"Did it bite you?" Hiccup's voice is almost bordering on frantic, and Ruffnut can't fathom why. Her lips feel slightly swollen and her breath is coming out in heaving coughs, but, she notes with disappointment, no, the dragon did not bite her. A pity, it looked like it had venom.
Ruffnut makes a grunting sound.
Hiccup's hands, cold and calloused, pat down her face, then check her limbs, and if Ruffnut could move she would tell him to piss off, because she's fine. A little winded, yes, but that's to be expected. She did just get a hundred pounds of tail slammed into her stomach. Gods. Ruffnut wants to curl around herself and submit herself to the painful death. This is awful.
Maybe not as fine as she's pretending, then.
"You're not bleeding," Hiccup notes to himself. He does that, Ruffnut has noticed, talk to himself. She finds the habit off-putting honestly. "Did it just hit you? Can you breathe?" and back his hands come, feeling her ribs for shifted bones or something out of alignment, and Ruffnut makes a hissed sound, shoving his hands away, at last in control of her limbs.
Beard of Thor, something is broken there. Absolutely, and utterly broken. No, she'd have impeded breathing. Probably just dislocated, which will be a pain, but not something she and Tuff haven't dealt with before.
"Shove off." She grumbles. Wheezes, more like, because she couldn't, for the life of her, qualify the sounds she makes as actual words.
Hiccup's face loses a considerable amount of the strain. His eyes go from hard emeralds to soft and actual to gods wet with relief. Ruffnut could laugh. Hiccup Haddock, trainer of the Night Fury, defeater of the Red Death, and with intellect that could put any man to shame, is crying with relief that she's okay. It makes her stomach squirm.
Tuff's concern is normal. Hiccup hadn't seemed to give a yak's arse about her.
"Gods. You scared me." Hiccup laughs slightly, like this is funny, and Ruffnut knows it's just out of relief. Ruffnut groans, closing her eyes for a moment. If Hiccup is checking for injuries, that must mean that the dragon from helheim is either momentarily occupied, or...something else. The point is, Ruffnut knows that Hiccup wouldn't let her sit still like this unless it was safe.
"I hate you." Ruffnut mumbles.
She tries to build up the willpower to sit up, but finds herself lacking. Laying here in the dirt until Tuffnut shows up and inevitably chides and makes fun of her, but gently sits her up and takes charge sounds immensely appealing.
"Yeah." Hiccup agrees. His voice sounds tight. "Sorry. I, uh, didn't think it would be that fast. Y- you've got a few ribs out of alignment that you need to watch out for, but I think that overall you came away with only a few bruises. Make sure you ice that when we get back, and breathe deeply. Norns, Ruff. That could have killed you."
Ruffnut raises an eyebrow. "Since when are you a healer? You don't have any experience in this. So don't tell me what to do."
Hiccup is quiet.
Time has taught her that this means he's thinking of a plausible lie. Or he'll say one of those things that's completely unrelated to the conversation, but doesn't feel like it's changing the topics until you look back on it later and realize that no, whatever Hiccup said made no sense.
"Hiccup." She sighs.
"Sorry. I—I think there's some spring or something tight in my peg leg. I didn't get you out of the way." Hiccup says, and there it is. Close enough to the conversation that Ruffnut can almost believe that it's actually related, and not a subject change. But, contrary to popular belief, she's not stupid.
"Sure." There's a beat.
"Do you see the other riders?" Ruffnut questions, at last opening her eyes again to squint into the forest. The hard earth beneath her fingertips is making her butt go numb, and she's fairly certain that her helmet is some twenty feet behind her, but she's very thankful to have any sensation at all. There was a moment when that tail smacked into her that Ruffnut was convinced she was about to become paralyzed.
"Not yet." Hiccup says. His eyes are creased at the edges, and he looks tense and rigid, staring up toward the sky. Ruffnut wants to reach out and poke him, just so all that anxious energy will go somewhere.
She's tired. Norns, she's very tired.
"Next time there's a wild dragon," Ruffnut is proud that her voice is getting steadier, "tell Chief to piss off for me, will you? I'm not losing my ribcage because he's too much of a coward to come out here and deal with it by himself."
Sharp green eyes snap to her. Hiccup's mouth moves like he wants to say something, but all he does
is sigh. Part of Ruffnut had said it just to get him going, because Hiccup looks like he needs something to distract him. "I'll tell him, Ruff."
Ruffnut wishes Toothless was here. No, scratch that, she wishes that Barf and Belch were here. Or anything with wings and the ability to get them out of here quickly would be very welcomed.
Hiccup shifts, and from the corner of her vision, Ruffnut sees him try and fail to suppress a flinch. His hand goes up to his side, tucked in beside his vest and his shirt, and Ruffnut sees a splattering of red there.
Suddenly, she's far less tired.
Hiccup didn't say anything about being hurt. Hiccup didn't even make any indication that the
stupid dragon got him. Thankfully, the teen is within grabbing distance, and Ruffnut makes good use of this, reaching out to grab Hiccup's forearm. Hiccup flinches, as he always does at unexpected touch, then looks at her.
"What? Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?" Ruffnut repeats, incredulous. "You muttonhead."
Hiccup's brow furrows. Like he doesn't know why she'd say that, but isn't exactly surprised at the insult. Which, well, he wouldn't be, would he, but that doesn't exactly make her feel that much better. Guilt eats through her stomach.
Ruffnut swallows compulsively. "Let me see it."
Hiccup stares at her, like she just started speaking Latin instead of Norse. "What?"
"The wound," Ruffnut tightens her grip on his forearm. Hiccup's eyes tighten. He opens his mouth to protest, and Ruffnut scowls at him, then says, pointedly, "either you show me or I sit up. Your choice."
Hiccup's expression morphs into obvious irritation. "It's fine. It's just a scratch." "Then show me." Ruffnut demands.
Hiccup's jaw shifts, like he wants to snap at her, but he controls himself. With obvious annoyance, he slowly pulls back his vest to reveal the deeply stained green shirt. Ruffnut leans forward as much as she's able, squinting. The bloodstain is getting bigger, and she can see something sticking out. Like some sort of spike. The dragon, Ruffnut remembers, had long spikes down its tail.
Ruffnut has no memory of Hiccup being hit, which only makes this more confusing and frustrating. They've always teased Hiccup for being the weakling, unable to handle the smallest bit of pain without resorting to tears, and here Hiccup sits, a spike as long as her entire finger sticking out of him, and not even a gasp.
When did he get so good at hiding injuries? Why would he need to?
"Odin's ghost," Ruffnut mutters, and props herself up first by her elbow, then carefully eases upright. Hiccup watches her with narrowed eyes, but Ruffnut can see that he's apprehensive to move himself. His eyes are glassy with pain, his forehead sweaty and making his bangs stick to it. It's a familiar sight, but not one that Ruffnut had ever thought to link to pain.
Furthering guilt nibbles at something in her. She's known Hiccup for more than fifteen years, and she's only now beginning to recognize the signs that he's in pain. It just hadn't seemed important before.
"Can you come closer?" Ruffnut asks. Hiccup's lips pinch together, but he slowly scoots his way across the forest floor to her, eyes creased tightly. It's so subtle. If she hadn't been looking for it, she wouldn't have seen it at all.
Her rib cage aching something awful, Ruffnut swears on her life and her brother's that the next time Astrid suggests they split up, Ruffnut's going to hit her over the head with something hard. She lifts her hands out, pulling back the vest and getting her first good look at the wound.
The spike is almost translucent—part of the dragon's camouflage, unfortunately, at least until it's ramming into you at full speed—but it's tipped with blood. Hiccup had been moving a lot if it's spread that far up the spike.
"When did this hit you?" Ruffnut demands, pulling back the bloodied shirt to look at the skin. Hiccup grimaces. "Uh. I don't...I don't r-really—oh my Thor! Ruff!"
