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Hiccup is tired.
That’s not, like, a revolutionary thing—not for him—and any normal person would indulge a normal solution: sleep.
Except he’s not a normal person, and his brain and body seem to be revolting against the idea of slumber, which means that instead of sleeping, he’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with his teeth gritted together. Just like he’s been doing for hours.
And hours.
And yup, that’s right, more hours.
A hand rests on his bare chest, fingers splayed. He’s still got a lantern lit, despite the fact that it’ll be dawn soon, and it fills the loft with a warm yellow glow. Toothless snores from the stone slab nearby—the rumbles providing a nice rhythm to sync his breathing.
At night, the leg he lost sometimes likes to pretend it’s still attached. The pain isn’t terrible tonight, but that doesn’t mean it’s awesome. He winces as he adjusts the weight distribution of his body, sending another flurry of twinges across his left calf and foot. You know, the parts that don’t super exist anymore? Those.
Hiccup reaches down, tapping his fingers against the edge of the scarred skin—a well-practiced pattern that usually helps a bit. Sometimes, the simmering, nagging pain is worse than the quicker bouts of white hot ones: those, at least, he can muscle through and get on with his life.
Of course, if he doesn’t want to focus on the leg, there’s always the thoughts. Those guys are really fun, too. He could think about Viggo and the fact that, right now, at this very moment, there are more dragons being ripped from their homes—personally being set as bait for him. He could think that, try as he might, he’s just one fucking guy and that’s not really enough, now, is it? Does he really think he can save every dragon out there? No, surely not. So, what’s the point?
The low ache in his missing leg flares to a burn, shifting the focus again. He wishes he’d remembered to bring his compression sleeve up from the forge. It’s just downstairs, and if he asks Toothless, his dragon will definitely go down and bring it to him in an instant, making that guttural clicking in the back of his throat. He’ll probably even stay awake, too—blinking those big green eyes until the pain subsides or Hiccup finds sleep through it.
Which is why I’m not gonna wake ya, bud.
Toothless is just as overworked and exhausted as he is right now. Better one of them be alert and at full health than none. He’s managed plenty of nights before designing the compression sleeve; he’ll be fine with one more.
A sudden familiar knock pattern on the door jolts him to a half-sitting position, which his leg absolutely despises. It punishes him with more incredible and helpful cramps. Hey, at least the burning’s stopped.
For now.
Toothless jolts awake at the sound, a growl starting low in his throat. So much for not waking his dragon.
“Relax, bud,” Hiccup assures him. “She’s not a threat.”
Well, no threat to Hiccup, at least. Most of the time. If he’s on good behavior. What can he say? He’s got a fascination with potentially dangerous things.
Hiccup clears his throat, coughing a little. He maneuvers towards the lever beside his bed—the one that opens the hatch door from the second floor. The door rises, metal lifts creaking. He waits until he hears footsteps on the stairs before lowering it back down.
With several measured inhales, he steels himself to look more neutrally lounging and less ow, ow, my leg ow.
Astrid pokes her head up into the loft space. Her hair is braided back, and she’s wearing armor, which means she just finished a twilight quadrant sweep. Judging from the state of her, she probably didn’t even stop off at her own hut before swinging by.
Toothless, satisfied that no dragon hunter has entered their domain with the intention of striking Hiccup down, lets out a chortled greeting in Astrid’s direction and flops back onto the stone. He closes his eyes, but his flaps flick every now and again, so he’s at least partially keyed in nonetheless.
Hiccup knows why Astrid is here; this isn’t the first time she’s made an unannounced middle-of-the-night visit. Even if he’s not exactly feeling up to it, he can at least try—for her. A good leader provides, doesn’t he?
Using his elbows, Hiccup digs into the furs he’s lying on, pushing himself over a few inches to make room. “All clear out there?”
“All clear.” She’s already removing her chest harness and pauldrons. “The dragon watch is roosted and waiting in case that changes, though. And Snotlout is off on his sweep now, so we should be covered for a few hours.”
Yay, more hours. Hiccup loves those guys.
He watches Astrid peel her armor off, preparing himself. “Right. Yes. I’ll get my pants off, too, just give me a second.”
Astrid shrugs. “Wow, way to assume I even want that right now. Boys.”
“Please.” Hiccup tries to covertly lift his hips to wriggle his pants off, but it just makes the pain worse. “You’re practically foaming at the— ah, man—” he pauses, breathing heavily, “—mouth.”
