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Hiccup dreads it the whole way there.
His dad smiles pleasantly, taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and Hiccup really wants to tell him how his organs are tying themselves into metaphorical knots of anticipation. But – despite being unable to find an actual museum, and deciding on an aquarium instead – his dad looks so casual; so ready for this to happen...
It takes a lot for a man like Stoick to change. Yet he’s always been willing to do it for his son. However, Hiccup expected it to take more time than this. Stoick either saw something that was enough to firmly change his mind, or he’s slowly getting better at adapting to the sudden changes Hiccup goes through.
Either way, Hiccup can’t ruin the moment.
Instead, he thinks about the aquarium animals: the sharks (he’s always loved sharks) soaring over his head in the tunnel, the penguins waddling across the rocks, the stingrays gliding around their tanks, the little scuttly crabs making their way across tiny pebbles, kicking up sand in their wake. He vaguely recalls his dad taking him there when he was a child, carrying Hiccup on his hip and laughing his soft, gruff laugh when Hiccup pressed his face against the glass with wonder–wide eyes.
Even back then, Hiccup remembers a slight wobble to his gait, an exhaustion settling into his bones. He’s always been a pretty poorly kid, with weekly asthma attacks, and catching every cold or virus he comes into contact with.
Maybe that’s why Stoick is so used to this. Maybe that’s why he falls into the rhythm of caring for his son so easily.
In a way, he never really left that. It just changed.
Hiccup vaguely wonders if his dad ever got a good night's sleep since he was born.
Stoick pulls up into the aquarium car park, pulling up into a disabled space. Hiccup’s shoulders subconsciously curl in as he steps out, hoping no one comes and starts questioning his disability. His dad’s here, so he’ll sort them out – and there is a comforting sense of security to that – but still... this is his first outing using a wheelchair. He can’t have anything go wrong.
“You ready, son?” His dad asks, offering him his arm for balance.
“I can walk to the entrance myself,” Hiccup says – trying to be fond, but his voice comes out sharp and thorny, and Stoick flinches a tiny bit, as if Hiccup elbowed his side.
“Right. Of– of course,” Stoick says meekly. “Do let me know if you need to rest at any point.”
“I will.” Hiccup nods, and begins walking. He keeps his favourite plushie cuddled to his chest; his shield against the anxieties waiting for him at the entrance desk of the aquarium.
He’s quiet, listlessly leaning against his dad’s side, as his dad shows their pre–booked tickets.
“And, um... we also booked a wheelchair,” Stoick adds, a note of hesitation. “For– for my son.”
The receptionist peers over the desk, and Hiccup gives a wave. “Hey.”
“Hey.” The receptionist flashes a brief grin, and goes back to typing. “Electric or manual?”
“Manual,” Hiccup answers. “My dad’s pushing me.” There’s a note of a smile in his voice, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Stoick grin.
Stoick claps him on the shoulder– so much pride in that one touch, that Hiccup’s knees almost buckle right then and there. “That’s right.”
“Okay then.” The receptionist gets off their seat, and heads to a separate area to the right. He opens the door, and disappears inside. Hiccup shies closer into his father’s side, soaking in his father’s warmth, and Stoick reaches up to softly pat his arm.
“Here you are,” they say, nudging the door open with their foot, pushing the chair in front of them. “Any problems, come right back here. We have trained medical staff on hand in case of any medical emergencies.”
Stoick nods, and thanks him, making small talk, but Hiccup can’t stop staring at the wheelchair.
It’s black and ungainly, identical to what he used when he was in hospital. There’s wheels, but not ones designed for self propelling, and Hiccup knows his arms would last about five minutes pushing himself before his shoulders would start aching. Its only distinguishing features are the wheel covers with the aquarium logo on them.
“Well, Hiccup.” Stoick clears his throat, his cheeks flushing – he’s nervous, Hiccup realises – and nods to the chair. “Take a seat.”
Hiccup does, his hands on the armrests, and carefully lowers himself onto the chair.
The first thing he thinks is: relief. The cushion is soft – softer than a sofa, even – and the backrest is comfortable. Both parts cradle his body in one of the most comfortable positions he’s ever felt. He swings his legs onto the footplates, and bends down to tighten the straps.
“Let me do that,” his dad starts to say, his muscles twitching towards him.
“I’m okay, thanks dad,” Hiccup says, and carries on. He double checks his prosthetic is attached – although, he supposes, he doesn’t really need it – before he firmly breathes out, and drums his fingers on the armrests.
“Let’s go, then.”
Stoick nods, and takes the handles. “Right.”