"Sorry." Ruffnut says, unapologetic. The wound isn't turning purple or blue, or some other ungodly color, so she's going to happily assume that there's no poison. Hiccup's skin is, however, rigid to the touch, which isn't a good sign. The spike, when Ruffnut feels at Hiccup's back, has no exit wound.
Hiccup pants, digging his fingers into the dirt. He exhales deeply, obviously familiar with the process of swallowing down pain.
"It, uh, it got me when I was on-on T-Toothless," Hiccup says through gritted teeth. Ruffnut stops prodding at the wound to stare at the teen, because, what on helheim?
"And you just...happened to forget mentioning this?" Ruffnut says in annoyance.
"It didn't come up. We crashed, then there were more important things to do." Hiccup says defensively. Ruffnut wants to hit him. She really does. Her brother is still out there with the dragons, and he's by himself because Hiccup had the nerve to get himself impaled and then not tell anyone.
"What exactly were you gonna do? Go home and perform surgery on yourself? Pray to the goddess Eir that she'll take mercy on you?" Ruffnut demands, feeling suddenly deeply, deeply angry. And afraid. She's afraid. Because the idea that Hiccup might have died today because he neglected to tell anyone is horrifying. Hiccup is her friend. Her brother in all but blood.
Hiccup gives her a weak, grimaced smile. "Wouldn't be the first time."
Ruffnut stops herself from swearing, breathing out harshly. She pulls her bloodied fingers back. "You're an idiot. Why didn't you get help?"
Hiccup stares at her. The sort of stare that makes her squirm because it means that he truly doesn't understand why on Migard she would suggest that.
"It...um." Hiccup stumbles over his words, "My dad is-is more of the kind of person who only takes something bloody seriously when your arm's about halfway severed off," Hiccup explains weakly. Ruffnut nods, because she knows. Stoick doesn't strike her as the man to coo at and kiss every bruise. The gods know that Ruffnut's mom never is.
"And there wasn't...really anyone else to help. So, I-I just," Hiccup shrugs, nonchalant. Ruffnut wants to hit something else.
"Well, there is now." She promises, and looks him in the eyes to let him know that she's being sincere, because she's a fool and an idiot, but she needs Hiccup to hear this. "We're gonna take care of you now, I promise."
And Hiccup looks so unfathomably lost at those words that Ruffnut aches to the marrow of her bones.
She stays with Hiccup until the other riders get there, Toothless fussing over Hiccup and showing clear, obvious affection that Ruffnut can't remember Stoick ever doing with Hiccup when he was younger. Ruffnut feels inexplicably upset, then, and, as Astrid and Snotlout prepare Hiccup to be traveled back to Gothi, Ruffnut leans against Tuffnut for more than just physical support.
She says with Hiccup that whole night, broken ribs be Norns cursed. 000o000
"See, now I think it would be awesome. Why does no one agree with me? I mean, Ruff kind of made that face—you know the one that she makes when she doesn't actually agree with you, but pretending to for the sake of your sanity or her amusement? Yeah that one. I mean. Really." Tuffnut takes a bite out of the apple he's been picking his way through for the better part of ten minutes, shifting some on the crate and taking this moment to glance at the back of Hiccup's head.
The auburn-brown hair is slick with sweat, work in the forge having taken its toll. Hiccup must have been here for hours, but Tuffnut doesn't really know. He only dropped by about twenty minutes ago—where he was promptly directed to the least in-the-way position by his fellow rider —and Hiccup has barely stopped working long enough to offer a few replies.
He's focused.
And a focused Hiccup means an un-talkative Hiccup, which really wasn't what Tuffnut wanted. Not that Hiccup really talks to him anyway. In the six months that Tuffnut as really known-known Hiccup (he prefers not to think about before the Red Death, because some memories are too sharp to run his mind over), he's come to the safe conclusion that Hiccup, for all he rambles, is a relatively quiet person. Getting him to talk when he doesn't want to talk is like trying to herd the wild cats on the far side of the island Ruff is so fond of.
Tuffnut sighs bordly, taking another bite of the apple and chewing thoughtfully. "Do you think it's a dumb idea?"
Toothless gives a rumble from his corner of the forge, clearly done with Tuffnut's endless rambles. His rider's expression isn't much different and Tuffnut is struck, once again, with how strange it is that Toothless and Hiccup are two separate beings. They act so much like one so often that he and Ruff have privately wondered if a single soul was accidently split by Odin when giving Valka her first child, and the Asgardian just threw up his hands and dumped the other half into Toothless's mother.
Whoever Toothless's mother is.
Weird to think about, because that also means thinking about other Night Furies, and that's...well, weird . Toothless is solitary. Alone. If the recent Isle of the Night fiasco has taught them anything, it's that. Even if it isn't exactly the most happy message to date.
Hiccup doesn't look back at him, but finally speaks for the first time since directing Tuffnut to the crate and telling him to sit and not move. "I think that your idea is interesting," that means he thinks it's dumb, but trying to be polite about it. Tuffnut's been around enough adults to conclude this is frequently the case. He hates the word now. "But how are we supposed to get the fire into the small box in the first place? We have a flint and steel. And dragons for that matter."
Toothless's ear flap flicks moodily, but his eyes remain closed. Tuffnut glances at him for just a moment. He learned pretty quickly on that if he wants to get a good read on Hiccup's mood, he need not look any further than his big, fire-breathing, scaly companion.
Tuffnut groans. "Come on." He throws up his hands. "It would be so cool! Just imagine it." He lifts up his hands for emphasis as he says, "You're standing in front of the enemy. They've un- weaponized you—or so they think. One moment you have nothing, the next you pull out the small, but unassuming box and with a flick of your wrist—boom. Fire."
Hiccup glances back at him to raise an eyebrow.
Tuffnut sobers, sighing. "You think it's dumb."
"I didn't say that."
"You practically did." Tuffnut folds his arms across his chest in disagreement. "Your silence says everything."
Hiccup makes a noise in the back of his throat. Tuffnut squints, trying to determine what it means, but can't decipher it. Thor, sometimes trying to read Hiccup is difficult. (Most of the time it's difficult.) That doesn't mean he doesn't try, though.
Hiccup returns to the iron bar that he's hammering out. Tuffnut's seen enough of the tailfin to know that it's probably going to be a part of that. Where remains to be seen, but judging from the length, it looks like it will be on the inside of the fin. Huh. Maybe an update. Tuffnut can't remember it breaking.
"Is that all you came in here for, though?" Hiccup asks after whacking the rod a few times. "To talk about your fire box?"
Tuffnut makes a face. "That's lame. It needs a different name." "Fire box gets the point across."
Tuffnut spits a seed at him. It pings against the back of his neck, and Hiccup winces, hand lifting there automatically to rub. Toothless's ear twitches, and Tuffnut allows Hiccup to glare at him, pretending to be contrite. Then Hiccup returns to work, only for something to loudly bang against the front window. "Oh, for the love of—Tuffnut, what?"
Tuffnut raises his hands in surrender when Hiccup looks back at him, "Hey, innocent here. Well, sort of. I'm innocent of that."
Other things...not so much.
But everyone is guilty somewhere.
The banging sounds again, and Hiccup must decide that it's not him unless Tuffnut is using his mind to do so, and rips off the gloves he was wearing, stalking towards the entrance of the store. Tuffnut frowns, curious. Gobber has already retreated for the night. Tuffnut's only in here because
he saw the forge light was on and decided to see what Hiccup was doing up this late. Well, it's not late, but it's late. The kind of just-after-dusk late, rather than midnight.
Tuffnut takes another bite of his apple, tilting forward to follow Hiccup across the room with his gaze.
