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What Friendship Can Do: Chapter 4 - Damaged
Inside of the safety of his own home, Hiccup Haddock wasn't doing much better.
As he paced across the living space he shared with his father, the raid still going on outside momentarily forgotten and pushed to the back of his mind, shock made way for frustration and angry tears welled up in the corners of his eyes while his young and heavy heart tore itself apart all over again.
How?
Just how?!
The forge was only minutes away on foot if he ran. How could he mess even that up?! How could something as simple as that blow up right in his face? Like everything always does!
Can't he simply last one raid without having another mental meltdown?
No, it wasn't just his fault this time. It was also the Night Fury's. It was to blame for his inability to keep his cool during a raid now. Even back when he was still his toothpick of a fifteen year old self could he handle these weekly attacks better then this broken shell could these past three years.
Maybe his Viking title as an adult would become Hiccup the Traumatised, much like Mildew the Unbearable as some people liked to call the old man. Or maybe just simply Hiccup the Village-Idiot-Who-Thought-Dragons-Would-Make-Good-Buddies! Surely those would be titles befitting the son of a chief! Weither he was heir or not!
If only that damned beast had never existed. He just might've found his true place in the tribe already. He might've made his father proud.
Another humiliating failure... It was quickly becoming too much for him to bear.
And yet, he found that couldn't give up. He just couldn't. Too much relied on his eventual success. His entire future depended on it. Maybe even the future of Berk if his father and the council truly decided to settle with Snotlout as the next official heir.
Snotlout. Honestly, what did he have to offer besides pure brawn and little brain?
With an agitated sigh did Hiccup drop down on the stairs and hung his head low, face hidden in his hands.
How much lower could he fall? He already lost his position and any respect he might've possibly had as a young boy, even if it was just there because of his birthright. What else was there to lose if he didn't get it all back in time?
He needed to redeem himself. Time was running out and he wasn't even entirely sure why.
And yet he could still feel himself trembling terribly from simply imagining the monster of a dragon to be there, his heart only just calming down and his breathing finally evening out. His legs had been ready to buckle underneath him even as he paced.
He was scared. Hiccup Haddock the Third, the former heir of Berk, was scared.
No, he was terrified! That was his problem!
Hiccup looked up as he realized this, wiping a few frustrated stray tears away with his sleeve as they had escaped.
Somehow, someway, he needed to lose his fear of dragons, of that Night Fury. That was his only way of beating this... this... He wasn't even sure what to call it, but this was the only way of solving it, the only solution.
But how?
That was something he had yet to figure out.
At least one fact was crystal clear to him.
He had to face his deepest fears.
The arduous raid finally came to a slow end and Berkians all over the village cheered at their departure, shouting and jeering one last time at their retreating forms.
Despites a little hiccup here and there, the cattle casualties had been minimum and not too many families had lost their homes. Neither were there too many injured Vikings and no lives were lost that night either.
It had been a good raid, the best one they've had in weeks.
Though many silently agreed that had everything to do with the Night Fury's conspicuous absence.
No one spoke a word about it out loud, not even Snotlout or the twins and especially not in front of the mighty and influential Chief Stoick the Vast, but many were glad the incident had happened three years ago.
In their most darkest thoughts, they were happy.
No one would ever wish harm on one of their own and certainly not on a Hooligan who could barely defend himself and genuinely always tried his best on the weapons and shields he crafted with his own two hands, but Hiccup befriending and being betrayed by said 'friend' was apparently the key to ridding themselves of the rare dragon that cost them so much more than any other had before its arrival years ago.
Their homes, their valuables, their lives, and their loved ones. A lot was spared with its leave. The Vikings of Berk didn't lose as much anymore and for that they were grateful.
It was why, without Hiccup knowing so, they had taken the public announcement of his replacement so well, why they greeted him with a smile now at the forge, though one filled with pity, and why his continuing failures didn't bother them as much as they used to anymore. He was no longer a bad omen whenever he as much as set a foot outside of his own home now.
The boy was traumatised as a price for making the Night Fury leave and it was one they had willingly paid. Hiccup had paid.
