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In retrospect, maybe Hiccup should have, just this once, kept his mouth shut.
After all, it was one thing to insult and bait his captors when locked in a cell. It was another thing entirely to insult his captors' mother while stuck in a small room with them, wrists chained in manacles bolted to the tabletop in front of him, legs lashed to those of the chair he'd been forced into, prosthetic tossed overboard during the initial ambush and capture.
To his credit, although fire did burst briefly in his eyes, Viggo did not otherwise react. He stayed where he was, sitting across the table from Hiccup, leaning slightly forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled, eyes sharp.
Ryker, lurking behind Hiccup like a grotesquely overgrown bird of prey, had no such self-control. Faster than Hiccup could blink, Ryker lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of Hiccup's hair. Hiccup yelped and tried to wrench his head away, but Ryker just pulled Hiccup's head back and then slammed it face-first into the solid wood tabletop.
Pain erupted in his forehead, pooled behind his eyes, drilled into his temples, and reached its grasping tendrils over Hiccup's already stinging scalp, all the way down his neck. Nausea surged in his gut and everything was suddenly too loud, too bright, too much — the world spun sickeningly as he tried and failed to lift his head from the table.
Distantly, over the high-pitched ringing in his ears, Hiccup heard someone talking, but the pain was so aggressive, so consuming, that he could barely remember where he was or who he was with, and he tuned it out, throwing all his focus into not throwing up.
But then his head was pulled up, off the table, and over the buzz of agony enveloping him, he felt fingers twisted in his hair, tugging him upright. And through a blurry, red-tinged haze, Hiccup found himself facing a noticeably agitated Viggo Grimborn.
"Oh, gods," Hiccup moaned, bile rising in his throat.
"Even the gods can't help you now," Ryker's voice chuckled from somewhere above Hiccup's head.
"I apologize for my brother's rash behavior," Viggo cut in, his glare flashing up to Ryker. "He was under strict orders to keep his hands to himself, but you certainly do know how to rile him up." He sighed, long-suffering, and asked, "But perhaps now you are willing to continue our conversation with a more civil tongue?"
Hiccup gritted his teeth against the pain rampaging through his head, and, against his better judgment, snarled, "You know what, Viggo? You and your hairless yak of a brother can go fu—"
CRACK!
Ryker cut him off by brutally introducing his face to the table once more, and this time Hiccup's nose took the brunt of the hit. Something popped, agony exploded, blood gushed. Hiccup slammed his eyes shut and screamed at the cacophony of pain, and blood, warm and metallic, flooded his mouth. Metal cuffs bit into his wrists as he tried desperately to reach his broken nose, to swipe at the blood pouring into his mouth and running down his chin, but he couldn't reach and the roar of panic filled his mind, melding with the throbbing, biting, aching, burning pain; his breath came short and labored and he coughed as blood trickled down his throat.
Around him, people shouting, but he couldn't make out words over the rushing in his ears. He could feel nothing but agony so acute it stole his breath out of his lungs. And then — then he was falling, fading, his distorted vision breaking into fractals of darkness. He thought he heard someone call his name.
He didn't answer.
He let the tide of darkness wash away his pain, and he succumbed.
Hiccup woke to fingers carding through his hair and a low voice rumbling near his ear.
"Hiccup, my dear. Wake up."
Hiccup groaned and turned his head to the side, away from the voice, hating how deep and smooth it sounded, hating the dangerous undercurrent mingling with an inexplicable softness. As if the catalyst for an avalanche, the tiny movement snatched Hiccup from the muddled arms of sleep and thrust him back into a reality fragmented by blazing agony.
Even the dim candlelight waged war on his senses; he cracked open his eyes and felt nausea boil in his gut at the pulsing, pounding pain in his head. And — gods! — his nose ached worse than his head — he could feel every heartbeat thrumming in time with the shooting pains, could taste blood on his tongue and in the back of his throat, could feel the steadily building ache radiating from his swollen nose and the pain spiked and he heaved—
And immediately there were hands on his shoulders, rolling his upper body carefully to the side. For some reason, Hiccup's arms didn't want to move with the rest of his body, but he ignored the stinging tug on his wrists as a basin was placed beneath his head. The pain in his head and face spiked as his stomach rebelled. Distantly, through the torment racking his body, he felt a hand on his back, rubbing small circles. From anyone else, it would have been comforting, but unease rose inside of him, prickling his skin and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Hiccup tried to shake the hand off, straining against whatever held his arms in place with no success. "Stop… touching… me," he panted, his voice strained and raspy, painful to his own ears. To his surprise, the hand receded, only returning long enough to help Hiccup lie back down when the shudders and sobs and retching gasps subsided.