Despite the open doorway, their mysterious visitor is banging against the window. Hiccup moves towards it will obvious agitation in his steps, grabbing the shutters and pulling them open. A large figure is standing in the doorway, all muscle and shoulders in a way that Tuffnut has never been. Something he's jokingly blamed Ruffnut for. Wasn't enough room in the womb for both of them and broad shoulders, so he had to drop it.
Privately, he'd take a sister over a broad frame.
Not that he'd ever tell Ruffnut that. Thor, no. They might have to hug or something. Elgh.
"Hiccup!" the man barks, and that's all it takes for Tuffnut to place him. Vald the Ugly. It took Tuffnut the better part of his childhood before he realized that the title wasn't meant as an insult to his appearance, but rather his personality. Which, in defense, the man is hideous. His eye got gouged out by a Monstrous Nightmare before Tuffnut was born, and it clawed off about half his face. That and his inability to take care of his hair doesn't really help his cause. "Where in the Nine Realms is Gobber, boy?"
Ugh.
Yeah.
Ugly.
Vald drops a weapon onto the window seal, and Tuffnut watches Hiccup contain a small flinch. He would have missed it before the Red Death. He doesn't now.
Toothless's head raises, eyes pinning on the scene.
"He's—he's not here." Hiccup fumbles out, "He already went home for the night. The forge closes
at dusk. You know that." The unspoken, everyone knows that, hangs in the air.
Vald scoffs. "I'm not an idiot, boy. Well, you just tell him tomorrow that I want to speak with him
about his craftsmanship."
Something tight bounces across Hiccup's frame. Tuffnut's hand clenches around the apple somewhat. Hiccup doesn't seem surprised at the near-shouting. Or the attitude. More...resigned. Tuffnut wonders if this is a familiar scene. "What? Why? Did something happen?" Hiccup asks.
Vald leans forward, eyes narrowing. The horrid scar looks almost fresh in the poor lighting. "My axe broke. Broke. I just bought the Thor forsaken thing, and it broke. Either that old man's work is not up to par, or it never was. I can't believe this. If it had happened in battle, I would've been killed —"
As the man is venting, Hiccup leans forward and grabs the axe. At a distance, and with an untrained eye, Tuffnut can see absolutely nothing wrong with it. The weight looks even, the handle put together with the bolts keeping the metal attached to the wood firm. The only thing wrong that Tuffnut can see is that it looks a little dull.
Then Hiccup turns it, and Tuffnut feels his eyebrows raise with surprise. Weapons on Berk are like
most vikings: short lasting, but well made. They don't just...crack. Not unless Vald was going toe- to-toe with rocks. Which, well hilarious, is utterly pointless.
"—Doesn't he know that just because we may not be fightin' dragons every fortnight anymore that it isn't time to slacken up—"
Hiccup's head snaps up. "Don't." He interrupts. The larger man only scowls.
"Who do you think—"
"It wasn't Gobber." Hiccup continues on, like Vald hadn't said a word. "It's mine. The basework, at least. Gobber must've finished it up before I was done with strengthening the steel. That or we had to put it together quickly."
Vald makes an angry snorting noise, like he wants to yell, but respects Hiccup too much to do that. Tuffnut wonders what that would be like. Even though he does respect Hiccup, he yells at him all the time. So does Snotlout. And all the other riders. But...maybe it's not respect, but fear.
That thought sobers him a little.
"Well, see to it that it doesn't happen again," Vald snarls, "I won't be wielding some half-broken
weapon in the heat of battle. My death would be on your hands." Another small, imperceptible flinch.
Well, hey now—
Tuffnut moves slightly, getting up to intervene, but Toothless catches his gaze and gives the slightest jerk of his head no. Tuffnut grits his teeth, but stays himself, letting Hiccup fight his own battle.
"Alright, alright, just...calm down," Hiccup says, ever full of that endless patience. Where he gets the reserves is beyond Tuffnut. "I'll talk to Gobber about giving you a refund in the morning, or I can fix the axe."
"I don't want your filthy"—Vald stops himself. Old habits die hard—" I'll take the refund."
He leaves the axe and starts to stalk off, an obvious limp in his stance. Probably from the axe. An accident that sent him flying over here to put the fear of the Ugly into Gobber. Not that it would've worked, Gobber doesn't take that yak dung from anyone. Nastily, Tuffnut realizes that he hopes that the wound hurts, because Hiccup took a few verbal blows of his own in that conversation.
"You're welcome," Hiccup mutters and hauls the axe off the seal before closing the shutters. Tuffnut whistles. "He was in a better mood than usual."
"Not particularly," Hiccup sighs, dumping the broken metal down in a pile of discarded weapons in the far corner that Tuffnut hadn't noticed before. The forge is so cluttered, he's not surprised. Really, it's worse that Ruff's side of the room. Then Hiccup adds, almost to himself, "I'll need to talk to Gobber about making sure he's letting the metal cool enough. He's been working himself too hard lately. Probably didn't realized the pocket was there."
Tuffnut feels his jaw slide open. "Wait, wait, wait," he lifts a hand, "you lied? That was Gobber's axe?"
But Gobber is...well, Gobber when it comes to weapons. And Hiccup is...a bad liar. Everyone knows that. They make fun of him for it. About how he can't act to save his life, and everyone would know if he was lying, even strangers.
Hiccup gives him a blank look. "Well it wasn't mine."
Tuffnut's jaw slides down a little further. He stares at the back of the auburn-brown head in disbelief as Hiccup picks up the metal rod from earlier and stuffs it back into the awaiting red-hot coals. Like this is just totally normal, and he hadn't taken the blow for Gobber by lying. Like he hadn't just lied, and Tuffnut hadn't noticed.
Tuffnut hadn't noticed.
Hiccup can lie. And he can lie well.
And, of course, logically, that makes sense. You can't hide a dragon from your entire village for weeks without anyone coming across it without knowing how to wield a mistruth. Tuffnut stares at the back of the one-legged viking and wonders for a moment how many other times that Hiccup has lied, but no one noticed because they didn't care to look for it.
000o000
Snotlout, unlike what most people would assume of him at a first glance, isn't one for personal space.
At least, not with people that he likes. There are still other vikings that, despite having grown up with them, he would first take a finger from then offer a familiar clap to a shoulder. Mildew, for instance. Or, on some days, Gustav. But that's not really the point. The point is that Snotlout doesn't even notice that he's doing it until Hiccup starts evading it.
A slap on the shoulder, pat on the back, punch in the arm. Anything. It's just so ingrained into him that when he starts trying to offer it to Hiccup and Hiccup doesn't want it, it rouses a furious curiosity in him. Vikings are naturally a slap-on-the-back kind of group. Hiccup should be used to it. Everyone resigns themselves at one point or another.
But Hiccup slips away from his hands before even Snotlout realizes what he's about to do, and he makes it seem so natural, all smiles and laughter, that Snotlout shrugs it off for months. But as the pattern keeps repeating, Snotlout finally comes to a realization one day, watching Hiccup flinch back from Astrid trying to console him by squeezing his hand, that Hiccup is...twitchy.
One consolation: It's everyone he shies away from, not just him.
It helps him feel better about the whole ordeal in a vaguely abstract sort of way. But not enough.
Snotlout has spent a lot of time making his cousin's life hell. He's ashamed to admit it, but it's a truth that doesn't go away just because he doesn't want it to be there. Jealousy twisted up inside of him until Snotlout was suffocating on it, and he needed an outlet for his father's constant beratement.
It feels strange, paying attention to Hiccup now that he wants to understand him, and not just for merciless teasing.
"He's kind of twitchy," Snotlout tells Tuffnut one day, after long hours in the Academy having stripped away his filters. Tuffnut raises an eyebrow, keeping his eyes closed. "Hiccup," Snotlout appends, watching Hiccup and Toothless walk through the village. There's an obvious limp to
Hiccup's step today that answers the question of why they're not flying.