Astrid starts to fire back another quip, turning around to face him. Her gaze narrows. “You okay?”
He nods, giving her a thumbs up. “Yeah, yeah, just— here we go.” He hooks his thumb into the waistline of his pants, then pushes up with his right leg again. The sensation in his nonexistent left calf and foot surges once more, as if confused at not being used to support him. It throws his whole body off-balance with dull, painful pressure. “Yeah, yeah,” Hiccup mutters to the ghost of his limb like it’s a dragon lashing out or something. “I know. Just work with me here.”
“Hiccup, stop.” Astrid has draped her outer trappings over the railing, walking across the loft towards him.
He groans. “I can do it.”
“Is it your leg?”
“It’s not even that bad.”
Her mouth tightens into a line, and it’s clear she does not believe him. “Scale from one to ten?”
“Three.”
“Three on the Hiccup Pain Scale,” Astrid unbuckles her bracers. “So, five, maybe, on an honest person’s one. Six, depending on how stubborn you’re being.”
He flips her off, focusing on tensing his way through a particularly painful few moments. Gods, the expanding pressure makes him want to crack his bones in two.
Astrid drops down onto the edge of the bed and surveys him with that tactical stare. He’s always liked that about her; the ability she has to see through his bullshit. Usually, it comes in handy, except for right now. Right now, it sucks.
“Still a three?”
“Stickin’ with it, yup.”
“You’re so frustrating, Haddock.”
“Hey,” Hiccup half-raises his arms in defense. “Let’s not forget who invited herself into my hut.”
“Only because I knew you were still awake.” Astrid rearranges some of the furs around him, eyes raking over his bare chest. Hey, that’s nice. He’ll take that distraction over the Thoughts and the Leg any damn day.
He’ll take whatever parts of her she’ll give him. This… thing between them is new, so new, and he’s doing his best not to fuck it up. As long as Astrid isn’t pregnant, and they haven't announced any official coupling, they’re not forced into any sort of permanent union. When the time comes, she’ll have her pick of Berk and beyond—she doesn’t have to choose him. And even though there’s a distinct part of him that knows she could do worse than a Chief’s son, he doesn’t expect his future station to seal the deal or anything. He’s not even sure if he wants his future station.
Astrid settles down on the bed beside him, bunching up fur beneath her head and laying just far enough from him so as to not accidentally bump his left side. It’s deceptively intimate. “You did pretty good with the whole mission strategy session this morning.”
“Pretty good, huh? Wow, I’m moving up in the world.” He rubs a hand across his face, sighing into the palm. “Just me and my sixteen different ship raid approaches.”
In front of all the others, he tries not to show uncertainty; it doesn’t do much for group morale. Astrid is a far better analytical mind than he is, though. She’s also better at organizing, certainly, and better at just about everything other than sticking a hand out to a wild dragon. He’s got One Thing, as Snotlout and Tuff love to remind him. Sometimes, he wonders if this is it. He’s peaked. He’ll never do anything cooler or more useful than the thing he discovered at fifteen.
Therefore, debriefs with Astrid are vital—a checks and balances system for his makeshift leadership. She has no qualms about correcting any of his obvious missteps.
“I don’t think there is one right approach here,” Astrid sighs. “I mean, we’ve explored a bunch of viable options. They all have their glaring pros and cons. You did the right thing: pick one and make it the smartest choice no matter what. That’s what a good leader does when he’s short on time and resources.”
“We haven’t accounted for the new winches on the ships, yet.” He continues to stare at the ceiling.
“Nope. Nor the possibility of something other than a hogshead formation.”
“Don’t forget those reinforced shield walls.”
“Hiccup?” Astrid rolls over suddenly to face him, elbow bent and palm propping up her head. The movement causes the bed to dip, and Hiccup sucks in air through his teeth.
“Shit, sorry.”
“You’re fine. You’re fine.” The wave passes. Hiccup opens his eyes, finding hers alert and waiting. “All good.”
“Let’s not do this.” Astrid shakes her head. “I mean, it can’t be healthy—”
See?
His very loud rational brain is grinning smugly.
Aren’t you glad you prepared for this? She’s got the right to change her mind about you. You’ll take whatever she can give, right?
“Again,” he raises a hand. His eyes are burning, suddenly—probably from the lack of sleep. He blinks hard, looking up. “I must point out that you wandered in here. I didn’t, like, have my shirt off waiting for you or anything. I just sleep with a shitton of furs, and Toothless’ steam-snores heat up the place real quick.” I thought you wanted it! Gods, you’re so confusing sometimes.
