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It starts on a Þórsdagr.
Hiccup dodges a punch from Snotlout, which, honestly, fair enough– but it’s a friendly punch. Hiccup is used to stuff like that by now, she knows he is. So she thinks it’s weird, but then again, she doesn’t want Snotlout to punch her, so she pays it no heed.
Then, on Laugardagr, Astrid notices Hiccup shying away from Fishlegs’ hug. She narrows her eyes, shakes her head in a silent I don’t know, and Fishlegs shrugs guiltily. He apologises to Hiccup, who seems nearly startled at the apology, like it didn’t register with him that anything happened. After a few seconds, Hiccup starts talking animatedly about something or other, and eventually, Fishlegs joins in, if a little uncertainly.
Later that day, in the middle of dinner, Tuffnut yawns and stretches, and though he and Hiccup are on opposite sides of the table, Hiccup flinches away and stares at his plate. Nobody else seems to notice it, but Astrid slams her fists on the table, her spoon clinking on the metal, and fixes him with a glare. “Okay, what is up with you?”
Hiccup blinks, swallowing a piece of carrot. “Me? Nothing.”
Astrid grits her teeth. “No, there’s definitely something. You’re still not good at lying.”
Hiccup frowns, looking slightly offended. “I’m fine.”
Snotlout snorts. “Okay.” Fishlegs elbows him, and the twins look back and forth between them like it’s a duel.
Astrid rolls her eyes, and the table is silent for thirty seconds, until Hiccup says, “Why do you think there’s something wrong with me?”
Astrid widens her eyes incredulously. “You’re kidding.” When Hiccup keeps looking at her expectantly, she huffs, “You’ve been– you’ve been avoiding touching us. It’s weird. You never do that. And now you do. So now I want to know what the Hel is going on, because it’s clearly something.”
Hiccup gives a small laugh. “I haven’t been av– doing that.”
Fishlegs swallows pointedly. “Um, you kind of have.”
“Has he? I don’t remember that,” Tuffnut says, rubbing his chin, and Ruffnut shakes her head. “I don’t remember it either.”
“I don’t remember anything like that,” Snotlout agrees. Fishlegs tilts his head. “Why did you think there was something wrong with Hiccup, then?”
“I was just looking for an excuse for something to be wrong with Hiccup.”
“Okay, enough,” Astrid says. “Hiccup, you might not want to acknowledge it, but you’re avoiding touch, and it’s weird.”
“I’m not,” Hiccup insists. “Why do you even–”
“On Þórsdagr, you didn’t let Snotlout punch you. Today, you didn’t let Fishlegs hug you, and then just now, you– Tuffnut yawned, and you acted like someone was about to hit you! What’s wrong with you? What happened? Did something happen, or is there just something fundamentally wrong with you?”
She regrets the severity of her words as soon as they’re out of her mouth, but it’s too late– Hiccup stands up, dropping his spoon into his bowl, and the soup splashes, spilling over the edge. His stool falls to the floor, and he stares at her with such a look of betrayal and shock that Astrid wants to scream.
He storms out of the room, Toothless perking up and padding out behind him, and Snotlout whistles. “Man, that was harsh. Uh… someone should go and talk to him, right?”
“Not me,” the twins both say in unison, and Snotlout shakes his head. “Neither. Fishlegs?”
“I– um, I can,” Fishlegs says, looking very uncomfortable, and Astrid sighs. “I’ll go.”
She does, a couple of hours later, when the rage in her chest has faded and morphed into a more guilt–like creature. She knocks softly on Hiccup’s door, knocks again when he doesn’t answer, and finally, he opens the door and says flatly, “What.”
Astrid nods towards his living area, and says tentatively, “May I come in?” It’s probably the most polite she’s been in ages, and it seems to pay off, because Hiccup stares for a moment and then steps aside to let her in.
Astrid takes note of how he flattens himself against the door to avoid her brushing past him, and she steps away, wringing her hands awkwardly as he gazes at her. She opens her mouth to say something, and he jerks his head in the general direction of his armchairs. He made them only last week– the sheepskin cover is still smooth and unmatted. She sits, and he perches on the arm of the one opposite her.
They sit in silence for about thirty seconds, until Hiccup says begrudgingly, “So.”
“So,” Astrid repeats, and he nods. “So.”
“I was rude to you before. I’m sorry,” she says simply, and Hiccup purses his lips. “Okay.”
“Hiccup,” Astrid groans. “Just– please tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong,” Hiccup says, and she sighs. “I can’t help you, then.”
“I don’t need you to help me.”
Astrid throws her hands up in frustration, Hiccup recoils, and she freezes. “I’m sorry.”
He says nothing, and Astrid lowers her hands slowly, as if he’s a spooked dragon. “Hiccup, are– do you think I’m going to hurt you?”
Hiccup’s eyes flutter downwards, and he stares at the mat on his floor. Astrid tries very hard to keep her voice level. “I’m not. Do you… do you understand that?”
He nods almost imperceptibly, and Astrid reaches a hand out slowly, placing it on his thigh. He doesn’t object, and she takes it as a win– he looks up at her, and she whispers, “What happened?”
Hiccup’s eyes flit around like he’s looking for eavesdroppers, and then he says lowly, “I don’t want to go back to Berk.”
Astrid blinks, and then realisation hits her like a sack of rocks. “Someone there hurt you? Who? Spitelout? If it was Spitelout, I’ll–”
“No,” Hiccup stops her, and she falls silent. He reaches a hand up to rub his neck, and he murmurs, “It was stupid. It was my fault. We– we… argued, and I was– he– I didn’t– he didn’t mean to. He was just angry. It was my fault.”
It dawns on her, very suddenly, that she has no idea of Hiccup’s relationship with his father. If this has happened, if this has escaped her notice, she’s– how could she not see this?
Hiccup seems to shrink in on himself, and she says quietly, “Can I hug you? I won’t… I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”
He nods, though, and she moves to his armchair, pulls him into a tight embrace, her hand in his hair. His body is rigid for a moment, but eventually he relaxes, and she kisses the top of his head. “I’m sorry I was awful. I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry he hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t know,” Hiccup says, voice muffled by her blouse, and she hugs him tighter. “I’m still sorry.”
They decide, eventually, that their visits to Berk can sit on the back stone for a while.