Chapter Text
He is walking through the woods. They are a familiar sight, and he walks beside familiar people. He tries to look for their faces, but he can’t move his eyes from the path in front. His hand is in someone else’s, and their skin feels familiar too. Someone cracks a joke, and he can’t decipher words but his mouth crinkles into a smile. It feels funny, like meeting an old friend you haven’t seen in years. Another person adds something on, and he is laughing even more. Laughing, laughing, laughing. He shuts his eyes in contentment and opens them to find he is all alone.
His heart drops. His hand is cold and empty. The woods no longer feel familiar any more. He must’ve taken a wrong turn. He wants to go back. He needs to go back to the lovely, familiar, faceless people. He carries on down the path, fog seeping through the branches effortlessly. His legs begin to slow, and the end of the path feels further and further away with every step he takes. He begins to run, but that just makes it worse. The leaves turn into black holes, and his prosthetic leg gets caught in one. He slips from the misty woods into a void of darkness falling falling falling falling fall-
He screams.
Astrid’s head leans on Heather’s shoulder, who bears a sleeping Snotlout’s head on her thigh, his legs over Fishlegs’s lap. The twins curl up together across hospital chairs like rats. Since the ambulances told them to leave, they had done what they did best as a group and ignored them in the most chaotic way possible, which involved Snotlout pretending to get his foot run over by Ruffnut and Tuffnut’s car. Only it wasn’t pretend, and he had to have an ice pack strapped to his foot while he slept unrestfully.
None of them even dared think about going home. Hiccup was still in critical condition. And if something happened, and they weren’t there, they couldn’t even imagine how that would feel. So they stayed.
The moon shone insultingly bright and beautiful on Astrid’s face. She told herself that was why she couldn’t sleep, and when Heather’s head rested on hers in a strange pattern she’d once heard called a domino, she’d wake her, which would wake Snotlout, then Fishlegs, then the twins, and they’d all be awake to deal with the present day’s emotions.
It felt like a dream: she was in her class, and then someone was yelling for everyone to come outside, and watch “the freak finally fall to his death.” Astrid hadn’t wasted any time in rushing up the stairs to the roof, where she saw Hiccup’s body, unmoving, almost frozen, at the top. Poised to jump.
She remembers screaming a lot of words, his voice shaking, and watching him disappear. She remembers the swooping feeling in her gut as she leaned over the edge, careful not to fall lest she join him below, seeing him- oh Thor oh Thor oh Thor .
He looked dead. A very faint patch of blood surrounded his head like a halo, while his limbs were crookedly splayed out, bent at odd angles Astrid was sure were unnatural. He’d have multiple broken bones, at least.
Just broken bones. The school’s three stories high. He won’t be dead. She told herself as her footsteps thudded on the stairs taking her down down down, kneeling beside Hiccup. Her fingers trembled as she checked for his pulse, jabbing his neck, his wrist, leaning her cheek over his lips, searching for any signs of life.
Nothing.
And she crumbled.
She was thankful her friends -chaotic as they may be- at least held onto logic in the worst case scenarios. Ruffnut and Tuffnut shepherded the nosy crowd away as best they could with the help of several teachers. Heather nudged Astrid’s trembling body aside so she could take a proper look at him. Fishlegs held his phone to his ear, and spoke urgently into the receiver. Which left Snotlout to sprint halfway across the school grounds to find the only teachers in the campus equipped to deal with anything like this. One thing led to another, and soon she was cramped into an ambulance car, either side of Heather and Snotlout, sick with worry.
She couldn’t go in the ambulance, since she and all her friends were still seventeen, and minors were not allowed to be with someone who required intensive care. But they all begged and screamed and threatened and cried out of sheer terror, until one poor backup driver took pity and let them all squish into his car.
She could forget all that, if she tried. She could shut her ears and eyes, and block out the mocking laughter from all the pupils, heartless monsters, block out the aching in her throat where she was certain Hiccup’s name remained stuck.
