Chapter Text
When Hiccup is abandoned and then almost immediately taken in by his pseudo-siblings, he’s not exactly sure what to expect.
Heather holds his hand and says the guest room is his for as long as he needs, and Dagur asks questions and says he doesn’t have to answer any if he’s not comfortable– and, and they’re both so kind. And so welcoming. And it makes Hiccup want to cry, because this is such an unfamiliar environment, and he doesn’t, instead, swallowing the lump obstructing his airways and smiling.
And he misses his dad. So much. Every single day, Hiccup calls him, and every single day, it rings twice.
Voicemail.
And it’s a Saturday morning when things first change for the better.
“So,” Heather says, swallowing her toast, and Hiccup glances up at her from his phone. “Uh– yeah?”
“Dagur is working late.” She looks at him like he’s supposed to know what this means, and he blinks. “… Yeah?”
“So, we’re getting takeout for dinner.”
??? “Uh, okay.”
Heather chuckles, giving him a small smile. “What kind of takeout do you want? We frequent this Thai place, but we can get pizza, or Indian, or Mexican– you can choose.”
Hiccup stares at her silently, waiting for her to smirk at him, waiting for her to laugh and revoke the offer as soon as she extended it–
“Hiccup?”
He stands up, his chair scraping across the tiles of the kitchen he’s too scared to enter alone, and mumbles, “I’ll– I’m– bathroom,” and he hurries to his bedroom and closes the door as quietly as he can manage and slides down against the door with his head in his hands. Because this– this is, this, this is fucked. This is scary. It was better being able to predict his dad’s patterns, it was easier– to be able to dodge hits when he needed to, to know that he wasn’t wanted, to know when the people around him were angry– rather than this. This stupid, false, fucking beautiful, kindness he’s been shown for the past two weeks.
Toothless rubs his face against Hiccup’s sweatpants, and he sniffs, stroking the cat with one hand and keeping the other on his face. “What am I going to do, Toothless?” he whispers, and–
“Open the door?” Heather suggests gently from the other side of it, and Hiccup yelps, pushing himself away. The door handle turns slightly, and then reverts to its original position. “I’m not going to come in unless it’s okay with you.”
Hiccup takes a deep breath, and then, after a moment, says, “Sure.”
She enters quietly, doesn’t turn the light on or open the blinds anything, instead, just plops herself down next to him, and Hiccup is eternally grateful. He swallows. “Hi.”
“Hey,” she replies. “Are you… did I do something wrong?”
Hiccup shakes his head vigorously, ignoring the pounding sensation that follows. “No. Nonononono. No, you didn’t.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’m glad. Was it… the takeout? You didn’t know what to choose?”
“I didn’t…” Hiccup begins, frowning, unsure of how to phrase this. “I didn’t know if I could choose.”
Heather blinks. “Oh. Oh, I’m– shit, Hiccup, I’m sorry.” She gives him an understanding look, and he sighs. “It’s okay. It’s– it’s really not your fault, I’m– I’m sensitive, whatever. Just need to… get used to it, I guess.”
Heather scowls. “You shouldn’t have to get used to it. You shouldn’t have to– to unlearn, or whatever, anything like this. I’m really sorry you do.”
“It’s okay,” he repeats. He grasps her hand tightly, and she does the same.
Hiccup doesn’t end up choosing dinner.
They get Thai.