout stood behind him, a naked knife in his hand. Hiccup's eyes widened in fear and he backed away until his painful back slammed against the wall. But his hiss of pain was swallowed because Snotlout looked fit to kill. The larger boy advanced with a nasty grin on his lips.

"Oh…hi, Snotlout!" he gasped painfully. The other boy lunged forward and pressed the blade against the slender, bruised neck, a meaty hand clamping onto Hiccup's bony shoulder.

"You need to learn a lesson!" Snotlout menaced. Hiccup swallowed fearfully, his throat bobbing under the blade.

"I-I-I'm s-sorry…" he whispered. "I-I apologise…" Snotlout pressed the knife harder against his skin, a small nick leaking blood down the white skin.

"Too late!" Snotlout hissed. "You should have thought before you disrespected me!" Hiccup felt his heart freeze: he was going to be killed.

"Please…don't…" he whimpered. Snotlout gave a nasty smile.

"My Uncle demanded we go after you but I know all you are is a man-whore!" he hissed. "You served Alvin and the Outcasts. Now I think you need to serve me!" Hiccup stared at him in horror.

"Snotlout-no!" he cried and the blade dug deeper into his throat.

"Make a noise and I will cut you open, ear to ear!" Snotlout hissed and dragged the boy across the room, throwing him onto the bench. "And I mean any noise." He pressed himself across the boy and Hiccup bit hard on his lips to stifle the pain as Snotlout leaned on his back. The dagger pressed hard against his neck again as the larger boy dragged his leggings down and then his own. "I guess you've been broken in and should be used to this!" he sneered.

"Please, no," Hiccup breathed. "N-no, Snotlout. I-I can't…" Snotlout stroked himself with a grimace, then spat onto his hand, smearing the saliva over his length.

"Silence," he sneered and pushed in. Hiccup tensed, resisting and Snotlout dug his hand hard into the smaller boy's hip and thrust again. There was a strangled gulp and Snotlout could see the shoulders begin to hitch with sobs. He grinned and his hips pistoned forward as he picked up the pace and dominated his victim. Hiccup tasted blood as he concentrated on not screaming, trying to dissociate his mind from the pain of the assault, the shame of his situation and the fear that surged through every corner of his being. He couldn't face this again: he absolutely couldn't. If this was all there was, he would have to leave-one way or another.

The curtain flapped and Snotlout gave an incoherent growl as he closed on his climax. "You like that, don't you, bitch?" he snarled, pounding harder. "And you-wait your turn. I won't be long and then you can have him!"

Stoick let the flap drop and backed away, his eyes filled with shock. He had been feeling huge pangs of guilt at seeing the boy ostracised and alone after he had rescued him and he was kicking himself for not going in earlier to explain why he had to blank him-at least for the moment… And he admitted that he had been struggling, his disgust at Alvin's words and the images they provoked nauseating even though he knew they weren't real. Every time he pictured the boy, he saw him naked, Alvin rutting him violently and the boy moaning in pleasure and looking at his master with lust and desire. And he knew it was against everything he knew about the boy, everything he had seen but he couldn't help it: his hatred of Alvin had almost overwhelmed his sanity. And he had killed the man himself so he had avenged all of the wrongs that Alvin had done…but hating Alvin and everything to do with him had become a deeply ingrained habit. He guessed it was unconsciously affecting how he looked at the boy, which couldn't be helping. Gobber had also been casting daggers at him every time he looked at the Chief and Stoick had been forced to admit he had been too abrupt in his dismissal of the boy-even though he knew why he had needed to behave that way. And he had missed Hiccup, missed the hopeful and trusting face that met him every evening.

But the boy had clearly not been alone, if what he had seen was anything to go by. He had found himself company in the most primal way and Stoick wondered if the boy had accepted his lot with equanimity rather than struggling as Gobber had harangued him. Maybe Hiccup was doing fine, garnering money and goods using the only resource he had. He turned away: it was clear Hiccup didn't need any interference at this moment, though the Chief wouldn't give up. He had come to privately speak to the boy and explain why he couldn't acknowledge him at the moment and to tell him not to give up. He would have to try another day.

Snotlout climbed off Hiccup, his grin of satisfaction ugly. Carelessly, he restored his own clothing and sheathed his knife, then walk to the door. "Should I send the next one in?" he sneered and Hiccup curled up in a small ball, his entire body shuddering with sobs. "I'll give you a minute!" he scoffed and walked into the night, leaving the stunned and traumatised boy alone with his pain. Hiccup felt his face soaked with tears, his body hurting and entire being shamed by the assault. And he knew-he knew-there was no one now who would come to his rescue.