But she couldn’t forget his hand, hanging lifelessly from the stretcher, in mid air, as if waiting for someone to hold it. She always held his hand, especially in winter time. His hands were always cold. Hers were warm, like a human radiator. She wondered if he would feel any colder in death.
Death. Hiccup Haddock could be dead.
She clamps a hand over her mouth, and bolts up from her seat, no longer caring what happens to the others. Heather bolts awake, her catlike green eyes blinking. She and Astrid share a solemn look of understanding, and Heather stays where she is.
Astrid manages to make it all the way to the bathroom before she hurls her stomach into the toilet. Out goes her breakfast, and a disgusting, dry hospital sandwich they’d all been offered out of politeness, but were too worried to eat more than a bite. Astrid dry heaves until her stomach runs empty. She pants as saliva drips from her mouth, hanging precariously, not quite falling. Frustrated, she wipes it away with the back of her hand and washes her face and hands in the bathroom sink.
Her eyes flicker upwards. Big mistake. The sight of her reflection hits her like a truck: her hair is messy, her mascara is smudged under her eyes, and today alone seems to have carved worry lines into her forehead. Her pale skin is gaunt, almost yellow in the flickering hospital lights.
She looks at herself. Then, she kicks the bathroom sink and screams.
Almost immediately, a myriad of alarms go off. She freezes, wondering if she’s accidentally drawn too much attention to herself.
But then she realises the alarms are probably not for her, in an empty, unmonitored bathroom, but someone else who is far far worse.
“Hiccup.”
Her foot throbs from its contact with the sink, but she sprints down the hallway all the same, dodging carts full of medicines and nurses on the night shift like an olympic sport. All through it, she screams Hiccup’s name over and over, like a prayer: her final wish. She swears she’ll never ask for anything else, ever, if he can just be ok again.
She skids to a stop, realising her yelling and running is taking her nowhere, so she follows where a flock of nurses seem to be heading, and tails them, stealthier this time. She tries to memories the route from here to where they stop: left, right, second door on the right, left again, down the corridor, all the way to-
Intensive Care Unit. The bold, black letters stare at her mockingly from the sign on the wall. She presses her ear to the crack, where she c
And-
Hiccup talks.
His voice is weak, broken sounding, but it is his voice. The voice that scolded the twins’ antics, geeked out with Fishlegs, argued with Snotlout, sang as he worked when he thought no one could hear him. The voice that told her, with an accompanying kiss, so many times over, that he loved her.
“Hiccup!” She can take it no longer, and flings the door open. He now lies still, tubes and drips of all kinds in his body. She can identify a pulse monitor on his index finger, an IV drip into his forearm, an oxygen mask on his face, and other equipment even Heather, the most medically qualified out of any of them, would struggle to name. A heavy cast covers his right leg, another on his left arm.
Almost immediately, a nurse begins to chivy her out of the room. “What do you think you are doing? This is the ICU, can’t you read? Get out, these patients are in critical condition!”
Astrid stumbles into the corridor, watches the door slam in her face. That's fair, she thinks, cursing her tendency to act before thinking. Something that never bothered Hiccup; he was the complete opposite, a chronic overthinker. He never stopped asking, questioning, second guessing, wondering wondering wondering. Astrid sometimes wished she could climb into his mind and explore it. She felt as if she would find a galaxy inside.
Though now, considering he tried to ki- he almost died of his doing, she guesses it’s more like a grey, marble wasteland. She still remembers the defeat in his eyes when he looked at her.
“No. No, there isn’t. This is the only way, Astrid.”
Suddenly, he realises there is nothing in Heaven or Hell, Valhalla or Niflheim that would stop Hiccup doing the same for her if the roles were reversed.
She storms through the door and holds Hiccup’s hand. It’s still cold, like it always is. Her hand is warm with sweat. Nurses yell at her, trying to pry her body off his. But she wouldn’t let go for anything.
