AN: Hiya, my readers. This fic is loosely based off Come Back to Me by Ayame4679. (The original is fantastic. Read it~). It was born from the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind, where my sadistic and dark tendencies lie-

HAWKSNATCHER: Also known as my nest.

SKYE: Actually, yes. This story contains torture; it's fairly violent because I am fairly violent. Read on, if you dare...

MOONCHASER: Drama queen. We don't own HTTYD

o~0~O~0~o

Chapter One

Today was it. Today I would escape.

It was doubtful my plan would work smoothly, but I had to try. As soon as Eriko left, I snatched up the food bowl and, as quietly as I could, I broke the pottery against the ground. The second it shattered I knew it had been too loud, so I threw myself on the ground with my arms outstretched, as if I had merely fallen over. Eriko's gnarled face peeped back into the dim cell, and I picked myself up. He swore.

"Fool. Learn to stand on your own two feet- oh, that's right, you only have one," he sneered, and stalked away again. The jibe doesn't affect me at all, although once it was the height of rudeness to me. I can still remember how violently I reacted when Snotlout lost his temper at me on Outcast Island. How amusing that seems now.

I ignore the half-raw fish bits scattered across the floor and pick up a shard of the unglazed pottery. Sitting down, I begin to pick at my prosthetic, until I manage to remove the spring. When I stand up again, I bite down on my tongue to stop my cry of shock. I had grown used to the spring-loaded prosthetic; now that it was just a hunk of metal with no extra kinetic enhancement, it was much harder to walk. What's left of my leg has been throbbing alarmingly and is an unnatural colour; it would be just my luck if, thanks to Raoul, even more of my leg is damaged. Best case scenario; it's just phantom pains. Worst, and unfortunately the probable scenario, it's gotten infected again after the sword thing two days ago (at lease I think it was two days ago, time isn't easy here), which means I'll need to lose even more of it. I shake away the thoughts; I don't need to worry about that right now. I stagger to the cell door and manoeuvre the spring into the lock. A minute of pure suspense, hearing my own pulse pounding in my ears; along with, bizarrely, the Berk anthem. Finally, the lock clicks and I heave the heavy iron door open. It doesn't screech; mostly due to the grease from the half-cooked fish Eriko kept serving me for my meals that I had slathered the hinges with. I creep out into the hallway and step as softly as I could. My prosthetic keeps clanking painfully against the ground, so I rip off a strip of my worse-for-wear tunic and wrap it around the base to muffle the sound.

I have to find Toothless. I know from his nightly wails that he's kept nearby, most likely in the same building as I am. Was. It feels amazing to think that, even though it's likely short-lived. I slip down the long corridor, every now and then hissing "Toothless!" under my breath. Then I hear it; a low, gurgling, questioning whimper that could only come from the throat of a dragon. I follow the sound until I find him. My breath catches in my throat.

His wide green eyes are half-lidded, dull and miserable, his wings no longer neatly folded by his sides but dragging limply on the ground. I choke back a sob. My poor, proud friend, treated like an animal and in such poor condition. Thank the gods his fake tail-wing was still attached and intact, as was the stirrup. My flying harness lies discarded in a corner.

"Toothless!" I whisper. He looks up, probably expecting yet another Hysteric, but when his dull eyes lock on me they brighten and he chirps joyfully. I hurriedly shush him, and pick the lock on his cage with the bent spring. It too clicks open, but this door, I know, will squeak. I might be able to get in without too loud a noise; Toothless will never get out. I slip in through the tiniest gap I can; considerably small, since I'm thinner and more of a fishbone than ever. Grabbing my harness and slipping it on, I scratch Toothless, who licks at my face, then slide onto his broad, scaly back. The saddle is still tattered, but it's better than nothing. I click in my metal leg and I whisper to my Night Fury.

"When we blast this door open, fly like you've never flown before;" I tell him. He coos quietly. I suck in my breath and tap my heels against Toothless' sides. A bolt of plasma shoots from his mouth, heralded by the signature whistling, and the door flies off of its hinges. Suddenly there are Hysterics everywhere, and Toothless roars and throws himself through the fray, smacking aside Vikings until we find a door and emerge into open air. I draw it in greedily; I'd forgotten just how green the archipelago smelt. The sunlight is painful on my eyes; I really can't remember when I was last in the sunshine. I close my eyes to slits as Toothless barges through the broken-down village, and we soon find a cliff. It's a takeoff we've done hundreds of times before, but when Toothless hurls himself off the cliff we drop a good distance before his weak wings catch us. Suddenly there are arrows shooting towards us, and I yelp as one buries itself in my arm.

