Work Text:
Berk is cold. Terribly so.
Even under the heavy, bear-fur blankets Stoick has piled over Hiccup, and even sleeping downstairs right next to the lively fire, Hiccup's fingertips are still cold.
It sits on his heart so heavily, and Hiccup briefly remembers how Gobber hammers the weapons which barely survived the raid, and wonders if this is how it feels like to be a broken tool which is constantly hammered by someone.
It is not fair.
What has he done to deserve this? What could he have possibly done before he was born to be born this way? This weak. This fragile. This useless.
Was he a bad person in another life? Was he like Snotlout in a past life? Causing trouble to everyone?
Drop.
The roof is leaking again into the floor upstairs. Hiccup can hear it clearly even with his father's loud snores coming from his room. After all, it's impossible to miss the sounds of heavy rain in such climate. Berk has never been the ideal island, not when it comes to weather. It's constantly snowing, and when it's not snowing, it's raining and storming.
Hiccup wonders what made his namesake even step foot on this island, nevermind choosing it for living.
I guess all Hiccups were stupid and insensible like me. Seems like a trait passed down by names.
Hiccup couldn't help the bitter thought that crossed his mind. As soon as one thought passed, millions of others raced to follow, flooding Hiccup's mind with memories and examples of him being stupid and insensible. Of him being useless. A mistake. A runt. A Hiccup.
Raindrops started leaking quickly, and the sounds were getting louder. The storm has probably caused a break into the roof because there is coldness travelling through the house that wasn't there a few minutes ago. Great. Another day of work spent with his father asking him to help while judging and criticising everything he does.
The newfound cold made Hiccup shiver even more. He curled up as best as he could underneath the heavy blankets, but his fingers remained cold.
He hates the cold. He hates the Berkian weather. He hates the Berkian island. He hates Berk. He hates living here. He hates being a Viking. He hates being the son of a chief. He hates his cousin. He hates the kids his age. He hates everything here.
Most important of all; he hates himself.
If only he was born stronger, bigger, more Viking like. Like Snotlout. If only he was born an heir his father will be proud of. If only he wasn't such a mistake. Such a runt. If only he was a true Viking, he wouldn't have been feeling this cold. He wouldn't have stupid cold fingertips. He wouldn't have his father sigh in disappointment each time he failed to do a simple task. He wouldn't have Gobber give him the lightest of weapons so he'd be able to carry them. He wouldn't have Snotlout and the Thorston kids making fun of him and pushing him around.
He would have been strong. Would have been bigger and better than any of them. He'd beat the twins and Snotlout in any fight. He'd be the one Astrid would want to sit with. He wouldn't even be spending any time with Fishlegs who started abandoning him to join the others.
He would make his father proud. He wouldn't even work with Gobber.
As another gust of wind entered the house, along with more raindrops, Hiccup shivered and moved closer to the fire, hoping for it to warm his body enough.
There is one thing about this cold weather; the coldness and bitterness sneak into the hearts of people as well, and this is exactly how Hiccup feels as he tries to ignore the freeze and sleep.
Through the whole night, raindrops continued to leak through the broken roof, making more room for the cold to sneak in...