Snotlout watches as Hiccup leans away from Sniveling Sark's well-meaning back-clap.
Snotlout is perched on the edge of the Thorsten's roof, Hookfang, Barf and Belch doing something with Ruffnut behind them. Tuffnut is laying down as much as one can against a slanted rooftop, hands propped behind him. His elbow is digging into the side of Snotlout's knee, but he doesn't care.
"He's always twitchy." Tuffnut says, like that answers everything. " Why though?" Snotlout asks, honestly lost.
"I dunno," Tuffnut's more awake than he's pretending to be, Snotlout can tell. "Maybe he got dropped as a baby and has trust issues after that."
It's not really funny, because it's something they used to tease Hiccup about, and Snotlout doesn't laugh at it. Tuffnut finally pops one eye open to look at him, and turns his head. "Snotlout," he sighs, "it's probably not that big of a deal . You're twitchy around your dad."
"That's different." Snotlout defends. Spitelout hit him enough that Snotlout learned to be wary of his touch. Tuffnut knows that. He and Ruff have cleaned up some of the worst blood and bruises. It's a raw, aching part of Snotlout that he tries desperately to keep hidden. Gods, he hates failing his father. "No one would hit Hiccup. He's...perfect.'' The word comes out snide and frustrated, and Snotlout immediately wants to take it back.
This isn't about his jealousy issues, massive as they may be.
Tuffnut looks at Snotlout, and there's a seriousness there that reminds Snotlout that the twins aren't nearly as stupid as they pretend to be. It reminds him that Tuffnut may be mostly illiterate but he can break someone's entire arm while naming all the bones. Ruffnut may act like her head's full of air, but she's far from it.
"We did." Tuffnut says quietly.
Snotlout averts his eyes, feeling sick and sort of nauseous as he always does whenever someone brings up the past. Hiccup never has. For all that Snotlout can tell, he hasn't held it against them.
"But...not that much." Snotlout defends. It's not an excuse. It isn't. It's the truth. Snotlout, much to his current shame, found that nasty words worked a lot better in getting a reaction out of Hiccup than his fists. Hiccup wouldn't fight back, he'd just...take it, then crawl off to lick his wounds.
Tuffnut releases a breath, "This really bothers you, doesn't it?" It does.
Norns curse it, but it does.
And Snotlout isn't sure how to explain that the fact that he can't show Hiccup affection in his chosen method is driving him a little mad. Snotlout isn't a words guy. He's never been a words guy. But physical contact? The warm, comforting kind that Snotlout has been craving from his father since conception? That he can give. That he knows how. For all that he's faulted and awful, at least the Riders—sans Hiccup—know that he'll give them an embrace.
He's not like Spitelout in that manner, and it's one of the few things that he's actually squirmingly
proud to have a difference in.
"But it's not like everyone in Berk had it out for him!" Snotlout snaps. He hears Hookfang make a sound behind the house, and Ruffnut cackling. He doesn't bother worrying about it, knowing that Hookfang wont let Ruffnut do anything too dangerous. Stupid yes, dangerous no. "Not everybody's hit him."
Norns, this sounds awful. It's like he's justifying that some hitting was fine, but not all of it. And yeah, Snotlout's dad smacks him up a bit, but that's only because Snotlout's earned it. He gets that Hiccup sometimes needed to be reprimanded. But to the point that he's flinching from everyone?
"Probably not," Tuffnut concedes. He's watching Snotlout now. "But maybe enough people did." Snotlout deflates at that.
He stares at Tuffnut, feeling a yawning, gaping horror begin to crawl inside his chest. His heart smacks against his ribcage, itching in his ears.
Nobody really liked Hiccup, Snotlout remembers. They called him the Useless. And the tribe follows after its chief. And Stoick was never really protective of his cousin. Or seemed to like him that much. It's like after Valka got eaten that he just couldn't muster up the will to bother anymore. Not until Hiccup went and killed the Red Death.
And even now, Snotlout knows that the relationship between Hiccup and Stoick is...strained, at best.
"That's awful," Snotlout breathes. A year ago, he might have laughed and smugly said that Hiccup was getting his reward for being such a screw up. But it's different. Actually knowing Hiccup, humanizing him, has vastly changed Snotlout's perspective.
Norns! Snotlout's sitting here whining to Tuffnut about how he can't be affectionate. Something Snotlout a year ago would have laughed long and hard at.
"Yeah," Tuffnut says in agreement. They don't say anything else after that, and Snotlout's mood turns sour. He leaves later after eating with the Thorsten's and returns back to his quiet, dark house. His dad didn't wait up for him, but Snotlout's used to this by now. Fishlegs' mom does, he remembers vaguely, but he's too emotionally spent to think much about it.
He dreams that night of playing with Hiccup when they were little. A vague memory of him and the twins setting up an elaborate prank for the Haddock, and how it had gone wrong and Hiccup had fallen and hit his head. He'd cried and cried about it until Stoick came and smacked him in the back of his head and told him not to be such a child about it.
Snotlout remembers thinking that that was deserved. The dream moves on to him being chased by a wolf then eaten alive, and he wakes up in a cold sweat, his heart racing. He's in a mood for the entire morning, something which his father is considerably irritated by.
Snotlout can't stop thinking about Hiccup's twitching. When he finally leaves for the Academy, it's early in the morning, and Snotlout arrives before anyone else does. Hookfang is more than happy to annoyingly brush against Snotlout's back with hot breath, causing Snotlout to swat at him. But Hookfang shows affection by being vexing, and Snotlout takes some comfort in the fact that his dragon has noticed that he's not exactly up to spirits.
Hiccup and Toothless arrive a few minutes later, and Snotlout can feel Hiccup's eyes on him as he dismounts from the Night Fury. There's an awkward pause before Hiccup asks, "Wh-what are you
doing here?"
Snotlout chews on the inside of his cheek. He shifts his weight. Suddenly seeing his scrawny, thin cousin in front of him reminds him of how much he doesn't want to actually talk about this. Tuffnut is one thing. It's Tuff. But Hiccup is another.
But Hiccup is giving him that stare that sort of makes Snotlout want to crawl behind something and also smack his cousin, and he finally relents with a sigh.
"Can I ask you something?" Snotlout asks.
"Um. Sure." Hiccup says warily.
Norns, Snotlout quietly despairs. Because Hiccup seems like he's bracing himself for some sort of verbal trap, one that Snotlout would be all too happy to exploit a different day. But not right now, and probably not tomorrow either. He needs to let this sink in before he can go back to treating his cousin like normal.
"You're, uh, twitchy." Snotlout explains, shifting his feet again. He can hear Hookfang move behind him, then the hot breath against his back. Reassured, he meets Hiccup's eyes again. Toothless is looking at both of them, through them, and Snotlout is again reminded of the dragon's intelligence. "Why?"
Hiccup looks...surprised isn't the right word. Embarrassed or pained might be better. He rubs at the back of his neck. "Is it that obvious?"
"If you're looking for it. Yeah." Snotlout concedes. "Is it like a...germ thing or something?"
Snotlout is hopeful. Some sort of stupid excuse like this would be very Hiccup-y. But he's also not an idiot.
Hiccup sighs. "Um. No. I-I just." He looks at Toothless. "It surprises me. Sometimes. I guess. I don't know, I don't really notice it anymore. I just...when I see a hand coming, I just. Recoil. It's habit."
Snotlout frowns. Again, he asks, "why?"
Hiccup studies his face. He looks like he's trying to see the game there once more, and Snotlout feels worse. But apparently deciding Snotlout's intentions are sincere, he starts cautiously, "I haven't...had a lot of people...touch me. Not unless it was for a reprimand or to yank me back from something. I guess...it-it's just...weird. I, um." Hiccup looks at the ground, "I-I-I guess...I'm just preparing for another hit and it doesn't come."
