Work Text:
“Oi, look what the yak dragged in!”
Hiccup heard Gobber’s exclamation before he saw him. The smith waved his hammer in greeting and flashed his golden teeth. “It’s hardly noon, eh?”
“Sorry I’m late,” Hiccup sighed, breathless from running to the forge. He grabbed his work apron and tied it around his back.
“No worries, lad, you’re not my first,” he motioned at the other side of the forge. Where Hiccup used to work as Gobber’s apprentice. “He’s not even here yet and doesn’t have an excuse of a close encounter with a storm.”
Ha, Hiccup would bet that his younger counterpart stayed up late designing and drawing. Although if so, he was probably working on a dragon trap of sorts. He shuddered at the thought.
“So, what do I do?” he motioned towards the stack of metal laying nearby. “I can fix, mend, pretty much whatever you ask. Customer service?”
Gobber taxed him with a once-over. “You look like something dragged you out of deathbed.”
“Gee, thanks.” The smith crossed his arms on his chest, looking unconvinced. “I’m telling you, I’m good at this. I just haven’t slept well. But I would really use a distraction, you know, to take my mind off the… well, everything.”
“Alright, fine,” Gobber sighed. “But I won’t clean your scrapes when you keel over the hearth.” Hiccup grinned as the smith showed him all the essential tools and gave a stack of weapons to fix.
The familiar clicks and clangs of metal soothed him. For a moment he could imagine he was back on his Berk, taking a break from other duties. Last night he tried force his mind to sleep for hours, haunted by dreadful images constantly flashing before his eyes. Darkest scenarios of what would happen were he to stay there forever or if they found him out and didn’t believe him. Lying in the darkness exposed how all his brave optimism was useless, he had zero clarity of knowing how to continue. The only possible reference point was the storm, but he wasn’t that crazy to fly or sail into roaring thunders. Not yet.
He noticed Gobber watching him from his workstation. He picked up the shield he was currently working on and turned it in the smith’s direction. “To your satisfaction?” He quipped, rather proud of the blacksmithing skills he perfected over the years.
Gobber replied with his usual feigned indifference. “Just making sure you still have all your fingers.”
“Yeah, yeah, two hands, one foot, all in place.” Gobber waved his hook-hand at him, exasperated. Thus Hiccup was left to his work and lulled into a single-focused state of shaping and cooling.
It seemed like barely an hour passed when Gobber approached him again, but the sun was laying low and his pile of gears to fix was reduced to a couple scraps. The hearth was quelled, the village quieter than at noon.
Gobber put his gloves on the table and send Hiccup an expectant gaze. “Dinner time. Come on, let’s take a break.”
“Thanks, but I’d like to finish those. Besides, I’m not hungry,” he replied. At that moment his stomach grumbled betraying his body.
Gobber raised an eyebrow and snickered. “Not hungry, eh? Have you even had breakfast?” He asked, seemingly sure of the answer.
Hiccup mumbled, “I was in a rush.” He put away the tools and weapons and wiped his hands on his trousers. He scanned the room before following Gobber outside. “Hey, uh, do you mind if…”
“Yeah, yeah, you can come back and knock yourself out,” the smith patted his shoulder. “After you’ve eaten and rested a bit.”
They walked to the Great Hall, where the smells were beckoning hungry villagers. Once they fixed their plates, Gobber invited him to sit along. His father was not in sight, probably delayed with his chiefly duties. Hiccup knew what it was like to never have enough time to take care of everything, losing hours of sleep. He constantly thanked the gods for Astrid who kept him in check with eating and taking breaks. They ruled together on equal standing, and she was a wonder with her cool head and no-bullshit attitude.
He drifted between his thoughts and the buzz of the hall. Gobber was telling him about one of the recent dragon raids, before the storms started. Being among people after hours of work lacked its usual charm – since no one recognized him, he was only a minor sensation, though it was better to be ignored than the distrustful looks he received from some people. Nor did he enjoy the anonymity, with the need to constantly watch his words and his back.
Back in the forge, he was finishing shaping metal rods for a ship pole when a noise from the back made him jump. He turned around, amused by his own reaction, but tensed even more when he noticed who was standing behind him.