His eyes are only just open, narrow slits covered by long, dark eyelashes. They flutter slightly, and settle shut. The corners of his lips tug.
Astrid holds his hand. And she doesn’t let go.
Hiccup’s eyes creak open, like doors that haven’t been touched in centuries. Everything hurts all over: a dully oscillating ache that doesn’t seem to leave. His lips open in a silent cry, but something muffles his voice, sending his breath bouncing back onto his skin.
His heart spikes, and so does a mysterious beeping noise from his right side. What’s happening to me? He notices his limbs feel trapped, immovable from where he lies. He wants to move, wants to breathe properly, wants to fly-
Oh.
Everything comes back at once. Crows, stairs, Astrid, screaming, crying, laughing, pointing, falling falling falling.
He’d think he’s dead if it wasn’t for the never-ending feeling of existing so heavily.
A hand gently removes the oxygen mask from his mouth. He took a deep lungful of air, sighing in relief.
“Hiccup?” The prettiest face in the world peers at him, a worried look knitted in her eyebrows.
“Oh, now I know I’m dead,” Hiccup mumbles faintly. “You’re an angel.” Of all the angels in the sky, he’s glad it’s his girlfriend. But that means she’d dead too, oh Thor what if she fell after him-
“Hiccup, you’re alive. You’re here.” Her voice catches, and he suddenly knows he can’t have died. “I’m here. It’s ok.”
“I- I- I'm so sorry, Astrid,” Hiccup says, the beginnings of tears pricking his eyes. Astrid reaches across and pulls him into the comfiest hug she can manage with all the tubes still in him. “I don't want to leave you, and Toothless, and the gang, I just…” defeat shimmered in his eyes. “I'm so tired . I can't do this anymore.”
“Yes you can, Hiccup. You're a fighter.” Astrid squeezes his hands, careful but firm. She plants a kiss on his knuckles, soft like a feather. “You've already been through so much and I'm so proud of you for that. You deserve nothing more than a good long rest. But you've got to just make it through this, and you'll feel so proud of yourself.”
Hiccup looks at her with a lovestruck expression. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”
Astrid laughs, playfully ruffling his hair. “Doesn't really matter. We can think about all that later. Do you want a hug?”
Hiccup cups Astrid's jaw, gently turning it towards his face. He plants a kiss on her cheek.
“You know, I think I'd love that.”
In the days that follow, his friends never leave his side. Ruffnut and Tuffnut text him the worst jokes they can find in an attempt to cheer him up, while Snotlout sends Hiccup screenshots of anything worthwhile from his Tumblr feed. Fishlegs brings Hiccup books to read, not schoolbooks, but real books: books about adventures, stories of unlikely heroes and their ragtag group overcoming the odds to triumph over the villain. Heather brings him home cooked meals, and sings him to sleep over the phone. They text for hours on the groupchat, talking about silly things, whatever latest shenanigans the twins have been up to that leave Hiccup’s side aching.
Astrid stays by his side, holds his hand when it hurts, and even when it doesn’t because his hands are cold no matter how many blankets the group gives him to pile on. They all bunk at the hospital for the first two nights, but Hiccup insists they go home and get some rest. He can see the bags growing under their eyes even through facetime. Besides, the waiting rooms of hospitals are one of the most germy places in the world and he’d never subject them to something like that. They send flowers and get well soon cards. Hiccup collects them on his bedside table.
He has all his things with him, which helps. Snotlout and Fishlegs dashed back to his house to pack a bag the minute Astrid returned screaming with joy that Hiccup was awake. The bag was full of everything he needed, right down to his favourite stuffed toy cat. His dad isn't with him; he is out “kissing Florida's ass,” as Astrid so gently puts it. But he doesn't need him; in fact, he thinks.it would just make things worse.