At the sound of his name, Toothless opens one eye—snorting. Yup, definitely keyed in. He makes a few guttural chirps, tail flicking.
“Shh, I know. Back to sleep,” Hiccup soothes. “You’re good, buddy. You’re okay.”
Toothless huffs out a soft sigh in his direction. There’s that worried clicking Hiccup predicted. Man, Hiccup wishes he were as good at predicting human beings as he is at dragons. He silently flicks a hand signal towards Toothless, assuring him that he’s alright, too.
Only then does Toothless exhale and relax.
Astrid seems agitated, too. “Hey, dumbass, I’m not talking about this.” She gestures between the two of them. “I was referring to the shop talk. You know I love battle plans more than anyone else in the entire archipelago, but maybe… maybe it’s a tomorrow thing. When the sun is up.” She stops, frowning. “Not that I think we should let our guards down or anything. Don’t listen to me, actually. Who am I?”
“Someone told me your name is Astrid Hofferson once,” Hiccup says, deadpan. “But don’t take my word for it.”
“Gods, you’re lucky I’m comfortable right now,” she fires off. “Because there’s a really awesome ear flick trick Ruff just taught me that I’d love to test out on you.” She has a free hand, though—it wouldn’t be too hard to just reach over and do it. Hiccup suspects she doesn’t want to cause him any further discomfort. He’s not sure whether he should feel good or bad about that.
“Remind me to start making a flashy new prototype for ear armor first thing tomorrow,” Hiccup chuckles. “So, uh, this—” gesturing between them, “—is fine for you?”
“Hiccup, I’d be jumping your bones right now if it weren’t for your Definitely-Not-A-Three pain that I refuse to make worse.”
“Oh, well, naturally.” Hiccup’s face goes hot. “I mean, I’m on my A game tonight. Just what every hot viking warrior looks for in a bedfellow: a short awkward guy lying flat on his back and stressing while making really attractive faces as he pretends the leg he doesn’t have anymore isn’t fucking up his brain. Really captures the whole rough manly fantasy, don’t you think?”
“Sounds perfectly reasonable to me.” Astrid raises an eyebrow, as if daring him to argue with her.
Her expression—challenging, possessive, almost—makes a new, far more pleasurable sensation flare between his legs for just a moment. It’s short-lived, but nice.
She extends a hand, questioning. Hiccup takes it and lays it across his chest, pressing the palm right above his heart. When the pain is at a Hiccup Eight or Nine, touching makes it worse. Thankfully, tonight it feels nice.
She takes the hint, starting to rub circles into his shoulder, then his arm, and down to his hand. He focuses on the movement, and his eyes drift shut slowly. He’s not even really intending to do so; he just blinks closed and then doesn’t blink open for a bit. If it weren’t for the steady pain, he’d be asleep, and even now, he hangs in that in-between. It’s the closest he’s gotten all night.
“You’re pretty, Haddock,” he hears Astrid say quietly—so quiet he’s half-sure he imagined it.
He must really like her because he forces his eyes back open to evaluate. “That’s usually an insult.” He’s heard it enough times to vouch for that. Not manly enough. Not handsome enough. Too girlish. Too pretty. Be a man, Haddock.
Astrid says it with awe, though. With respect. It’s weird.
She turns her hand over on his chest—still maintaining skin contact—to pick at her thumb nail with her pointer finger. “I know.”
“Forgive me, I forgot that the Almighty Astrid knows everything.”
“She sure does, so watch your mouth.”
He smiles at her, and she returns it. Sparring. It’s just like sparring. “I could still get you off,” Hiccup offers, trying to push away the foggy sleep-deprivation haze. “If that’s what you came looking for. Won’t be my best, but if you scoot down a little, I could probably reach.”
Astrid scoffs, unimpressed.
“Or you could just stay there and give me the ol’ Hiccup’s-An-Idiot face,” he shrugs. “You don’t want to strategize. You don’t want to fuck. Help a guy out, Astrid.”
“You’re really annoying, you know that?” Astrid resumes her gentle rubbing of his shoulders. It feels nice.
“Yeah, you remind me all the time.”
She gets closer to him now, voice dropping to a near whisper like she’s afraid of anyone hearing. “It’s not fun unless you’re having a good time, too.”