“Oh, uh, hi! Didn’t notice you there,” his mini version spoke first, looking just as spooked as Hiccup felt. Looking at himself was like a feverish dream, a twisted mirror into memories of his old self.
“Hello,” he put away his tools. “Working late, too?”
Younger Hiccup eyed his workstation in the back. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got a few things to wrap up, you know, super deadly weapons, killing and stuff, very viking-like.” His rambling cut off when he looked at Older Hiccup. “Sorry, you don’t care about that, do you?”
Older Hiccup’s arms flailed in the air. “No, no, no I do. See, I’m pretty much in the same position here,” his younger version took notice of his work, and his back relaxed a little.
Hiccup found it was not so bad to be in the company of his younger self. The guy was curious about everything, about his armour, the fabric, his notebook, and especially about his forging method, though he had a few quips to add to that, already thinking of how to improve his own technique. It was quite enjoyable to be able to talk to someone about other things than his storm misadventure. Enjoyable enough not to notice that the sun was almost completely gone, and they had been working together for a while.
“Hey,” he nudged his counterpart who lifted his safety mask. “It’s pretty late. Wanna help me wrap this up?”
His eyes opened wide as he took in the time. He swiftly put down the hearth, as Hiccup organised the tools in their place. Once the fire was out, young Hiccup grabbed his notebook where he had added some new ideas, prompted by their talk, and with a nod in his direction, he was on his way.
Hiccup sighed, remembering how anxious he used to be about everything growing up. He hoped to ease some of that tension in his younger self, now that he had a brief chance.
Once the forge was clean and organised enough to his satisfaction, he left for Gobber’s hut where he was granted a bed. Summer air calmed his mind, and his good mood was amplified when he opened the door to find Stoick and Gobber sitting by the table with jugs of mead.
They looked at him when he entered and Gobber grinned, “’Ello there, lad! Still have all your fingers?” Hiccup beamed, seeing them both made him so happy, in spite of the situation. He replied, “Despite my best efforts.”
Stoick smiled at the jibes and motioned at the empty seat by the table. Hiccup sat down in front of Stoick with Gobber at his right side, at the head of the table. The latter placed a jug in front of him that he immediately took a sip of. Cold mead did wonders after a day’s work.
“Say, Harold,” Stoick spoke. His eyes were kind, but he had his “straight-to-business” look. “What can you tell me about your island?”
Starting with the difficult questions, then. “It is twelve days south of the Manes Archipelago, east of the Islands of Redrock and just above the Aces Triangle. Quite a journey since I understand we’re in the Barbaric Archipelago.”
Both Stoick and Gobber’s eyes widened at the description. Hiccup chose an island that was safely far away, but the area was not unheard of. “You are correct. Did you remember anything about why you were going our way?”
At least this time he didn’t need to lie. Hiccup shook his head. “Sorry, no.”
Gobber chimed in, trying to lift the mood. “How about that clan of yours, eh? They must not be as gruelling and rough as the folk here since the weather has been more kind to you.” Stoick rolled his eyes and took a long sip of his mead.
Hiccup smiled. “Well, to tell you the truth, we are still vikings so not that much of a difference. Although the occasional sun doesn’t hurt.”
What he wouldn’t give to reveal himself and talk with them like family. But the risk was too great, he was terrified that they wouldn’t believe him and cast him out as a lunatic. Besides, what if he tampered with the time somehow? Hiccup had no idea how time travel worked but his instinct told him to protect himself, and not to reveal his identity. After all, he should be out of their hair in a few days, right? What happens next was another question, one that he dreaded to dwell on too much.
It hurt like a chest wound that his father was sitting right across the table and regarded him as a stranger. The indifference was worse than any anger Hiccup had seen in Stoick’s eyes. The fates must have had a laugh of their lifetime, to give Hiccup his father back only for him not to be recognised. The Berkians had no reasons to trust him or even help him, yet so far, he’s been kindly received. He would rather not jeopardise this generosity for a slim chance at understanding. No, he had to play this character he crafted. At least he was determined to keep the lies to a minimum, if only for his own conscience.
