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Hiccup knows he shouldn’t have done this.
He should’ve prepared better, should’ve made sure that he had a plan , should’ve gotten more supplies.
He should’ve done so many things, but- after the ribbon, and the sleeping, he just- he didn’t think. This was driven by fear and pain, he knows, and he knows he’s usually good at driving that down. Thinking almost coldly logically in times of stress is what he does - it’s what saves his friends, saves him, it’s his reason.
Viggo does that too , Hiccup thinks suddenly, and he’s never before despised his ability to reason his way out of situations as he does now.
First off, because he knows he won’t succeed. This plan was doomed from the start, ever since Hiccup saw the fresh falling snow outside, the open door to the bedroom Viggo had left him in, the empty, quiet house, and the night, almost inviting him out. Inviting him to try.
And, well. Hiccup’s never been one not to try.
He shouldn’t have tried. He really, really shouldn’t have tried.
The sky is a dark black above him, the trees too sparse for real cover, the snow cold and icy falling on his thin shirt, pants, and that accursed robe as the only thing he could think of in the moment for warmth. He shivers, but his mind is racing, his whole body thrumming with adrenaline and panic, heart pounding.
He’s up on a snowy hill by the shore of the island. The island, surrounded by Hunter ships, infested with Hunters, devoid of dragons. Of his dragon, who Viggo hadn’t captured along with him, but the Riders hadn’t exactly come for him at all in two months.
Some dark part of him feels like that fourteen-year-old on Berk, disowned by his father and ridiculed by his tribe, wondering if they’re ever going to come for him. They do know where Hunter Island is - Hiccup has maps in his room, and they’ve been here before.
Footsteps behind him. Shouting. Hiccup’s breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps, pulling the robe tighter around himself and running for cover. He has nowhere to go - he’s stuck on this island, and he’s never felt quite so hunted.
Maybe Viggo let him escape, knowing he couldn’t really leave. As a lesson.
Hiccup looks up from tracking his path in the snow. Dark shapes move in the trees, and he nearly stumbles into the snowy outcropping, pressing his back against it and curling into the small space where the grass and tree roots extend over him, making a little hollow.
And he waits, shivering. His heart pounds in his ears and he’s practically shaking with panic. He doesn’t want to go back to Viggo. He has nowhere to go - he doesn’t want to go back.
“Did you hear something?”
A pair of Hunters emerges from the trees across from Hiccup’s hiding space. He inhales too sharply and bites his sleeve, swearing internally.
They walk towards him. Don’t find me, don’t find me - if they only looked down - please don’t, don’t find me, don’t look down - they pass him.
They passed him. Hiccup lets go of his sleeve and his next breath comes out as a quiet, dry sob. He curses himself, curses his lack of planning, curses that he’s cold and shivering trapped on a Hunter island being hunted because he didn’t think.
He has to keep moving.
Shaking, shivering, hoping desperately that his logical thinking will be able to save him, even if he didn’t use it before, hoping it’s not too late. It can’t be too late - he can’t go back to Viggo. He knows he was losing his mind in there, losing himself. He knows it, Viggo knows it. They both know just how close Hiccup is to slipping entirely.
He glances around, crouched, and then stands and runs. He pulls the robe around himself, runs through the snow and over the tree roots and away, away, away. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t make a frustrated noise, doesn’t talk to himself in panic. He’s hunted, he’s prey, and prey don’t make noises.
Predators do, when they’re bad ones. Hiccup knows that this island has one good predator. All the rest?
“I swear I saw something moving!”
“You’re seeing things. He isn’t here.”
Not good predators.
Hiccup, however, is alive with the adrenaline thrumming through him, the primal instinct of survival keeping him quick and silent. It’s far too easy for him to sneak around the trees, spend a breath considering what he’s going to do, hesitate, and then leap forward. Viggo has burned away any compassion Hiccup might’ve had for his soldiers. Viggo is hunting him, and Hiccup is not so stupid and not so optimistic that he won’t take every advantage he can get, however he can get it.
Even cold, even against opponents stronger than he is, Hiccup’s fast enough to slide the sword from the sheath on the Hunter’s hip from behind him, twist it in his hands, and slam the hilt against the Hunter’s head. The first one drops, and then Hiccup turns, sword extended against the second Hunter, who’s had time to unsheath his.
“Bold,” the Hunter says, smirking. “We were wondering if Viggo fucked that out of you.”
Hiccup waits, silent. He feels anger course through him, but he doesn’t act on it so recklessly as he would’ve before. Viggo made him more calculating, over two months of manipulations and lies. Hiccup either learned how to control himself, or he didn’t survive.
