A/N:

Hey there! It's been a while again, I know. To be honest, I kind of became stuck at one point in this story (exams tend to cause that by having your mind anywhere but writing...), but I believe I got over that now... (as my exams, since I finished the last one this morning! Now I have no exams 'till the new year...)

I would like to thank

- Phoenixofmyth

- BeliveInYourDreams

- laloquita{dot}co (Your penname is seen as a link on this site, did you know? Probably...)

- Pianist (Guest)

- Angryhenry

- ArabianDragon

for reviewing, and everyone else who has followed/favored/read this story for doing what I just mentioned...

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

So far I've only told you about the good things. There have been bad things of course, it would've been too good to be true if there hadn't. The process of learning to walk again was hard, and took some weeks, but I never gave up, wanting to make my mother proud. It was just like when I learned to ride the bike, my mother never gave up encouraging me, and I wanted to show her that I was a big boy, so I never gave up trying.

The nightmares weren't fun either. I always saw the accident happening from different points of few. One moment I would be watching from the sidelines, the next I would be seeing it with my own eyes, reliving every emotion and feeling that went through my body.

But the worst hadn't happened yet, I realize now.

I made it home just before it started to rain heavily, reminding me of the day the accident happened.

I closed the door softly, and hung my coat on the hangers near the door. "I'm home!" I said loudly, and went to the kitchen to get something to drink. I opened the door of the fridge and regarded its contents, finally deciding on some juice. I took the canteen and poured some in a glass before returning the canteen to the fridge.

I downed the glass and went to the sink to rinse it, my mind on the happenings of the day. I was very nervous for the talent show, even though I still had weeks to prepare. I already had an idea of what I wanted to play, but I needed to practice it again since I hadn't played it for a very long time.

A hand roughly whirling me around shook me out of my musings, and I almost lost my balance by the sudden move. I looked up to see my dad standing in front of me, his eyes slightly bloodshot. In his hand he held a bottle, and I realized he had been drinking again. A few weeks after the accident, he started drinking, probably to bury his feelings. Until now he hadn't bothered me, but it seemed like that had changed.

I quickly turned the tap off and walked around my dad, heading to the living room. I hoped that he would stay in the kitchen and leave me alone, but that wasn't the case.

"Where have you been?" he asked, a bit slurred.

I couldn't help the shudder that went down my spine, and I swallowed before replying: "I was at mum's grave."

His right eye twitched at the mention of my mother, and the grip on the bottle fastened. He took a step towards me, and I suddenly felt a bit afraid.

"Ehm, dad?" I stammered as I walked backwards slowly. My dad reeked of alcohol, and as much as I hated to admit is, I was scared of him. I was scared of the way he slowly advanced on me, loomed over me.

"If you just hadn't been that much of an idiot to miss the bus, she would've been here! Everything would've been fine!" The words hit me like a bludgeon, crushing my heart and flattening my lungs, making me unable to breathe. Your fault! Echoed in my head.

"Dad, n-no. You don't know what you're talking about-"

"You don't know what you're doing! Everywhere you go, disaster follows! Don't you think I have bigger things to worry about than to pity you? And now... You've ruined EVERYTHING!"

Tears started to pool in my eyes. I couldn't believe my dad was actually saying those

things to me. What had happened to the dad I knew? To the dad that always took time to tell me he loved me?

"Dad, please..."

"SHUT UP!" Then, the unthinkable happened. He slapped me. My own dad slapped me. The force knocked me down on the floor, and I just sat there, looking up at him with teary eyes.

"You're no good to anyone. You're not my son," my dad said. Then, he turned around and went to his room, slamming the door closed behind him.

It took me a while to register what happened. But once I did, I couldn't stop the tears from falling. My gaze never left the place my dad stood when he yelled at me, but I wasn't looking anymore. I was lost in my mind, which was replaying what just happened again and again.

I felt broken, angry, sad. I didn't understand it. Was this what my dad had always thought about me? Didn't he ever love me at all?

I needed to get away. Far away from here. What if my dad returned?

Standing up, I glanced one last time at my dad's closed bedroom door. Then I went to the front door and opened it, stepping out into the pouring rain.

I didn't know where I was going, and I truly didn't care. I had been walking for half an hour, mindless. I was soaked, and cold, and my body switched between shivering and sobbing. I felt pathetic. I felt worthless. My father's words kept replaying themselves in my head, crushing my heart bit by bit. I still couldn't believe it, but it had actually happened. New tears leaked from my eyes, joining the raindrops that rolled down my face.

I embraced my body with my trembling arms, hoping that they would provide some warmth, but it was futile. Cars passed me on my left, some splashing water when the drove through a puddle. I didn't care much, since I was already dripping wet.

I longed for some warmth, and I watched the housed on my right with a bit of jealousy. Those people were warm and comfortable, probably crammed together on the couch, watching television with the whole family, like my parents and I used to do when I was younger.

A few houses further in front of me, a door opened and a girl ran out, carrying the trash to the nearest bin, while trying to keep the hood of her jacket over her head with her other hand. When she put the lid back on the bin, she turned to make her way back to the house. But then she saw me, and once I was close enough for her to see my features, she gasped.

"Hayden!" I realized it was Astrid. "What are you doing outside in this weather?"
I didn't know what to say, but I didn't need to once Astrid saw the distress my eyes displayed.

"Come with me Hayden, you'll get sick out here," she said and she gently guided me to the front door of her house. I let everything come over me, not really registering everything that was happening.

Once we were inside, Astrid closed the door and took off her jacket before leading me to the kitchen, setting me down on one of the chairs. "Mom!" she yelled, the sound causing my head to pound. "Can you get me a blanket?" she asked.

A moment later a woman who looked to be somewhere in her forties entered the kitchen, carrying a dark blue blanket. At first she was surprised to see me, but then she went into mother-mode.

"Oh dear, you must be freezing. Here, this'll make you a bit warmer," she said gently, but I just stared ahead, too caught up in my own mind to think straight.

"Astrid, who is this?" Astrid's mother asked while she tucked the blanket around me.

"This is Hayden, mum." Astrid said. "The one from the accident," she added softly. Astrid's mother nodded, before feeling my forehead.

"He's already burning up," she said. "He needs to get out of these clothes, and in something warm." Astrid's mother went back to the living room, and Astrid put a mug of tea in front of me, steam slowly drifting from the top.

Astrid's mother returned, followed by her husband, who took Hiccup gently by his shoulders and lifted him.

"Astrid, prepare the guest room for him. He needs to rest, we can call his father later that he is here," he said, and Astrid left through the hall.

"Come on Hayden, let's get you some dry clothes," he said and he gently took me to the hall, and then to the bathroom. I was already starting to fall asleep, tonights events just now catching up on me. I didn't register Astrid's father gently peeling my vest and shirt off my body, and drying me with a soft towel. He then went to my left leg, fiddling with my prosthetic before detaching it.

I wasn't even aware enough to be ashamed when he took of my pants and underwear before dressing me in other clothes.

After he was done drying my hair, exhaustion finally took me over, and I fell into blissful unconsciousness.