Chapter Text
December 2020 (whole fic)
Winter is a normal time to wear long sleeves, especially if you live somewhere as cold as Berk, in Oregon, where temperatures regularly drop into the dangerous negative territories, and showing any more skin than you had to is a safety hazard. Suicide, really, if you don’t want your fingers to stay attached.
However, when the weather edged into summer, blessed with endlessly hot spells of sun, it would be foolish to wear anything but a vest and shorts.
Hiccup dreaded the time when those days would come, looking into the distance and counting down the days in the meticulous way of his. Measuring how much time he had before his scars would fade enough for him to wear short sleeves again.
But, as of now, it was the beginnings of December, rolling steadily into winter, and Hiccup checked his scars every day. He watched the burgundy slashes fade to pink, then cream, until they were barely visible on his pale skin. But still noticeable, if anyone dared get close enough to him.
Not like anyone would want to. He had friends, a girlfriend and a cousin -the closest family he considered family- who still cared for him. That was it. Compared to the family who had left him, it wasn’t enough to outweigh the tide.
He was unwanted. Humiliating. Discarded. Hiccup the Weak, Hiccup the Useless, Hiccup the Runt. Each word scraped like a thorn, and he let it. It grew, until they began to sting like bees as his peers’ vocabulary advanced, but he still let it. Until, that was, he realised he could make it stop.
It was only supposed to be once. The voices inside wouldn’t stop, and they threatened to swamp him if he didn’t do anything. He scurried away to the bathroom - pathetic coward always running away - and hid, like he knew how to do - are you gonna come out there you useless weakling? - and his hands were fumbling for the spare razors - get out here and face me like a real man, if you insist on becoming one - under the sink before he had time to think.
It was over quickly. His arms were covered with thin, even, red cuts. Blood was welling up along the lines. The skin throbbed, stinging with fresh air, but he felt somehow better.
Stupid stupid Hiccup, relying on pain to feel good.
He shut his eyes, expecting the voices to transcend once again, but it was quiet. He listened harder, barely daring to breathe, as if the voices would come back any minute, and he was just staving the inevitable off. But no. It really was silent. Calm, simple, quiet silence, not the loud kind that swamped him.
And he smiled, truly, for the first time in weeks.
.o0o.
Astrid felt as if she would never stop learning about Hiccup. His affinity for handling cats, his limitless kindness, the fact he was left handed, or the way he waved his hands around when he talked about something he was passionate about. Every new, beautiful thing she discovered about him was a breath of fresh air, a spark in darkness, amongst the dull drag of academic pressure piling on her from her aunt and uncle. Every time he spoke, she couldn't tear her eyes away, deciding she’d listen to him until she knew everything about him possible, and she still would, because it would take her ten lifetimes to get tired of his voice.
Until one day when she came to drop off his drink at the cat shelter, and she realised there were some things that hurt less to not know.
She’d been to pick up her usual order -a simple iced coffee with caramel syrup and a little extra whipped cream- when she remembered Hiccup had been on a late shift at the rescue centre. Considering she was going to pack up and lock up at the falconry centre, she may as well swing by, since it was only across the road.
She added his usual order onto his -black coffee with almond milk- and walked the short distance to the cat rescue centre, the drinks warming her hands.
The receptionist let her in with little fuss, having come to know her after the first few visits, with a brief “he’s doing the feeding rounds, he’s got another half hour before he’s off.”
“Oh, thank you, that’s fine,” she replied, nodding politely, and carried on in her pursuit of him.
“Hiccup?” She called, passing cages of cats, mostly bent over their bowls, eating. He must’ve been here recently, she figured, so why isn’t he talking to me?
She found a distinctly human silhouette in one of the door frames, seemingly whipping a jumper over his head.
“Hey, what’s up?” Astrid said, leaning against the doorframe. “Got you your favourite. Almond milk, as usual.”
“Oh, thanks,” Hiccup said, his voice unusually void of the expression Astrid usually delighted upon hearing. He took a swig, downing it in one go. His shoulders visibly relaxed as the hot beverage worked into his system. “I really appreciate it.”
“No worries,” Astrid replied, a little stiffly, trying to ignore the familiar sting of rejection blooming in her chest like blood from a bullet wound.
“I won’t be long, I’m just feeding Ghost here,” he said, gesturing to the sleek, pure white cat with dazzling blue eyes. “She's a Balinese, they like quite a lot of attention. You can give her ears a pet, if you’d like.”
Astrid recognised the shift in personality from ‘people’ Hiccup to ‘animal’ Hiccup. He was almost a wholly different person around animals, he loved them so. With his attention on Ghost, it was hard not to feel jealous. But Hiccup deftly scooped her up, and handed her to Astrid.
“Here, give her a cuddle. She’s gentle, I promise.”
Astrid let out a high laugh she could only call a giggle. Soft paws pummelled her legs, as Ghost took a curious sniff, then rubbed her head against her face.
“She's just curious, don't worry,” said Hiccup, his previously anxious demeanour almost entirely gone. “In fact, I think she likes you.”
“Aw, nice to meet you too,” Astrid cooed. “You're so warm, are you not hot in here?”
“She's good, it's still technically winter, so she's kept her coat.”
“What about you? You know, you don't have to put a jumper on, it's pretty warm in here.”
Hiccup froze like a deer in headlights. Astrid tensed, feeling the air thicken. Ghost leapt off her lap and twirled around Hiccup's leg. “Oh, I just have a couple of birthmarks on my arms I hate,” he said, pointedly watching Ghost scale her scratch post.
Astrid wasn’t stupid. She knew what that implied. She’d heard of self harm before. It just seemed implausible it was happening to someone as bright and full of life as him. Hiccup, who spent his free time looking after cats. Hiccup, who got adorably animated when he talked about something he loved.
Hiccup, who might just be keeping secrets from her. Hiccup, who might be suffering in secret.
Maybe there was more to Hiccup than she thought. The question being: was she brave enough to find out?