Ah yes, the Stoick Follow-Up I promised. This TOTALLY isn't a rant piece at all. Not one bit.
Anyways.
Hiccup doesn't remember the six weeks after their rescue very well. He knows, on a fundamental level, what happened during that time – but only because he's on a strict regimen.
Wake up, get dressed, wake up Toothless, breakfast, physical therapy, lunch, regular therapy, dinner, bathe, bed, rinse, and repeat.
It's dreadfully boring. It's just dreadful, period, but it's not like he was given much of a choice. He and Toothless can't patrol Dragon's Edge anymore, as much as they want to, and that's just the beginning of the list of Things They Can No Longer Do.
At least he's not on bedrest anymore. Toothless probably should be, but Fishlegs insists that every step of his is a miracle, so they let it slide. Besides, it keeps Hiccup from losing his mind – not the regimen itself, mind you, but the…predictability of it.
Not that there's anything particularly predictable about his therapy sessions with Fishlegs, but he's not exactly in the position to say anything about it. In fact, he likes leaning into that, if he's honest. If Toothless can't speak, then Hiccup won't, either. Call it a form of solidarity. For some reason, Hiccup's friend is insistent that they try to process what happened to them. But considering he literally can't remember, he doesn't know what he's trying to accomplish. Fishlegs was there to catalog everything, anyway, so Hiccup doesn't really understand why his friend is so hell-bent on reliving it.
Though, he supposes that he should be concerned that he's lost the two days on that ship. Hiccup remembers Toothless's…arrival, for a lack of better word, very vividly, but only the sight of him. He can't remember who was on his left or his right anymore, he can barely remember where in the holding cell they were. It's disappearing with everything else into a fog that continues to grow thicker. He's not sure if that's a good thing – in fact, Fishlegs is very insistent that it's a trauma response, but if he's honest with himself he's kind of thankful for it. He still gets nightmares, and he'd rather continue to forget them when he wakes. Besides, no one seemed worried when he came out of his coma with no memory of his amputation, (because, apparently, he'd woken up during it? Not that it's any skin off his back that he doesn't recall.) so why is it so different now that he's grown limbs?
No, Hiccup would rather keep his mouth shut, thank you very much.
Unfortunately his and Toothless' vow of silence didn't seem to deter Fishlegs. In fact, it seems to delight him, because it means they get to experiment with "alternative methods", which Hiccup is almost entirely positive is bullshit because he can't, for the life of him, understand how gardening is supposed to help his mental state.
He could see, theoretically, now meditation would work, but he and Toothless still have enough pain that sitting still and letting their minds go blank only pulls to the surface the muscle aches. Drawing is Hiccup's favorite type of session, because at least he still has that going for him. It helps Toothless' motor controls, too, especially since he seems to be just as art-motivated as Hiccup is now that he has opposable thumbs. Honestly, his dragon is happy to sit in on just about everything, even with his lack of stamina. It's something that Hiccup envies. You know, if he was coming out of this quote-unquote "traumatic experience" with only a pair of wings, you'd think he'd get a new appreciation for life to go with it. But as it is, his susceptibility to boredom is now at an all-time high.
But Hiccup digresses: art therapy.
He doesn't exactly remember what he draws after a few sessions, but he does find that his charcoal is being depleted, and showing up on places of his body (new appendages notwithstanding) more than it used to be. Fishlegs is also hoarding the artistry like some sort of…well, hoarder. Hiccup feels like that may be a bad thing, but he finds that he can't bring himself to care.
"Hey, another Terror Mail. From your dad."
And, the one thing he is trying to forget, but still remains painfully vivid in the back of his mind.
Hiccup pauses, taking care to not trip over his tail. It's not quite muscle memory yet, considering he doesn't make a habit of walking backwards like this, but Toothless tends to need two hands to hold onto this early in the morning.
Astrid's in the door. He can smell Heather (who, along with Dagur, has been lending a helping hand around the Edge during Hiccup and Toothless' recovery) lingering outside. It's an entirely new sort of headache he has yet to bring up with any of them, so he puts it to the side.
"Just set it on the desk." He mutters, turning back to Toothless, whose face is scrunched in concentration. His wings are flexed like balancing arms, tail rigid in anticipation for a fall. "You got it, Bud." he lowers his voice.
Toothless' gaze leaves the floor to send him a look that has grown very familiar in the last few weeks. It's both exasperated and determined. It's like if "I know" was a glare. Hiccup doesn't take any offense from it, only because he knows he's shot a fair few of his own towards his dragon.
"You haven't read any of these," Astrid reminds him, plucking a single, still-sealed letter from the growing mountain on his desk. Just like she did the day before. And probably the day before that. He can't really remember.
Hiccup rolls his eyes. "Yes, I know, Astrid." He exasperates, "I'll read them when I actually have time."
Astrid's typical response to that kind of sass would be some form of bodily harm. But as it is, she only crosses her arms over her chest. "The man hasn't heard from you in over a month." She deadpans, "you need to at least write back to him."
"I did," Hiccup responds like a child as Toothless takes another step. Well, he kind of did. A little bit, when they first got back. He spoke while Fishlegs wrote, and he may have avoided a few details when reciting their miraculous rescue from Viggo's capture. Like the growing of wings. And the "Toothless is now more human than night fury" thing. But that's on a need-to-know basis, really.