He answered Stoick’s questions as well as he could, the partial amnesia caused by the storm wasn’t a lie, although a big inconvenience, and then Gobber switched to telling him stories of Berk. Nothing secret, just his daily observations from the village and the evening turned to a happier note. Hiccup laughed a lot, even if the stories were absurd, but he had missed it. He missed Gobber that was full of energy and cheerful, he missed his light-hearted taunts and bickering. He missed every piece that Gobber had lost after the death of his best friend. But most of all, he missed his father, every damned day. He longed to hear his voice, have his advice, show him his newest invention. He craved to give up his chiefly duties, even for a day, and be a son again.
He drank a mouthful of the mead, emptying the cup. It allowed him to collect his thoughts and focus on the moment. He should appreciate what he had, and he really tried. He was granted extra time with two of the most important people in his life and he was going to devour every second. Never mind if they didn’t know who he was, Hiccup was glad to sit here and talk with them, with Stoick, it was the greatest gift he could have wished for. He would not waste it on self-pity and thirst for more.
They kept talking long into the night, and Hiccup went to bed with a smile embedded on his face. Sleep came to him easily.
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Oatmeal wasn’t the tastiest food, but Astrid didn’t have much of a choice, as she looked at the day’s breakfast serving. It was an early morning, yet people were bursting at the seams from energy. The storms kept them confined in their houses for two weeks and their boisterous viking upbringing was showing.
Astrid carried her breakfast trail, heading towards the table the teens usually sat at. Not that Ruffnut or Snotlout would ever show up at such an early hour. Tuffnut always saved some food for his sister but as for Snotlout… she wasn’t sure what he ate but didn’t particularly care.
Their table was a few turns to her right, far from the middle of the hall because their meals tended to be disruptive and loud at the very least. Her sight fell on a table by her left, half-hidden by a pole and currently occupied by one individual. In a second her mind made a decision and her feet walked up towards that lonely table.
Harold, the enigmatic traveller, was sitting by the table, hunched over a notebook he was drawing in. A plate filled with food was laid in front of him, looking untouched. He, on the other hand, looked roughed up from sleep, fatigued and pale, even in the yellow lights of the hall. He actually seemed worse than after she had found him in the woods, with bags under his eyes, half-lying on the table, his eyes barely open. He had his back to the food table, so she approached from behind his right shoulder, eyeing his drawings. It looked like a rough sketch of a boat, with little notes scribbled around it.
In a surge of confidence she circled the table and sat across from the boy. Harry’s head shot up from his doodling. His expression was closed off, he watched her with wariness, or was it surprise, she didn’t know. Truthfully, the other day he didn’t seem rude or repelling, so aside from her distrust towards him, there was curiosity. But since he had yet to say a word, Astrid needed to make the first step.
“Wouldn’t take you for an early bird,” she begun. His hair was dishevelled, his gaze puzzled. His lips twitched into a little smile.
“Wouldn’t want this lovely… porridge to run out.” A yawn interrupted his speech.
“Right,” she cracked her knuckles. Apparently, he was not a great conversationalist. “What are you drawing?”
“This? Oh, just a couple of doodles,” he replied, fiddling with the pages.
She pointed her spoonful of porridge at him. “You’re making a boat?”
He zeroed in on the spoon but then he smirked. “You’re quite nosy, you know?”
“I’d say perceptive. It usually comes in handy in life-threatening situations.”
“Right,” his smirk was wiped out. He mumbles as he pushes the notebook her way. “And I’m one of these situations.”
She ignored him in lieu of inspecting the boat sketch. From up close it looked more like a scheme than a drawing, it had technicalities written around the page, lots of question marks and finger smudges.
“Have you ever built a boat?” Harry frowned at the incredulous tone, but Astrid continued. “There is no mast, no sail, how do you expect it to go? Unless you are, I don’t know, friends with sirens who might pull the boat.”
The project in question was either an engineering novelty or Harold was exhausted when he sketched it. It was weirdly long and thin with no designed space for a sail, as if it were unneeded.
“Something like that,” he quipped. “Look, the handles here, underneath? Perfect for grabbing for the…” He trailed off, looking at her bewildered expression. “Uhh, I was joking! Obviously. You are absolutely right, I do need a sail.” He ended, with a sheepish smile and an awkward laugh. He was breathing loudly, different than before, looking stressed and weary. Astrid barely knew the guy, but he was more confusing than any other stranger she had ever met. His moods changed in a blink, unpredictable.