They let Astrid stay with him, to a lot of complaining, but that doesn't stop her. She sits by his bed, keeps him company, buys takeout once, and they eat like royalty. She tries to hold out in sleep on a chair by his bedside. On the fourth day, the hospital insists she borrows a mattress, and she relents, stretching out happily. Hiccup’s hand falls out of his bed in the night, hanging limply, and Astrid takes it in her own.
He sleeps well that night.
Hiccup’s friends only ask the dreaded ‘why’ question once. It was from Fishlegs, three weeks after being admitted to the hospital. He managed to type with his unbroken arm, a message in response.
Hiccup: I felt weighed down, all the time. From how my dad treated me, from depression, from school, almost everything, really. I wanted to fly like a bird.
Or, like a dragon, he tacks onto the end.
The texts that followed were full to bursting of heart emojis, support, sending love, giving him their best wishes, and promises to beat the shit out of his dad if he ever showed his ugly face in Hiccup’s life. He knew they couldn’t follow through; Hiccup was stuck with him until he turned eighteen, and even then, who knew what kind of strings he could pull as the state senator. Besides, if anyone threatened anything on his father, they’d get it five times as hard back at them.
He replies with a sarcastic joke, as he normally does, and he laughs. The smile fades the second he turns his phone off, but it’s better than nothing.
He still doesn’t feel brave enough to exist. But his friends, and the hospital psychologist he has been seeing, both help. He drinks, he eats, he talks, and the day comes when he finally smiles.
And one day when Hiccup looks out of the window, he sees two crows flying in perfect harmony. He will join them some day, when his time is dwindling, and he has long since passed eighty. But not today.
Over the next year, his friends help. Ruff and Tuff take them all to the group’s favourite theme park, and ride all the rides that make Hiccup feel like he is flying. As they fall, he screams, throwing his hands up, and everyone else screams with him, and the screams turn to laughter as they scramble off at the end, the ground swaying beneath them.
Heather and Dagur take them bungee jumping, of all things. Astrid gives them sceptical looks, worrying such an activity would trigger Hiccup, but he brushes them off. He always wanted to try bungee jumping.
And he flies through the air in freefall, screaming with joy. He feels like a bird, unstoppable.
When Snotlout offers to take them skydiving, it only multiplies the feeling. He plummets, his hand clutching the parachute strap, because as he falls through the air, he realises if he’d have died, he’ll only have done this once. If he wants, he could do this as many times as he can.
It is Fishlegs who perhaps helps the most. He reclines to his workbench at Berk High School, not spilling the secrets of his sudden retreat to anyone -not even Snotlout, despite his insistence- and reemerged to the gang’s lunch table, holding a brand new-
“A drone?” Hiccup gasped in disbelief, running his hands over the beautiful machine. “It’s incredible.”
“It’s yours. To- um, to keep,” Fishlegs stammered nervously, handing him the device. “It has a camera you can attach, so you can see aerial views from heights of up to four hundred feet tall! Oh, and this switch here allows you to-”
Hiccup cut him off with a bone crushing hug, the drone safely on the table. “It’s perfect . Thank you.”
“That looks amazing! We’ll have to fly it out sometime,” Astrid says. “Sunset would be nice.”
True to her word, she invites him on a clifftop walk just the two of them, the drone tucked into a bag by Hiccup’s side. He knows better than to ask if it’s a date, because the feelings are definitely mutual, but he knows he’s nowhere near ready to date someone. His friends and the therapist he’s been seeing have all helped him so much, but he still has ages to go, and he knows that.
While I’m here, though, he thinks, switching the drone on with a buzz of life, and setting it free into the sky, I should make the most of what I have.
The sunset is gorgeous, hues of amber, peach and indigo dancing across the sky, all illuminated by a brilliant, gold light. The sunset is perhaps more gorgeous reflected on Astrid’s beautiful face, but Hiccup bites back the comment. One day, he’ll share those feelings. One day, he’ll be ready for love.
One day, someday, his spirit will soar into the sky like a dragon, and he will be free from his planet. But not today. Not when his life waits for him behind him.