"Is it the anxiety?" Heather finally makes herself known, picking up a couple of the letters, "Because having someone read them to you can help –"
"I said I'd get to them!" He snaps, stopping so suddenly that Toothless bumps into him. He apologizes to his dragon, effectively erasing the stink-eye he's giving him.
He can practically hear the look Astrid and Heather share, and it only makes his grimace deepen. "Can you leave?" He continues, readjusting his grip on Toothless' elbows, "we're kind of in the middle of something here." His wings sag in annoyance, like the equivalent of hitting his hands against his thighs, and he hates that that's a new tell he needs to get a hold of. He busies himself with some unneeded fidgeting of Toothless' sleeves until the women begin exiting. Astrid's a bit more hasty with it than Heather, storming out without another word.
"...we'll come get you for lunch," the berserker says, following in Astrid's footsteps.
A sigh of relief leaves Hiccup as their footfalls dissipate. He notices that Toothless' tail is significantly less rigid, and it makes him straighten up. "Ready for some one-handed walking?"
He and Toothless spend the rest of the morning in Snotlout's cabin. They're pretty much arm-in-arm the entire time since their balance issues tend to cancel each other out. Hiccup finds himself falling backwards with the new weight on his back, and Toothless tends to topple forwards, oftentimes forgetting that his center of balance is a lot higher than it used to be. The night fury is also just generally weak in the knees — he can make it a few steps unassisted, but it's obvious he still has a long way to go.
Snotlout's left to grab some more thread, so they've been left to entertain themselves for a little while. They know they aren't technically alone — Hiccup can feel the eyes of their designated babysitter (he believes it's the twins today, but he can't be entirely sure) from somewhere — but it's fun to pretend they have some sort of autonomy.
"If I have to listen to Snotlout talk about the difference between a cross stitch and a ladder stitch one more time, I think I'm gonna lose my mind." Hiccup sighs, easing to the floor and grabbing a discarded pincushion. Toothless sits behind him so that their wings are pressing together. Hiccup shivers as he begins throwing it against the floor. "I mean, seriously, does it matter that much?"
He knows, deep down, that complaining isn't going to do anything. And it's probably not deserved – the clothes they're wearing now are from Snotlout, whose fidgeting hands haven't seemed to stop since they returned to the Edge. He claims it's because Hiccup's closet is now completely useless, which to be fair, it is, but it's not worth the sheer amount of wool they've been bringing in from the Northern Market.
Hookfang grumbles as if he's trying to defend his rider, making Hiccup roll his eyes. "You're right." He says, "It probably does."
Probably.
He watches as the nightmare crawls over to them, nuzzling Toothless as if he were a hatchling until the night fury whines in annoyance. It's a noise that Hiccup is very familiar with, because in the same way Hiccup's friends are doting on him, their dragons are doting on Toothless.
"Is he telling you that you need to sleep?" Hiccup snarks, twisting as his dragon shifts. He knows if he stays where he is Hookfang will try to scruff him in the same way he's doing to Toothless right now, but he's just a bit too reluctant to move at the moment.
His dragon sighs in confirmation. His nose is scrunched in annoyance, but he still doesn't have the strength to wriggle out of the nightmare's grip. Hiccup is still trying to understand how Toothless can communicate with them so well. He has a feeling it's very intrinsic to Toothless' true nature, but as it stands his dragon doesn't have the vocabulary to explain it. So he takes it at face value.
Hookfang's logic isn't exactly skewed, either. Toothless tends to slip back into his nocturnal nature when he's injured. Hiccup has to admit that fucking up his circadian rhythm is the second worst thing he's done to his dragon. It's right behind shooting him from the sky. Not that Toothless tends to care about either of those things.
Despite his preemptive moving, Hookfang takes it upon himself to push Hiccup the rest of the way into his chest, nestling him right next to Toothless and sealing the deal with a lick to each of their cheeks.
"Hey, so uh what did you do to your girlfriend?" Snotlout makes his reappearance, not blinking an eye at Hookfang's roosting tendencies and instead raising an eyebrow towards Hiccup.
"Nothing!" He responds, throwing his hands up innocently.
Snotlout unravels a bit of thread, snapping it with his teeth. "Are you sure? Cuz she's pissed." He says, picking up the piece of cloth he'd been working on.
That makes Hiccup sigh in frustration. "Okay, so I snapped at her for touching my mail. So what?"
"The mail you haven't read?" His cousin comments, and he feels his frills drop to his hairline.
"Yes," he hisses sarcastically, "the mail I haven't read."
"Cool, just wondering."
Hiccup falls back into Hookfang, crossing his arms over his chest. Toothless' head falls onto his shoulder, seemingly lured to sleep by the nightmare's heat. It begins to take effect on him, too – way more than it ever did before he grew wings – and soon Hiccup finds himself drifting off as well.
"You're gonna miss lunch," Snotlout warns, having apparently heard his yawn.
Hiccup mutters something in retaliation that he's not entirely sure is intelligible, but he doesn't really care.