Perhaps he was quirky like that. Which made it more surprising that he survived a storm by himself. “I really hope you’re tired because otherwise I don’t think it would be wise to let you out into the sea alone.”
“Is that so?” He quirked his brow. “Maybe I’m full of surprises.” He said with a crooked smile.
“No, I’d rather think you’re exhausted or instead you would be plain reckless. Besides, when did you manage to come up with it?”
He looked slightly indignant, as if he wanted to argue, but then he rolled his eyes. “I had an early morning. Going back to sleep was not an option so, this.” He shrugged his shoulders and tugged the notebook his way.
“You designed it in a couple of hours? Huh, I can see why you would forget some important details.” She teased to hide the little impressed spark at his work.
“I just wanted it done as quickly as possible,” he added, his tone flat and heavy. She didn’t know what to say to that, he was, after all, stranded on an unknown island.
“Your breakfast must be cold.” She nudged his plate, for a lack of things to say. The plate was half empty, yet still untouched, so unlike every other viking she met. “Not that there is a lot of it.”
He sent her the crooked smile again, but this time is seemed strained. “I’m not really hungry.”
Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. She remembered when Ruffnut had a phase of eating baby portions for three days until she passed out when they were training with swords. She was not taking anyone’s excuses anymore.
“From what I heard, you’re working with Gobber today. I assume you know how easy it is to slip and end up with a bump on your head, at least, if you’re lucky. You look dead on your feet already. So eat.”
“Okay, alright,” he huffed a little laugh. “You remind me so much of… never mind. Let’s eat.” His levity was gone but at least he grabbed the spoon. Astrid focused on other people steadily filling the hall. It was still early so the noise was not yet buzzing in the ears.
They ate in silence for a few minutes until Harry put down the spoon again. He was fiddling with his drawing charcoal when he spoke, “Hey, uh, do you mind if I ask you something?”
Astrid focused on him. “What is it?”
“How long have the storms been going on?”
She hummed, trying to remember. “Over two weeks.”
He leaned back, a contemplating look on his face. “So, they should be letting up soon. Rainfalls?”
“Not for the last three days,” she replied. His forehead wrinkled in thought, still fumbling with the charcoal. “They last one was the day before you arrived.”
“I assume they’ll be gone in less than a week, then.”
She frowned. “How could you know?”
He smirked at her. “Plain observation. Similar rainstorms happen on my island.”
She raised her chin, agitated with the sudden challenge in his voice. “And where is that island of yours?”
He leaned forward, still smiling. “Quite some sailing time beneath your archipelago. From what I gathered on the maps.”
Astrid snorted. “And you plan to cross it on this boat?” She snickered and he joined her in laughter.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh away. It might need slight adjustments.” He grinned and closed the notebook.
They finished their breakfast and went on to do their daily chores. Walking home Astrid couldn’t help but think that the stranger wasn’t such a terrible companion. Although even if he had some agreeable qualities, there was no reason for them to get friendly. He would be gone in a couple of days anyway.
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Morning in the forge was a stark contrast of the bursting afternoons on Berk. It was quiet, save for the clanks of metal, the air was blissfully cool when spending hours by the hearth. Gobber and the younger Hiccup were working together with a huge piece of leather, making… honestly, Hiccup wasn’t sure, the only thing that came to his mind was a dragon saddle but that was impossible, so maybe the two were just brainstorming. He left them to it and took up fixing weapons that the Berkians ordered (it was a never-ending pile, they really should take better care with their things).
His hands were methodically twisting and bending the parts, but his mind was fixed on his breakfast conversation with Astrid. In his creative haste at sunrise he had forgotten the important detail – dragons. He barely stopped himself from slipping up to Astrid about the dragons helping him sail. He wouldn’t even leave Berk, because the idea of sailing with the dragons or bringing them close to the island would make all of the island throw a fit. So he needed to adjust the project, build the boat and then he would sail… to places unknown, seven years too early to reach anywhere he would be welcome.