Hiccup reaches up and brushes a strand of hair out of her face. He knows why she’s scared to say that louder. He knows why he’s willing to grit his teeth and push forward for her, invisible limb pain be damned. Vikings take, vikings power through, vikings don’t show weakness.
Well, she gave him a moment of vulnerability, he supposes he should return the favor. Better than an owed debt.
He lets his face fall from the well-maintained mask for just a moment, inhaling a shaky breath. “I’m not at my best tonight.” Not my worst, though.
Astrid leans forward and presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to his forehead. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Hiccup reaches behind him to rearrange some of the furs, resting in a slightly more upright position. He can’t tell if it helps any, but it doesn’t make it worse.
“Have you slept at all tonight?” Astrid brushes a thumb under his eyes, no doubt noticing the dark circles there.
He considers lying, but it’s Astrid, so he gives up the thought pretty quickly and opts instead for an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “You?”
“Got a good five hours in before my sweep.”
“Ah, lucky you. A whole five.”
Astrid rolls out her shoulders, rocking her neck back and forth and groaning when she finds a tight spot. Something pops. She sighs in relief, turning her attention back to him.
“Is it, like,” Astrid pauses, trying to find words. “Stabbing?” She flicks her gaze quickly towards his missing leg, then back to his face.
“Sometimes.” They didn’t usually talk about this. In fact, he’s never really talked about it to anyone . Gobber has alluded to it, especially right after the Red Death, but never in much detail. “Other times it’s a crushing or, unsurprisingly, a burning. Real creative with that one.”
“What’s it doing now?” Only curiosity. No repulsion.
“Hmm.” Hiccup ponders that. “It’s… kind of a thrumming, prickling pressure. Like an electric shock.”
“Will this sort of thing happen for the rest of your life?”
“Not sure, actually.”
Her next question is the most surprising, yet—which is saying something.
“Can I see it?” She sounds almost shy. Astrid is never, ever shy .
He shrugs, leaning forward to push the furs away and roll up the loose pant leg. The once burned and charred skin has healed over: pink and rough. The lantern light casts shadows across it, now open in the air.
“Not so pretty now, huh,” Hiccup jokes.
Astrid doesn’t laugh.
“You can touch it.” He motions to the exposed stump. “It actually helps, sometimes.” He taps his fingers along the skin until it abruptly cuts off, focusing on informing his brain that it’s real, real, real, and then, right there, not real anymore. Nothing there. Can’t feel anything below because there’s nothing to feel.
Astrid’s hand hovers over his, letting it guide her. Eventually, she lays it on top and then, he slides his hand out from under hers. Her fingers send out ripples of coolness.
She looks over her shoulder at him, face still neutral. He’s glad he doesn’t see pity. That would be almost as bad as disgust.
“You know, if I close my eyes, I feel like I can move the ghost toes,” Hiccup comments, breathing out slowly and carefully. “And it’s not all bad! I’ve gotten out of many a tight spot thanks to old faithful over there.” He jerks his head towards the prosthetic leaned up against the footboard. “Having a detachable leg sometimes comes in quite handy.”
Of course, he’s also gotten into an equal number of tight situations because of the prosthetic, but he’s not gonna say that part.
Astrid trails a finger in steady swirls along the scars. “You don’t have to convince me of anything.”
“I’m not.” Hiccup isn’t sure if he is or isn’t. Maybe he’s convincing himself. “There are complications, sure, but some days, I don’t even think much about it.” That part is true. He’s gotten pretty accustomed to everything after several years, even the nighttime chance of pain. It’s the combination of everything tonight that has him ready to tear his own hair out.
“You can tell us, you know.” The words are coming out of Astrid’s mouth, but he can’t wrap his mind around her saying them. “When it gets bad. You shouldn’t have to hide it. At least not from me.”
Hiccup looks at her like she’s lost her mind, which maybe she has. “Are you kidding? Tell you guys? So, what? Fishlegs can insist I take a breather? So Snotlout can go on and on about how a Jorgenson’s pain tolerance is higher than any other family on Berk’s, and don’t even get me started on the twins—”
“So, we know ,” Astrid cuts him off. “A good captain also needs to trust his team to have his back. He can’t just have theirs.”
“I can take care of myself.” There’s so much to do, all the time. Who’s gonna do it if Hiccup doesn’t? No, no, telling people whenever his body decides to act up is a recipe for disaster—an eroding of the respect he’s just starting to earn.