As it turns out, they don't miss lunch. Which is suspicious in itself, but the fact that it's delivered to them sets alarms off in Hiccup's head.
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he sits up, which jostles Toothless awake.
It's Astrid holding their lunch: some fish and bread. "Delivery," she sing-songs, which is the biggest red flag yet.
Hiccup can't help but give her a terrified look. "...what's going on?"
The happy-go-lucky mask Astrid has pulled over her face doesn't diminish. In fact, if anything it grows stronger. "Nothing!" she chirps, sitting across from him. "What, can't a girl bring her betrothed some lunch?"
Squinting at the fish, Hiccup purses his lips. "...what did you do to it?"
Astrid scoffs, "Why would I do anything to it?" She deadpans.
"Okay, now you're really freaking me out." He sits up restlessly, curling his tail around his legs. He waves his hands at her with his palms facing upwards, "what, is this some kind of reverse psychology?"
Astrid blinks rapidly. Her expression doesn't change. Hiccup's heart begins to pound in his chest.
"Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you this morning," he starts to ramble, "I was just dealing with two things at once, and –"
"You're forgiven." She doesn't let him finish the thought, and that's enough to stun him into silence.
"...okay, you're making this way easier than it should be." He points out. Toothless glances nervously between the two, but picks up the strip of dried fish that Astrid offers to him without hesitation. He sniffs it before taking a bite.
Astrid takes his reaction in stride, gesturing at the night fury, "See? Now hurry up and eat."
"Ah," Hiccup suddenly understands, giving Toothless a knowing look, "we overslept. How long has Fishlegs been waiting for us?"
"Oh, he decided to give you a break today. Because – I'm stealing you for a date!"
Okay, now he's confused again. "Fishlegs canceled?" He quirks an eyebrow, "Fishlegs?"
It's not that Hiccup isn't thankful. It was that he thought it was too good to be true. For the first time, he actually wants to hear what Astrid's explanation will be. But Heather bursts into the cabin before she can do that.
"Astrid!" She blurts, sounding just on the edge of panic. Snotlout slips in behind her, locking his door hastily. "We managed to – oh!" She stutters to a stop at the sight of Hiccup, because apparently him being awake prevents her from talking freely. He can practically hear her gears turning as she thinks, "I mean, uh…Dagur's got it handled!" She straightens up, sticking her hands behind her back innocently.
"Dagur has what handled?" Hiccup repeats, feeling a headache building.
"Nothing!" All three of them respond simultaneously.
"Well it's really Fishlegs that's in charge," Snotlout stutters, which is entirely his tell, "but we're just letting Dagur think he is, you know?"
"Dagur's the chief of the Berserkers," Hiccup retaliates, ignoring the loaf of bread Astrid tries to deposit into his hands, "I have no doubt in his leading skills. What I'm worried about is why you guys are letting him think he's in charge of the Edge."
Apparently his logic is hard to find a fallacy in. The group is silent, but the looks they're sending each other are very reminiscent of a deer that's just realized it's being stalked. Hiccup feels his fangs snap out.
"Guys." He deadpans, "what. is. going. on."
It seems they don't know how to answer him. So it must be pretty bad. For some reason, Hiccup's first thought is that Viggo's back. That he's here to take him – his experiment – back to the depths of his ship. That nearly makes him nauseous, and he's suddenly glad that his stomach is empty. He starts to get to his feet so that he can dispel the nervous energy in his gut, but Astrid's up on her feet to block his way before he can even rise to his full height.
"Hiccup," she begins, but he's already trying to duck around her.
"Astrid, let me through." He demands. It doesn't make her listen very well.
"Trust me, you're gonna want to stay here."
"Um, I'm actually very sure that I don't," He retorts, shoving past her. He can hear Toothless begin to get to his feet behind him, and he doesn't like that one bit. "Toothless, stay here." He barks. If Viggo really is here, he's getting his hands back on his dragon over Hiccup's dead body. Stalking over to Snotlout and Heather, who are now trying to block the door from him, Hiccup feels his brow knit together in anger.
"Move," He hisses, but besides tensing up, they don't. And Hiccup hates it. Has he really been so out of it the last few weeks that they don't see him as their leader anymore? He can't help but bear his teeth, "Move!"
This time they start, peeling apart apprehensively and giving him just enough leeway to wedge an elbow between them.
As he pushes the rest of the way through, Astrid tries again. "Hiccup!" She calls, but he's already unlocking the door.
He doesn't get to open it, though. It nearly comes off its hinges as soon as the latch is displaced.
And then Hiccup is face to face with his father.
He's red in the face – as he typically is when he's angry. Now he can hear the others running up the boardwalk from the direction of Hiccup's cabin, spouting anything that could possibly draw Stoick's attention.
But it's not working.
Because Hiccup has not yet told his father about the wings that are now right in front of him.
They stare at each other for a few seconds.
And then Hiccup bolts.
He doesn't know how he ends up on the beach, only that he's there by the time the sun begins to dip into the sea.
It's an outcropping that he and Toothless come to stargaze at on particularly rough days. They've had a lot of those recently, but it's not easy to access by hiking so they haven't been able to visit.