“Oi, nice skills you have there, boy,” Gobber’s voice surprised him out of his thoughts. His body jerked and the hammer slid off the sword and landed on the floor. “If only your focus could be sharper than these blades.” He snickered in the playful Gobber style and Hiccup rolled his eyes as he bowed to pick up the hammer.
“I had a great master. So all the credit, and complaints, go to him,” Hiccup replied, smirking to himself.
“Did he ever tell you to keep your head out of the clouds?”
Oh, the irony. “Multiple times.”
Gobber sighed and walked back to his workstation, muttering. “You’re just as bad as this one. I swear, I have my first grey hair from the reckless youngsters.”
“Hey!” Young Hiccup shouted from his spot. Gobber put a stack of screws on their table and continued the enigmatic project. Hiccup, the older, laughed loudly but a pang of hurt squeezed his heart. He barely had time to work with Gobber nowadays and even less to create abstract, possibly useless inventions. Ah, he wished he could tell his young counterpart to treasure these moments.
He finished the last one of shields and wiped his sweaty forehead. The sun was freshly past its peak and the clouds parted for the first time in weeks, thus the weather made the work a bit harder.
‘Do you reckon we’ll finish this by dinner?” Young Hiccup asked Gobber, looking tired but excited. He was still working on their design while Gobber heated up the hearth (despite their protests but it was unavoidable).
“You’re in a rush somewhere?” Gobber remarked. “No need to explain, I know what you got in mind.” He winked at a flabbergasted Hiccup. Luckily his younger self appeared as confused as Hiccup was. It’s not like he had to sneak around to meet Toothless, definitely not yet. Ah, Gobber and his antics. “Speaking of time,” the blacksmith turned to the older Hiccup. “How about you take the rest of the day off, eh? There’s barely enough work for the two of us, right, Hiccup?” The boy reluctantly agreed.
“Really? I could finish these and help clean up,” Hiccup offered but Gobber waved him off.
“Nah, go and rest. We’ll be fine. I’ve seen you working on that little boat, how about you polish it and show me the design, eh?” He showed his crooked smile and Hiccup agreed. It was strange of the blacksmith, but he wasn’t wrong, there really was not a lot of work to do.
Hiccup grabbed his notebook and left the forge, enjoying the cool breeze. Since there was nothing concerning him in the village, he walked towards the woods. A few steps into the trees he could already breathe easier. There was no need to pretend, to watch his words, and he grinned as the weight lifted off his shoulders. He trekked the path he knew by heart, jumping over rocks that haven’t changed their place in years.
He slid down the hill and landed right beside the pond. It was funny how he was found by Astrid in the same cove where he had bonded with Toothless, almost symbolic. Unsurprisingly, when his mind went to Toothless, dread swallowed him whole. There was no sign of him, not a sound. Because of the storms there wasn’t even a single dragon around the island, except for the one that Hiccup fleetingly met three days ago.
Speaking of which, he finally had the chance to do what he wanted from the beginning. After making sure there was no one around (it really wasn’t hard to spot a viking – they weren’t exactly stealthy), he took a deep breath and let out a gurgling sound. It was a beckoning signal he had learnt from Toothless, that meant more or less ‘whoever is around, please come’.
Silence answered him and he sat down heavily. Why, why did this happen to him, which god had he angered so much? He bellowed the signal once more, trying to sound as dragonlike as possible. He closed his eyes and focused on the humming of the woods.
He felt something nudge his head and he jolted in surprise. He came eye to eye with a Terrible Terror who was having fun with his hair, unperturbed by the human.
“Hello, there,” Hiccup smiled, and the dragon chirped in response. Slowly he sat up, careful not to startle the dragon, although there were few things that could keep Terrible Terrors away from petting. “I suppose you could help me, right?” He said to the creature curled up in his lap and stroked his fur. The dragon started purring and nuzzling his hand. “You haven’t seen a Night Fury around here, have you? He might look scary but he’s really a big baby at heart.” The Terror blinked at him, then went back to contently lazing about. Hiccup sighed, knowing this would be harder than this. If Toothless hadn’t found him in the last three days, that meant he probably wasn’t on Berk at all. Or that he was somehow unable to…
No, he would not think about that. He shook his shoulders fiercely and jostled the little dragon, who made an unhappy noise. “Sorry,” he whispered and tried to calm himself. He will find Toothless, okay? He definitely will. Whatever it takes, wherever he must go, he will not stop looking.