He starts pushing him incredibly slowly and carefully, and Hiccup twists to look at him. “Dad, we’ll be here forever at this speed. You can go a little faster.”
“Oh– of course, son. Whatever you want.” Stoick goes on a little faster, but he’s still hesitant.
Hiccup decides not to bring it up, and asks his dad to take him to the first exhibit: the rockpool creatures.
Stoick stopped the wheelchair at the first exhibit: something called the Cancer Pagurus – Hiccup sounds out the scientific name, squinting at the writing. Stoick comments that He notices that there’s braille, and all the videos used have subtitles and American Sign Language. He smiles.
“Look, dad!” Hiccup points. “You can see its claws if you bend down.”
He bends to his height, and chuckles. “I suppose that’s an extra benefit of having– of being a wheelchair user.”
Hiccup smiles, surprised he knows the proper term for it, but says, “yeah. Guess so.”
Stoick takes Hiccup around at his direction, stopping when he wants, and pushing him forward with more confidence in every step. In the Rockpool exhibits, Hiccup likes the Sea Anemones most, because the tentacles wrap around his finger – “like they’re hugging me.” Stoick likes the crabs.
“Do you need a minute to rest?” Stoick asks once they’re in a walkway where tiny fish swim above them.
“Dad, this is resting.” Hiccup grins. “I actually feel amazing. I might get up to stretch my legs a bit.”
“Well– by all means do.”
Hiccup undoes the foot straps, and with the support of the armrests, stands. A few stop and stare, but one glare from Stoick’s eyes scares off any nosey people, and they disperse – rather comically like the schools of fish overhead.
Hiccup walks all the way down the corridor, even jumping and stimming, before sitting back down in the wheelchair, does the straps back up, and cuddles his plushie to his chest.
Stoick pats his shoulder. “You feel alright?”
“Better than alright, dad.” Hiccup grins from ear to ear. “Now, let’s see the coral reef animals.”
.o0o.
They go past beautiful arrays of corals in every colour, angelfish, butterflyfish, lionfish... Hiccup smiles, pointing out every one. They spend ages trying to spot the scorpionfish, before Hiccup finds it lurking behind a similar–coloured yellowish coral.
Then, they go past a tank of clownfish and blue tang – and Hiccup grins and says, “it’s just like Finding Nemo.”
“Eh?” Stoick frowns.
“The clownfish and the blue tang? Marlin and Dory?” Hiccup says in a disbelieving tone. “Have you never watched that one?”
“I like the classics, son, what can I say?” Stoick chuckles.
“Speaking of Finding Nemo, have you ever seen an Anglerfish?”
“I haven’t,” Stoick says. “The only fish I’m familiar with are salmon, shad, mackerel and trout – and that’s for catching and eating!”
“Well you’re about to.” Hiccup says, his voice anticipatory in the way Stoick knows means Hiccup knows something he doesn’t. And, with the way his reflection in the glass is grinning, Stoick can’t help but be a bit nervous.
The anglerfish, he finds out, is one of the most utterly terrifying things he’s ever seen. He almost jumps, and for once, he’s glad Hiccup can’t see his face. He’d never let him live it down – the fearsome Stoick the Vast; afraid of a fish!
“Dad, did you know they can grow up to seven feet long? And their teeth up to three feet?”
“I did not know that, son.” Stoick clears his throat.
“And they have a tiny light on their antennae to attract prey; it’s effective because they’re deep sea fish, and live in the midnight zone, so it’s really dark.”
“Fascinating,” Stoick says through gritted teeth. “Anything on it’s, er... feeding habits?”
“Mostly shrimp and other crustaceans. However, the way they reproduce is–”
“Okay, I don’t think I need to hear anymore,” Stoick says firmly.
“Sorry. Fishlegs is just really into marine biology at the moment. His favourite is the giant gourami– can we have a look for one?”
“Why don’t we ask a staff member?”
Hiccup gives a tiny shake of his head, and curls his arms tighter around his plushie. After a few seconds of silence, Stoick turns so he’s facing Hiccup, and gets down on one knee.
“What’s wrong, eh? What’s bothering my best boy?” Stoick says, his voice taking on the soft tones only reserved for Hiccup.
“I don’t know, I just... don’t feel like talking to anyone. Not– you’re fine, obviously, but I don’t want to talk to anyone unfamiliar.”
“Alright, lad. I’ll do the talking.”
Stoick pushes him past the other deep–sea creatures, pausing to look at each one, until they find a staff member, and Stoick asks: “do you have any giant gourami in the aquarium?”