Snotlout feels his face pale. He looks at his hands, fingers strengthened, calloused and strong from years of fighting. And he thinks about scrawny Hiccup, never fighting back but taking the blows. He thinks about how Hiccup always seemed to be sporting some bruise or another before the Red Death, and how Snotlout didn't think twice about it.
And for the first time in a long time, Snotlout feels pissed at Stoick. Because it is Stoick's job to keep Hiccup safe. Family clans are sacred. And Stoick didn't even bother to hit whoever was hitting Hiccup back. He didn't care. Snotlout wishes someone had. Just once, he wishes that someone hit back whoever hit Hiccup first.
Toothless's eyes settle on Snotlout. There's something knowing in his gaze, and Snotlout feels the smallest bit of relief wash through him. Toothless, he knows, would never do what Stoick does. If
someone hit Hiccup, Toothless would make sure they regret it. Stoick would laugh it off. Norns. Snotlout can't even imagine that. He hates being squashed beneath his father's pressure, but at least he knows that Spitelout sees him.
Hiccup looks up at Snotlout sharply. "If-if you tell anyone this, I swear on Hlidskjalf that I will make your life miserable. And if this is some...some sort of prank..."
Snotlout appraises his hands. "Hey, relax. I'm not asking for malicious intent. I just..." Snotlout releases his bottom lip. He takes a step forward, and sees Hiccup visibly stop himself from retreating a step back. "I'm sorry." He blurts.
Hiccup stares at him.
"I'm sorry. About before. When I wasn't...when we weren't..." Snotlout doesn't even know how to say it.
"It's fine." Hiccup says.
"No," Snotlout snaps, "it's not. It's not fine. And I'm sorry." Hiccup looks away.
Snotlout takes another step forward, and then another and another until they're only arms length apart. Tentatively, Snotlout asks, "Is-is it okay...if I touch you?" He feels ridiculous, but the kicked lamb look that Hiccup is sporting makes something inside of him fiercely protective.
Hiccup takes a deep breath, and Toothless, bless his soul, looks ready to intervene if need be, but Hiccup gives a shaky nod. Snotlout carefully, hesitantly, pulls his cousin into the first hug since they were children and demanded to do so by their parents. Hiccup shudders inside of the grip, and he seems like he doesn't know what to do with his arms for a moment, because they just dangle there.
Because Hiccup isn't familiar with this.
Cause no one ever touched him unless it was to hit him before the Red Death.
Snotlout privately vows to get Astrid to hug Hiccup as often as possible, because this is awkward and uncomfortable for the both of them. Hiccup buries his face into the side of Snotlout's shoulder like a small child hiding, then withdraws.
Toothless's soft, approving look makes something in Snotlout strangely proud. "I'll kill you if you tell anybody about this." Snotlout warns.
"I'm sure," Hiccup is all dry humor.
Later, when the rest of the riders arrive, Snotlout is in much better spirits. He complains about the class, whines about Hiccup generally, and goofs off with the twins. But he sees that Hiccup is watching him much differently, as if a side to Snotlout he didn't imagine existed was revealed to him this morning, and he's not about to let that go.
He's very proud when, days later, Hiccup hits on the arm him first to get his attention. The sort of mindless action that you only take when you're comfortable around someone. When you feel safe. The sort of thing that Snotlout has only ever seen Hiccup do with the riders.
And Snotlout swears then, on the deathbed of his mother, that the next person who hits Hiccup, he's going to hit back.
And months and weeks later, Snotlout smacks Hiccup on the arm.
And, Snotlout is proud to note, Hiccup doesn't flinch, he just rolls his eyes.
000o000
Fishlegs dumps the books on the table, feeling miserable at the prospect of reading through all of the text. He'll admit that he's not always entirely excited to read up on dragon lore. A majority of the time, he couldn't get enough of it. But it's been days since any of them have gotten more than five hours of sleep collectively, and Fishlegs is ready for this whole affair to be over with.
"Do you really think that we'll find any sort of reference to this dragon?" Fishlegs asks Hiccup, seated on the table across from him. The teen is already buried halfway through the book of dragons, looking at a page with a pinched expression.
"I'm not sure." Hiccup admits, distracted. "I hope so."
Fishlegs sighs. He wants to sleep. Ever since this dragon showed up on Berk a few days ago, they've been fighting between keeping it from killing their flocks to trying to find the blood thing. The unfortunate thing about it is that it seems to leave no trace evidence of itself. It's invisible, too, which doesn't help in the slightest.
The twins, of course, were thrilled, but Fishlegs likes to understand what's going on. This isn't one of those times.
"Astrid said that she got a particle footprint," Fishlegs reminds the other viking. He's listing information outloud, reworking through the facts. Something that he knows annoys everyone else but Hiccup seems to have a surprising amount of patience for. "It was bigger than Hookfang's, so we're probably looking for some bigger form of a Changewing. At least we can remove legless dragons from the list."
Hiccup nods, flipping another page. He's gone through seven in the time that Fishlegs has taken to open his own small book. Bork may have been good at jotting down basic notes, but he wasn't the only Berkian to think of doing so. The tomes that Fishlegs had the unfortunate task of gathering from various viking families are their respective records of dragons.
Fishlegs isn't expecting there to be much else that isn't already in the Book of Dragons.
"Do you think that it's like the Changewing?" Fishlegs asks, looking down at his page. The first dragon listed is this author's first kill. Fishlegs feels the familiar pang at how bloodthirsty their ancestors were. Then a more familiar reprimand that he was training to be a dragon killer, and has no right to judge.
"I'm not sure." Hiccup says. He flips another page.
"I think it might be. There's not really a way that makes sense for them to camouflage themselves if they aren't using some form of the Changewing's skill."
"Uh-huh."
Hiccup has stopped listening.
Fishlegs, taking the hint, goes back to his book. He reads through a page carefully, then a few others. He's on his fifteenth listed dragon when Hiccup closes the Book of Dragons and reaches for Fishlegs's stack. Fishlegs stops, incredulous.
"You said we needed to read every page carefully." He accuses.
Hiccup's hand freezes on the top of the stack of books. He always does that. His body will freeze up for a second whenever someone raises their voice at him, and a wave of bitterness washes through Fishlegs. Softening his tone, he says, "I thought we were going to be thorough about this so we could go to bed."
"We are." Hiccup says, seeming confused. He looks at Fishlegs from underneath long bangs. "I am."
"Then..." Fishleges gestures toward the Book of Dragons. "I know we've all been through it a dozen times, but there might be something in there that we missed."
Fishlegs has honestly read that book enough to write his own replica of it. He's not much of an artist, but Hiccup is, and he could get Hiccup to do any illustrations for him. Actually, it might be a good idea to make a copy of the Book of Dragons. You never know what might happen to it.
"There wasn't." Hiccup says. He still hasn't moved, hasn't relaxed, looking at Fishlegs warily.
Fishlegs remembers the conversation. He hates it when Hiccup tenses up like this. It makes him feel awful. But he's grumpy and he wants to go home and snuggle with Meatlug, and he's not going to get that chance if Hiccup is slouching off on work. Which is sort of weird, because Hiccup may be many things, but he's not lazy.
"You barely skimmed it." Fishlegs points out.
Hiccup shakes his head. He grips the corner of one of the viking's journals and pulls it off the stack, carefully sitting back down across from Fishlegs. His movements are growing less stiff, but that edge of wariness is still there. "No, I read it."
"Everything?" Fishlegs looks at the book, then back to the dragon trainer. Hiccup nods slowly.