And Hiccup found himself lying in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, wrists bound to the bed's slats on either side of him, prosthetic gone, pain and unease swarming his battered body like so many spiders. Staring up into the smoldering, unreadable eyes of Viggo Grimborn.
Viggo had pulled a chair to Hiccup's bedside, and he sat, far too close for Hiccup's comfort, and offered Hiccup a wry smile. "You really do have knack for getting under my brother's skin," he observed, the lightness in his tone not matching the steely glint in his eyes.
Hiccup didn't answer; he was too busy trying to catch his breath and remember what the Hel was going on, why he was lying tied to a bed with only Viggo Grimborn for company. He ran his tongue across dry lips, mind reeling, memory fuzzy, body trembling—
He jumped as something pressed against his lips, and fresh pain shot through his head. His eyes snapped open (he hadn't even realized he'd closed them) to see Viggo leaning over him, holding a flask to his mouth. Viggo smirked when Hiccup met his gaze. "Thirsty?"
Hiccup was, very much so, but the thought of accepting anything from the man who currently had him bound to a bed made his skin crawl. He pressed his lips together and rasped, "N-no."
Viggo raised his eyebrows. "Come now, Hiccup. What could I possibly gain by drugging you? Look where you are. Look where I am. See who holds all the power in this moment. I have no need to weaken you or impair your mind or body, if that was what I desired. My brother's anger did that well enough on its own."
Hiccup stilled at the quiet fury underlying Viggo's words, unsure whether it was directed at him or at Ryker, and distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of Viggo’s anger at his brother on Hiccup's behalf. His pulse quickened, his head swam, his breath caught. He didn't understand what was going on, didn't like the way Viggo kept looking at him, didn't like the strange mixture of amusement, cold rage, and twisted care on Viggo's face, in his eyes. He hated being tied like this, unable to so much as rise from the bed, loathed being alone with Viggo and his lingering glances and the ghost of his hands on his back, in his hair…
But he hated the idea of appearing weak in front of his enemy even more. With great difficulty, he managed to quell the fear and confusion leeching away his self-control and leveled Viggo with what he hoped was a defiant glower and not a pitiable grimace. "What do you want?"
Viggo chuckled. "Many things, my dear Hiccup, as I am sure you are aware."
Hiccup narrowed his eyes. "Like what?"
Viggo waved his free hand vaguely. "Answers, for one. Your cooperation. A hefty ransom from your people for your safe return. Among other things." His eyes glittered in the candlelight and Hiccup's pulse pounded, icy fear wrapping around his heart and squeezing it tight. If Viggo noticed the effect his words had on his prisoner, he didn't show it. He just shook the flask under Hiccup's aching nose. "But for now, I just want you to drink."
Hiccup finally opened his mouth, but not to drink. "Why?" he snapped, desperate to get this strange conversation back onto even ground. He needed angry Viggo, calculating Viggo, cold and heartless Viggo… not this caricature of kindness, masquerading as care.
Viggo's brow furrowed. "Because you are unwell, Hiccup. You are most certainly concussed, your nose is broken, and you need to drink, you need rest—"
Hiccup scoffed, wishing he could just reach up and slap the flask out of Viggo's hands. "Why am I here, in a bed, and not in the cells with my dragon?" His voice cracked. "I swear to the Norns, Viggo, if you've hurt him—"
Viggo shook his head. "You should know by now, my dear, that I take exceptional care of my merchandise." The dark premonition of a smile curved his lips. "Which is, in fact, the answer to your previous question."
Hiccup's heart stuttered, sickness curdled in his soul. "You're saying — I'm merchandise?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Viggo answered calmly. "As I said, I intend to ransom you back to your father."
Hiccup couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice at his next question. "And Toothless?"
Viggo didn't answer right away. He finally withdrew the flask, placing it back on the table, then crossed his arms over his chest. "His fate lies squarely in your own hands, Hiccup. If you answer our questions, cooperate while you are here with us, then perhaps I will ransom both of you back to your people. If not, well, I am sure a live Night Fury will fetch an astonishing price at auction."
A storm raged just beneath Hiccup's skin, flaying his nerves and stealing his breath and blotting out even the blinding pain. Nothing mattered but Toothless.
"You will not sell my dragon." He felt the vibration of his vocal cords, heard the words spill from his own mouth, but the sheer strength, heat, and authority in them were his father’s.
Even Viggo seemed taken aback; something like unease flitted across his features before it being swiftly replaced with a cold, cold anger. "I will do as I wish," he retorted icily. "Do not test me, my dear, or I may decide to sell you as well."