That was why nobody minded his inability to fight as much as they used to and this agitated the young man even more. Hiccup could feel it whenever they walked him by, whenever someone whispered behind his back, whenever someone stared at his ruined eye for far too long.
They wanted to be careful with their local damaged goods.
He could already hear the whispers once he needed to return to the forge. If Stoick would even let him after such a display last night.
"Poor boy shut down in another raid again."
"He will never be a proper Viking now."
"No maiden will want him, no children to carry on the Haddock family."
"It's such a shame Valka was taken before they could have a second child."
They weren't whispers he hadn't heard before.
But the dragon attack had ended and that meant his father would be coming home soon to check up on his son and see if he hadn't been driven mad by his own incompetence yet.
First the man had to tend to his village and the aftermath those scaled monsters had left behind. He needed to make sure his people were safe, the remaining cattle was accounted for, and give people who may have lost their homes or who's houses are now in poor condition a new place to stay until their abodes could be repaired.
Sometimes dealing with the aftermath could be just as tiresome as the actual raid itself.
At least now that didn't include covering up another path of destruction left by his own son.
A deep and tired sigh left Stoick the Vast when midday arrived and it seemed like most of the more urgent problems had now been taken care off.
Damage had been noted and would be fixed, lost sheep and yaks were found and returned to their pens, fishermen were send out to fish and replenish what their storages now missed. The chief could now take a bit of time out of his increasingly busier schedule to check on the one person that's been constantly on his mind ever since his breakdown early last night.
It was with a steady pace and a stride that Stoick returned to his home on top of the hill, passing Berkians with barely hidden pity as they knew where he was headed and why, but successfully did he hide the conflict waging war inside of him.
A big part of him wanted to yell at his son and scold him for once again disobeying a direct order from his father and chief and putting himself aswell as others in danger. Another part of him wanted to go easy on him, believing the shock to have been more than enough of a punishment.
Going soft on someone, even if they were your own children, wasn't the Viking way, but Stoick couldn't help it.
After all, this wasn't the same as a young boy trying to prove his worth to his father with the potential cost of innocent lives. This was a young man trying in vain to prove that he wasn't broken to a village that already viewed him as a lost cause.
Stoick knew this. A Viking's reputation was as important to them as breathing, especially to a hiccup. So of course his son would do everything in his power to restore his, what little there might have been.
Still the man wished his son would stop trying so hard already. He couldn't bear to come so close to losing him all over again. If only Hiccup understood this.
First the dragon that took Valka, then the boy's several failed attempts with his own inventions, after that the Night Fury, and now Hiccup's trials and errors as he seeks to redeem himself. When would he finally give up?
Yes, pigheadedness came with being a Viking and that was at least something Stoick should be proud of, but instead it showed a testament of who the elusive Night Fury had ruined and the more he failed, all the more clearer this became.
Standing in front of his home, the broad man released another tired sigh before he faced the tired blonde, who still held her axe in hand.
"It's been quiet inside. I haven't heard anything of Hiccup. And I think you will be glad to know that no dragon has even tried to come here, Chief." Astrid told him, knowing that this worried dad would've liked to know.
"Thank you, lass. Now go and check on your family. I know your parents have been itching to see you safe and sound." The Viking Chief told her, grateful that she agreed to look after Hiccup for him.
"Anytime, Chief." Was what the girl answered and after one last hesitating glance towards the Haddock house, left to go see if her folks were okay.
After Stoick send her on her way, he entered inside to face his son.
Hiccup was still sitting on the bottom of the stairs, knees pulled up to his chest with his arms around them and his head dipped with his face hidden. Like this his son looked like that small forlorn boy all over again, though Stoick had a hard time seeing him as anything but that boy even now that he was supposed to be a man in the eyes of their village.
He couldn't grow too soft. Stoick had to remember that.
It was silent in the Haddock Household. Hiccup didn't seem to even notice his father's presence and the Viking chief didn't quite know what to say either.
Even before all of this, Stoick had a rather hard time speaking with his only child. Any conversation had between the two of them had been awkward and short with only a few words spoken at most, if it didn't turn into a loud discussion first.