"Grab yer bows, boys," Raoul snarls, smiling menacingly. The other Hysterics pick up their bows and slot their arrows in. I wriggle slightly against the rope.

I must not break, I think. Be strong, Hiccup. Thor knows you'll doom the archipelago if you teach them. Strong and brave. "Now remember," he says. "No lethal shots; that would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"

I close my eyes as I hear the first barbed arrow sing through the air, and no amount of strength or bravery could stop my cry of pain.

I shake myself from the recollection.

Focus, Hiccup! I yell mentally. They say that referring to yourself in the third person is a sign of a poor mind; considering the five months (give or take) that I had spent either being tortured or listening, helpless, as they hurt Toothless, it was nothing short of a miracle I was sane at all. An arrow hits my peg leg and bounces off with an echoing clang. Toothless barrel rolls, his once pristine form now sloppy and barely skyworthy, and I hold on as tight as I can to his rough, chipped scales as the world spins around me. I cry out again as another arrow pierces my leg, and another hits my lower back. I groan, a low and guttural sound, at the last one, and pray that it didn't hit anything important. Soon, thank the gods, we're out of range of the arrows, and the only sound is the panting of Toothless and I. There will be boats on our tail, but there's no way they'll keep up with a Night Fury, even a half-dead one. For a time too long to measure, we fly lopsidedly, and I do my best to remove the arrows that the Hysterics shot at me. I twist painfully to reach the last one, in my back, and the noise I make is nothing short of feral. My fingers are swamped in a deluge of warm blood, and I tie my tattered belt around the wound; hopefully it will stop me from dying of blood loss. I throw the arrows into the raging ocean below and breathe in deeply. Oh, the fresh air is killing me. Freedom; it's a taste sweeter than any honey that any island could provide. I hug Toothless' neck and whisper incoherent, reassuring words in his ear slits. He gurgles quietly.

When Berk finally comes into sight, I sob. Home, after five long, horrible months. As we draw closer, I hear a panicked scream of "Night Fury! Get down!"

Toothless drops alarmingly with exhaustion, and as a crowd of Vikings with weapons gathers I sincerely hope we miss them. It would be a cruel joke if we manage to escape only to be impaled on someone's sword by accident. There's a cry of shock as someone sees me, and surely they must recognise me. I'm the only Viking EVER to ride a Night Fury.

Toothless crashes into the dirt and somehow my prosthetic slips clear of the stirrup and I roll limply across the ground. Someone's yelling for my father, but when I try to speak all that happens is a cough laced with blood, a gasp of pain, and then everything dulls.

"You fool," Raoul laughs. "You know why they haven't found you yet? They don't care. You're still the screw-up, the accident. They'll probably thank me for taking you off their hands."

"I don't believe you," I spit, trying to keep myself from either crying or yelling. I don't know which.

"You have dragons. How could they have missed you for so long, if they really were looking for you?"

"They are! The- the island's hard to spot!"

I hate the way my voice quavers, how it betrays how I feel.

What if they really aren't looking?

When reality swims back into focus, I see a blur of ginger and hear a clank as someone skids to their knees beside me. Huge arms lift me, and for a second I panic and thrash weakly before I realise it's only Dad.

"Thor almighty," he half-whispers, half-sobs. "It's really him,"

He lifts me off the ground and I hear the sound of another dragon landing. A pair of boots hits the ground, and then my vision is obscured by a large quantity of blonde hair. Chances are it's not Ruffnut, so it must be Astrid.

"Hiccup!" she says in a strange combination of a whimper and a crow of jubilation. I try to respond but all that happens is another hacking cough. That must have been a rougher landing than I thought; I could talk plenty fine before. She steps back in alarm.

"He needs Gothi," she tells Dad.

"Go find Gobber-" he begins, when I'm attacked by another visitor. A dragon this time; it lands on my chest and gurgles in a song of joy. I squint at it, and vaguely recognise him. It's Sharpshot. He left my house for Gothi's as soon as he discovered that she liked to give out free fish, and had since fallen in with the healer's little flock of Terrors. The Terror missed me. I feel relieved; if no-one else did, then at least this little reptile valued me. Besides, if everyone really did want me gone, I've survived with only draconic comfort before; I could do it again if I had to. I weakly lift a hand and scratch his horns, then flop again. The simple energy required for such a simple movement is astounding. I soon realise that I'm actually moving, and I look past my green, scaly friend to see the village whipping by. Behind me, I hear Toothless wail.