Stark terror washed over Hiccup, and it must have shown plainly on his face, for after a moment, Viggo's fury shifted into something softer but no less intimidating. Slowly, the Hunter chief reached out a hand and cupped Hiccup's cheek. Hiccup tried to flinch back from the touch, but he had nowhere to go. His heart thundered like a herd of stampeding Speed Stingers as Viggo's thumb trailed tenderly along his cheekbone, and even that feather-light touch sent pain shooting through Hiccup's head and face. Gods, what the Hel was happening?
As if he could hear Hiccup's racing pulse, Viggo chuckled, a throaty, rich sound that would have sounded pleasant coming from literally anyone else. But from Viggo, it was predatory, menacing. "If I am honest, I do not think I could bring myself to take you to the auction block." He sighed, as if perturbed by his own weakness. "No, if you do not behave, I may very well sell your dragon and keep you for myself."
Hiccup's mind went white with panic and he jerked his head to the side, away from Viggo's touch, pain searing through his head and face at the motion. A strangled moan rose from somewhere deep within, and he could not contain it nor the tears that sprang to his eyes. "Don't touch me!"
This time, Viggo didn't listen. From the corner of his eye, Hiccup saw him reach out again, but this time, he placed a finger beneath Hiccup's chin and guided his head back to face him. Hiccup did his best to blink back the tears, but one escaped containment. He felt its traitorous warmth as it trailed down his face and trembled at the edge of his jaw. "How do you expect me to treat your injuries without touching you?" Viggo asked, and Hiccup's fists clenched at his sides at the condescension dripping from his voice.
"I don't want you to treat me," Hiccup replied stiffly, all too aware of the heat of Viggo's finger against his skin. "I want you to throw me back in the cell with Toothless."
Viggo placed a hand over his heart as if shocked by Hiccup's audacity, the melodramatic bastard. "My dear Hiccup," he said, "if only you could see the state of yourself. Nose swollen beyond recognition, a bloody knot the size of a Gronkle egg in the middle of your forehead, dried blood crusted on your face and matted in your hair… Quite frankly, you look as if you are on Valhalla's doorstep. What kind of host would I be if I simply tossed you, the heir of a powerful tribe and leader of Berk's noble dragon riders, bloody and broken, into a cell?"
Hiccup yanked against the ropes binding his wrists. "What kind of host ties his 'guest' to a bed?" he countered.
Viggo shook his head. "Ryker's idea, I assure you. In fact, he insisted on it. For some reason, he has it in his head that even a concussion, a broken nose, and a missing prosthetic would still not be enough to quell any escape attempts."
"Well," Hiccup grumbled, "I guess even Ryker can be right sometimes."
Viggo laughed. "Wonders never cease." He withdrew his finger at last, but the tightness in Hiccup's chest didn't ease. "Now, you are going to allow me to tend to your wounds. You are going to drink the water I so graciously offer you, and you are going to let me clean you up. If you do not, your dragon will be next on the auction block. Do I make myself clear?"
Hiccup pushed back against the tide of indignant fury, focusing instead on Toothless's face, bright and clear in his mind's eye. For Toothless, he would endure Viggo's ministrations. For Toothless, Hiccup would endure anything. And Viggo knew this just as well as Hiccup. He felt the phantom sweep of Viggo's thumb across his cheekbone and a quaking deep within his soul at the myriad of ways Viggo could exploit this knowledge.
But for now, none of that mattered. Hiccup had to protect Toothless, and the only way he could do that was to play Viggo's game until rescue arrived or he found a way to escape. Through gritted teeth, he hissed, "Fine. Do what you have to."
He could only pray that what Viggo needed to would not turn into what Viggo wanted to do.
To Hiccup's surprise, Viggo worked quietly and relatively gently, all things considered. First, he helped Hiccup drink, one large hand cupped behind Hiccup’s head, lifting it off the pillow and tilting the flask to his lips. Despite himself, Hiccup drank deeply, the cool water a balm to his parched lips and dry throat. Viggo let Hiccup drink his fill, and when Hiccup pulled away, he put the flask away and laid Hiccup’s head carefully back down on the pillow.
Viggo then had a basin filled with warm water brought to him, along with a small basket of medical supplies — clean cloths, clay jars filled with what Hiccup assumed held various herbs and salves, bandages, and needle and thread.