His spine burns. His shoulders pop painfully every time he shrugs them, and he's incredibly short of breath. The last one is a strange mixture – part of it is some residuals from the panic attack he'd just run through, and the other half is from the running itself. Hiccup scrubs at his face as he sinks into the shallows of the water, letting the waves twist his clothes around him.
He stares, entirely drained of emotion, at the horizon for an indescribable time. His fingers scrunch sand until the water whisks it away, and then he repeats the process all over again. He tries to cloud watch, because the sunset is making them quite beautiful, but he quickly gives up on it. It doesn't do much to distract him.
The frills twitch despairingly as he swallows, and then he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, ignoring both the salt and the sand. His nose begins to grow stuffy with tears.
"So fucking stupid," He grumbles hoarsly, clutching at the bangs that have managed to get trapped between his hands and his forehead. He pulls at them. "So fucking – FUCK!" He screams. It doesn't echo: the ocean seems to swallow his despair whole, and he finds that the hollowness in his chest afterwards actually feels quite good. So he screams again.
"FUCK. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK FUCK FU-UCK!" He continues to scream, grabbing the nearest rock he can see and chucking it. The ocean does not retaliate, only takes his abuse with quiet dignity.
How stupid is he? How fucking stupid is he? What did he think, that these were just gonna go away some day and he'd return to Berk like nothing ever happened? That he'd take his dad's mantle with him none the wiser? What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with him? Toothless is human, and he's not, and they're not fucking turning back. They're not turning back, and their lives are over.
And it's all his fucking fault.
Hiccup chucks another rock. And another. And another, and even a stick for good measure. He may actually have abused that last one — snapping it over his knee way more times than it deserved to be. It also probably doesn't help that he's completely ignoring the way his shoulders are screaming at him with each toss. He only collapses to his knees once he runs out of things to throw. He hasn't realized how deep into the ocean he's traveled until the waves drench his chest. They whisk his wings out behind him – they unfurl like they're in the air. Like they want to fly.
Hiccup hates the feeling.
His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. His spine isn't the only thing that's burning now. It's almost like the lava is back. Almost. If it is, it seems to be pitying him. And isn't that just fucking incredible.
He watches the water pool around him as the sun begins to turn it red. The sound of the waves throbs with his heartbeat as it pounds in his head. The frills lift to try and clear it of that.
He doesn't notice the splashing until it stops.
"...A bit late for a swim, eh?" His father speaks. It's low and gentle — the voice he only uses in front of the hearth in the middle of the night.
Hiccup doesn't answer. He doesn't even move. He just watches as the red starts fading to an indigo. The waves keep the silence from becoming awkward.
"Alright. Bad joke." Stoick says.
Hiccup still doesn't respond.
The waves shift as Stoick sits next to him. Hiccup pulls his wings against his back and swishes his tail to the opposite side. The movement is almost like a flinch, and it doesn't go unnoticed. It takes a while before his dad speaks again. Hiccup can feel his gaze burning into his temple.
"I'm sorry for barging in on you."
Hiccup can't remember the last time he blinked.
"...okay." Stoick says after another bout of silence from him. "You don't have to speak if you don't want to."
Hiccup clutches at the sand again.
"Your friends are worried about you." His dad continues. He hesitates. "They told me what happened."
His face must have begun to reflect betrayal, because Stoick goes on, "I didn't give them much of a choice. They tried their best to keep me in the dark. I take it you wanted it that way?"
He keeps pausing like he expects Hiccup to answer. It's strange, probably to both of them. Hiccup's snark has earned him some astounding groundings in his lifetime, so oftentimes Stoick would try to keep control of their arguments. Not that it ever worked.
"When were you planning on telling me?" Stoick asks after a while.
For some reason, Hiccup feels compelled to answer that one. He shrugs.
"Were you planning on telling me?"
Hiccup hates that he doesn't know. He certainly didn't want to. But he knows that was never feasible. Not that it's stopped him before. He feels very much like how he did during those first two weeks of knowing Toothless: delaying the inevitable. At least this time he wouldn't blame his dad for disowning him.
His silence doesn't seem to bode well to Stoick, but apparently it's answer enough. Hiccup sees his dad nod in his periphery. It's not an agreeable nod, it's a processing nod. He turns his gaze to the sunset with a type of sigh that's more on-edge than disappointed. But there's still disappointment in it nonetheless.
After a few minutes, his dad shifts uncomfortably. Eventually, he seems to shift the subject. "...Are you hurt?"
The question is so stupid that Hiccup can't help but give him a patronizing glare. Stoick's mustache twitches into something that's either a smirk or a scowl. His tone seems to indicate the latter. "Skullcrusher tracked your scent into the forest, but you ended up here. That's not a short walk."
Oh.
Hiccup can't do much but shrug again.
"Is that a 'yes' shrug, or a 'no' shrug." Stoick deadpans.
He shrugs.
His dad's sigh doesn't seem very impressed. Perhaps a little stressed. Understandable, considering the situation.