The next morning, he was listless, in pain and utterly in despair. Gobber had noted his apprentice had almost become monosyllabic to the point of mute and suspiciously red and swollen eyes warned the blacksmith something had gone catastrophically wrong. But Hiccup wouldn't say a word, bending over his work soundlessly. Eventually, Gobber had slipped out for a few minutes and the boy had sighed in relief. Until Stoick walked right by the forge and the boy had taken his life in his hands.

"Good day, Chief!" he called.

Stoick ignored him, striding briskly by without any change in pace. Hiccup stared for all of two seconds, then dropped his hammer and ran after him. "Chief!" he called. "Please-wait! PLEASE!" He ran as hard as he could and grabbed the Chief's hand, pulling to stop the big man. Stoick finally halted and stared down on the boy with cold eyes. Hiccup stared up, his green eyes wide with shock at the unfriendly stare.

"What is it, boy?" he asked, aware of several villagers around-including some of the most critical. He had to maintain his appearance until he had the answer to the boy's predicament. Hiccup swallowed, warily removing his hand from the man's hand, which had clenched into a fist. A flutter of fear he had never felt in the presence of the Chief gripped his chest as Alva Jorgensen inched closer, nudging Ulrika Larson to shush her up. He backed up a small pace.

"I-I j-just wondered wh-what I h-have d-done wrong?" he stammered, his face fearful.

"I think you know," Stoick said sternly, wishing the women would go away.

"No-I don't!" Hiccup replied, his tone slightly sarcastic. "If-if I did, I wouldn't be asking!" Stoick loomed closer, his eyes now definitely exasperated. He didn't want to discuss this with eavesdroppers but the boy looked desperate.

"I saw you!" he revealed. "Last night." Hiccup's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He backed up a pace. It wasn't the truth but the Chief suddenly felt the desire to bring Alva down a few pegs. "I see you understand now!" Stoick stated. The boy's eyes filled with hurt and desperation.

"Do-do you know what happened last night?" the boy asked faintly.

"You and Snotlout…" Stoick growled at him as Alva took a gasp. Hiccup shook his head.

"Snotlout came to my room last night and held me at knife point…" he said hoarsely, his tone emphasising the words. "I was t-told he would cut my throat if-if I made a s-sound. So I had to swallow my cries and l-let him…" He shook his head.

"As an Outcast, you cannot appeal to justice, even for an alleged attack," Stoick explained sharply, glancing sideways and seeing Alva Jorgensen blush scarlet at the accusation. "I am being generous allowing you to stay in the village when by the strictest interpretation of the law, you should be expelled." Hiccup looked confused. "You went to Outcast Island! You bear their mark. " Hiccup backed away, his face appalled.

"I w-went to Outcast Island? What-on a holiday? W-what d-do you m-mean?" His stammer almost made it impossible to get the words out. "I-I was h-handed over as a-a hostage…and Alvin made s-sure I knew I was being treated so-so badly because of what S-snotlout s-said…" His throat was almost too thick to talk.

"Lying slave," Alva hissed, though everyone in the village had heard the Heir.

"You did serve Alvin," Stoick accused him, cringing inwardly and bunching his fists at the woman's cruel words. Hiccup backed away, his eyes shocked and misinterpreting the man's anger.

"I never consented," he whispered. "I begged him…begged him not to…" Stoick stared sadly at him.

"You became his." The tone was hard and condemning and though Hiccup didn't know the history, he guessed that having anything to do with Alvin the Treacherous-whether willingly or not-was not something the Chief could ever forgive. Unaware that Outcast status rendered him a total pariah, he curled inwardly that the wrongs done to him had lost everything. Somehow, despite every effort he had made, every promise that had been made. Snotlout had won. He had made sure Hiccup lost Stoick.

"No," Hiccup whispered. "No-I never did."

"Your brand says otherwise.," Stoick told him tonelessly and Hiccup blinked, suddenly feeling the ground reel under him, mouthing a soundless plea that he knew would be rejected.

"Slave!" Alva hissed.

"Outcast!" Ulrika added.

