Disclaimer: How to Train Your Dragon belongs to Dreamworks, not me.

The original verse for this was created by writerforthetylwythteg and is used with permission. I think we share it now?

"...Hiccup!"

He up with a start, blinking up at his mother's face. "Huh?" he said.

Valka frowned, touching his shoulder lightly. "I've been calling you for ten minutes," she said. "I just came to say goodnight. Are you feeling okay?"

Hiccup rubbed the side of his nose and looked blearily down at his slightly crumpled math homework. "I'm fine," he said. "Just tired. Really...really tired all of a sudden."

Valka's slight frown melted into concern. "You're sure you're all right?" she said. She touched his forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and Hiccup leaned into the touch. "You feel a little warm."

"It's almost summer, Mom, it's just hot," Hiccup argued.

She kissed the top of his head. "I'll send your dad up with some Gatorade in a bit," she said. "Don't stay up too late, love. Get some sleep."

"I will, I just have to get my homework done," Hiccup said. "It's the last assignment before finals start."

Valka smiled. "I'm proud of you," she said. "But still, you should go to bed soon."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I love you."

"Love you too," Hiccup said absently as he double-checked his formula, already focusing on his homework as his mother slid out of his room and closed the door behind her. The noise woke up the small black cat sleeping on his pile of dirty laundry; Toothless stretched and padded over to him, jumping nimbly onto his desk and nosing at his papers. "Not now, Toothless. In a little bit."

Toothless huffed, nibbling at his ear, and settled down beside his desk lamp. Hiccup kept working on his math homework, occasionally mumbling to himself in frustration. He barely even noticed when his father came in and set a bottle of blue Gatorade at his elbow. Toothless noticed; he yowled at Stoick and purred in approval when he received a friendly scratch behind his ears.

An hour later Stoick came back. "Hiccup," he said. "Bed. Now."

"Dad, I'm almost done," Hiccup said.

Stoick scowled. "This is what you get for waiting till Sunday night to do your homework," he said. "Your mother's going to kill you."

"Last problem, last problem," Hiccup pleaded. He scribbled out the last solution and dropped his pencil, raising his hands in surrender. "Done! See? Done."

"Good," Stoick said sternly. "Drink your Gatorade and go to sleep."

"All right, all right," Hiccup sighed. "Fine."

Stoick patted him on the shoulder. "'Night, son," he said.

"Night," Hiccup echoed, twisting the top off the bottle and chugging it. Stoick nodded in approval and closed the door to his room. Hiccup finished off the bottle, screwing the lid back on and chucking it in the trash with the other two he'd had that day, and switched off his desk lamp before crawling into bed.

Toothless followed him, jumping onto the bed and curling up beside him. Hiccup petted him gently, swallowing back a yawn. "Night, bud," he said as Toothless pressed up against his chest. He appreciated the warmth. He'd lost so much weight in the past year that he couldn't keep warm on his own very well.

Despite how late it was and how tired he felt, he couldn't fall asleep. He felt strange, almost unsteady, like someone had loosened all his joints and tied his stomach in a knot. Please don't let it be a flare up, he thought as he pressed his head further into the depths of his pillow and forced himself to try to fall asleep. I've gone three months without one, please don't be a flare up.

He jolted awake a few hours later, his head thick and his skin burning, to find himself overwhelmed with the buzzing feeling that he was about to throw up.

Hiccup fumbled in the dark for the trash can he kept beside his bed, knocking Toothless awake in his haste. The cat yowled, but Hiccup didn't have the energy to apologize. He pulled himself as close to the edge of his bed as he could and vomited into the trash can.

His throat burned. No matter how often it happened, he couldn't get used to this. Toothless meowed and batted at his arm in concern. Hiccup coughed again, spitting in the trash can, and his whole body froze as he tasted blood.

He forced himself upright and fumbled for the lamp on his bedside table, missing the first two tries, then gingerly touched the wet slickness at his lips. Dark red. Again.

He whimpered. Not again. He'd gone three months without a flare up. He thought he was getting better. He didn't want to be wrong.

The next bout of nausea gripped him so hard he nearly lost his balance, and he threw up all over his pillow. He could see the blood more clearly now, spattering across the striped sheets of his bed like some kind of damn crime scene, and panic made his heart stutter against his ribcage.

He crawled out of bed shakily, breathing slowly through his nose. The last time he had an episode he gave himself a panic attack, and he would rather die than have that happen again. He just needed to make it to his parents. Just a short walk down the hall. That was it.

