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English
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Part 22 of Thereweredragonshere's whump dump - 2024 , Part 6 of Thereweredragonshere's Hiccup and Stoick collection
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Published:
2024-06-05
Completed:
2025-02-17
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8,964
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3/3
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Can I still be a kind of friend?

Summary:

He knew of the horrific habits Hiccup possessed, the heart wrenching coping mechanisms he utilised- he knew. He was so painfully aware of them. He couldn’t look at Hiccup without feeling sad, because all Hiccup knew was sad.

Aka- Snotlout can no longer handle knowing of Hiccup's self destructive behaviours, and has to tell the only person who can help him.

!!Second chapter is extremely blunt on the topic of self harm!!

Notes:

Yoooo guess who's back

:(

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Telling

Chapter Text

Snotlout traversed the dark terrain of the midnight sunken Berk, the hair on his arms feeling the cool rush of the freezing winter’s breeze. He shivered as he walked, teeth chattering under the unpleasant temperatures.

 

Each footstep brought him closer to the Haddock household, his dreaded destination. He knew what he was doing was for the best, but he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt.

 

He was worried. No- no worried was understatement- petrified, more suited how he felt towards his cousin.

 

Petrified that he was going to lose him.

 

He knew of the horrific habits Hiccup possessed, the heart wrenching coping mechanisms he utilised- he knew. He was so painfully aware of them. He couldn’t look at Hiccup without feeling sad, because all Hiccup knew was sad.

 

He just couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t bear knowing the horrible truth of Hiccup’s mental state. He hadn’t even found out intentionally. He’d accidentally walked in on Hiccup with blood trailing down his forearms and shoulders- met with a petrified look- closely followed by pleading and begging to just forget he ever saw  anything.

 

Forget. Forget the harrowing sight of the red liquid pouring down the mangled arms of his best friend as he held the blood stained knife in his trembling hand.

 

Forget. Yeah right.

 

It wasn’t even like he could do anything about it. Hiccup wouldn’t listen to him, he wouldn’t listen to the other riders either, not that he’d ever tell the others- but he was so stubborn- so- so set on the fact that he deserved it. 

 

He would never listen. Not to them anyway.

 

So that’s why Snotlout planned to tell the one person who could actually force Hiccup into doing something. 

 

Stoick.

 

He reached the door to the chief’s house, taking a deep, refreshing breath of air, mustering up the courage needed to discuss such a topic, and knocked.

 

…

 

…

 

…… creeeeEEEEEEeeeeeek……

 

“Snotlout- sorry, you just missed Hiccup, he and Toothless-,”

 

“Oh- no- that’s- uh,- that’s good- actually-,”

 

“Oh-,” Stoick leant back a bit, a confused look seeping onto his face

 

Snotlout opened his mouth to speak. His stupid mouth. He was betraying Hiccup. He was betraying his privacy and his trust- 

 

No. No it was for his own good.

 

He cleared his throat, pressing further on in the conversation.

 

“I uh- I need to- uhm- talk to you about Hiccup.” He managed, wincing at how shaky his voice sounded.

 

“Oh- I-… I see…” His voice was confused, worry already present “Well- do come in lad,” Stoick offered, stepping out of the way to allow his nephew inside.

 

Snotlout hesitantly stepped inside

 

No going back now.

 

Stoick swiftly pulled two chairs out, sitting down in one, the other opposite, left for Snotlout to occupy.

 

He sat down opposite the chief, taking in a deep breath to steady himself.

 

Gods he could already feel his heart racing, pumping every cell of blood through his ever increasingly trembling body. He was suddenly extremely aware of himself. His hands, his fingers, the drowning feeling in his chest, the emptiness of his stomach.

 

He cleared his throat once more, finally forcing himself to start speaking, despite everything telling him not to.

 

“He's uh-,”

 

Do it. Just do it.

 

“He’s been- hurting himself. ” He blurted out, his hands clasping together, the sweat on his quivering palms making for an uncomfortable sensation. 