“Yes we do,” they answer, “they’ll be in the freshwater fish section just before the penguins.”
Stoick thanks them, before wheeling Hiccup away to a quieter space. They’ve been having fun – but he can see the tension in Hiccup’s shoulders. The drooping smile. The slowly draining enthusiasm.
“Is there something I’ve done to upset you, son?” He asks gently.
Hiccup signs no, bringing his index and middle fingers towards his thumb.
“Is it something to do with the– the wheelchair?” Stoick asks hesitantly. He doesn’t know whether it’s better to talk about it or not. It’s their first outing with Hiccup using a wheelchair, and neither really knows what to do.
Hiccup signs no again.
“Well can you just–” Stoick catches himself. “Can I help you find a different way to communicate?”
Hiccup grabs his phone and starts typing. Stoick’s been learning a bit of ASL, but not at the lightning speed Hiccup seems to manage. So when his son finishes typing, he bends down to read the words:
Don’t know. Just tired. Having a verbal shutdown. This is all a lot to process. I still want to see the giant gouramis though. We can send a picture to Fishlegs.
Stoick nods. “Shall we sit and rest here for a bit?”
Hiccup thinks for a while, but this time, he nods.
Stoick squeezes his son’s hand. They can take all the time they need.
.o0o.
It goes well. They silently marvel at the shark tunnel, and the seahorses, and the turtles; Stoick stops for a sandwich in the cafe; and Hiccup stares at the jellyfish for a full fifteen minutes, watching them peacefully drift. Stoick paces back and forth, unable to understand why Hiccup does it, but Hiccup knows he’d accept him anyway.
Finding the giant gouramis proves fairly easy. They, as Hiccup points out in a hushed voice, “can be up to 30 inches long.”
“My word, Hiccup, how big are these animals?” Stoick chuckles, gently squeezing Hiccup’s shoulder. Hiccup smiles; his dad’s never been good at saying I love you aloud, and this is one of the many ways he says it without words. He sinks into his touch, and lets himself relax into the wheelchair as Stoick pushes him closer.
Stoick grabs his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and grabs the attention of a young–looking woman with a young child in a buggy. “Excuse me, please may you take a photo of my son and I?”
“Course,” she says, angling the camera in front of them.
Stoick stands in front of the tank, and wheels Hiccup into place. Hiccup jolts, his hands on his armrests, and Stoick freezes.
“You can stay in the wheelchair for the photo if you want to, son,” he smiles softly.
Hiccup looks at his dad – something akin to desperation in his eyes – and says, “what if I ruin it?”
Shock is evident in his father’s expression, but he quickly buries it, and says, “you won’t ruin it, son.”
Hiccup smiles, shrugs it off, and poses in front of the sign. The woman gives Stoick back his phone, and he pockets it.
“Well. Good find.” He dusts his hands off in the awkward way of his that Hiccup knows means he’s ready to move on.
“Yeah. Now can we go and see the penguins?”
Stoick nods, and begins pushing the wheelchair in the direction of the exhibit. Hiccup drops his smile as soon as he’s sure his father can’t see.
He secretly hopes the photos are blurry – even though he saw the woman take several, so at least one of them is going to be good. Maybe he just won’t send it to Fishlegs.
Why is this such a big deal to him though? He’s not against wheelchairs – and he’s not even ashamed of his own personal need for one. But something made his stomach squirm – unrelated to gastroparesis – when he was having his photo taken.
Maybe he was just thrust in the deep end too fast too soon. After all, twenty four hours ago, he wasn’t even sure whether he’d have this conversation with his dad, let alone have actions come from it.
Either way, things are changing for him.
And he’s not sure, but it’s going to be good.
All he needs now is time.
.o0o.
“What if I ruin it?”
His son’s words still ring around his head, even hours later. They’re both back home: Hiccup lying on the sofa reading, and Stoick sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the picture on his phone.
Ruin the picture?!
Stoick smiles, love beating violently at the seams of his heart. His son’s smile, bright enough to rival every star in the galaxy, beams back at Stoick’s own smiling face from the pixels of his screen. He doesn’t ruin the picture; he makes it wonderful. Because it’s his son.
But say this could become a recurring issue? Hiccup, feeling as though his mobility aids were something to be ashamed of? Struggling to get through the day because he was comfortable in his body – but nervous about being in public?
Well, that has to change.
Stoick flipped open his laptop – last night’s tabs still open – and begins searching for experts.
And, of course, for fashionable mobility aids. Ones that suit the sunshine of a son he’s blessed with.