The hallway was dark and he couldn't find the light switch. His pajama pants were too long and sagged around his narrow hips; he kept getting himself tangled up and had to catch himself along the wall more than a few times. The door to his parents' bedroom was cracked just enough that all he had to do was lean and he was there.

His parents were both asleep, dark shapes under the blankets of the bed, and the clock on his father's nightstand blinked a steady 3:18 in neon blue. Hiccup stumbled towards the safety of the bed, his whole body vibrating with the effort to keep himself together.

"Mom?" he whispered. "Hey, Mom?"

Valka woke quickly at the sound of his voice, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand and sitting up. "Hiccup?" she yawned. "What's wrong, sweetheart, bad dream?"

"Mom, I'm sick," he choked, and hot blood spilled down his chin.

In a split second Valka got out of bed, turned on the lights, and took him by the shoulders. "It's all right, it's all right," she soothed as she ran her fingers through his hair. "Just throwing up?"

He nodded, clamping his hands over his mouth as he fought down another wave of nausea. Valka tugged him over to the bed and made him sit down. "Stoick," she said, reaching around him to shake her husband's arm. "Stoick, wake up."

Hiccup sucked in a deep breath, swaying a little bit and closing his eyes. His head suddenly felt very heavy.

The next thing he knew his mother was beside him, holding his chin up. "No, no, no," she was saying in a firm, gentle voice. "No, baby, stay awake. Stay with me."

His tongue felt too thick for his mouth. "I don't feel good," he slurred.

"I know, baby," Valka soothed, running her hand up and down his bony back in a reassuring rhythm. "We're going to take you to the hospital."

The tears he'd been fighting back made his throat close up. "Mom, no," he pleaded. "No…"

"You're throwing up blood, we have to take you," Valka said. She hugged him tight, his cheek dropping to her shoulder in defeat. "Dad's getting your shoes and your hoodie and then we're going to take you straight to the hospital, okay?"

He hid his face in the crook of her neck. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to the hospital. "But I have finals next week," he said, his voice coming out smaller and more pitiful than he meant. Valka made a soft choking sound and held him tighter, pressing kisses to the top of his head.

"All right, son, you ready to go?" Stoick asked gently, dropping Hiccup's battered black converses on the floor. Hiccup nodded, unfolding himself stiffly from the safety of his mother's arms, and forced his feet into his shoes. Valka took his hoodie and held it out so he could slide his arms into the sleeves. "You'll be all right, son. We'll get you checked out and have you back home in no time."

His father sounded so sure, and Hiccup allowed himself to believe it. His legs felt weak and shaky, so he leaned against Valka as she kept her arm tight around his waist. The family dogs followed them around the darkened living room as Stoick searched for the car keys; his mother's beautiful husky Cloudjumper rubbed up affectionately against Hiccup's shins. Valka stroked the top of the dog's head, and for a second Hiccup thought he saw his mother's fingers tremble.

"Got the keys," Stoick said. He had the overnight bag slung over his broad shoulder, the one they kept in the hall closet for nights like this. "You all right, Hiccup? You need me to carry you?"

"'m okay," Hiccup said.

"Skullcrusher, stay in the house," Stoick said, nudging the German shepherd out of the garage as he unlocked the doors to the Suburban. Hiccup climbed into the backseat, his body trembling with the effort, and he sank back in relief as Valka sat down beside him.

She buckled him into the center seat without a word and settled him against her side. He tucked his legs up to his chest and huddled into her shoulder, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. It was late April, but he was freezing.

Stoick backed the car out of the driveway and started on the well-traveled path to the hospital. Hiccup closed his eyes, fighting back the fresh resurgence of nausea boiling in the pit of his stomach. "Deep breaths, love," she murmured, stroking the back of his neck. "Deep breaths."

He obeyed, breathing against the hot pain shooting through his belly. All he wanted was to crawl into his own bed and go to sleep. But he couldn't sleep. Everything hurt too much. His whole body throbbed.

Halfway through the drive he forced himself away from the comfort of his mother's shoulder, his head spinning. "Gonna throw up," he gulped, his clenched fist pressing against his mouth. Valka picked up the small trashcan they kept in the backseat and held it for him. He closed his eyes and started to exhale slowly through his nose, hoping the feeling would pass, but he vomited anyway.

It was mostly blood again and it made his mouth burn. He turned away from the trashcan, wiping at his mouth in disgust. "All done?" Valka asked quietly. He nodded and she moved the trashcan back to the floor carefully. When she sat back up he leaned against her side again, swallowing hard against the hot coppery taste in his mouth. She was warm and comfortable and safe against him, and he wished he could just crawl into her lap like a little kid and hide forever.

