Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hiccup felt their eyes on him as he slouched out of the Clubhouse. Toothless’s especially.

Gods, he hoped his dragon would understand that Hiccup wasn’t upset with him, that it wasn’t personal at all. Hiccup vowed to make it up to him after he’d had some time alone, to decompress. Maybe a mountain of fish to rival the ones that Barf and Belch had been ambushing him with the past few days?

For now, though, Hiccup had to get away. It didn’t matter where he went, as long as it was quiet, as long as he was alone.

Because right now, Hiccup’s skin swarmed like it was covered in thousands of Red-Hot Itchyworms. Right now, even the sounds of his own footsteps — step, click, step, click, step, click — deafened him, grated on his already shredded nerves. Right now, his head pounded and light and colors swirled into a cacophonous blur.

Right now, the feel of his own clothes on his skin — the scratch of his tunic, the tightness of his bracers, the usually light weight of his armor — and the sensation of his prosthetic pressed against his stump made him wish he could divest himself of everything, curl into a ball, and hide until the world went back to normal. Right now, Hiccup could not take one more person — or dragon — trying to communicate with him, one more punch or arm around his shoulder, one more person laughing or crying, one more dragon growling or chuffing or screeching.

Hel, Hiccup didn’t even want to be with himself, but short of crawling out of his own skin and coiling like smoke into the darkening sky (which he would almost certainly do if he only knew how), he couldn’t do much about that.

Through the chaos surging through his head, the overlapping thoughts so loud and dissonant he couldn’t isolate one for long, Hiccup managed to think, Just need space. Just need time. No touching, no talking, no people, no dragons.

If anyone approached him right now, Hiccup would either snap or shut down completely. So he kept walking, trying to block out his uneven, overly loud footsteps, with no idea where his feet were taking him other than away.

Hiccup had felt this way before, all his senses rebelling at once. Usually it happened on bad pain days, when his stump ached so badly he could barely wear his prosthetic. Something about being in constant pain made every other sensation amplify like it had passed through the Thunder Ear. On those days, Hiccup’s mood soured, he snapped more, and he tended to avoid the others as much as possible. His friends understood the reason for his waspishness and usually gave him his space, and in turn, he always made sure to apologize for being abrasive and would always try to do better the next time.

But this might be the worst it had ever been. For one, he had never pushed Toothless away, even on his worst days. No wonder his dragon had looked so crushed, so concerned.

But the last few days — they had been some of the most overstimulating, grating, infuriating, and stressful of his life. Hiccup loved all dragons, even the terrifying, untrainable ones, but to say that he had had his fill of Barf and Belch at this point would be a massive understatement — and the twins and Snotlout had about reached their limits, too.

In less than three days’ time, he had fallen multiple times — once from the sky — been buried in piles of fish and nearly blown up (he still tasted smoke and had developed a persistent cough), and had all three of his legs destroyed (and breaking in new ones almost always hurt, with lots of pinching and chafing). And to top it all off, he had been hung upside down and bashed around by Barf and Belch (Bat the Nut had quickly become his least favorite game, followed closely by Boar Pit Wrestling).

He had been punched in the face, flicked in the ear, nearly crushed by a pile of logs careening down a hill — why the Hel had he agreed to that plan? — and the whole time he had been stalked by a grabby, touchy-feely, lick-happy two-headed dragon who refused to take no for an answer. He had been followed and nudged and neck-hugged and snatched off of Toothless’s back. He had not had a moment of peace and quiet since he’d saved Barf and Belch from that avalanche. He hadn’t been alone, he always had someone touching him, talking to him, pelting him with slimy, smelly fish…

Hiccup was tired — beyond tired. He wanted to get back to the chaos of his regular life on the Edge instead of whatever kind of Loki-breathed insanity his life had become. He wanted to enjoy Barf and Belch from afar (very, very afar), as the twins’ dragon. He wanted to be able to fly across the island without constantly watching over his shoulder for a rogue Zippleback.

He had to figure this out, himself, because no way in Hel would he go along with any more of the twins’ ridiculous plans.

He tried to think, to plan, something he normally enjoyed and excelled at, but his brain had disintegrated into a muddle of racing thoughts and overwhelming sensations. He couldn’t think, and that just made him panic more.

Something snapped behind him. Hiccup flinched, staggered to a halt. If Barf and Belch or the twins had followed him, he might actually combust. Just burst spontaneously into a twitching mass of raw nerves.

He looked behind him. Nothing. Thank the gods, he was alone. If anything or anyone touched him right now —

Hiccup yelped as he turned back around, only to have a rough sack thrown over his head. Before he could even begin to understand what this new turn of events, two sets of hands dragged him backwards into what felt like a scrubby bush. His skin writhed, it physically hurt, as the hands wrenched his arms behind his back and held them tight. Panic and frayed nerves made for terrible bedfellows, and Hiccup quickly went from the precipice of snapping to actually snapping.

Feeling as if he had no control over his own body, as if a great chasm separated his body and his consciousness, Hiccup began to thrash and buck and kick in his captors’ grip, fighting like a wild dragon, screaming, shouting, cursing, panting.

And in his mind, panic reigned, painting every darting thought a violent red, heightening his already heightened senses. He was being kidnapped. Kidnapped. Was it the twins and Snotlout, another one of their cockamamie plans? Somehow, Hiccup didn’t think so. These hands seemed too big, too rough, too strong, even for Snotlout.

Hiccup managed to wrench one arm free, but one of his captors hit him, hard, in the back of the head. White spots flashed before his eyes, blinding against the stuffy darkness of the bag, and Hiccup felt his limbs go limp against his will. Consciousness lingered, but he was too dazed to struggle. Every touch still felt like fire; the harsh breathing of his kidnappers made him want to curl up, cover his ears, and sob. But he could do nothing.

He felt himself begin to shut down, retreating inside of himself, trying to insulate himself from the howling storm of sensations assaulting his body.

One of his kidnappers pulled his free arm roughly behind his back again and tied his wrists with rope so rough that every scrape of the fibers felt like his skin was being peeled away. More rope wrapped around his chest, suffocatingly tight. Hiccup’s breath hitched.

And then someone lifted him, slung him over a muscular shoulder, wrapped an arm too tightly around his middle, jolted him with every running step as they stole away with him.

Carried away from his home, his dragon, his friends. Wishing more than anything that he had let Toothless join him. Praying that this wouldn’t be the one time that Barf and Belch actually listened to him. Nerves alight like lightning, terror roosting in his soul.

He listened closely for the sound of a Zippleback swooping from the sky, of hissing gas or sparking flame. But — nothing.

Despair unfurled inside of him. He’d gotten his wish. No one had come after him.

He was on his own.