“Who comes looking for you every time one of those idiots out there tries to snatch you up?” Astrid demands. “Who has seen you bloody and angry and tired when no one else has? We’ve watched you spit salt water from your lungs. We’ve watched you almost die.”
He thinks of the diving bell, of a final breath, of weightless acceptance as the burning in his lungs overtook him. Of all the times he’s brushed up against it, that one is probably the closest he’s come to dying.
“Well, yeah, this job comes with risks.” Hiccup is sure that every Rider is well aware of that. They’ve all nearly met their matches at one point or another, experienced that cold onset of this might be it. “I can say the exact same things about you, Astrid. We all made the decision to do this anyway. Dragon Riding isn’t all fun and games—you know this. Sometimes, you have to grit your teeth and suck it up.” Especially me.
“Ugh, you’re starting to sound like your father.”
“No, this is my father.” Hiccup pitches voice lower—accent surging in his impression of Stoick the Vast. “If yer suffering, yer choosin’ it, son! Patch yourself up or keep it to yerself. Tha’s the chiefly way.”
It’s not something Stoick has said in many years, a remnant of the man who raised him, not the one who rides dragons and hugs stiltedly and admits to missing him. Hiccup feels a twinge of guilt, then, for still having that line so readily burned into his brain.
He should visit Berk again, check in on his dad.
Add it to the list.
Astrid allows a small, reluctantly amused smile. She likes his impressions, whether she admits it or not. “You’re undercutting my very serious point.”
“I’m really, very good at that,” Hiccup says. “Just ask any of our formidable foes.”
“Which betrays how uncomfortable you actually are right now.” Astrid’s face settles into the satisfied checkmate, loser expression he’s seen her wear when a sound plan is realized. “Found your tell, Haddock.”
Well, she has him there.
It’s his turn to crack his neck and shoulders, loosening the tension trapped there. “You’re really not gonna give up on this, are you?”
Stubborn. She’s always been stubborn.
Astrid grasps his hand, thumb rubbing across his knuckles. “Your team has you covered. We won’t leave your flank unguarded. Well, except Snotlout, evidently, but if he does it again, I’ll snap his axe in half.”
“Reassuring,” Hiccup snorts.
“Look.” Astrid’s grip on his hand now is Gronckle-iron hard, which ordinarily would hurt, but it’s quite minor compared to everything else he’s got going on right now. “I’m not gonna stop expecting shit from you, either. None of us are. We’ve got a base to defend. We’ve got dragons in need of saving. I’m not going easy on you in training—you’ll get your ass in the sky at first light like everyone else.”
“Oh, man, at first light?” Hiccup can’t help provoking her a little. “Bummer, I’m actually double-booked right then. Easy mistake. Could happen to anyone.”
“Just for that, you get ten extra reps of the boulder targeting drill.”
“I mean, I don’t see how I could possibly do that, since my other conflict is taking precedent—”
“Twenty extra reps.”
“Well, now you’re just being bull yak-headed.”
Astrid seems torn between laughing or lecturing. She settles on just watching him. “So.” She holds his stare. “What’s the real pain score?”
Hiccup forces himself to be as close to honest as he’s willing to be. “Six.”
“Is there anything that helps?”
He starts to wave her off, then remembers his compression sleeve. Gods, that would feel nice right about now. Maybe he’ll get some dregs of sleep before he’s apparently scheduled to do boulder reps until he’s thirty. “Actually, yeah. I designed something that helps, but I forgot to bring it up to bed tonight.”
Astrid’s already getting up. “Where is it?”
“Downstairs,” Hiccup sighs. “It’s either on my workbench or maybe I put it in the trunk? It’s a sort of tight sock, I guess? A little stretchy. If you can’t find it, it’s all good.”
She disappears below the loft. “I’ll find it.”
Toothless warbles a little, awake now. He pads over to the bed, nuzzling Hiccup. Hiccup leans on the soft velvet of his dragon’s skin. It’s nice. “Hey, bud. I’m okay.”
Toothless blows a puff of air that lifts the sweaty hair off Hiccup’s forehead. It smells faintly of last night’s dinner—fresh cod.
Hiccup wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, Toothless. That’s rank.”
“Hey, I wouldn’t be pointing fingers,” Astrid says as she returns, triumphantly holding the blessed sleeve. “You don’t smell awesome yourself, handsome.”
Curious, Hiccup raises an arm to take a whiff and, whoa, yeah, he’s definitely in need of some bathing. He grimaces apologetically. “Yikes. My bad.”