They pulled up to the emergency room and Stoick parked as close as he could get. It was quiet, no ambulances zipping around or sirens blaring, and that was kind of a relief. Valka got out of the car first and helped Hiccup down. The cool night air pierced through the thin flannel of his pajama pants, and his hoodie wasn't much help either. A cold sweat began to prickle at his skin.

"You go get him signed in, I'll take care of him," Stoick said. Valka kissed Hiccup's cold cheek before taking the overnight bag and walking in ahead of them. Stoick put his arm around Hiccup's shoulders. "How are you feeling?"

He felt like he was about to crack into a million pieces and his insides were going to puddle on the pavement. "'m okay," he mumbled instead. He hunched over in pain, unable to stand up straight and walk like a normal human being, so all he could manage was an uneven hobble. Stoick kept his strides short, matching his slow pace.

"You're going to be all right," Stoick said gently, supporting Hiccup's weight as he stepped clumsily onto the curb. "You're strong. You're a fighter."

Hiccup didn't feel like a fighter, but his dad's words eased some of the clenching in his chest as they stepped through the sliding glass doors into the pale white light of the emergency room. The familiar sights and smells attacked him- the gray carpet, the off-white walls, the light blue scrubs of the nurses, the scent of antiseptic masking the sting of something thick and cloying. Hiccup bit back the sudden lump in his throat. He'd spent entire days of his life sitting in this emergency room. He didn't want to be here.

Valka walked over to them. "He's signed in," she said. She held the ID bracelet tape out; Hiccup reluctantly raised his left hand and let her fasten it around his wrist. "Hopefully we won't have to wait too long." She looked at Hiccup, her eyes softening. "Come here, baby."

He shuffled over to her and she led him to an empty seat. Immediately he laid down, pulling his hood over his ears and laying his head down on her lap. Valka stroked his side as he curled his knees and arms into his chest, protecting his sore stomach. The throbbing feeling had turned into a stabbing, vicious and hot, and he closed his eyes, hoping he could fall asleep.

Stoick sat down across from them and he could hear the low murmur of his parents talking in confidential tones. Hiccup blocked it out, focusing on the rhythmic feeling of his mother's hand against his side.

He tried to fall asleep, but the lights were too bright. The television on the wall opposite blared an 80s sitcom rerun. His stomach felt like it was on fire. He shifted around, a small noise of discomfort escaping his lips, and Valka pressed her hand against his heart.

Pressure was building in the pit of his stomach, twisting in his gut. "I have to go to the bathroom," he mumbled, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"Are you going to be all right?" Valka asked.

He knew what she was really asking. "Think so," he said, catching his breath as the pain pressed down like an anvil in his lower belly. He wobbled a little as he got to his feet; his skin felt hot and cold at the same time and he knew his fever was starting to spike. Valka squeezed his hand.

He shuffled towards the small bathroom in the back of the ER, the pain in his gut growing stronger and stronger. The lights were off and he fumbled for the switch, wasting precious seconds looking for it. He whined through his teeth, the pressure building the point that he felt like he was going to explode, and then…

Something warm dripped down his leg and he took a step back.

He bit his lip, his body shuddering. "Fuck," he mumbled, pressing his forearm over his eyes. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He hadn't had an accident in a long time. Then again, he hadn't had any symptoms in a while. But this was the last thing he wanted.

Hiccup stood in the middle of the bathroom, fluorescent lights glaring at him, unable to move. The fabric of his pajama pants was soaked and sticking to his legs. He didn't want to leave the bathroom like this, but he couldn't stay here either. He closed his eyes, his shoulders heaving, but he didn't make a sound.

There was a light knock on the door and he flinched. "Hiccup?" his mother called softly. "I'm just making sure you're okay."

He hesitated, then leaned over and unlocked the door. "You can come in," he said, his voice thick. Valka opened the door tentatively and all it took was one look at his face, his lips pressed together and his eyes red, and he knew she knew what had happened.

"Oh, sweetheart," she said. She squeezed his arm gently. "I'll grab your bag and be right back, okay?"

He nodded, tears burning behind his eyes as she left. He was fifteen, he shouldn't be shitting himself in a hospital bathroom and waiting for his mom to help him get cleaned up. But he wanted his mother there, despite his embarrassment; he wanted her to swoop in and fix everything like she could when he was little and he'd done something as simple as scraping his knee.

