Hello. This ridiculous plot bunny hopped into my head while I was reading a "How much do you know about HTTYD" quiz, and it mentions that 'Gobber mentions trolls are notorious for sock-stealing, especially the left ones', and I set to thinking, IF the trolls exsist in the HTTYD world, they must really hate Hiccup because he doesn't need two socks...and I was wondering how Gobber could tell a left sock from a right sock. I can't, becuase I really don't think there IS a difference.

Have fun reading. =)

One more note: unfortunately, I can't recreate Gobber's accent or Hiccup's voice, no matter how sarcastic or hilarious it may be. That part is up to you, readers: imagine they actually ARE saying those things...

In a short break between customers, Berk's unlikely hero, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock The Third, was slumped in a chair on his side of the store, breathing heavily and trying to consume as much water as physically possible.

He'd been burned recently, so the heat of the forge really bothered him. Gobber didn't accept his "I was in a coma!" excuse to as why he hadn't been at work for the past three days, and at his first day back since he downed Toothless, he was remembering just how hard work could be, although there was a nice feeling in knowing no dragons were about to kill him.

The flames annoyed him, they seemed to be vital to everything they did – which they were, but it still made Hiccup mad. Every time he had to heat up the bellows (which was even less fun off balance and in pain) he could see the searing flames and was back at Helheim's Gate.

Gobber hadn't mentioned the beads of sweat dripping down Hiccup's face or his slight panting, but after about an hour, he'd insisted he take a break, because, as he put it, "I've ad enough experience wit' losin' a limb, and it ain't no picnic." Disgruntled, Hiccup had settled back into his chair.

It was so different at the forge now. Now he kept having little daymares which he supposed he wouldn't get over until he could accept the unreality of Berk's transformation. Just that morning he'd woken up convinced he was in the cove with Toothless.

He did like having Toothless at the forge, though. If the fire scared him now, Toothless' comforting presence made up for it tenfold. It was so immensely satisfying to be able to walk through his own village now with his best friend. He felt safe.

And in the little room plastered with drawings and diagrams of the Night Fury himself, Hiccup was finally starting to feel himself again.

"How'r yeh holdin' up?"

Startled into sarcasm, Hiccup replied, "About what? Dragons everywhere, me a hero, or trying to hop around all day?" Of course, this wasn't strictly true, as whenever Hiccup was about to fall (and this was frequent) Toothless managed to catch him, and Hiccup really was trying to walk normally. Failing, but trying hard.

Removing the tongs attachment, Gobber tossed it onto a table and sat.

"Yeh kno wha' I mean," he said, gesturing with his eyebrows toward Hiccup's leg. As he did, Hiccup couldn't help being grateful for his left arm being intact – it would be really hard to ride Toothless, draw, or write.

"Well, aside from desperately wishing my whole leg was still intact every few minutes, I'm doing just fine," frowned Hiccup. On a slightly more serious note, he asked, "How did you do?"

"Well," drawled Gobber, clearly loving being able to tell this story, "It certainly put a damper in my plans to slay the Boneknapper. I was upset, for a time, but then, I was mostly angry."

"Angry at what?" asked Hiccup. "The dragon that took it?"

To Hiccup's surprise, Gobber laughed. "A little. He took the wrong foot!"

Scowling, Hiccup said, "You wanted him to get your left?" he couldn't imagine why anyone would want to lose any foot at all.

"Yep. You kno why?"

"Can you just get to the point?"

"Trolls," Gobber began, "Loved me."

Hiccup sighed. "Of course."

"No, no, really! Think about it. You're the lucky one."

Hiccup rolled his eyes, kicking his leg against the chair. "Not really."

"Let's take this step by step now," Gobber chastised, in the voice he used to explain to Hiccup something that was blatantly obvious to the former. This tone of voice Hiccup usually tuned out because it involved dead Vikings, gnomes, or some other nonsense no one believed in. "I only have a left foot. Which makes me a target for Trolls! If I've got no right socks, only left ones, than it makes his job all the easier! But you only need right socks – Trolls'll never bother you again!"

This, Hiccup lamented, was a prime example of 'Gobber logic'. "I didn't know there was a difference between socks."

"O' course there is!" Gobber protested, waving his arm. "How deh yeh think the Trolls know which one to steal?"

"I think we should really be getting back to work," Hiccup tried to evade where the conversation was going.

"Eh," Gobber said, leaning out of the window to see if there was anyone there. "Yeh can take the rest of the time off and fly on that reptile o' yours."

At these words, Toothless' head popped up excitedly, and Hiccup grinned. "Thanks. I'll go get the-" but he was already shuffling as fast as he could outside.

It hurt immensely to walk, or even go fast, but he strove to get to the house at a reasonable pace. Yesterday he'd made sure Toothless was not going to help him unless he was falling, because, as he put it, 'If I never get to walk on it, I'll never be able to when I have to.'

Within fifteen minutes he was at his house, which was impressive in a way, seeing as he only got back on his feet yesterday and the forge was on the other side of the village. But it was also very pathetic in a much stronger way, because the entire breadth of the town was little more than a mile. Luckily, his bed was still downstairs, because the steep wooden obstacle was a hurdle he was nowhere near ready for. The saddle and tailfin were just where he left them next to the headboard, on the opposite side of the bed that Toothless had slept last night.

Grabbing them up, Hiccup paused for a second, then dropped them on bed, checked the door was shut firmly, then glanced toward the stairs.

He looked back, and listened if the house was empty. It was. Then, still looking over his shoulder, he made his way toward the stairs. They weren't as hard as he expected. Still, he needed to hold the top of the next step while he dragged that stupid prosthetic up after his real leg, but he'd get better…eventually. Up was slow. Down, he expected would be better, but it was a level of difficulty disproportionate to the task.

When he finally reached the top, panting, he walked into his room, which looked empty without the bed, went directly to his dresser, and picked up his few pairs of socks.

It made him sad that he'd never wear two at the same time again. Then Hiccup glared at them very carefully.

Really, he couldn't see any difference between one sock or the other, and Gobber was not a trusted source. But just to be safe, Hiccup picked out half, making sure they were lesser quality – there was no need to keep bad socks if he only needed a few anyway – and dumped them out the window. He was glad he only had one boot - people wouldn't really notice a few stray socks, but a boot would certainly cause suspicion and bring proof to Gobber's ridiculous claims.

Satisfied, he sat back on the bed and mentally prepared himself for the trip downstairs. Up was worse than down, but, as Gobber put it, these loss-of-limb injuries weren't no picnic.