Fishlegs stares, uncomprehending. "You read the entire book in that time?" Hiccup nods again, eyebrows drawing together. He just seems confused now, instead of braced, and Fishlegs feels his shoulders drop with incredulity. "That's not possible. You can actually read that fast?"
"Uh. Y-yes?"
Fishlegs can't stop staring. Hiccup looks like he wants to squirm underneath the scrutiny. His hands bounce across the table, the journal laying flat in front of him. "I mean. It's not that...that big of a deal."
"It is." Fishlegs argues, flabbergasted. "Hiccup, that's amazing!"
Hiccup looks to the side for a moment. "It is?"
The dragons outside forgotten for the moment, Fishlegs leans forward across the table, gushing, "I can't believe that you can read so fast! How did I not know that you can read this fast? Does Stoick read this fast? He's the one that taught you."
Something clouds in Hiccup's expression. He rubs a thumbnail across a stray piece of wood on the table. "He, uh, didn't, actually. Gobber did."
"Oh." Fishlegs intones.
A snide, nasty part of Fishlegs isn't that surprised. Stoick never struck him as the type of parent that was very present. But a bigger part of him feels a deep sympathy and loss on Hiccup's part. Learning to read was a gift that few on Berk were not blessed with. The process was a treasured bonding moment between parents and child. Fishlegs thinks fondly of his own mother's finger following his words across a page.
"Gobber doesn't strike me as a speed reader." Fishlegs says as an afterthought.
Hiccup snorts. He opens the journal. "He's not. He swears his way through long texts." That, however, seems about right.
But Fishlegs is hooked now, and there's little chance of Hiccup dropping the subject with him. The dragon can wait a few minutes. Fishlegs always privately treasures these moments when he gets to learn something about Hiccup. The other teens he's known since they were children, and has watched habits developed. Hiccup, as much as it pains him to say, is mostly a mystery to him. Even now.
"So how did you learn to read that fast? It seems so helpful." Fishlegs prods, even though Hiccup looks like he'd rather be done with the subject.
The dragon trainer looks up at him through messy bangs. "You just...believe me? That I can? Just like that?"
Fishlegs nods, glancing away for a second. "Why wouldn't I?"
Hiccup gives a grimace wrapped neatly in a smile. Rather than answer the question, he evades it smoothly. "I just had a lot of time to read when I was younger. There wasn't a lot else you can do when you're laid up hacking out your lungs."
Fishlegs nods. He remembers that Hiccup used to get sick a lot when they were kids.
Hiccup looks down at the book again, not skimming, but actually reading, and Fishlegs shakes his head in amazement. Hiccup keeps talking, the words almost absentminded. "I dunno. It was easier, I guess. The only thing I could do. Less lonely."
Fishlegs tenses up.
He never forgets, never sure if he can, how awful they treated Hiccup. Fishlegs may not have often participated in the teasing, but sometimes he wonders if ignorance was that much better.
Hiccup looks up, as if having recognized what he said. "Not that it-it was bad. I, uh, just. When I was sick. My dad...wou—couldn't keep me company. He was chief. More important things."
Fishlegs eyes narrow. He opens his mouth to remind Hiccup that he is important, but never gets the chance.
Hiccup snaps a finger down to the page, as if his brain just caught up with his eyes. "Here, look. I found it." He slides the journal across the table, and Fishlegs lets the matter drop. He reads through the text as quickly as he can, nodding to himself. It seems about right. Mystery Class. And, as
expected, similar to the Changewing.
Hiccup is already getting up to his feet by the time that Fishlegs is scrambling to his, reading through the text again for weaknesses. Hiccup opens the Great Hall's doors, calling for Toothless. Fishlegs finds what he's looking for, and feels relief that it's not some sort of strange concoction. Mildew's ancestors didn't really strike Fishlegs as the type that wouldn't resort to witchcraft.
Four hours later, muddy, bruised and exhausted, the dragon is safely relocated and Fishlegs and the other riders are ready to kill each other or take a nap. Some mixture of the two ends up happening, where none of them feel like going home and end up sleeping on top of each other and their dragons in the Academy.
Fishlegs, however, learns that if they want to be as effective as possible in learning new information, sometimes he isn't the best source to read through something. He loses track of the amount of times that he hands off some sort of long text to Hiccup and has the information he needs in half the time.
000o000
"Astrid?"
Astrid groggily tilts her head to let the speaker know she's listening, even though her brain is struggling to catch up with this memo. Her entire body feels heavy and she's leaning forward, trapped between some sort of suspension and the back of a chair.
Manacles.
She's pulling on her shoulders by making her entire body weight lean against it, and she straightens up carefully with a grimace. A nasty headache is beginning to form at the base of her skull, and she's not too keen on angering it.
She blinks her eyes open hazily, and waits for the world to come into focus. Hiccup is seated in the chair across from her, his arms pulled behind his back. There's a dark bruise forming on the edge of his eye, cascading down his cheek and making the entire left side of his face look swollen. His lip is split and he's obviously favoring his left side.
Astrid swears.
She sits upright with more force, struggling against her bonds, but finds no give in the chain. She's chained to the chair, and unless she wants to risk breaking the bottom of the boat—because the rocking motion that she feels beneath her feet is obviously a ship—she can't throw herself to the floor to break the wood.
"Hey, hey, hey," Hiccup calls, "calm down."
"What happened?" Astrid demands. "Who hit you?"
Hiccup's brow furrows with concern, which for some reason only makes her angry. "You don't remember?" he asks her.
"No, I don't bloody remember!" Astrid snaps, and bites on her tongue. Hiccup is the one who deserves her ire, and her yelling at him isn't going to help anything in the long run. Nor her headache, if she's being honest with herself.
She takes a quick scan around the room. They're in some sort of office. There's a desk with a
gathering of papers squished onto every edge, and a bucket of weapons in one corner. The ship is bare of any decorations, suggesting that it's not a flagship.
There's something about it that seems vaguely familiar, as if it's out of a dream. She sort of remembers being dragged in here, then someone talking to Hiccup and then her getting hit in the head because he wouldn't answer their questions.
It takes her long seconds before she can place the name to the voice. "Alvin." She spits. Hiccup nods. "Yeah." He agrees, quietly.
Astrid bites on the bottom of her lip. She'd never admit it, but the fact that they're on a boat, sailing to gods know where, without their dragons or even a weapon to defend themselves? It scares her. Of course, she and the riders are resourceful in the way that any viking has to be, but she can't remember what happened to the other riders or their dragons. She doesn't even know how long they've been here.
Being held hostage, as much as she hates to admit it, is something that she's privately terrified of. Astrid takes comfort in situations where she's in control. A hostage situation makes her into a victim, and she hates that feeling.
"You probably have a concussion," Hiccup concludes, "lift your head up?"
Astrid does so, so Hiccup can try and get a look at her eyes from the single lamp hanging in the center of the room. The flame is flickering bright enough, she guesses, but not enough that it feels comforting. Hiccup's slight grimace is all the conformation that she needs that her pupils are, in fact, uneven.
"Great." Astrid sighs. She works her wrists against the manacles. "Catch me up?"
"Um, okay," Hiccup rolls his shoulders, biting sharply on his lower lip. "Right. Alvin showed up on the far side of Berk and started taking the wild dragons hostage. He was hoping that we'd already trained them and that they'd respond well to him."
"Oh, gods." Astrid says in annoyance.
She barely resists the urge to roll her eyes. It's funny how Alvin, despite being twice her age, seems to think that training is just that simple. They don't remove the wild animal out of the dragon. That's not what training them is.
All it is is a massive trust exercise.
But only for one or a group of vikings. Not every viking that's walked Midgard. Stormfly would still be more than willing to spike someone through the eye if they looked at her wrong.
"I know," Hiccup says, dryly. "A-anyway. We noticed—"
"—And went to investigate," Astrid fills in. This is familiar. It's what happened after the battle that gets fuzzy. She's guessing that they didn't win, if she and Hiccup are tied up in the captain's office of a ship. "Things went bad?"