Hiccup's finger drags patterns into the sand that the water instantly whisks away. He tries to follow one grain of sand at a time: an entirely impossible task, but it distracts him from the growing guilt in his stomach. He realizes that he's not giving his dad a lot to work with, but he also knows that his dad is going to stay next to him until that happens. It's times like these that he suddenly remembers where his stubbornness comes from, which sucks because he just – he can't. He can't, he doesn't –
He takes a composing sigh to wrestle down the growing panic in his chest. The silence isn't helping at all, in fact it's kind of suffocating at this point. And of course his dad still isn't saying anything, the bastard.
Why is this so hard suddenly? He he usually loves it when people just shut up, why is this – why can't he –
His inhale is overly noisy, just to get something out into the air. His ribs pop from the force, or maybe from whatever he'd done out in the woods. "How'd you find me?" He cracks. His voice is hoarse from his screaming fit.
It's almost like Stoick wants to sigh in relief. He sits up a bit straighter before he answers. "Toothless had you pinned." He responds, then hesitates. "He's worried about you, too."
Yeah, him and everyone else. Hiccup could scoff.
His dad turns to look at the shore again. Hiccup tries to get himself to relax while his eyes are off him. "You know, he looks remarkably well." he comments, turning back to him, "all things considered."
Was Toothless on the shore?
Hiccup wants to turn and check, but that would mean either turning towards his dad and risking eye contact, or turning away and giving him a full view of his back, and he hates both options so much that he remains rooted.
Still, he can't help but feel guilty. The last thing he'd done before running off was snap at Toothless, who by all accounts was the one person who didn't deserve to be on the wrong end of his temper.
His breath trembles as he breathes in. "...how is he?" His voice cracks horrendously.
Stoick treads carefully when he answers, "Seems…fine." Hiccup can feel the pointed look he shoots his way, "course I haven't been by his side the last six weeks."
That's true, Hiccup wagers.
"Does he look sad?" He asks, "because the others get that confused a lot. He's got this expression when he's tired that makes him look sad. He's — he's not, but…" he loses the motivation to explain the rest, mostly because he can't form the words. Reading Toothless is as easy as breathing air to him. He can't explain it. It's innate. Just like Toothless' ability to communicate with the other dragons.
Was that what Viggo meant? That Hiccup's way with dragons was innate enough that he should have been…
Poor misplaced soul.
Hiccup shakes the words out of his head. When they echo in his ears, he grabs at them, scraping them with his nails to try and bring himself back to reality.
That doesn't exactly work, though. Not until Stoick tries to grab his wrist, and he hisses, "Don't touch me!"
He wrenches his hand out of his father's grasp with enough force that his wrist twinges. The sand kicks up around him as he shifts away from him. This was stupid. It's all so fucking stupid, why was his dad here again? What was the point, to try and get him to come back? What would he go back to? Even if there was some place he was welcome at, it would be out of pity. There's not a single place in this world that he belongs to anymore.
" –iccup," Stoick's voice pulls him back to reality. Blinking, he looks around skittishly.
"Wh-what?" he asks out of instinct. He didn't quite catch the first part of that.
There's a bit of a contemplative silence at that, which gives Hiccup's ears enough leeway to start ringing dully. The sun's choking in the ocean, now. It'll be drowning soon enough.
"...why don't you tell me some more about Toothless." Stoick suggests flatly.
Hiccup finds himself nodding, even if it's a bit delayed. "Um…" He trails off, trying to clear the tightness in his throat. "He w-was really bloody? Like, everywhere. He brought him in and dropped him and he just. Laid there."
The images flash in his mind. They're scratched at the edges and shrouded in a terrifying black that looks very similar to night fury scales. His breath begins to shake. "...I don't like talking about this." He whimpers, feeling as if he were five all over again. He hugs himself even tighter, the temperature of the water finally starting to get to him. The waves start to blur and warp in his vision.
"You don't have to start at the beginning." Stoick states.
Right. Hiccup processes, trying to clear his mind of the bloodied images. They got home. They cleaned him up, they got some food in him. They…
"I have to wrestle with him every morning to put on a tunic. He hates them. A-and, uh, shoes. He hates shoes." He negates the fact that Toothless also hates pants to preserve some of his dragon's dignity. Stoick begins to open his mouth, but Hiccup quickly cuts him off because he doesn't want to risk not knowing what to respond with, "He uh, he understands Norse now. Which I'm sure you noticed. Well I say he understands but it's, uh, a learning process. He has trouble grasping onto abstract ideas, which is hilarious because he likes drawing. Loves it. Even if he's not good with holding the charcoal."
He notices Stoick's mustache twitching, "Is he any good?"
Hiccup opens his mouth to answer, but he finds that he…he doesn't know. Anything Toothless has created has been shoved into the same place that his own drawings were: somewhere deep in Fishlegs' desk. To be scrutinized.
He supposes that's what the purpose of art is, so…yes?
Hiccup nods, even if it's slightly unsure, and tries to come up with more good things to focus on. Because there are bad things, too. Too many bad things.
He wakes up screaming. He spaces out too much, and on particularly bad days there are tears. It's a 50/50 chance whether he'll wake with a migraine each morning, and the closest explanation they can think of is that his brain is remolding itself into something that allows for deeper thought. He's terrified of being left alone, and Hiccup forced him to stay behind.
Hiccup wrenches around in panic, which apparently is subject to worry from Stoick, because he starts like he thinks Hiccup is falling over.