Hiccup was simply too... different, even back then. Not at all like a Viking should be. Now he was as clueless as ever on what to tell him.
He didn't need to say anything.
"Dad, you're back." Hiccup stated as he lifted his head to finally notice that his father had returned.
Rubbing in his eyes and soon stretching his arms and back as they were stiff from this position, it was clear the brunette had only just woken up from what was possibly a very uncomfortable nap.
After skipping a night's sleep due to the raid and then the breakdown, no one could blame the apprentice blacksmith for having some shut eye. He wouldn't be the only one having some now that the dragons were gone.
"Hiccup..." Stoick spoke his boy's name in a tone that was all too familiar to him as he clasped his hands together.
He wanted to talk and Hiccup had a feeling it had something to do with what happened during the raid. Their talks always had something to do with what happens during the raids.
This time, however, Hiccup needed to discuss an important little thing with him too.
The brunette swallowed his nervousness down and faced the much larger man as he struggled to get up on his feet.
Yes, the biggest loss he suffered had been half of his sight and besides that he had healed remarkably well, especially considering in how bad of a state he was brought to Gothi. The old healer, despites her vast knowledge on both the medical and the mystical, had once feared he had lost too much blood to survive.
But bones had still been broken and that helped the everyday chill take a toll on him. A fire hadn't been burning in the center of the living space to give him warmth either. Winters, like the one approaching now, were therefore particularly harsh on him.
Old scars still hurt.
Stoick had to keep himself from helping his stiff son up and showing what the boy would undoubtedly see as nothing less than pity.
Showing pity of any kind was generally looked down upon by any Viking. Growing soft simply wasn't their way. They needed to be tough, needed to be stubborn, needed to be strong both inside and out.
The man with the fiery red beard knew all too well that he had done nothing but break the most prominent unspoken rule of being a Viking in the Barbaric Archipelago.
One simply could not be soft on even their own children. This was a harsh environment to live in with the dragon scourge raining fire and death on them all and the harsh, freezing cold climate. Everything they did, they did in the hopes of having their sons and daughters survive to see the next day.
Only the strong could reach adulthood. Berkian parents, like any other Viking couples, were no strangers to the possibility of losing their children. If it wasn't to dragons or the climate, it was to enemy tribes.
Frankly, it made some people wonder just how Hiccup had made it this far in life, even with his dad there to ensure his safety in every way possible.
Stoick had let his son's trauma soften him. While other chiefs would have given up on their offspring, Chief Haddock didn't. In fact, he tried even harder than before to keep his only child safe. Heir material he might not be, but his son he still was and no harm would come to him ever again so long as he might still breathe.
Hiccup released a soft sigh, steadying himself and rubbing his left forearm as he faced his father. He was apparently gathering his courage for something, but what it was he never managed to say.
"We need to talk about the raid, Hiccup. This can't continue." Stoick started, speaking in a soft and comforting tone.
Back when Hiccup was only fifteen years old and even younger, when he was known as the disaster of Berk, that tone was something he couldn't even imagine hearing his father speak in.
Most of the time the man spoke with a scowl and a disappointing voice or he'd raise it to scold and lecture the boy about another backfired invention or scheme in front of the entire village.
Then the Night Fury happened and all of that changed.
Absentmindedly did Hiccup note how much more discomforting this cool, collected, and stoic father was compared to his old yelling one. At least back then Stoick still believed his son could take a blow or two and wasn't a complete delicate flower.
In some strange way not being yelled at was even worse. The brunette was stopped in his tracks, whatever he wanted to say nearly forgotten as he looked up to his chief's comforting eyes. He felt like a little boy everytime the man gazed down on him like that.
"Dad..."
"I know you're trying to prove yourself to us." Gobber may or may not have helped him come to this realization when he complained to his friend about his son's continued disobedience and apparent want to endanger himself.
"But you need to stop. You're an excellent blacksmith and Berk needs your skill, I've seen and handled your work myself and it's splendid, but not during a raid." Stoick the Vast was being so careful and so unlike himself, as if he believed one wrong word could break his son beyond repair.