"To put it mildly." Hiccup agrees. His elbows are shifting, and Astrid wonders if there's something wrong with his back for him to be squirming like that. Oh, Norns, it hadn't even occurred to her to ask if Alvin had hurt Hiccup while she was otherwise occupied.
"Are you okay?" she asks. "You don't look so good."
"Nothing that won't heal with time." Hiccup promises, which means no, but he's trying to spare her feelings. Astrid bristles a little at that. She's not a child. She doesn't need Hiccup to protect her from the truth.
"Hiccup—" she sighs.
Hiccup winces, but ignores her. "Long story short, Alvin got the drop on us. The other riders should be here soon, but you, uh, weren't keen on letting him take me. You were a hostage of
convenience, not choice."
Astrid has watery memories of fighting for Hiccup, her blade cleanly slicing through some Outcast's arm, then the blood that had followed. She doesn't exactly remember what Hiccup's describing, but it doesn't seem out of the question.
Hiccup, however, seems annoyed.
Astrid scowls at him. "Did you think that I would let you go by yourself?" "I don't want you to get hurt." He says.
Astrid's stomach does that funny jump thing it always does when Hiccup says, inadvertently or not, that he cares about her. It's different from the warm feeling she gets when the twins, Snotlout or Fishlegs do so. With Hiccup, it makes her feel...fluttery.
(A feeling that she has, much to her private shame, admitted to Ruff. Ruffnut had just cackled, then made kissing noises for the rest of the afternoon. Astrid eventually punched her in the arm, hard enough to get her point across, but light enough not to bruise, and Ruffnut had shut up with a jesting glint in her eyes.)
Astrid presses her lips together sharply. "I can take care of myself."
"I know." Hiccup promises. His arm does some sort of weird jerking motion forward, and Astrid squints at him, trying to figure out what on Odin's beard he's doing. "But that doesn't always mean you have to."
"Oh my Thor, Hiccup," she grumbles.
But Hiccup doesn't blush and he seems sincere, in the way that he is when he says something he wants to hear. Astrid's lips downturn at that thought. Astrid hears a loud bark of laughter from somewhere around them, and winces, crouching into herself. The reminder is a harsh snap back to reality. She and Hiccup aren't sitting here because they wanted to talk.
"Alvin's coming back soon," Hiccup says, hissing under his breath, "and he's not exactly happy with me."
"You mouthed off to him?" Astrid asks, gaping at him. "What on helheim were you thinking?"
Astrid can't say that she wouldn't do the same, but her parents sat her down recently and explained, as carefully but firmly as they could, how to survive a hostage situation. Talking back was something they advised against. The conversation ended in a fight, as it usually does recently, because her parents don't want her in the Academy.
Riding dragons is an offense to the Hofferson name! Her mother had shouted. Think of what your
uncle would say, having died for the cause that you spit on!
It would have hurt less if her mother had slapped her.
"I can't—" Hiccup starts to say, before there's the sound of metal scraping, then the hiss of locks being released. Hiccup pulls his arms around toward the front, one wrist still wrapped in the chain, and looks triumphant. There's slivers of wood sticking out of the lock. Wood from the chair.
Astrid stares at the dragon rider for a moment.
"Since when do you know how to pick locks?!" She asks, amazed and suddenly inexplicably jealous. Hiccup gets up to his feet, then limps toward her. He kneels behind her chair, and she feels his fingers brush against her wrists.
"I make them, remember?" Hiccup says.
Astrid fumbles with that for a moment. In the midst of dragon riding and his book smarts, Astrid honestly forgets sometimes that he was raised as a blacksmith's apprentice. He's far more experienced in his trade than Astrid gives him credit for.
"But that's not the same thing as picking them." Astrid protests. "You have to teach me."
"I will." Hiccup promises. She feels something start to rifle inside of the manacle. "But later."
The lock clicks less than a minute later, and Astrid gets up to her feet, rubbing at her wrists. Hiccup rises to his feet in front of her, and she stares at this bloody, bruised viking and resists the urge to kiss him. She turns away, looking toward the weapon's barrel.
Stupid, leaving them with something to arm themselves with. Then again, it probably didn't occur to Alvin that Hiccup would break free. She looks toward Hiccup, and he gives a weak grimace in response.
They do not, in fact, take the ship. For all her skills, Astrid is only sixteen winters, and Hiccup can barely lift a weapon that doesn't fire itself. They give it their best go, but the only rescue that really occurs is when the other riders show up, dragons in hand.
Alvin screeches at them from the deck of his sinking ship.
Hiccup does teach her, and she learns that there's not much that Hiccup can't use to get himself out of locks. It's a bizarre, useful skill that she never would have thought to credit him with. Hiccup only seems weirdly happy that she's actually interested, which makes her stomach sink, because she knows this is the first time he's been able to share his excitement about it with anyone that isn't Toothless.
000o000
1:
Stoick looks forward to the visits from his son in a way that he never did before he and the other riders moved Dragon's Edge. It's a week by boat and days by flight, and Stoick isn't always up to the trip whenever he's struck with the urge to talk to his child.
Part of him is struck by the fact that the visits become less and less as time goes on, as if the riders simply don't need Berk anymore.
It's a bitter thought, one that he doesn't like to give much consideration, but he does all the same. He does, however, take consolation in the fact that when the riders truly need it, they seek Berk out as refuge. After the disaster with Viggo Grimborne, a few vicious dragon attacks and close calls, the riders retreat to home. Where they're safe.
The other time they come is when they don't know how to deal with an injury.
So when the riders show up by boat, Hiccup strung between Astrid and Snotlout and obviously unconcious, Stoick feels an edge of panic start to swell in his gut. He'll never get used to seeing his child like that. So... frail.
"What on Thor's name happened?!" Stoick demands, storming up to the riders. The dragons are missing, he notes, and the panic swells. He rarely sees any of the riders without their dragons these days. It's like taking off to Dragon's Edge fused rider and dragon into one. They were co-dependent before, especially Hiccup and that Night Fury, but things got much worse after the island.
"Poison," Astrid says, clipped.
One of the Thorsten twins is bloody and gripping a sword, and Fishlegs has a crossbow at his side. Stoick idly remembers that the boy is a good shot. They flock behind his son like guards, and the five bodies move like they're one around the sixth.
Another thing, Stoick notes, to be disturbed about.
Part of Stoick, in the private recess of his mind, worries that one of these days they'll never come back. They'll just hear tales of the six riders and the five dragons that move like they were born into one body.
"Poison?" Stoick's mind catches up with the Hofferson's report.
"We took care of it. We just need a few days to lie low." Astrid explains. Took care of it?!
"Where are ya' dragons?" Gobber questions beside him, eyes critically studying the Night Fury rider. Hiccup's head is slumped against his chest, dark hair a mess. His skin is chalky and he's wearing a loose red shirt that's soaked.
"The Edge." Fishlegs says. "We were ambushed. They got to safety, but we weren't so lucky."
Clearly. If they showed up on Berk, that means they've been on the boat for days. And if they've been on the boat for days—and none of the riders, Stoick knows, would ever seriously harm his child—that means that whatever poison Hiccup was given was bad enough to affect him for more than a week.
"Gobber, go get Gothi." Stoick demands. "I want a second opinion about that poison. Let's get him up to the house." Stoick instructs, nodding back toward his home.
The riders nod, and Stoick leads the way into the familiar building. Stoick reaches out to take Hiccup from Snotlout and Astrid, but his nephew gives him this look and simply scoops his son up like Hiccup weighs nothing, then takes him up the stairs. The other riders follow quietly, and Stoick is the last to enter the room.