Valka walked back in with his overnight bag and closed the door behind her. He toed off his shoes, his bare feet curling at the cold tile floor, and peeled his wet pajama pants off. Valka turned around, rifling through his bag to find his clothes, and he ran a paper towel under the faucet to clean himself up.

He threw his dirty clothes away, slamming the pajama pants into the trash can with more force than necessary, and took the pair of boxer briefs and sweatpants his mother had silently set aside. It was reassuring to be dressed in clean dry clothes again. It made him feel human.

He turned back slowly to his mother, looking up into her face. Her long dark hair was braided over her shoulder, still mussed from sleep, and she was wearing an old fawn-colored sweater that he remembered from his childhood as something soft and comforting and perpetually associated with mommy and safe and home. "Better, love?" she asked quietly.

He nodded, and his chin trembled as a rebellious tear escaped. Valka pulled him into a hug and he buried himself in the soft depths of her arms, muffling his sobs in her collarbone. "It's all right, baby," she murmured into his hair. He swallowed hard, choking on a sob, and pressed his cheek into the softness of her old sweater. "It's all right. Don't cry."

He cried for a little bit, out of pain and frustration and the sheer injustice of it all, and Valka held him tightly. At last he pulled back, dashing at his damp eyes with the heels of his palms, and Valka kept her hands secure on his upper arms. "I won't tell Dad," she said. "It's between you and me, all right?"

"Won't he notice I've changed clothes?" he hiccupped.

Valka smiled. "This is your dad we're talking about, love, he won't notice a thing," she reassured him. She cupped his chin in her hands. "You ready to go back?"

He nodded, taking a deep steadying breath, and she kissed his forehead. She paused. "Your fever's gone up," she said. He raised and lowered his shoulders apathetically. "Come on, let's get you comfortable."

He followed her back into the waiting room, holding her hand and allowing her to lead him like a child. She sat down and waited for him to sit beside her, but instead he sank down on her lap and curled up against her, his head on her shoulder. Without missing a beat she curved her arms around him to hold him close.

Stoick was jiggling his leg in the seat opposite them, scanning the waiting room. "Feeling all right, son?" he asked, somewhat absently.

He nodded against his mother's neck. "He just needs to see the doctor," Valka said. "Do you think we'll have to wait for much longer? Stoick, maybe you should talk to someone."

Stoick drummed his fingers impatiently against the armrest. "That guy came in after us, and they're already taking him back," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "That's not fair. I'm going to take care of this."

"Stoick, don't do anything rash," Valka warned. Hiccup closed his eyes. There had been more than a few times during his previous hospital stays that his father had gone off on someone, and as much as he didn't like watching Stoick's temper in action, it was useful. Especially in those early days, when they didn't have a diagnosis and he kept going to the emergency room only to be sent home because it was "just a stomachache" or "just a virus." His father had fought for him. And he appreciated it.

Hiccup shifted on his mother's lap, his thin legs stretched out over the seats. Valka stroked his hair back from his hot forehead and patted her hand absently against his hip. His stomach felt hard and swollen, like a balloon filled too full, and he wished he could just sleep through the pain and wake up feeling like a normal person again.

Stoick strode over to them, his hands clenched in massive fists at his sides, and knelt down in front of Hiccup. "They've moved you up and they're going to take a look at you now," he said. "Can you walk, son?"

Hiccup struggled to sit up, but before he could try to stand Stoick picked him up, as easily as he did when he was a baby. He rested his chin on his father's broad shoulder and closed his eyes as he carried him into the triage room and set him down carefully on the examination table. The thin crisp layer of paper underneath him crinkled, setting his teeth on edge. He resisted the urge to curl up in a tight ball, to clench against the pressure gripping his belly.

"All right, so what seems to be the problem tonight?" the nurse asked, prepping Hiccup's paperwork.

Valka sat down beside him, wrapping her fingers around his limp hand and giving him a reassuring smile. "He woke up two hours ago throwing up blood," Stoick said, his arms crossed over his chest. In his rumpled black tee shirt and his wild red hair tied in a short ponytail, he looked like a force to be reckoned with. "He's in a lot of pain and he's running a fever."

"He has Crohn's disease," Valka explained. "He was diagnosed when he was ten."

Hiccup submitted himself to the nurse checking him over, taking his temperature and his blood pressure. "When was the last time he vomited?" she asked.

"About forty minutes ago, in the car on the way over," Valka said, rubbing Hiccup's fingers.