Hiccup eyed the delivery warily, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that his greatest enemy, a man who hunted and killed dragons, who embodied everything that Hiccup stood against, who had captured and tried to kill Hiccup and his riders and their dragons more times than he could count, who at this very moment was holding him for ransom…
That this man, who almost certainly had a healer on board his ship, had taken it upon himself to treat Hiccup's wounds, had, despite his cold threats and the biting frost in his eyes, sometimes looked at Hiccup with something very much like fondness. Possessive yet protective. Dark, unwavering, unyielding, but still somehow… soft.
Hiccup couldn't understand it, couldn't explain it. As Viggo dipped a cloth in the basin of water and began to carefully, methodically, clean the blood off of Hiccup's face and neck, Viggo's words flooded his pain-addled brain and twisted his stomach into knots: If you do not behave, then I may very well sell your dragon and keep you for myself.
What in Thor's name had Viggo meant by that? The obvious answer was that he wanted to terrify Hiccup into cooperating (and Hiccup hated how much that one little statement had rattled him), but Hiccup had a strange, sneaking feeling that Viggo had also meant what he'd said. That if he had his way, he would prefer to keep Hiccup here, with him. And whether that meant chained at his feet or discarded in a cell or something else entirely, Hiccup didn't know… and he had no desire to find out.
He didn't want to know why Viggo looked at him the way he did, why he kept touching him, why he claimed could never bring himself to sell Hiccup to anyone else. Because if he were honest with himself, Hiccup already had an inkling, but right now it was small and distant and misshapen, and if Hiccup thought about Viggo and his burning eyes and his possessive words and his lingering touches for much longer, he feared his suspicion would grow into something more distinct, that he could no longer avoid or deny. He didn't want to know why.
Hiccup was jolted out of his thoughts by a surge of pain in his nose, so acute black spots danced in his vision and a high-pitched whining filled his ears. A strangled cry escaped Hiccup's lips and he jerked his head away, breathing heavily. "What the Hel are you doing?" he snarled, panting for breath the pain had stolen and blinking away the darkness.
Viggo returned his fury with a mild indifference. In his hand he held the damp cloth, now tinged pink, and, glancing down at the basin on the side table, Hiccup saw that the water was pink as well. He swallowed heavily, nausea threatening once more — blood didn't bother him, not even his own, especially his own, but he hadn't realized he'd lost quite that much. No wonder he felt so weak and queasy.
"Are you always this hostile when someone is treating your injuries?" Viggo asked instead of answering Hiccup's question.
"No, just when it's an enemy doing it," Hiccup growled back. This wasn't strictly true; although he wasn't outright hostile when Fishlegs or any of his other friends insisted on taking care of him, he wasn't exactly the most cooperative, either — he just didn't like people fussing over him.
But this… letting Viggo nurse him back to health, allowing the man to touch him, to clean blood and sweat from his face and treat his wounds, all while tied to a bed, helpless to stop him, with Toothless somewhere below, locked in the cells, being used as a pawn against him… this was wrong in every sense of the word. Especially since Viggo's hands were so steady and gentle.
Viggo didn't respond; he went back to dabbing the cloth gently around Hiccup's broken nose, and even though each touch sent bolts of agony through him, Hiccup clenched his teeth around the pain and stayed still and quiet, refusing to allow any more weakness to rise to the surface.
After a moment, Viggo murmured, "You're lucky. Though your nose is swollen, I do believe it will heal normally."
"Yeah, I feel real lucky," Hiccup snapped, glancing pointedly down at his bound wrists.
Viggo ignored him. Apparently satisfied with the state of Hiccup's face, he busied himself with inspecting his captive’s forehead. Hiccup's resilience faltered when Viggo prodded too close to the wound; he yelped as pain blossomed through his head, behind his eyes, down his neck. He tried to squirm out of Viggo's grasp, but Viggo just gripped Hiccup's jaw with his free hand and held his head steady and Hiccup hurt too much to fight any longer.
Viggo leaned in close, much, much too close: Hiccup could see every pore on his face, could see the handful of silver hairs scattered in the carefully groomed beard, could feel Viggo's breath, hot and dry, blow across his face and somehow scatter chill bumps in its wake. Hiccup fought the urge to close his eyes, buried the whimper trying to build in his throat. His skin crawled at this proximity, at being tied to a bed with Viggo leaning over him, face to face. He didn't want this, he didn't want to be here, he wanted out, he wanted Toothless, and Astrid, and he wanted to go home—
The finger prodded his forehead again and Hiccup grimaced. It was difficult to talk with Viggo squeezing his jaw, but he managed to hiss, "Will you stop? That hurts."
Viggo ignored Hiccup yet again, and Hiccup huffed irritably. As much as he hated the man's strange attentions, he was quickly realizing that he also hated Viggo acting like he wasn't even there. After a moment, though, Viggo sat back and released Hiccup's jaw. Hiccup worked it slowly, trying to get some feeling back after the less-than-gentle treatment.