Astrid is already working on propping Hiccup's head up, and one of the Thorsten twins is pulling out a spare blanket from the cupboard. Snotlout is feeling for a fever as the other Thorsten twin
works a sock onto the barefoot. Fishlegs is removing Hiccup's false leg.
"He doesn't like that," Stoick says. The flurry of movement pauses, but doesn't stop, as all six young adults look up at him.
"Sorry?" Astrid asks.
"His leg," Stoick gestures toward Fishlegs. "He likes to sleep with it on."
And the look that Fishlegs gives him is hard to describe. "No, he doesn't," is all Fishlegs says, and continues on with his task. Stoick knows that Fishlegs will probably get an earful later from his son, because Hiccup hates anyone touching or messing with his stump or prosthetic in any way. But his child is limp beneath the careful movement of his companions, and doesn't even flinch away from Fishlegs's fingers the way that Hiccup used to when Stoick had to clean it right after the amputation.
The Thorsten twin finds the blanket, and throws it behind them as if they know exactly where the other would be. That Thorsten then flaps out the blanket and lays it across Hiccup with practiced ease.
Next the Thorsten withdraws a shirt, and returns toward the dragon trainer.
None of the riders speak as they work in tandem to efficiently remove the sweat-soaked top. They're shifted in such a way that Stoick can neither see Hiccup's bare chest, nor offer any help, and he gives up. When Hiccup is laid back down, he looks a little better than he did coming up.
Satisfied that his son isn't in any danger at the moment, he turns back to the kids. "Is someone after you?" Stoick asks. "Do we need to be prepared for an army? Who poisoned him in the first place?"
As one, the group's expression collectively darkens. "Ryker," Astrid spits. "Said he thought it would be funny."
Stoick's temper flares. That sadistic son of—
"There's no one following us." Snotlout promises. "Not anymore. We sank their ship."
...while on their own vessel? Stoick feels a little doubtful, knowing of how poor the riders are in strategic combat without a dragon by their side. Norns, the amount of times he tried to talk to Hiccup about learning other methods...
The riders explain the situation further, and Stoick feels satisfied that Berk is secure. Astrid explains that their dragons should only be a day or so behind them—except Toothless, and possibly another, depending on what the dragons decided to do (and Stoick could laugh, because the idea is somewhat ridiculous. He knows that dragons are not mindless, but independently thinking, like they're suggesting? Ha!)— and will arrive soon. Once Hiccup is feeling up to it, they'll be back to their blasted island again.
Stoick privately hopes Hiccup doesn't feel up to for at least a few days, so he can scrape more time in with his son.
Gothi arrives soon after, and gives Hiccup an assessment. She determines that the best thing for him would be rest and fluids, then takes her leave.
Stoick waits for the riders to follow her, but they don't.
They linger for hours. Stoick eventually goes downstairs to deal with some business, and the riders remain in Hiccup's room, talking quietly to themselves about something that doesn't make sense when Stoick tries to listen in. Eventually, as night is falling, Stoick goes up to the loft.
What he sees there surprises him. The riders are all gathered on top of, or near the bed. Astrid is sitting with Hiccup's head in her lap, gently coming fingers through his hair. One of the Thorsten twins, the male, Stoick thinks, is sprawled out on the edge of the bed, halfway dangling off of it. Snotlout has pulled up Hiccup's chair and is sitting with his legs propped on the wooden frame, boots pressing against Hiccup's thigh. The female twin and Fishlegs are floor beside the bed, the former asleep against the Ingerman's shoulder.
None of them are treating this like it's abnormal. They don't even seem conscious of the fact that they're doing it.
Stoick has to clear his throat. "You lot best be gettin' to your folks." "We'll stay here tonight," Astrid says.
Stoick raises an eyebrow. "Unless you want to be sleepin' on the floor, there's not a lot of room for any of you."
"I think we're doing okay," the Thorsten at the end of the bed defends.
Stoick bites on his tongue, then says, "I can look after Hiccup tonight. He's my son."
"We've got it," Astrid snaps, and her tone is some odd mix between possessive and protective. Her fingers curl in Hiccup's scalp. Thor, Stoick realizes with a twist of his stomach, they're growing more like dragons every day.
"Obviously not." Stoick mutters, "He hates being touched."
Snotlout scoffs, and tilts his head forward. "Sure, Chief, whatever you say."
Stoick bristles a little. The younger generation questioning every move he makes is something that he's never liked nor grown used to. His son is one thing, this ragtag group of winter babies is another. "You don't need to be here. Gothi said he'd sleep through the night. There's not a point for you to sit here all night long."
It was his father's policy, and his father's before that.
There's a long silence, as if no one can think of anything to say. Their disapproval is obvious, however.
Stoick throws up his hands and goes back downstairs. The riders are still there in the morning. 000o000
Gobber watches from afar as the dragon riders fuss over Hiccup at the table. The Great Hall is packed tonight, as it usually is when word goes round that the riders are home for a few days. Berk is nothing if not story lovers, and the riders always have more than a few good ones to tell about life on the Edge.
This night, however, Gobber can see that there won't be any stories.
They're still waiting for the dragons to arrive, something that they're stubbornly adamant about that
is going to happen, despite the fact that Gobber and a few other Berkians don't share their optimism.
Gobber watches as the riders set Hiccup down at the table. Hiccup still looks like death warmed over, leaning heavily both against the table and Astrid, seated beside him. The twins arrive back with meals for the both of them, and the group works together to bully Hiccup into eating something. He seems exasperated, but used to the treatment, which releases a quiet bubble of tension in Gobber's stomach.
The group wards off curious or well-meaning Berkians. They do it in a way that doesn't seem offensive, which is probably why people keep coming over.
Gobber watches as more than one tries to offer suggestions or remedies for helping Hiccup feel better, most of which the riders ignore.
His own meal tastes stale as it slides down his throat, but watching the group, Gobber is struck with a sense of pride. Hiccup is practically his own at this point, and the riders have all come to him at one point or another for some problem with their folks. Seeing how close they've grown, Gobber is proud of them.
He watches as Ruffnut leans across Hiccup's lap to smack her brother, and Hiccup automatically lifts up a hand to keep her balanced until she retreats. He leans against Astrid clearly, who doesn't seem bothered in the slightest, and shoves the remainder of his food toward Snotlout, who is all too happy to finish it off for him. Fishlegs hands him a glass of water without, Gobber thinks, Hiccup even asking for it.
These small gestures continue the whole time they're there. The spatial awareness they all have for each other is beautiful in its intensity, and Gobber is reminded of himself, Valka, Stoick, and Spitelout at a much younger age. You don't get this familiar with a group of people without unbreakable trust.
Gobber recognizes that the fact that none of the riders have let Hiccup out of their sight since they got here is probably, in part, to the fact that they feel like they've failed by letting him get hurt in the first place.
The protective idiots.
At last, Gobber watches as the group collectively seems to recognize Hiccup reaching his limitations in either socializing or physically, something that Gobber had been watching for and recognizing that it was coming to its close, and they herd the dragon rider out of the Hall.
Gobber watches them, and wonders what it would be like to be that loved.
The dragons, as the riders predicted, arrive the next day. Stormfly is absent, which indicates that she stayed behind with Toothless.
It's another few days before Hiccup's up to making the journey. Not that he'd admit it, but the riders can tell in a way that Gobber can't. Soon, however, they're packed and split among the three dragons. They do that thing again, where they don't really talk, but don't need to. Throwing things at each other without looking, reaching out for each other absently, taking care of each other's dragons as if they were their own.
It's a level of communication that Gobber doesn't understand, and he's not even sure that he could. It's like the six of them have molded into each other.
Then they're gone again, and Gobber quietly wonders to himself if they even really missed home, so desperate to leave again. But then again, when home is people, as they have clearly come to find each other, can you ever really miss it?