Chapter Text
It was well and truly dark, but even though his father was definitely home by now, Hiccup still slogged through the woods in a daze. He’d already tripped more than once. It was a miracle he hadn’t fainted again.
He probably looked terrible; he’d gotten completely coated in ash during the raid, and he’d woken up with his front soaked by the wet grass—maybe he’d dreamed the Night Fury. Because it had definitely been a Night Fury, oh gods—
His phone buzzed in his vest. The world slammed back into him with sudden clarity, and Hiccup jumped. His dad almost never used his phone. Odin, he was going to be in so much more trouble if it was late enough that his dad had sent a text. He tore aside his vest and groped around in the inner pocket, finally yanking his phone out—
Hiccup slumped, breath whooshing. Thank the gods. It was just Snotlout .
Wait.
Hiccup unlocked his phone and opened the message. His texts with Snotlout were one-sided—it was better to just ignore him, and correcting his spelling had only been funny for as long as it took Snot to track him down the next day—but the newest one stood out; a long bunch of letters, a link.
Hiccup’s stomach dropped.
“No, no, no.” He muttered, tapping the link once, then frantically when it didn’t immediately open. “Not again.”
The messages from his cousin disappeared in favor of the painfully familiar layout of an article with his photo on it. Two photos.
On the left was that stupid picture they loved to use of him at a Thing dinner three years ago, squished awkwardly between his dad and a general of Chieftess Bertha’s that he’d hunted a pack of Changewings with. Hiccup barely came up to his dad’s belt buckle—but he’d been slouching in that picture, and if they ever stopped cropping it weird everybody would see that—and it didn’t help that the general had leaned down and wrapped a meaty arm around Hiccup’s shoulders, which had accidentally pressed his face right against her…you know. At first, they’d just used the photo in all the articles speculating whether she and his father were courting—ugh—but as more and more articles started focusing on him, the picture had made a comeback.
And on the right—how did they even get that? It wasn’t even a good picture, the photographer must have been in the crowd based on all the arms blocking most of the shot, but the central focus was still clear enough: Hiccup looking as small and hunched as usual while his dad chewed him out in front of everyone. At least all the people in the way had hidden the broken brazier, but Hiccup had no doubt it was all detailed below.
“Come on.” He groaned, scrolling once just to gauge the length of the thing.
Sweet Odin, it took two scrolls. There was another set of pictures, the professional interview shots of that trader whose boat he’d sunk a few months ago, and a few photos of the wreck itself. Hiccup winced, going to shut his phone off before he could actually read anything…but whether because he was already nervously primed for a text or it was the will of the gods, his eyes caught on his dad’s name, and suddenly he’d read the entire quote at the very bottom.
“Chief Stoick Haddock might have an easier time of things on Berk if he focuses on the dragon in his own home, before trying to tell the rest of the archipelago how they ought to wage the war.”
Below that was a link to an old article: one of his father’s rare interviews that had turned into a rant about the other chiefs’ reluctance to band together and sail off to find the nest. It hadn’t been received well.
Another text from Snotlout dropped down at the top of his screen. It was a different link.
Hiccup shut his phone off, digging his heels into his eyes and groaning again. “Don’t they have anything else to write about?”
He supposed he should count himself lucky, he thought as he started trudging back home again. There hadn’t been a new article about him in almost two weeks. Although, usually they didn’t have pictures—or, if they did, they were of damage hours later and he wasn’t in them, looking exactly like the runty screwup they described. His dad was usually good about keeping paparazzi off of Berk, but sometimes the really bold ones managed to slip in, and who would stop a cameraman at the docks during a raid?
Maybe that should be his next invention. Something he could use to look at the owner of a small ship when they were still a ways off. That way he would know who to tell the watchmen to aim the catapult near.
Hiccup sighed through his nose as the trees cleared and he saw the back of his house and…great. That was firelight in the crack of the shutters. Well, his dad’s hearing wasn’t the best after so many roars to the face—hey, maybe he was taking after his dad after all—so there was always a chance he wouldn’t hear him come in and Hiccup could sneak upstairs. He hardly looked at his phone, especially after a raid, so unless Uncle Spitelout had “brought it to his attention”, he probably didn’t know that another of Hiccup’s mistakes was being read about all over Barbaric.
His phone let out a weak chime. Not a text, but probably one of the alerts he’d set up for when his name was in the news. Hiccup ignored it, reaching for the back door and trying to pretend he’d be strong enough to resist reading them all in the middle of the night.