"Toothless," he croaks, stumbling to his feet. He can see him now, sticking almost too close to Skullcrusher and pulled into sharp ridges that Hiccup, unfortunately, knows all too well.
"Hiccup!" His dad exclaims as he trudges out of the ocean, practically bee-lining towards his dragon. Toothless hasn't seemed to notice that he's moving, and that just makes him want to speed up.
Stoick keeps on calling his name, but he's already talking over him, latching his hands onto his dragon's upper arms. "Hey," he croons as Toothless startles, nearly jumping out of his shoes. His eyes snap up to Hiccup, and they're just a bit misty. The pupils just a bit too narrow, and guilt immediately shoots him through the heart. "Hey, Bud, I'm sorry," he croaks, "I'm here. I'm okay. I'm sorry. I'm just being stupid, okay?"
Toothless blinks, begins to look around, and Hiccup hates that he knows what that means. He'd pull him into a hug if he could, but he's sopping wet as it is, and the sun's no longer there to keep them warm. He compromises by rubbing his thumb over Toothless' arms. "I'm right here," He cracks, and then trails off into silence.
It takes a few seconds, but a croaking purr comes out of Toothless – his apology noise. His "what's wrong" noise, his "I forgive you" noise, and it makes Hiccup's lip tremble.
"Hiccup!" the back of his neck prickles as Stoick nears, and he whirls around, staring at the sand as his dad's shoes come into view.
Stoick comes to a stop rather abruptly, glancing between the two of them, and Hiccup speaks before he can begin scolding them, "Let's get back." He states rather flatly. It's not quite his "leader tone", he hasn't been able to find it in the last six weeks. It's probably somewhere on Viggo's ship, along with what remains of his humanity.
But Stoick doesn't undermine him. At least, not verbally, but the time it takes him to comply is enough of a jab. "Alright." He says nodding once. He's compensating. Pitying them. "Let's get back."
Stoick lets Hiccup ride behind him. It's something that Hiccup knows he'll have to thank him for later. Once he builds up the energy.
Toothless sticks just a bit too close to Hiccup as he changes out of his wet clothing. Not that nudity has been much of an issue between them – Hiccup has changed in front of his dragon probably a hundred times in the past, and dragons don't exactly have a concept of modesty to begin with (again, back to the pants thing). Still, he has to bribe Toothless to at least stay on the bed until he gets his pants on.
They get back down from the loft to find Stoick with three plates in hand. Hiccup is suddenly hit with the reminder that he skipped lunch, and a wave of nausea takes over him. It's only partially hunger.
"Thanks…" He replies rather flatly. Stoick goes to set the plates on his desk, and is met with the mountain of letters. The look he sends Hiccup is less than positive. "You know, when your chief sends you a letter, you should probably read them."
Hiccup wants to make a remark to that, but the sarcasm that once came so easily to him is locked behind the same barrier that his Leader Voice is, so he just focuses on Toothless as he sits on the floor, still laser focused on him, like he's afraid he's going to vanish if he so much as blinks. Hiccup settles on the floor next to him, placing a hand on his knee.
There's more sagefruit in their meal tonight. It's another stock that has shown in more frequency the last few months — Hiccup thought it was exclusively for Toothless, at first, until he learned that his friends had been experimenting with it in his food as well.
To be fair, it wasn't like they were hiding it, Hiccup just hadn't been very bothered to inspect the meals he was given. That's another gripe for another time, though.
Hiccup gets through dinner only to hold Toothless accountable. His dragon is still getting used to a human palate — textures are an issue for him now that he actually has to chew, and Hiccup can't afford to be a hypocrite.
Stoick takes the plates back to the clubhouse when they've finished. The sagefruit still has a more potent effect on Toothless than it does Hiccup, so he finally has an excuse to tuck his dragon into bed for the night. He hasn't noticed its effects on himself, per say, but he can't help but acknowledge that the anxiety is duller than usual when his dad reenters.
He settles on the steps to the loft, allowing Stoick to stoke the small fire pit. He watches the tongues flicker lazily.
For a moment, Hiccup is back on Berk, watching his father tend to a much more familiar fire. Sitting on much more familiar steps. Without Unfamiliar weight on his back.
Even now he flinches, his escapade through the woods catching up to him as a deep pang in his shoulder blades, and Hiccup grabs at them wryly.
His dad notices this. Sets down the spoke. Approaches. Hiccup lowers his head.
Their conversation is not done.
"You've been doing a good job of taking care of him." He starts, nodding towards the loft. "He looks well."
'Well' is a descriptor his dad uses when someone is not healthy enough to be considered 'fine'. Hiccup supposes that's true — he's terrified that he'll wake up one day to Toothless' screams and they just won't stop. If he voices that out loud, though, Stoick will retract the 'well' adjective, and for some reason Hiccup feels the need to cling to it. Because if his dad says it, then it must be true, right?
"And so do you." His dad continues.
Liar.
The sagefruit must be doing its job, though, because Hiccup's chest remains just a bit too empty at that betrayal. A bit too numb. Like the barriers he's built are becoming malleable, and the truths they're concealing are able to press up against them. Visible, but just a bit too far out of reach to be threatening.
