Hard Knocks

A/N: So I set out to write on Rabbit Hole - you know, that RotG/HTTYD crossover AU I keep promising everyone will have angst later? - and this happened instead. What is life. (Though in my defense, I was listening to the Annie soundtrack today so yeah. There is my excuse. I'm sticking to it.)

Hiccup again sounds vaguely like he stepped straight out of Oliver Twist but I'm 1000 miles beyond caring at this point.

To tell the truth, Stoick didn't even really notice the silence, at first.

He supposed he should have – quiet was a rare thing indeed when Hiccup was your companion, and considering the auburn-haired boy lounged in the seat beside him, sipping hot chocolate from the steaming Styrofoam cup clutched in one freckled hand, he should have spent the time it lasted wisely. Perhaps thanking every deity that came to mind for this unexpected reprieve.

Yet he found himself so deep in thought that, when he did realize the only sound currently came from the Thunderdrum itself, faithfully puffing blasts of mercifully warm air through the dashboard vents, he was not even in the proper state of mind to appreciate it. As reluctant as he was to admit it, the scene in Dress Code today bothered him.

Of course, it was ridiculous; he himself knew that. When he considered all the things Hiccup had told him about the orphanage prior to this outing, he had to concede he should have foreseen it; he should not have been so surprised, he realized, to find the boy's needs had been so neglected; and more than that, more than anything else right then, he knew without a doubt that he should not have cared quite so much. He'd fixed the problem, right? He'd handled things. All that mattered – all that should have mattered to him – was the now. Now Hiccup had proper winter attire; now, Hiccup had sneakers that fit him; now, he had shirts with sleeves that did not fall beyond the wrist; now, he had jeans with no holes or frays or patches; now, he had clothes.

And Stoick should not have been so bothered with the thought that he previously hadn't.

Ahead of them, the traffic light's glowing yellow face switched suddenly to smoldering red; the man lightly tapped his brakes, bringing the Thunderdrum to a crawl before a complete stop. For a moment, he gazed unseeingly out through the windshield, eyes fixed upon the road but thoughts far from it.

Without warning, Hiccup broke the silence. Abandoning his empty foam container in the nearest cup holder and pressing his face excitedly to the window, the kid exclaimed, "There's the tree lot!"

"Which one?" Stoick demanded, pressing lightly on the gas, sending the vehicle inching forward. "Probably another one of those insanely early ones run by overly enthusiastic people who insist on starting up in November, never mind that the needles will have turned brown by Christmas and become completely unsellable?"

"E-early?" Hiccup sputtered incredulously, tearing his gaze from the window to look at the man beside him. "It's December, Mr. Maddox."

"I know that." He kept his eyes fixed on the traffic light, fingers clenched tight around the wheel. "I'm only saying it's too soon to start going around picking out trees."

"…Have you checked your calendar in awhile?"

"Of course I've checked my calendar, I check it every morning, that's where I…why are you looking at me like that?" Stoick finally pulled his eyes from the road, to see the boy staring at him in obvious bemusement.

"It's…Mr. Maddox, Christmas is next week."

Stoick blinked. "You're joking."

"I'm guessing you don't celebrate." Hiccup cupped his hands and propped his chin within them, eyes drifting back to the window; when he spoke the words, there was something strangely wistful in the way he said them.

"There's no point."

The traffic light turned back to green, and Stoick put the Thunderdrum back in motion; the sleek blue vehicle sped through the icy Ohio streets, and for a moment, all was silent once more.

"No, I guess there's not," Hiccup responded quietly.

The man hesitated a moment before voicing his question. "Did…did Mrs. Hannigan ever celebrate it in the orphanage?"

"Not…not really." It seemed Hiccup had to think about it for awhile, still staring out the window. "I mean, she liked to when she could – I remember when I was…seven, maybe eight, and she found this old tree…it was turning brown, and I think the man running the lot had been planning to throw it out but since he wasn't going to make any money off it, he agreed to give it to Mrs. Hannigan at a lower price, so she got that…then she found these multicolored lights in a garbage can, I think…but those gave out the night before Christmas…I mean, they were in the trash, we should have seen that coming…that was also the year she managed to get us a present, we got this big, one-thousand piece puzzle…spent the whole day putting it together, and when we were done, before we went to bed, Mrs. Hannigan bought a whole bunch of these—you know, those packets of hot chocolate mix that come with the marshmallows already in them? Mrs. Hannigan got some of those…well, she actually searched the whole place high and low until she found some, and then we all stayed up together making them and then drinking them when we were done…there weren't enough packets for everyone, so we ended up sharing. Come to think of it, I shared with Fishlegs who looked a little sick that year, but he's always coming down with something so I didn't think anything of it, but the next morning, I woke up practically coughing up my lungs." Hiccup sat back in his seat, a faint smile on his face, before adding softly, "…that was the only year we could do anything…"

"That's…that's all?"

"That's all," Hiccup confirmed quietly; then, without warning, he smiled, mood lightening suddenly. "I'm really lucky, too – some orphanages, they don't even try. Least Mrs. Hannigan always gets a wreath for the front doors."

Stoick did not say anything more; but he did bestow one final glance back upon the tree lot over his shoulder, and wondered if perhaps the apartment might look brighter with some greenery this year.