 

Was he really shaking because of words?

 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Stoick for the first few seconds- dreading his reaction- anger? Sadness? Disbelief? 

 

Worse.

 

Horror. Pure horror.

 

Pure horror that was soon hidden, a spur of the moment reaction one might say.

 

“He- I- okay.” The chief began. The sound of his voice sending chills down Snotlout’s spine.

 

This man was Hiccup’s dad. His dad. And he was telling him that his son was hurting himself.

 

“Uhm-… how?” He finally questioned

 

…

 

Snotlout’s mind blanked at the question. Such a simple ask- just- just say blade. 

 

Blade. A knife.

 

“I don’t uhm-,”

 

No. Say it,

 

Dagger. Knife- something sharp-

 

“He uh-“

 

Just say it Thor damnnit!

 

“A knife- he- he- uhm- a knife…”

 

He would’ve liked to think a pressure was lifted off his shoulder, but every time he chipped away at the mass weighing him down, it would just be added to the piling up guilt that would forever haunt him after this conversation.

 

He nervously watched as Stoick nodded, very clearly deep in thought- trying not to show any signs of emotion- he knew the feeling. 

 

“And- and what does he- d-do with the knife?” 

 

…

 

It was almost uncanny to hear the way his uncle’s voice wavered. Stoick the Vast. He wasn’t the type to show any sign of ‘weakness’

 

It only made Snotlout feel worse.

 

“Cut- cut his uhm- arms- he-,” He took a breath, the words sticking to his throat like a thick paste “It’s- they’re everywhere- the- the scars and the cuts- he- you can barely see the original skin- I-,” 

 

He felt tears prick at his eyes, his arms physically shaking as he tried to not cry. His heart felt as if it were broken, the million tiny shards firing at his chest cavity, pumping so hard it would burst from his chest. He wanted to scream, he’d known for so long and tried so many things to help- but he couldn’t- he had to betray Hiccup to help him- and he didn’t know what it meant for their friendship in the long run-

 

He didn’t know if Hiccup would ever speak to him again- if- if he’d cut him out of his life- get angry at him- hate him. He didn’t know. He didn’t know and it was scary. He didn’t want to lose Hiccup as a friend- they were so close to each other- they had grown so Thor damned close over the past few years- they knew each other like the back of their hands- they trusted each other. Hiccup trusted him not to tell anyone.

 

And he was breaking that trust. He was breaking their friendship.

 

But all of that; the prospect of losing one of his best friends, never having a relationship with him again, never being able to speak to him again- was all worth it if it meant Hiccup got better. And he would do it over and over again if he had to.

 

His eyes slowly glanced back up to Stoick, having not heard anything in reply to his answer yet.

 

The man sat, his expression dark and somber. He did not react, he did not reply to the information he’d been told. He simply stood up, and patted Snotlour on the shoulder.

 

“Thank you, Snotlout. You have no idea how much you telling me this means to me,”

 

His eyes briefly widened, before he very quickly snapped back into his speech.

 

“Oh- y-yeah I- yeah- no- no worries-,” He stuttered out, still clearly trembling.

 

He was seen out of the house, a warm yet sad smile upon the chief’s face as he closed the door behind him.

 

And that was it.

 

He just had to… wait…

 

…really?

 

That was that, all done. Fixed. Sorted?

 

Surely not?

 

But no. He thought about it more- and yes. That was it. There was nothing else to be done.

 

He just had to… get on with his night now. Try and pretend that he didn’t just potentially end Hiccup’s life as he currently knew it- 

 

He stood on the porch of the house, unable to move.

 

Unable to breathe.

 

He’d just done it

 

He’d finally done it.

 

But he didn’t like that he’d finally done it.

 

No. No he hated it in fact.

 

Where was the relief? Why hadn’t his stress left? Why was he still terrified?

 

Why hadn’t it all gone away? 

 

Why couldn’t Hiccup just be okay…?