He's not well. He's not a leader. "I'm not human." Hiccup cracks, as if his father needs a reminder.
Stoick must not know what to say to that, his silence is very telling. It makes Hiccup's nose scrunch in frustration.
He doesn't know what he wants his dad to say, but it's definitely not nothing. Not that there are any words that would bring him much comfort at the moment.
Eventually, though, Stoick sighs. He grabs Hiccup's desk chair and settles in it. He's still for quite a few seconds before he responds, "I know."
Tears perk in Hiccup's eyes, and he shuffles his feet. Hugs his knees to his chest. His wings fold in, too, in a kind of shrouding hug on his sides.
"But you're still my son." Stoick continues, and there's a waver in his voice that betrays him – lets Hiccup know that he remembers. He'd revoked that title before. His next question seems stupid, with that quiet knowledge between them, "why didn't you tell me?"
Hiccup hides the lower half of his face with his arms as they come to rest on his knees, so that Stoick doesn't see his lip begin to tremble. He shrugs helplessly as frustration begins to build. He just wants to get it all out in the open, rip the bandages off so that his dad can leave him to wallow, but the question is so large that it just lodges in his aching throat. He shakes his head, sighing to try and loosen the tears clogging his larynx. "...how are you — how's anyone gonna let…something like me…"
He can't finish, but it's not necessarily a question that needs a conclusion. This is not a foreign conversation to them. It has long predated the wings.
"...we'll figure it out." Stoick eventually mutters, and it's with so much sincerity that it actually makes Hiccup mad. He rockets to his feet, much to the protest of the wings.
"Gods, can you just — stop lying and be my dad?" He exclaims, his voice cracks with tears, "this isn't something you just figure out, so just — stop it!"
"Hey, you don't get to speak to me like that," Stoick states firmly, standing as well. That statement is usually accompanied with a dangerous gravel in his voice, but this time it's just quiet, and fragile – a stark contrast to the way he still towers over him. That kind of scares Hiccup.
He turns away as he shakes his head, thoroughly disappointed in how his dad's handling it. In how he's handling it. Not a single word in this feels right, but he doesn't know how to remedy it.
But then Stoick sighs, deflates. "No, no…you're right. I'm sorry." He raises his arm like he's going to set it on Hiccup's shoulder: just as he's done a hundred times. But Hiccup flinches away.
Stoick freezes at that. He can still see the raised hand in the corner of his eye, and he swears he can almost see it shake. Hiccup can't help the shameful blush on his face.
The hand drops.
"...so what do we do?" Hiccup croaks after what feels like forever. He knows it's a selfish question. He knows that he'll hate every answer that his dad could think of. But he asks anyway, because he's just so exhausted. So utterly, unendingly exhausted.
"...I guess we'll take it one day at a time." He sounds about as certain in that as Hiccup does.
Hiccup swallows. "Yeah. That's what I've been doing." He croaks. Sniffles.
And then a sob rips out of him, and he drops his head into his arms. He gives up trying to hide it, "I can't keep going on like this."
He feels like he's been stuck in a death loop – the memory loss. The regiment that he hates being the only thing that keeps him in check. The barrier in his mind that only lets the worst, most volatile emotions through – it just keeps repeating, restarting every sunrise, chaining him to this pitiful existence. "I can't keep taking things one day at a time anymore," he sobs.
He wants to go hunting. To build the Edge's next storage house, to go on dates with Astrid, fly with Toothless, read insignificant letters. Why can't he do that? What does he need to do?
What will it take to be himself again?
In all his wallowing and off-kilterness Hiccup hasn't realized he'd begun to sway, but two sturdy hands catch him as he stumbles, cushioning his landing as he falls into something warm, something as familiar to him as Toothless' scales used to be – something that smells like home, and despite the hands on his wings Hiccup can't bring himself to pull away. He burrows into his dad's chest, frills trembling, and cries.
He doesn't know how long they stay like that – him shaking in his father's arms as hands rub a bit skittishly between his wings – but it's long enough that Hiccup has to start favoring his good leg, so Stoick corrals him to the fire pit, has him sit on the floor.
A blanket is draped over his shoulders, and Hiccup hugs it close to his body. It's not because of the chill in the air, and it makes a couple more sobs rip out of him. He doesn't know if it's relief or shame – only that for some reason Stpick wants the wings covered. Or thinks Hiccup does.
A cup is pressed into his hands, which he latches on to numbly. His dad tells him to drink, but he can't bring himself to do that, so he ends up just staring at his reflection.
The sound of a chair scraping across the floor stops directly behind him, and soon Hiccup feels something carding through his hair. It's not fingers, though. It feels like a comb.
"What are you doing?" He coughs, utterly perplexed. He tries to shy away, but his dad places a hand on his head.
"Being your dad." Stoick answers, and it gives Hiccup enough pause that the combing starts back up, "When did you last cut your hair?"
Hiccup can only shrug. "I haven't really been thinking about it." He admits. Which is mostly the truth. The frills make his hair fall in strange ways now, and he has trouble brushing it out. So he's just been leaving it. It didn't seem like a big deal compared to everything else, but now that it's been brought to his attention Hiccup can feel it brushing past his shoulders. Has it really been that long?