Viggo watched Hiccup for a moment, eyes sharp but distant at the same time, and then finally, he spoke. "The gash on your forehead is worse than I thought."
Hiccup groaned. "I don't need stitches if that's what you're getting at." Unspoken, but clearly understood: Just finish this and leave me alone, get out of here, I don't want you here—
Viggo's face hardened and his hand shot out, this time lightly grasping the side of Hiccup's throat, his thumb pressing against the thundering pulse point beneath Hiccup's jaw. Hiccup froze, his mind screeched to halt, his entire body a mess of tense, coiled muscles. He forgot everything, even the pain, and this time, his eyes slammed shut of their own accord. Terror ripped through him like a howling maelstrom.
And yet, somehow, above his pounding heart and rushing blood and ragged breath, Hiccup heard Viggo's voice, soft and dangerous and very, very controlled: "Do you wish for me to remind you who holds all the power here?"
Heat pressed at the back of his eyes and Hiccup struggled to get his panicked breathing under control. Just survive, he reminded himself. Just do what it takes to keep yourself and Toothless alive and together…
And even though it felt so much like giving up, like giving in, like surrendering the last dregs of his floundering freedom, Hiccup whispered, "N-no. Stitches it is."
Hiccup opened his eyes and Viggo was smiling, and some of the ice in his eyes had melted. His hand moved from Hiccup's throat to his cheek, the backs of his fingers brushing tenderly across the still-damp skin. Hiccup forced himself not to cringe away. Just breathe, just survive, just get through this in one piece, remember Toothless—
"Wonderful. Thank you for your cooperation, my dear."
And Viggo set to work.
The worst part wasn't the disinfectant that smelled of vinegar and honey, nor the stitches themselves, even though every pierce of the needle and pull of the thread sent shockwaves of sickening agony through Hiccup's head. No, the worst part turned out to be how close Viggo loomed as he worked.
Viggo worked silently, his lips parted slightly in concentration, peppermint breath wafting across Hiccup's face. Prick — the needle went in, and Hiccup sucked in a breath. Tug — the thread pulled through, painful and foreign in his skin. Huff — a wave of warm breath tickling his forehead. And all the while, Hiccup held completely still, unwilling to give Viggo any more excuses to threaten or touch him.
Even though Viggo couldn't have put in more than four or five stitches, the process seemed to last for an eternity. When, at long last, Viggo cut the thread and sat back, Hiccup's body began trembling in earnest and his head swam with a mixture of relief, terror, and pain.
"There," Viggo said, surveying his work. "Much better."
Hiccup swallowed back bile trying to surge in his throat. "I don'," he slurred, pain and dizziness stealing his clarity, "I don' feel better."
Through blurred vision, Hiccup saw what might have been concern flutter across Viggo's face. "Rest, Hiccup," Viggo said, and Hiccup felt fingers ghosting through his hair. And this time, they didn't feel possessive or threatening, but almost… comforting, and Hiccup knew that should scare him more than it did, but he was so tired and the pain and nausea chased themselves in sickening circles through his aching head and body—
And yet.
Hiccup didn't want to sleep while tied to bed with Viggo right next to him. Even in his concussed, broken, bleary state, he knew that he needed to stay awake, stay vigilant, because Viggo could — well, Hiccup couldn't exactly remember what, but he knew that Viggo could do very bad things to a sleeping, bound Hiccup, things that Hiccup would be helpless to prevent…
Not that he could prevent anything in his current state, anyway, even while awake…
But still — "I'll s-stay 'wake," he declared.
Viggo chuckled. "My dear Hiccup, you have my word that you will be safe while you sleep."
Hiccup wanted to believe this, he needed to sleep — even now, he felt the tantalizing pull of unconsciousness beckoning to him. But he mumbled, "Leave, please… just go."
Thankfully, Viggo didn't appear offended by Hiccup's plea, but he shook his head all the same. "You are concussed, Hiccup. Head injuries are not to be trifled with. I will sit by your side as you sleep, wake you throughout the night, just to be safe."
Hiccup opened his mouth to protest, but his voice stuck in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut. Stay awake, he ordered himself.
But the fingers were back in his hair, gentle, tender, soothing, and a voice rumbled close to his ear, "Sleep, darling. Rest." And Hiccup forgot why the touch and the voice should scare him, and why sleep was a dangerous thing to do. He released his flagging grip on consciousness and allowed the deep and the dark and the quiet take hold.
The pain floated away on the wings of fingers stroking his hair, and he slept.