Yume- Hello everyone! Just a little tid bit of info here. This little one-shot is dedicated to

Duchess Delanie, author of Disasters in Childrearing. It was as I was reading her fic that I got the idea for this. Hiccup always wanted to fit in. At any time did he wish he wasn't born? So if you haven't read her work, go read now! Er…after you finished this anyway.

Disclaimer- Don't own, but if I did, I'd make cuter Toothless plushes than the manufactures did.

To Break A Viking Heart

Gobber entered the blacksmith hut to find young Hiccup crying in a corner. The old Viking gave a heavy sigh at the sight. The 8 year old worked hard to never cry in front of others, always taking the harsh remarks and cruel whispers in stride. For he was a viking and Vikings don't cry. But when everything became to much for the child to bear, he would seek out someplace he felt safe, alone. Blue eyes took in the huddled form. Hiccups clothes were caked in mud, probably having been pushed. A few purple bruises dotted pale flesh. Clutched in each of his hands was a piece of paper and a piece of charcoal.

This wasn't the first time Gobber found Hiccup like this. And like every time, the old blacksmith let the child cry out all his sadness and frustration. He sat himself at his stool and began to work, the echoes of the hammer on steel drowning out the sobs.

While most would say this was cruel, to ignore a child so distressed, Gobber knew Hiccup appreciated it. After all, vikings were a hard, tuff people. Accepting comfort would just prove that Hiccup wasn't like everyone else. That he was a disappointment, and being a disappointment to his father was something the boy desperately didn't want to be.

The minutes passed as Gobber worked. Hiccup's sobs had quieted and now he sat silent. He waited patiently for the child to speak first, hammer abandoned for a rag and some polish.

"I should have died instead of mama."

Those softly spoken words sent a chill through his body and his tools were immediately forgotten.. While vikings were ones not to fear death, for a child to utter those words with such conviction was wrong. "Now why do you say that, Hiccup?" he questioned gently. "Did someone say that to you?" I'll skin 'em alive myself.

Hiccup shook his head.

"You know your mother gave her life ta protect you from the dragons. She wanted you to live."

Hiccup raised his head, tear stains running down his cheeks. "Mama shouldn't have done that. Everything would be better if she didn't come and save me."

"How do you suppose? You're parents would be very sad if you died. And so would I."

"But they'd get over it eventually. And then mama and daddy could have another baby. One that'll be a real viking and not a scrawny useless fishbone. Daddy wouldn't have to be disappointed anymore." Green eyes looked hopelessly, pleadingly, into blue. "Do you think Odin would trade may life for mama's?"

The hardened viking broke. This child had thought it all out so clearly. This weren't just words of a saddened child. This were the words of someone who knew without a doubt want he wanted. Gobber fell to the floor, arms wrapping around the tiny form. "Oh Hiccup."

And the child who had always tried to push back the tears, let them fall once again. He cried for the loss of his mother, cried for the ridicule he faced from the villagers, cried for the shame he brought his father, and cried for how useless he felt. The child fell into the embrace, paper and charcoal falling to the floor.

Stoic was stunned as he sat in the mess hall with Gobber, the other man having just told him about what transpired earlier that day. In front of him lay a child's drawing. It was of a happy family. But the image of the child had been drawn over with a gravestone so that it was only the mother and father. So that it was only Stoic and his beloved wife.

"You should go to your son," stated Gobber, taking a gulp of his mead.

Stoic nodded mutely and left the hall, taking the drawing with him. He walked through the village, deaf to any who greeted him and his mind reeling. Why hadn't his son ever told him how he felt? He was his father, so why did his son feel he could only confide in Gobber?

Stoic knew why. Hiccup would always try hard to be the son Stoic wanted. Often those attempts lead to disaster on the boy's part. But it wasn't Hiccup's fault. It was his. Since the passing of his wife, the Viking chief busied himself to break away from his sorrow. But that left Hiccup behind in the shadows, his father far out of reach.

When Stoic reached his house on the top of the hill, he froze. What should he say? What could he do to comfort his son? Let him know that he loved him and never wished for him to be gone? With a deep breath, the viking leader opened his door.

"Hiccup?" he called. His son wasn't in the main room so Stoic went upstairs to his son's room. "Hiccup?" he called again, opening the door.

The child was asleep in bed. A sad smile graced Stoic's face. Carefully, he pulled the blanket to cover the small form, large hand straying to brush at red hair.

I'll talk to him later, he thought to himself. And I'll start being a real father to him. We'll go fishing, just the to of us.

So the chief left his son's room, intent on working to make sure Hiccup never felt like a misfit again