When the comb catches on knots that begin to feel more like matts, Hiccup comes to the conclusion that it has.
Stoick, at the very least, doesn't say anything about that. Just continues to comb through them. Hiccup turns his attention to the fire. Another indescribable time passes, and his dad must make some progress, because the pulling becomes less frequent.
He speaks up after some time, and what he says takes Hiccup by surprise, "After Gobber lost his leg, he wouldn't get out of bed for four months."
The wording is weird to Hiccup. He glances to the side as if he could catch his father's gaze, "wouldn't?"
"Wouldn't." Stoick confirms. "Your mother and I, we tried everything we could to get him up. You know Gobber, never one to turn down a drink." He can hear a small smile in his father's tone, "Course, nothing we did worked."
Hiccup feels his brows pull together. He knows the story. Gobber was never one to really hold onto secrets, and after the loss of his own leg, his mentor's anecdotes just became more frequent. He'd thought he'd heard everything there was to hear. That he knew the worst parts of Gobber's recovery. This new information made him a bit uneasy.
Stoick must have noticed this, because he continued the story, "You have to understand, Son. He'd only lost his arm three weeks before. He wasn't even supposed to be fighting in the raids that soon, but I don't need to tell you why he ended up doing so."
No, no his dad didn't. Hiccup could gather enough.
There was a bit of silence before his dad continued, "Eventually I figured out that Gobber had gotten it into his head – had he not lost his arm, he wouldn't have lost his leg."
Hiccup pressed his lips together to prevent himself from saying anything, because his dad's tone seemed to imply that Gobber's logic was completely wrong. And if he was honest with himself, he can't see how it wasn't.
"I can feel your rebuttal from here," Stoick drones, Hiccup's frills flatten in shame.
"I'm sorry," He feels the need to apologize as if Gobber is here, "I just…it's not inherently wrong, either."
Stoick's hum is completely indecipherable. Hiccup takes a sip of water. The comb leaves his hair, and his dad shifts to grab something else, "Hiccup, it was not his arm that caused the loss of his leg. It was the time."
Hiccup supposes that's true, too. Gobber is a formidable opponent as a double amputee. And Hiccup can only imagine his skills before that, but fighting with a handicap like that without practice…Gobber was lucky to escape with his life.
The fire flickers lazily as Hiccup takes in the statement. The distinctive sound of hair being shredded meets his ears. "I don't see how this applies to me." He mutters into his cup.
Amputations are Familiar. They do not make the afflicted Less Human.
There's a restless sigh, another shearing noise. "What I'm trying to say, Son," Stoick places his hands back on Hiccup's shoulders, "is that you're still healing. That is your battle right now. And you are in a place fortunate enough that you do not need to fight two battles at once. Do not find guilt in that. And if you can no longer take things a day at a time, take things hours at a time. Minutes, if you need it. Just make sure that you do not lose yourself to the idea that 'normal' is unobtainable."
"Easy for you to say." Hiccup mutters before he realizes. He runs his tongue along his fangs, and finds that he wants to continue the thought anyway. "Why should I…what do I have to look forward to anymore, anyway?" He cracks. Because again it seems his father is skirting around the obvious: his future is not just up in the air. It has returned in a shattered mess at his feet. There is no glue to piece it back together —
"One battle at a time, Hiccup." His dad reprimands. There's a hint of fear in there, completely warranted considering Hiccup just said he'd be better off dead.
Anger flares in his gut. "You can't just expect me to —" Hiccup grunts in frustration, clawing at the blanket, "Dad, I'm supposed to be chief someday!" Was supposed to be. "How, exactly, is this a battle I'm supposed to win now? I —"
"You have already changed Berk's mind once. You can do it again."
Hiccup can't help but scoff. "You can't possibly know that." he practically spits, the fire jumps, "you can't –"
"And if you can't," Stoick interrupts him, lets a silence form between them, "...then it's not the end of the world."
Hiccup's immediate response to that is repulsion, and it's strange even to him. Because…well, he'd been indoctrinated on expectations of chiefdom. His failure at that should, by all accounts, mean the end of the world. Or, at the very least, Berk.
But here his dad is, discussing a future in which Hiccup isn't chief, and he's making it sound…normal. Perfectly fine, even. Obtainable.
A shuddering breath leaves Hiccup as his dad resumes cutting his hair. He doesn't think he can call the emotion in his chest relief, because it's incredibly dampened. In fact he feels more hollow than anything else, but that's better than the panic churning his stomach. "...really?" He whimpers.
"Really." Stoick confirms, but is quick to add on, "Not that Berk won't accept you with open arms."
There's just slightly less agitation at his dad's certainty this time, enough that Hiccup manages to keep his mouth shut. He still doesn't entirely believe his dad, but his confidence is reassuring. And he allows himself to cling to it just this once.
Just for this minute.
I Saw the FNAF movie last night, 10/10 bad movie I loved every moment of it.
"After a long day of being quite beautiful and having a little treat, a girl like me can only concur that it's nap time. nap time! perchance, permaybe! perhaps. I concur." - user "karmapilled" on tiktok
Until next time, my lovelies :)
~Local Dragon Haunt