Without warning the nurse lifted up the hem of his shirt and his hoodie and pressed lightly at his belly. Hiccup jerked up, clutching his mother's hand and yelping. Stoick took a step towards him. "It's okay, it's okay," Valka murmured, holding his hand to her heart.

Pain radiated through his body and he sank back, zoning out. His head spun and he felt like he might be about to throw up again. He tried to say something, but all that came out of his mouth was a faint moan. The only thing grounding him was his mother's grip on his hand.

He slowly faded back into himself, the roaring noise in his ears turning back into conversation. "...it's best if we go ahead and admit him right now," the nurse was saying.

"Shouldn't he get a CT scan?" Stoick said. "What if it's not a normal flareup?"

The nurse shifted her weight in irritation. "We'll monitor him," she said. "If we see signs that it's something worse, we'll check him out."

Hiccup turned to Valka as his father argued with the nurse. "Mom, don't make me stay," he whispered.

Valka's eyes were soft. "I know you don't want to be here, baby, but you're sick," she said. "You have a fever of 103 and you're dehydrated." She kissed his knuckles. "As soon as you're well enough to take you home we will, I promise."

He didn't want a promise, he wanted to go home now.

"Mom, please," he begged, and Valka shook her head.

"We'll put in for his room and get an IV started," the nurse said, picking up Hiccup's file. "I'll be right back."

Stoick glared at the nurse as she left. "He ought to get a CT scan," he grumbled.

"Stoick, hush," Valka said, placing a calming hand on her husband's broad arm. He grunted, but some of the fire left his eyes. "Hiccup, sweetheart, can you sit up for me?"

He struggled to obey, his arms wobbling under his weight. Valka unzipped his hoodie and slid it off. His bare skin broke into a prickling cold sweat, even though the rest of him was felt hot and crawling. He closed his eyes. The sudden jolt in temperature was making him feel nauseated again.

A different nurse came in with a small rolling cart. "Hi, there," she said. She picked up Hiccup's wrist, double checking the name. "We're going to get you set up with an IV, okay?"

Hiccup sighed heavily as he leaned back against the examination table, his right arm limp as he waited. He knew the drill- the IV, the shot of painkillers, the shot of the anti-emetic, the shot of Ativan if he got too jittery. Then he'd conk out and they'd move him up to pediatrics, and he'd wake up in a miserable haze, unsure of where he was or how he got there.

Not this time. This time he was going to stay awake.

The nurse took his arm and swabbed the back of his hand with an alcohol patch. "You've got to stop shaking," she said briskly. "I don't want to nick your vein."

"He's just got chills," Valka said. She stood behind Hiccup, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and collarbone. He leaned back against her warmth, trying to still the tremors in his body.

"Make a fist for me," the nurse said. "You're going to feel a big stick...there we go."

He closed his eyes as the needle pierced his skin. He'd had dozens of IVs before, but he never got used to the creepy feeling of cool saline running into his blood. Valka kissed the top of his head, resting her cheek against his hair. Despite the reassurance of her arms around him he was still shaking, fighting off the icy sweat that drenched his skin. He felt hot and cold all over, and his stomach felt like it was turning inside out.

"All right, sweetie, we've got three shots," the nurse said. She swabbed down his upper arm with the cold alcohol patch. "Hold still for me."

He let his arm dangle limply in the nurse's grip as she set the first syringe to his skin. Shots didn't scare him anymore, but he still flinched as it pierced him. His mother hid her face in his hair as the nurse prepared the second shot; Hiccup squeezed her forearm. "It's okay, Mom, it doesn't hurt," he said. It did hurt, but he didn't want her to know that.

The nurse finished the third injection and swabbed the drops of blood away. "There you go," she said. "Now we're just waiting on a room for you. Let us know if you're still in pain; we can give you more Dilaudid."

He nodded, already beginning to feel fuzzy around the edges. Don't fall asleep, he told himself sternly.

"How're you feeling?" Stoick asked as the nurse let herself out. "One to ten."

"Six," Hiccup lied, gripping his mother's arms in an attempt to steady himself. The room wavered around him like he was seasick, but he was pretty sure he wasn't moving.

He knew his parents could see through the lie, but he wasn't going to budge. Valka kissed his temple. "Do you want to lie down and go to sleep?" she asked. "You'll feel better."

He shook his head. "I don't want to," he said.

"You always get so tired after your injections," Valka reminded him. "And it's five in the morning, sweetheart, you need to get some rest."

"I don't want to sleep!" he burst out. "Leave me alone!"