"Be silent!" the Chief hissed, turning back to try to explain to the boy that he hadn't given up. But Hiccup had fled, tears streaming down his face as he ran back to the forge and into the back room. Sobs shook his thin and beaten body and he felt he could no longer breathe. The Chief had cast him aside and no one else would have anything to do with him. Snotlout would come back because he knew he could-because for Hiccup, there was no protection in the law, no justice. There was no way off Berk but one. Quietly, slowly, he sat up and pulled out his belt knife.

The light shimmered off the edge of the blade, the reflection softening the keen edge. He held up his right wrist and the knife shook in his left hand. He was trembling but he suddenly felt calm. It really was the only way. The blade flashed and a pain sliced across his wrist as the ragged cut began to leak blood down his wrist and onto the floor. He stared and then dropped the knife. For a long time, he watched the blood dripping, then realised he had forgotten something. Pressing his bleeding wrist to his chest to temporarily slow the flow of his lifeblood, he snagged his sketchbook and ripped a page out, then began to write with his charcoal. His words were messy but he guessed it wouldn't matter soon.

I can't face any longer being accused of something I am not. I was raped by Alvin when I was handed over as a hostage. I have been blamed for that hurt which I never sought. Last night, Snotlout attacked me again at knife point-and the Chief has accused me of whoring myself to him.

I never did. I never wanted it.

I never wanted any of it.

I can't live with no one who will talk to me, with no one who will give me anything but silence. I only wanted what anyone would want-a home, friends, acceptance.

I guess Berk couldn't offer that to a lost and frightened boy. Nor the Chief. He cast me aside when he had promised to protect me.

Gobber, Astrid, Fishlegs-thank you for your friendship.

I hope I may see you again, Bud. You were the only person who never abandoned me.

Hiccup.

He dropped the note on the floor by the expanding pool of blood and lay down because he was starting to feel dizzy. He was feeling cold, too. He wondered if, when he was dead, he would see his mother at last. Maybe she would accept him. And he really really hoped Toothless would be there. It was all he could hope for.

There was nothing else left.

oOo

Gobber intercepted Stoick as he strode away from the forge and the laughing Alva Jorgensen, the scrawny shape of Hiccup diving into the building, tears clearly streaking his face. "Stoick-yer a fool!" he snarled and the Chief turned to face him, his own eyes angry.

"I'm not in the mood!" he snapped back.

"Nor am I!" Gobber shot back. "What the Hel did yer say to that boy? He's more than suffered enough!"

"He's not even a Viking now!" Stoick snapped, finally losing his temper at the accusations. Balancing the needs of the rulings of the Viking Council, the laws of the village and the needs of the boy had finally frayed his patience. "And he can't be what I thought he was."

"And what was that?" Gobber asked him angrily. "A terrified boy who escaped slavery and was imprisoned and abused badly in a whorehouse? A boy with no family or friends who you brought back to Berk? A lad whose shameful past was brought up at every opportunity and thrown back at him? The lad who adores you and trusts you? The lad who ran out into an Outcast attack and parried three killing blows aimed at you though he had almost no skills at all? The boy who was handed over to abuse and rape by your Heir? WHAT?"

"Alvin had him!" Stoick hissed. "He's branded the boy. He's an Outcast, Gobber. Not a Hooligan."

"So? You knew it was going to happen!" Gobber told him, confused. "Snotlout made sure it would happen. That was why we went to rescue him!"

"Alvin made sure I knew what they had been doing!" Stoick's voice was gruff and filled with self-loathing. "And even if they hadn't..you know what that brand means, Gobber!"

"I never took yer for such a fool!" Gobber's tone was dripping scorn. "Had you looked at the boy-I mean actually looked at him, not stolen a handful of words before abandoning him-you would have seen the marks where he was held down, the blows to his face, the kicks and punches of the beatings he endured, the terrible bruises from where he was raped. You think he wanted it? You think he didn't fight with every ounce of his strength against a man your size, a man four times bigger than himself? How d'yer think that went, eh? And why d'yer think Alvin told yer? To hurt yer both-the Chief he hates and the boy he supposedly cares for and who defied him and saved yer life!" Stoick stared at him.

"I saw him last night, in the back room!" Stoick retaliated. "Snotlout was…with him…"

"Hmm-I wondered why he was so quiet," Gobber said thoughtfully. "Or why there was that cut on his throat. I guess he didn't have much of a say either." Stoick shook his head.

"Even without the gossips, I can't just welcome him back at the moment," he said heavily. Gobber stared at him.

