Disclaimer: HTTYD is not mine. No profit is being made.

Summary: A series of snapshots from Hiccup's early years. What childhood influences make a Hiccup? Add one boyhood crush, a tablespoon of Gobber's mentoring, two cups of childhood loneliness and ostracization, and a heaping helping of fatherly disapproval. Stir vigorously. Bake for fifteen years, then leave to cool in the brisk Berk climate.


Catching the Sun

By Saphie


Part 4

When they were eleven, they started to slowly drift apart like two ships at sea, becalmed and without oars, caught in different currents. It was slow and painful for Hiccup as he watched Astrid wash out of reach. He was starting to realize his place in the village, and it meant realizing that it was no place.

That ruined everything.

"Out of the way, Hiccup!"

"Move, Hiccup!"

"Laddie, if you can't help, get back inside!"

During that particular raid, Hiccup was part of the fire brigade. He was young for it-they were all too young for it-but the attacks had reached an unrelenting fever pitch that didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. Everyone that was remotely capable of doing something to help had to, and being outside wasn't much more dangerous than being inside when one of the houses went up in flames. As such, all the young Vikings had been conscripted to run messages or help fight fires.

None of the other kids seemed to have trouble with it. They were Vikings. They'd all been raised to listen, to follow directions, to cooperate with the rest of the tribe. Hiccup had been raised that way too, but he never could quite seem to get it right. When he ran messages, he got overexcited and stuttered and for a boy as sharp as he was, he wasn't the most articulate under pressure. It took too long to get the message out of him. He also had the worst habit of accidentally getting underfoot, which was largely a byproduct of his size and the fact he was well below eye level of most of the adult Vikings.

Today, to his great misery, he found he was even worse at putting out fires than running messages. This was because he could barely carry a bucket when it was empty-forget it about carrying it when it was full. He wound up slopping most of it onto himself, spilling the rest on the ground, getting underfoot anyway, and always turned up at the wrong house at the wrong time, usually because he couldn't keep up with the others.

"Hiccup! Hiccup!" His father hadn't liked him being out in the first place, but he also hadn't liked the idea of leaving him at home when the whole house could be set on fire. This was the first time, though, after letting him out that he said the words Hiccup would soon find himself getting used to hearing on a regular basis.

"Hiccup, get back inside!"

"But dad-"

"This isn't working. Get inside! That's an order!"

For a moment, Hiccup stood there, twisting the handle of the bucket fitfully in his hands, but then a Nadder came swooping down, screeching a horrible warbling screech, blasting the entire street with its white-hot fire. Hiccup ran and tripped, clumsily, and felt himself being yanked out of the way of the flames just in time by one of his father's strong hands. The dropped bucket was reduced to cinders right in the spot he'd just been in.

"I was wrong to let you try to help. You aren't ready yet," Stoick said, expression full of concern and...was that disappointment? Putting his son down, he shoved him in the direction of the forge.

"But dad, I can help!"

"Get in the forge with Gobber." When Hiccup didn't move at first, Stoick barked, "Now!"

Hiccup found himself running even though he didn't want to. His father's orders had a way of making people do what he said without them even thinking about. He passed by Astrid, who had been close enough to hear the entire exchange and whose face was smudged with ash. She was dutifully putting out a small fire and had no trouble at all lifting her bucket because she had taken to lifting buckets full of water each day for practice.

She gave him a look of sympathy, but she only had a moment for that look because she had a job to do and duty came first. Turning back to her work, her face set itself into grim lines of determination and then she didn't look at him again. The way he faded into the background, into unimportance, stung in ways he didn't really understand, and Hiccup swallowed down shame as he ran to the safety of the forge and of Gobber's menial tasks.

After the battle, the other villagers were talking about him. He heard them speaking quietly to his father, passing on carefully-word concern. There were only snippets and his name, but it was enough. He caught "nuisance" and "always underfoot" and "can't lift a bucket to save his life." There was "needs to stay inside" and "have to keep him out of the way." Stoick looked troubled by what he was hearing, but wasn't denying any of it. There were what sounded like quiet assurances coming from his lips. No, he wouldn't let Hiccup out into the fray again. It was too soon. He wasn't strong enough, that was clear.

Hiccup edged over to the other kids, trying to put some distance between himself and the whispers. They were all slouched over on the rock ledge that led to the hill where he and his father's house was.

"Some battle, huh, guys?" he asked, in tones of gentle camaraderie, arms swinging back and forth, clapping lightly in front of him. Their faces were all streaked with ash and their skin was slicked with sweat. Ruffnut's hair had come slightly undone from her usual braids and somehow Snotlout had gotten a cut on his chin. Hiccup was suddenly acutely aware of his relatively clean clothes and lack of cool injuries.

"Yeah, like you would know," said Tuffnut with a sneer. "You were in the forge the whole time while the rest of us were out doing all the cool stuff."

"I was-I was doing cool stuff. I was doing lots of cool stuff with Gobber. Loads of cool…things."

"Seriously. Hiccup. You couldn't even lift a bucket," Snotlout teased. "Seriously. What are your arms made of? Yarn?"

"No. They're made of, y'know, meat. Viking…meat." He flexed a puny muscle, and then stopped when he saw Ruff, Tuff, and Snotlout rolling their eyes.

Hiccup looked to Fishlegs, who was usually more friendly towards him than the others, but Fishlegs was looking everywhere besides Hiccup's face. Then he looked to Astrid. She was shaking her head slightly, and then she turned to go. She wouldn't meet his gaze.

But she did at least say: "Leave him alone, you guys. He was trying."

Grumbling amongst themselves, the others at least listened and all turned to go. Hiccup watched Astrid walk away with his head hanging and knots twisting up into even bigger knots in his stomach.

From then on, the hard part was getting her to look at him in the eyes.