To my loyal followers: I will update Return of the dragon rider soon, I promise. :)

This a one-shot inspired by my story Return of the dragonrider, which I'm currently posting. This is not necessarily a part of the story, it can be read separately. It's inspired by something in chapter 6. I'm not going to spoil anything, so if you want to know what, I suggest you read the story.

So even poor Hiccup has to blow of steam sometimes. That it ends in the destruction of nearly every piece of pottery in the house... well, let's just say, in a way it worked. This is before Toothless, eventhough some of the things I wrote down are said during dragon training, at least in the movie.

Enjoy!

Breaking point

Hiccup slammed the door behind him as hard as he could. Another lousy day had come to an end. Finally. It was raining outside and he was soaked, again. Kicking of his boots, he went up the stairs to his room. The words his peers had said to him echoed in his head.

"He's never where he should be."

"Is this some kind of a joke to you?"

"Worst viking Berk has ever seen."

He bit his lip as he sat down. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Surely they could see that he was trying? It wasn't his fault that he was the way he was?

He didn't even see that the water was pooling around his feet. He didn't care. The words hurt. They stung. And every day he would hear them again. Every day someone would remind him that he was different. Every day someone would utter the word useless. Every day someone would call him weak.

He groaned and covered his ears, trying to block the voices. But he couldn't block the words in his head. He couldn't get away from the words raging in his mind.

He screamed and picked up the nearest cup. He threw it against the wall and it broke on impact. In a fit of rage he had never felt before, every cup, bowl, jug and plate he could find followed that first cup. With everything he threw, he screamed another word, another insult. He even threw his dagger in the wall, where it sunk in to the hilt. He tore the papers from the walls, swiped them of the desk and he didn't stop until every last piece was on the floor

His room looked like a tornado had ravaged through. He was standing in the middle, shaking, tears flowing down his cheecks, his hands clenched into fists. He looked around the room, and grew quit. Still shaking, still crying, he tried to get his dagger out of the wall, but it was lodged too firmly. After picking up the chair, he sat down at his desk, absentmindedly drawing on the last remaining piece of paper that had somehow escaped his destructive rage. On it, he wrote down everything that was ever said to him and soon the paper was filled with words like: weak, useless, worthless. But also other things.

"It's what inside that he can't stand."

"You made plenty of marks. All in the wrong places."

"Yes! That's it! Stop being all of you!"

"You're the reason my wife is dead! You killed your own mother!"

The memory of the day Stoick had yelled that at him suddenly came back and he started crying again. He scratched out the words with so much violence that the charcoal pencil tore a hole in the paper, before breaking. He crumbled the drawing and threw it as far away as possible, the buried his head in his hands. His small body was shaking with violent sobs, but there was no one to hear them. There was never anybody to hear them.

He looked up when he heard scratching at the door. The door opened and a small, brown cat slipped in. Scruffy, the Haddock household cat slipped in. Hiccup picked up the animal and cradled him in his arms. Scruffy wasn't the prettiest cat to ever exist, he was missing an eye and half his tail, but in Hiccup's eyes he was the sweetest. At the moment, the cat was his only friend. With the animal purring in his arms, Hiccup looked around the room, his face still wet from the tears. The place was a mess. The floor was covered in paper and broken pieces of pottery. There were plates and cups all over the room, and his dagger was stuck in the wall. The naddertoy, the only thing he still had from his mother, was also laying on the floor. He set the cat down on his bed, where the animal curled up, purring contently. Then he picked up the small nadder and set down. New tears burned in his eyes, but he wiped them away angrily. After placing the toy next to his pillow, he started picking up the papers and putting them back on the desk. After he had done that, he picked up an empty box and started to collect the broken pottery.

He yelped and looked at his hand, then the shard that had cut him. The blood was bright red against his pale skin. The pain wasn't even that bad. It stung, that was it. He took a deep breath and went downstairs. After washing the wound, he put some gauze on it. Luckily it was his right hand and not his dominant left. He finished putting the shards in the box and after stuffing the crumbled drawing in the box as well, he set it aside.

He then sat down on the bed, next to Scruffy. Now he realized he was still in his wet clothes, although they were more damp now. Damp and cold. He changed out of them and crawled into bed. The cat curled up on his chest, the constant purr calmed him down. He stared at the ceiling. The candle on his desk was still burning, but the flame would die soon.

After wiping a stray tear from his cheek, he sighed. Tomorrow he would have to put on the mask again and pretend that he didn't care about the insults. Tomorrow was another day were he would hear how useless he was, and he would have to pretend he hadn't heard it.

One day, he promised himself, one day I'll show them what I can do. One day, they will no longer think of me as Hiccup the useless.

But before that day came, a lot more innocent pottery would shatter at the hands of Hiccup, because every person has their breaking point, even Hiccup.