"How can you not?" he asked in astonishment. "He's heart-broken. You took him into your home. You gave him a room, food, clothes. You called him 'son'. You became his father. You promised to protect him. And he-as far as he's concerned-he ran out to protect you against the Outcasts and went with them as hostage, knowing how badly he would be harmed, because it was the only way to save your life. You came for him-and then dropped him like a piece of yak dung. You owe him yer life, Stoick."

"I know, Gobber," the Chief said coldly. And then he sighed. "But he's Outcast-and unless Earwig can find a clause…I-I don't know what I can do. I can't do this to him much longer but I will split the village if I just accept him back without doing something to undo his Outcast status."

"Then look at yourself," Gobber attacked. "You argued the boy was your son. Not fostered or anything: your real son, Valka's lost baby. You never saw the corpse as it was floated out to sea and you believe now that the nurse took that little runt and raised him as her own. She told him his father rejected him at birth. Maybe she was just fifteen years too early in her timing. You convinced me that he is your boy. I saw him as he ran away: you've utterly broken him. Do you want to risk losing him again?"

The Chief stiffened and looked up at the sky, seeing white clouds against the clear, cold blue. It was a fine and cold day on Berk-one of her best. And on such days, Valka and he would walk in the cliffs and talk of the family they hoped for, the son and daughter they would have. Stoick had imagined a buff, fiery son who matched his own temperament…though he would have been overjoyed with any child that was his and Valka's.

But when she had died, that dream, that hope had died. And for fifteen years, Stoick had given up, consigning the hope to the grave with his beloved Valka. And to find out amid the chaos of that return through the raid that maybe Hiccup was the lost child…when he had half hoped and half doubted and he really, really needed to sort out his feelings…

…but then he was gone and to find he was given to the Outcasts as a hostage when he had saved Stoick's life was almost too much to bear. But going there…facing Alvin…hearing his poisonous words and seeing the brand on Hiccup's flesh, marking him as Alvin's property and an Outcast…that had completely overwhelmed the atrophied paternal instincts. Hiccup was suddenly a casualty of war and Stoick had struggled for when he glanced at the boy, for he still saw Alvin's sneering face. Alvin taunting him that he had risked many Berkian lives to rescue a boy who was ruined, who was property, who was an Outcast, who was…nothing.

And Stoick had retreated, standing behind the Tribal laws and customs about dealing with Outcasts because he was trying to shut up the vociferous dissenters in his Tribe rather than seeing the boy so broken and confused. He had ignored a boy who had misunderstood Stoick's reasons: Hiccup thought it was because of the abuses Alvin had inflicted on him rather than the brand on his flesh and Stoick cursed his thoughtlessness at compounding the boy's despair. It was easier to be distant and try to fix the issue than have to deal properly with shocked and desolate boy, to reassure him that he was wanted but that his friend…his possible father…was sorting out his Outcast status.

And now he had shattered him through being Stoick, being the Chief, through choosing to stick to the customs of the Tribe over compassion for the boy he had treated, had hoped could be his son.

Stoick's eyes were suddenly stricken as his stupidity fell away and he saw once more the broken look in those emerald eyes that were the mirror of his lost Valka.

"Odin," he murmured, then covered his face with his hands. "What have I done?" Gobber glared at him.

"Either you can go to him now and explain why in Helheim you'e ignoring him and give the lad a little hope, or you'll never get him back," he sighed. Stoick nodded and then turned, striding urgently to the forge, Gobber at his back. Stoick walked through to the little store room, threw the curtain aside-and then froze.

"GOBBER!" he bellowed and surged into the room, dropped to his knees by the pallid form on the bed, blood still sluggishly dripping from the slashed wrist. Instinctively, Stoick crushed the wound in his hand and lifted the limb to stop the bleeding, then leaned over the boy, his ear pressed to the skinny chest, the tunic soaked with blood. It was faintly there, the rapid pitter-patter of the boy's heart beat. Hiccup was almost white, his lips all but colourless. Stricken, the Chief swept the boy into his arms and stared helplessly at Gobber. The blacksmith lifted the note and read it-then held it up for the Chief to read. Stoick's eyes flicked over the messy words then gazed at the boy again.

"Odin, forgive me," he murmured and turned with the blacksmith to get the limp body back to Gothi's hut. All the time he was praying to the gods: Let him live. Please, let my son live.

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A/N: I'll just go hide in a cave now...to be continued tomorrow...