"Hiccup Haddock," Stoick warned, but he caught the expression on his son's face. Hiccup ducked his head, trying to hide. "Son."

Hiccup kept his head down, his chin tipped against the soft warmth of his mother's arms wrapped around his shoulders. "I don't like falling asleep in triage," he said in a low voice. "Every time I fall asleep down here and wake up in my hospital room, and it freaks me out."

Stoick squeezed his knee. "All right, son," he said gently. "All right. But no more snapping at your mother, understand?"

"Okay," Hiccup said. His chin was still resting against Valka's forearms folded over his chest; he turned his head enough to press a small penitent kiss to the crook of her elbow. "I'm sorry, Mom."

She said nothing, just swept his hair back from his hot forehead and hugged him tighter. Valka wasn't always the best with words, but he knew he was forgiven.

Exhaustion tugged at the edges of his vision, making everything blur and fade around him. He gritted his teeth, fighting the wooziness that pushed him down and flattened him out. Nausea still churned in his gut and his blood felt cool and clammy where the IV pumped saline solution. He just had to make it long enough to get to his room, so when he woke up the next day he didn't have to wonder where he was or how he got there.

His body felt torn between burning up and shaking from the cold. Even with his mother holding him he felt half-frozen, and somewhere deep inside he felt like he was on fire. His skin crawled and his brain tried to tell him the ceiling was turning green. This was the worst. This was the part he hated the most about these never ending emergency room visits.

It seemed like a decade passed before a nurse- a third one- came in with a wheelchair. "All right, we're ready for you," she said, far too cheerful for five-thirty in the morning. "Let's get you up."

His joints ached as he struggled to unfold himself from his crunched ball on the examination table; he could practically hear the tendons creaking. Stoick cupped his large hands under his skinny forearms and helped him slide down from the table while Valka kept her hand on his back. The room whipped around him like a tilt-a-whirl and dizzying white stars crept along the fuzzy edges of his vision. He wanted to cry, but he was too tired.

He sagged back in the wheelchair, struggling to hang on to the last vestiges of consciousness as the nurse transferred the IV bag. His mother said something and he tried to answer, but apparently the sound that came out wasn't actual words, because she suddenly looked worried and reached for his hand. He tried to squeeze her fingers to reassure her that he was fine, that the hands of the clock on the wall above him weren't suddenly spinning backwards, but his knuckles didn't work anymore.

He faded in and out as they wheeled him out of triage and into the elevator, catching glimpses of the pale gray walls and paler gray floor. The inside of the elevator smelled like warm metal and antiseptic, stinging his nose and waking him up just enough for him to blink slowly at his reflection in the shiny doors. He looked terrible, his mouth slack and his eyes drooping, and he would have closed his eyes if he wasn't so sure that he would fall asleep immediately.

Pediatrics was grimly cheerful as always. The walls were painted yellow and the nurse at the reception desk wore scrubs with cartoon characters on them, but it was still a hospital, still a place where kids were sick and hurt and dying.

The nurse propelled him into a small room with one bed, the beginning of a sunrise peeking through the blinds. "Let's get you up," she said briskly, but Stoick reached down without a word and scooped him up like he was still little, careful of the IV, and then placed him down gently on the bed. Hiccup sagged into the stiff mattress, his head falling back against the pillow.

Valka tucked him in, smoothing the stiff sheets and the scratchy blanket around him like he was in his own bed at home, and not in the pediatrics ward for the fourth time in the past year. The IV tubing taped to his arm shifted as the nurse moved the bag and a startled whimper broke from his lips. Valka pulled the soft microfleece blanket out of his overnight bag, his favorite one with the green stripes that smelled like home, and draped it around him. "Please go to sleep, sweetheart," she urged.

He nodded, his eyes sliding shut. The last things he remembered were his father's hand squeezing his arm and his mother's lips touching his cheek.

Author's Notes:

OOPS MY HAND SLIPPED.

Okay, so Caroline (writerforthetylwythteg) created a universe where Hiccup and Astrid are both chronically ill and become friends in the hospital. And specifically Hiccup has Crohn's disease, which is similar to a plotline I used to write for my other fandom, and so...40 pages of this happened. Luckily, not only did Caroline give permission for me to post, but she loves it and gave me more plot bunnies, and we've become friends! So you can expect more of this to come.

Feel free to share your thoughts on this! I love hearing from people and making new friends! And my tumblr is themetaphorgirl if you'd like to chat with me there. And feel free to ask me questions over there too!