If it was one thing Hiccup knew, it was waking up and looking down and remembering oh yeah, I used to have a leg there. He was used to it now, because he could still fly and he still had Toothless, but there were days when he took a step forward and his weight wasn't where it should be and he ended up halfway to a sprawl.
"Don't worry about it," he said, looking up from bandages that he was changing for a burn on his arm. "You need anything?"
"Sure." He found a cup and filled it with the sink, a tiny bit pleased with himself that the faucet didn't cause him any surprise or consternation this time. "Here."
Part of him wanted to pull up a chair, commiserate, offer some kind of reassurance, but he had a feeling the words would have felt just as hollow to him as they would to the other man. "Do they have medicine for you?"
"Viking," he mumbles, like that's supposed to mean something. "Tunny." He clears his throat, almost a laugh, and shakes his head. "Joe. Clarke. But everyone calls me Tunny."
"Who the fuck else is going to name their kid 'Tunny'?" he asks, because clearly his old man was out of his mind. But it had felt right, at the time, and, to this day, it felt more like his name than his own name.
"Who the hell else is going to name their kid Hiccup?"
Somehow, calling attention to his leg wasn't as easy as just letting it be there, unspoken and visible from beneath the roll of his pants. "Saved a bunch of people but...it cost me." Hiccup balanced on his good foot to expose the metal one.
God, he feels like shit. He must look like shit. At the end of the day, he is shit. And he's never going to be any different. He's never going to be any better.
He clears his throat, can't clear the bitter taste.
"Yeah," he says, turning his face to the side. "Something like that."
Automatically, Hiccup refilled Tunny's glass and held it out. There was something he should be saying, some cheerful, hopeful phrase, but it would have felt stale and useless right now.
"I can make you something for that," he offered quietly.
That. That. Which is probably what he's going to be forever. Rationally, he knows that Hiccup's being kind, making an offer but, right then, there's this little knot of hate that he can't swallow past.
"Don't worry about it," he said, looking up from bandages that he was changing for a burn on his arm. "You need anything?"
Reply
He clears his throat and shoves himself more upright in the bed.
"Water?"
Reply
Part of him wanted to pull up a chair, commiserate, offer some kind of reassurance, but he had a feeling the words would have felt just as hollow to him as they would to the other man. "Do they have medicine for you?"
Reply
He just wishes he felt better for it.
Reply
"I'm Hiccup."
Reply
"What the fuck kind of name is Hiccup?"
Reply
Reply
Reply
Hiccup leaned back against the counter, looking around the clinic. "When I first got here, this is where I ended up too."
Reply
"What was wrong with you?"
Reply
Somehow, calling attention to his leg wasn't as easy as just letting it be there, unspoken and visible from beneath the roll of his pants. "Saved a bunch of people but...it cost me." Hiccup balanced on his good foot to expose the metal one.
Reply
He cranes his neck, looking at the leg. His stomach lurches. He manages to grab the basin just in time. Thankfully, he hasn't eaten a lot today.
"Shit," he says, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Sorry. It's...it's not you."
Reply
"Seems like you've had a pretty bad day," he said, grossly understating it.
Reply
He clears his throat, can't clear the bitter taste.
"Yeah," he says, turning his face to the side. "Something like that."
Reply
"I can make you something for that," he offered quietly.
Reply
"Like what?"
Reply
Leave a comment