In the end, it was exactly that which hurt Hiccup even more.
His father did love him. He could see that both Gobber and Astrid had been speaking the truth earlier. The man loved him so much it hurt. But that didn't change the fact that he was still being treated as a victim.
Not as a person, not as someone with a peculiar view on the world, not as a being with feelings and thoughts of his own, not even as a destructive little disaster of a Viking anymore either, but as a mere victim of an unfortunate incident that happened three years ago.
That was something else Hiccup realized since his meltdown.
His father, his mentor, his best and only friend, his peers, and his people, every single one of them. They had all unwillingly begun to see him as nothing more than another victim made at the claws and teeth of the dragons. This was why they treated him the way they did.
He was a victim. His identity didn't extend much beyond that and his breakdowns only backed them up.
"Dad, Gobber needs my help. The village needs my help! Besides, this is the only way I can still be of use. Even the kids younger than me are risking their lives out there. It's not right for me to stay inside and cower." He argued, but like every single other conversation held between this particular father and son, the older one of the two didn't quite like to listen.
"Son, I need you to start listening to me and stay inside." Despites his name, Stoick was known to have a temper, particularly with any argument that involved his son, but he was doing his best to suppress it. Had been doing it for a long while now.
If Hiccup's disobedience had taunted his temper in any way last night, the Viking Chief was no longer showing it. That was very different from what he was used to when he was younger.
"Dad-" Hiccup would've tried to speak up again, would've wanted to bring up what he believed to be the solution to clear his problem right up, but never got the chance to tell as Stoick cut him off in an unnervingly calm tone.
"Hiccup, please. You're my flesh and blood, my son, my only child. You're all I have left of Valka. Don't make me lose you too." His mother was brought up, a subject rarely talked about in this household by the chief's own choice, and Hiccup grew quiet.
The uncomfortable sensation of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach and gnawed on him more than hunger ever could. It made him swallow anything he might have wanted to tell him.
"Next time the dragons come to raid, stay inside and do as you're told. Now go get some rest and then head to the forge. Gobber is probably expecting you." His father finished the one-sided conversation and gripped Hiccup's shoulder with a large hand that felt surprisingly light.
It was if Stoick feared he might break a bone by simply touching him and that only served to worsen the tense atmosphere in the room aswell as remind Hiccup the way his father now view him.
Hiccup did not speak up again, instead simply nodding and complying to the man's request, absentmindedly taking hold of a few locks of hair close to his faded right eye.
In doing so, his father's grip on him faltered, as did the smile the brunette hadn't even noticed was there until just now. It had been one given to reward his compliance. It looked far from genuine.
Both of them were people neither one of them recognized now.
"Good. Good man. I'll... I have to look after the village and take care of a few more issues the dragons caused. I trust to see you at dinner this evening?" To bring an end to the awkward silence taking up all of the available oxygen in the house, Stoick spoke once more and placed his hands on his side, hoping to keep up this positive mask as old as his son's perpetual frown.
Hiccup nodded, unable to speak and unable to look the other in the eye anymore. That didn't make this temporary goodbye any less awkward.
"Good." Stoick turned away from him to face the front door and inaudibly released a lung full of air he hadn't realized he was holding in.
He felt relieved to not look at Hiccup anymore and the aching in his heart ceased the moment his eyes were no longer urged to seek for any sign of life in the dulled and scarred green.
He loved his son, of course. He loved that boy with all his heart and soul and nothing could change that, but it was loving him that made seeing the scars in his freckled complexion even worse.
"I'll speak to you later, son. Rest up and meet with Gobber." The chief repeated as if to remind him before leaving their home and granting Hiccup some peace.
The young man breathed a deep sigh, as if finally able to breathe for the first time in a long while, and he fell back down on the bottom of the stairs again.
That could've gone better. Should have gone better.
Hiccup had wanted to tell his dad the solution to his problems. Instead everything currently wrong with him had been rubbed into his face and all by a well-meaning parent who wanted to do him nothing but good.
He was damaged. He hated to know, but it was true.
Whatever determination he might have felt, it had dwindled and died now.