He couldn’t stay there, not when he was buzzing with restless energy, feeling more agitated than calm in the quite cove. He looked at the dragon in his lap and after a moment, he gently lifted them and put them on the grass. The Terror stopped purring and observed Hiccup as he stood up and stretched his legs. He waved to the dragon and turned around to climb up the rocks. Midway across the cove he heard a fluttering of wings, assuming the dragon flew away, yet he was surprised once again as he felt the little creature settle on his shoulders. The Terror curled around his neck, stretching and twisting, and once comfortable, began to purr as if their nap was uninterrupted. Hiccup laughed, petting the dragon’s head, and climbed up the cove.
The trees were growing denser as he trekked further from the village. He tried calling for the dragons three more times, but nobody came. Either they were in hiding after the storms or not willing to approach a viking, which Hiccup understood, despite the sadness that the thought brought. He reached the end of the woods that transformed into a cliff with a full view of the sea. The water was wild beneath him, clashing with the island and creating waves that could swallow him whole. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, not ready to break out.
A few more days and he would be out there, sailing gods know where. Sure, the dragons might help him navigate his boat, and he wasn’t that bad of a sailor himself, despite preferring to ride with Toothless. He would reach the goal with ease yet… did he even have a destination? There was no plan B, no strategy, no brilliant invention that could help him return to his time. He was confronted with the fact that he was powerless against the force that sent him there. And for what purpose? Not only that but he had no way of knowing if his own Berk was safe, whether there were others stranded in other time like he was. He felt unbearably alone, with people he knew, his family, who did not recognise him. He was on Berk, but it was not his life, not his time. He couldn’t stay there and risk changing the future, he wouldn’t do that to his younger self. Because finding Toothless was the best thing that’s happened to him, and he dreaded to imagine what his life would be like if he hadn’t. It wasn’t a secret that young Hiccup hadn’t been the most promising viking, and everyone knew it, Stoick knew it and Hiccup did too. The young version of himself was fully aware of the fact and Hiccup wanted to shake him and scream it would get better. But his staying on the island might turn out disastrous thus he couldn’t stay there for long.
The Terror on his shoulders lifted his head, and startled Hiccup out of his thoughts. The dragon sharpened their ears, hearing more than Hiccup could and then flew away, no goodbye, no looking back. It wasn’t unusual, Terrible Terrors had a habit of being tumultuous and just a little wild. And yet, he felt even more lonely than before, masked among humans, avoided by dragons. He knew that the self-pity would get him nowhere, but his situation dawned on him with double force. Wherever he would go, The Edge, or his mother’s Sanctuary, it would still be years too early. Not only would he be met with reserve and distrust, but he could twist the timeline and create a paradox of sorts. Who knows if his berk even existed anymore? If it weren’t for his own older appearance, he would have thought he had dreamt all of that.
Was anyone looking for him? Did his Astrid know he was gone? Or did the forces that threw him here also messed with his Berk?
With a frustrated cry Hiccup flopped down on the grass. No, yelling at the sea was not helping, and neither was constructing the boat to leave the island. He started the project to pass the time, and because he needed to do something, to feel like he had some sort of a plan. Yet when the weather would clear in a few days, and the sea be deemed safe to sail, he would leave with no course of action, no clue about how to travel in time back to his island. He would leave a stranger, his only hope was to find Toothless along the way if he was sucked in with him. Oh gods, he sighed and hid his head in hands. He really was in a hopeless situation.
He sat there for a while, listening to the waves and his racing heart. Someone shouted in the distance, probably a neighbours’ dispute. One thing he wouldn’t miss. Although, the shouts grew in intensity, more and more people were screaming, the sounds of a danger. Hiccup jumped to his feet. The trees concealed the village from where he was standing, so it was difficult to fathom out the situation. The screams were indistinguishable yet urging and Hiccup’s heart stopped in his throat. A dark smoke emerged in the air, a cloud of fire was seen over the trees. He didn’t stop to think and dashed into the woods.