19 months later..

Hiccup's POV

"Come on, it's okay, you'll be okay," my dad mumbled over and over again as he held my hand impossibly tight. I couldn't even feel that anymore. Everything was hurting and it seemed that the world was under water, everything dull and blurry.

More words were exchanged but I couldn't make them out. Everything was going in and out of focus. Was someone crying..?

Was I crying..? Don't know.. Everything hurt. Even thinking hurt. More loud sounds and more blurry movements. What was going on?

I wanted to scream but I couldn't. Why did it hurt?

The blurry image of a scenery I couldn't grasp was slowly darkening. I didn't want it to. I tried to will the darkness away but it didn't work. Still I kept on trying.

The pain was beyond unbearable, but suddenly it didn't hurt any more. Nothing did. I couldn't feel anything at all, and somehow I knew that it wasn't a good thing. When the pain ended abruptly I could hear the shades of frantic shouts again, though as if from very far away.

Someone asked something though I didn't know what. Why did they want to know? I could only remember one question, the one every doctor asked me every time I had to see one. Suddenly I could see my dads contrast again. He was crying, something I'd only seen him do a few times during the last two years.

I managed to smile at him, small, weak and sad, but a smile nonetheless.

"...Zero..."

That was probably the first and last time I'd ever answered a hundred percent truthfully to that question, even if I wasn't even sure if it was even asked. Didn't really matter.

I couldn't help it- my eyes finally closed.

They all told me to fight. Over and over again, stay strong and don't give up.

I didn't give up. I didn't stop fighting. Heaven knows I fought to my last breath.

No, I didn't give up. But my heart stopped beating anyway.

Stoick's POV

I walked heavily down the stairs, too tired to walk straight or bother to remove that strand of beard from my right eye. I suppressed a mighty yawn as I looked at our old gray clock hanging on the far wall of our living room. It was still early for a Saturday but I didn't even try to fall back asleep when I woke up gasping. Memories from that night were still haunting my dreams. How could they not? Begging to every God I'd ever known that my son would be okay, just before hearing the sound no parent should ever have to bear through. The sound of a weak heartbeat turning to flatlining.

Letting my eyes fall slightly from the clock I saw the wheelchair in the corner. It looked empty without it's owner. It hadn't been used for a while now and it probably would never be again.

Tearing away my gaze I continued towards the kitchen. Walking to one of the cupboards, one that Hiccup never was able to reach up to, I pulled out one of my red mugs. When I poured up coffee I saw another familiar thing. A white box, barely visible as it hid under my microwave. There were still pills rolling around there, painkillers and antidepressants among them. Probably never to be taken.

I shock my head and replaced it in a medicincabinet next to all the cups and muggs. That's when I suddenly heard a series of small bangs from the living room.

Rushing out of the kitchen in a frantic panic on a hundred percent I stared up.

My panic dimmed immediately when I saw a long object by my bare feet and a sheepish-looking brunette, understanding what had happened.

Hiccup leaned against the wall for balance as his crutch had fallen down with many bangs. "Oops," was the only word he let out before giving me a slightly sheepish smile.

"Yeah. Oops." I repeated with a slight smirk of my own before it immediately fell when my son began climbing down the stairs without the medical support. "Oh no you don't!" I scolded, not wasting time in picking up the crutch, simply strolling up the staircase and lifting him up bridal style.

He didn't even bother to whine as it definitely wasn't the first time my overprotective mother-hen side had kicked in and I'd picked him up. Guessing he'd finally learned that he simply didn't have a say in the matter.

"It's bad enough that you don't use the wheelchair, Hiccup, can't you at least use two crutches? Your prosthetic is still new."

"Not that new," Hiccup defended his item and looked down at his feet as I carried him down. His pajamapants hid how high up it went but it was clear one of his feet was artificial. Still, it was shaped and colored pretty alike so it would be hard to tell the difference with shoes.

As I had understood it, Hiccup wasn't embarrassed by the fact he'd got a fake leg, he was just still getting used to the difference and didn't want to sign it out. For me it just served as an eternal reminder of how close cancer had been to taking my boy.

It was a miracle. That's what everyone said. And perhaps it was, perhaps some great power decided not to be so cruel or perhaps

Those perhapses couldn't have meant less to me. Nothing did. Nothing except that my baby boy were still alive in my arms, beautiful heart once again beating after a seven seconds pause. Those seven seconds were the worst in my life but the same night I experienced my best. Because I did see those emerald eyes that were my wife's and boy's again.

That night was a turning point. The tumors actually disappeared bit by bit, and yes, I will not lie, it still wasn't close to easy. Hiccup went through pain no boy nor man should have to endorse and he got through. I was so proud and so relieved, but most of all simply so very, very happy.

And maybe his prosthetic served to be an eternal reminder that cancer almost claimed him.

It couldn't matter less to me, because the rest of him is an eternal reminder that he pulled through.

That he fought with everything he had and he didn't leave me.

Because that's how it ended. Cancer almost claimed him.

It fucking didn't.

A/N: So here's the reason I wrote this story to begin with; CANCER IS BEATABLE. Everyone knows this but it's true and it's very, very important to remember. Sadly very many can name someone with cancer today. Cancer is not death. Cancer is so horrible and terrible in every way but it's not death. Fight. Never give up. It doesn't matter if you've heard that a million times because I'll make it a million and one. Be it cancer or anorexia, depression or addiction, stress or anything. Believe you'll get through, believe he or she will get through, just try your best to believe. That can make a long distance. I send my best to all you freaking amazing individuals,

-Hug MJ