"Keep him back!" I hear Astrid cry. "He's injured too; he'll kill himself trying to go after Hiccup!"

All the way up the hill, I hear the miserable cries of my dragon, and I whimper quietly. Dad hugs me tighter, and I cough again. This is really alarming; I'm no healer, but even I know coughing blood is not exactly a sign of prime health. Soon Gothi's house is right in front of us, and Dad throws open the door in such a frenzy that a hinge snaps. Gothi jumps, woken from a nap, and shakes her Terrors off of her various limbs before trotting over. Sharpshot flutters off of my chest. When she sees me, her eyes widen, and she starts scribbling frantically. Dad stares for a minute before a familiar set of feet- or more accurately a foot and a wooden peg- stump through the door. Dad waves him over.

"Oh, Hiccup," Gobber sighs. I've never known him to be emotional or touchy-feely, but I'm fairly certain he's crying.

"Gobber, the writing," Dad points shakily. Gobber hunkers over.

"Lay him on the bed," he reads. "She needs to examine him properly."

I feel myself laid out face down like a dead kipper, and someone pulls my tunic to my waist. Then there's the inevitable; Gothi's squeak of horror, Gobber's sharp breath and the ominous sound in my father's throat, a combination of misery and a promise of revenge; pure, dark and torturous. I knew they wouldn't exactly be overjoyed at the sight of the scars.

"Beard of Thor," Gobber marvels. "The gods made his muscles out of straw, but this boy's resolve must be iron,"

I feel Gothi's soft, gnarled hands gently explore the arrow wound, and then she dumps a quantity of some sort of ointment on it. It stings, but it's nothing compared to what's happened the last five months. I can almost see Dad and Gobber exchange glances. Every other time I've gotten myself injured and Gothi's put this salve on, I've hissed like a snake someone's stepped on. Gothi starts scribbling again, and then I'm lifted into a sitting position while Gothi wraps a bandage around my midriff. I clear my throat and hack out a bit more blood, because it's only fun if there's blood involved.

"Don't, Hiccup," Dad says quietly.

"I'm sorry," I get out, and then Dad's hugging me. I'm surprised; he's never been one for public displays of affection.

"Don't say that," he whispers. "It's not your fault."

I laugh, carefree and joyful, as Toothless glides through the air, long black wings extended to their limit. Flying is one of my favourite things to do; no matter how clumsy and awkward I may be on land, in the sky Toothless and I can fly like we're two halves of a whole. The tail-wing is only an extension of my leg; and sometimes, although I never tell anyone else, I feel more dragon than person. I crave flight; when I'm sad or frustrated or pensive, all I need to do is soar in the clouds with Toothless and everything goes away. We swoop low to the ocean, happily skimming the waves and enjoying the rush of air on our faces.

I twist in the air as I hear a strange noise. I turn. There's a dark blur and a dragon's screech of horror and then there's water. Lots of it. I didn't even have time to take a breath; and Thor knows I can't hold my breath for very long at all even when I have drawn in as much as possible. My vision swims, even though I can't, but then there's a tug on whatever's holding us and we emerge, spluttering, into daylight once again. I gasp for air, then a pair of rough hands lands on my arms. I turn, expecting Alvin, which is stupid, since we made peace with him. But it's not Alvin. I've never seen this man before in my life.

"Well then," he sneers. "Look at our catch. A fishbone and a winged shark. Good on us,"

When I realise that I've lost track of time, I lift my head. My arm and my leg are bound as well, and Gothi is off to the side writing in the dirt.

"She says he needs rest. Lots of it. He's injured on the inside; not badly, but that's why he's coughing blood. And keep the villagers away as much as you can. Something like this will be traumatic, and they will want to know everything."

Dad nods mutely and tries to pick me up, but I hold out a pale hand and stand up shakily. I've barely taken a step before my peg leg gives out beneath me and I drop to the floor. Gobber narrows his eyes and before I can stand up again he's grabbed my leg and hooked off my peg. I give up and lay limply as Gobber indulges in a few colourful oaths.

"Odin's ghost," he swears in shock. "Stock…"

Dad leans down again and I can feel the tension.

"We're going to need the sleeping herbs. And a saw," I hear him say shakily. I groan. I was afraid of this. Stupid Raoul and his stupid sword. If I ever see that sword again I will melt it down and hit him in the face with the resulting lump of iron.

"Hiccup… please, you need to eat these." Dad says shakily. I really don't want to; because I know that when I wake up there'll be even less of a leg than before. But I open my mouth and chew the bitter leaves, and then everything fades to indistinct chatter and a whole lot of pain.