Hiccup also had to learn every tell-tale twitch of a person, of a face and body, to learn moods, actions. Viggo’s unpredictable like that.
The Hunter’s leg shifts, ever so slightly, and then Hiccup’s moving around his sword, stepping quickly to the side and forward, turning his grip so he can raise the hilt and slam it hard into the Hunter’s back. He grunts, falling forward on his knees, and a second hit to the head makes him drop, unconscious.
He takes the sword, takes the bow and quiver of arrows, both silenced so as not to make a noise. The vest, to keep him warmer, and he takes a perverse pleasure in shedding the robe and leaving it by the Hunters’ unconscious bodies. Another little rebellion - he’s become good at those.
He sheathes the sword after adjusting everything, checks the arrows and the weight of the bow, and then he shivers, and keeps going.
-0-0-0-
He lasts one day.
It’s the next night that Hiccup’s stumbling through the snow, definitely feeling the effects of hypothermia by now, starving. Too many Hunters guarding the ships, he’d found out, and the effort of taking out whatever Hunters were near him was far too much for what little energy he had. By now, Hiccup also knows Viggo is purposely putting only a certain few Hunters on the search for him. Purposely wearing him down so he comes back, rather than simply overwhelming him to where he can’t run.
Curled up, shivering and shaking in another small hollow with a bloody sword staining the white snow beside him and an empty quiver of arrows, he’s considering it. Considering going back to- to him.
It would be warm. He’d have food, water. Viggo would even be gentle about it, he knows, and maybe that’s the worst part, but Hiccup’s getting desperate. He has nowhere to go - he’ll be punished anyway, dragging it out will only make it worse. He won’t die before he’s found, won’t have the energy to fight off whoever finds him so he can simply die of hypothermia rather than being dragged back. Unless-
He glances at the sword beside him. Stained with blood of at least four Hunters. One stabbed in the leg, another the shoulder. Two… two killed. He didn’t want to, but the odds were not tipping in his favor and he couldn’t afford to keep fighting to hurt rather than kill.
Death would be a release, he thinks-
No. He looks up at the sky - he has to keep going, if only for Toothless. And Astrid, and Tuffnut and Ruffnut, Snotlout and Fishlegs, his father. Dagur, even. Heather. All the dragons.
Hiccup sighs. Some part of him regrets that he’s not at that point yet, that he can’t bring himself to do it, but he knows he doesn’t break easy. He won’t be at that point for a long while, but he’s at this one, the one where he wants Viggo’s gentle touches over this cold, endless hunt.
He stands up, leaves the sword, bow, and quiver behind, and takes a step towards Viggo’s house. And another, and another…
-0-0-0-
It is warm, in Viggo’s house. Hiccup doesn’t remember getting to this bed - he remembers walking, and stumbling, and hiding, and he was cold, so so cold. He was being hunted, and he saw Viggo’s house. He even got to the doorway with stumbling steps, sat down-
And darkness.
He fell unconscious, then. Logical, considering he was suffering from hypothermia. And… Viggo found him.
Hiccup can’t help but feel relieved at that, though there’s a part of him that rebels against it and he doesn’t know, or care to know, why. The blankets are warm, he’s warm, and now Viggo is walking in holding food and water.
“You worried me, my dear,” he begins as greeting, watching as Hiccup takes the food and starts eating. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I-” he stops, assessing himself. Some part of him is oddly… numb, blank, and his voice comes out softer than he intended it to be. “I know you’ll punish me.”
“Only if you haven’t learned your lesson.” The food wasn’t much. Hiccup looks up to give Viggo the plate back, and freezes at the intense stare he gives him. “Will you do it again?”
He’s stunned into silence for a few minutes, caught in deep brown eyes, and then shakes his head. “N-no.” He pauses. That’s not enough. “No. I won’t do it again.” He means it.
Viggo smiles, now, holding out the glass of water. Hiccup relaxes, though it’s a little uneasy. “Good. I don’t want to lose you.”
Something’s wrong here. Something’s so very wrong, especially the guilt that Hiccup feels at Viggo’s words, but he can’t place it. It’s far away, behind a door that isn’t locked (yet), but… jammed. For now.
He doesn’t know why he says what he does next - he doesn’t know a lot of things about himself right now, and doesn’t know why he doesn’t care about that fact.
“‘M sorry,” he says quietly, over the lip of the glass of water.
“I know. I forgive you.”
Hiccup smiles and keeps drinking the water. Maybe he’ll remember in the morning.