Astrid shrugs, climbing back onto the bed and passing over the sleeve. Toothless adjusts his position to make space for her, settling down right beside the bed to keep watch over the occupants.
“It’s fine. I kind of like it.”
Hiccup pauses in his working of the sleeve onto his stump to stare at her. “Gross, Astrid.”
She doesn’t look the least bit sorry, tucking her arms behind her head. “What can I say, I’m a viking.”
The compression sleeve goes on. He rests back. “You’re lucky my first instinct isn’t to shove your face in my armpit like every other viking, then,” Hiccup comments. “I mean, you’re basically asking for it.”
Astrid shrugs. “I like that you’re not like every other viking. Doesn’t mean a girl can’t appreciate some proper musk.”
“I cannot believe we are having this conversation right now.”
The sleeve is already helping considerably with the pain, and Hiccup breathes out a sigh of relief for the first time all evening. It’s still there, but manageable. Quieter. He’ll take it.
All the sudden, exhaustion hits him like a mid-air crash. The edges of the windows are hinting at light. And despite all that insisting about not wanting to be treated differently, Hiccup does wish he had a few more hours to not feel like a zombie.
“Do you want me to leave?” Astrid senses his waning consciousness.
“Not really.” Hiccup sinks against her, and to his utter delight, her fingers trace gently over his scalp. Thor above, he loves when she plays with his hair. “Is that bad?”
She hums her dissent. “You should get some rest, though.”
“Sorry, haven’t you heard?” he mumbles into her shoulder. “I’m apparently only allowed to do boulder target reps for the foreseeable future.”
Astrid tugs at his hair—not hard, not to hurt him. Just to remind him that he’s being a shit. “If I give you leniency on this one morning, you’ll have to do extra drills tonight at sunset. Do you find these terms agreeable?”
“Oh, yes, quite generous, m’lady.”
Another gentle tug. “Hiccup, I’m serious.”
“I thought we went over this,” he sighs, a bit loopy suddenly from the lack of sleep. A laugh bubbles up in his chest. “Your name is Astrid, remember?”
“I’m gonna leave.” Astrid makes absolutely no move to do so. “I’m gonna leave, and you’re gonna think about what you’ve done.”
“Mmkay.” His head lolls. She shifts her position, adjusting his head to avoid the more sensitive parts of her chest. He can hear her heart beating like this. It joins with Toothless’ purring. “G’night, Hofferson.”
He’s asleep before she can even reply.
If he’d been awake, though, he would know that she doesn’t stop playing with his hair. Eventually, the sun really does crest the rock formations, and she’s forced to slip out from underneath him. Even if she’s given him the pass on morning drills, she’s still got an island of Riders to wrangle. Riders who definitely aren’t going to be thrilled about what she has in store. Astrid pushes them hard; it makes them better.
Hiccup doesn’t rouse even for a moment as she leaves, just letting out a gentle snore as she lays him down amongst the furs.
“Watch him for me,” Astrid tells Toothless. It’s unnecessary, of course—what else would the dragon be doing?
She brushes her fingers across his forehead one last time, scratches Toothless where he likes it, and quietly re-ups her armor in the growing light of the loft. She does her best not to let the leather squeak too loudly as she heads down the stairs, despite knowing that Hiccup is probably not going to wake for anything other than a Thunderdrum at this point.
He doesn’t see the way she turns and stares at him once she reaches the stairs or the way her face softens—admiring his sleeping form in the pale stillness.
“Real fuckin’ pretty, Haddock,” Astrid mutters to herself as she leaves his hut.
Had Hiccup been anywhere close to conscious, he would’ve heard the loud bell ringing to signal drill summons. He would’ve heard the twins making bets about whose boulder would hit Snotlout first, and Snotlout’s loud protesting of said bet. He doesn’t hear Fishlegs asking where Hiccup is, and he certainly can’t hear Astrid’s reply:
Resting. Any other questions?
No one pushes further. No one makes a snide comment, not even Snotlout. The twins groan about wanting to rest, too, but that’s to be expected. They’ve all apparently interpreted Astrid’s words the same way, reading between the lines.
So, Hiccup Haddock sleeps. He sleeps through the drills and breakfast and even some into lunch. The work doesn’t stop. The Edge moves forward, a steady hum of activity and conversation. There will be work to do when he wakes, work they can’t shoulder for him. That’s okay, though. He’ll be ready. For now, his team has got a hold on things.
It’s the best sleep he’s had in a long, long time.