Chapter Text
When Viggo awoke, he thought he’d arrived in Niflheim. After all, there was his dearest Hiccup slumped asleep at his bedside. Toothless was there too, and the Skrill he’d become fond of so quickly. He’d typically consider a sight like this as wonderful as it could get. However he was convinced it was Niflheim and not Valhalla, because he could practically feel the anxiety radiating from Hiccup, and in the candlelight he could see the horrific facial injury that the Skrill now bore. If Viggo was cursed with the knowledge that Hiccup and the dragons had suffered and died due to his own pathetic plan, then that truly would be Niflheim. Besides, he didn’t deserve Valhalla. But… Why would his dearest Hiccup, the most wonderful person in the world, be in Niflheim? This wasn't right.
It was when he tried to sit up and reach out to the Skrill that he realised he was definitely not dead. The sudden burst of blinding pain from his back - ripped and wounded from arrows - caused him to let out a shout and he flopped back down with a wince. Hiccup awoke with a jolt.
“Oh, Viggo! Thank Thor! You had me worried, I thought you’d never wake,” Hiccup cried in relief, “Are you alright? How much pain are you in?”
“Forget me, what about the Skrill?” Viggo groaned, “Look at the state of that wound.”
“I think she’s more concerned about you at the moment,” Hiccup replied, gesturing to the electric dragon who was currently staring at Viggo with great big eyes and wagging her tail like an excited puppy.
Viggo reached out to rub the Skrill’s muzzle, then noticed the all-too-familiar milky colouration of her right eye where she’d gained her facial injury. He felt a sick feeling in his stomach. This was his fault. He’d been the one to drag the Skrill into this situation, and she’d been blinded because of it. He knew what that felt like, and he wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.
“Oh, you poor thing,” he whispered, stroking the side of her face, “I’m so sorry.”
The Skrill only purred in reply and nuzzled up against his arm. He gave her a cracked smile as he put his arm down again. He barely had the strength to stroke her.
“How are you feeling?” Hiccup asked, “How bad is the pain?”
“Bearable,” Viggo replied.
“By your standards or by mine?” Hiccup asked.
Viggo chuckled, then winced as a stabbing sensation shot through his back. He gave Hiccup a knowing smile, broken from pain.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I’m thinking that you need to drop your pride and be honest,” Hiccup replied, “There’s no reason to go at it alone when I’m here and willing to help you. I know you’re in pain, stop hiding it.”
“Your compassion amazes me,” Viggo replied, then gestured to his burn scar and groaned, “It hurts as much as this did, except internally this time, so it’s arguably worse.”
“I’ll get you some willow bark tea,” Hiccup stood up, “It’s not much but it’s the best I can do.”
“Thank you,” Viggo replied quietly.
Hiccup moved over to the fire where he'd already had a pot of tea simmering. Apparently he'd expected Viggo to wake up soon - that or he'd made it for the Skrill. It wouldn't have surprised Viggo if that was Hiccup's intention. He was sweet like that.
"How long was I out?" Viggo asked, largely in an attempt to try to stay awake.
"Quite a few weeks now," Hiccup replied, "For a while I wasn’t sure if you were going to wake at all. You stirred a few times during recent days, but you were so delirious I didn't think you'd remember."
“All I can remember is trying to buy you time by rushing the archers,” Viggo hummed, “It’s all dark from there.”
Hiccup helped Viggo drink the willow bark tea, holding the mug up to Viggo’s mouth. If it had been anybody else Viggo would have felt positively humiliated, but since it was Hiccup, he didn’t mind. Hiccup wouldn’t think any less of him for being in such a weakened state.
“Hopefully that will alleviate the pain a little,” Hiccup said, “Just try to rest. You won’t be able to get up and move for a few days. Fishlegs said at least a week. We’ll just see what happens.”
“Your friends know I’m here, I take it?” Viggo asked.
“Yeah,” Hiccup replied, “I’ve explained to them what happened. They seem to have taken it well. Astrid seems a bit more hesitant, but I doubt the rest will give you any trouble so long as you don’t bother them.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Viggo muttered, feeling himself beginning to drift, “You’ve been too kind, Hiccup.”
Hiccup smiled discreetly to himself as he watched Viggo fall asleep again. He’d spiked the tea with some sedative - an attempt to force Viggo to rest. He knew Viggo would only try to power through his recovery instead of resting properly, and that just wouldn’t do.
Viggo woke again several hours later. The candles had been blown out and small fragments of light were now streaming in through the gaps in the walls. His heart fluttered a little as he realised that Hiccup, who was once again sleeping at his bedside, was holding his hand, clutching it gently. He’d known the boy was compassionate, but this was something else entirely. He kept hold of Hiccup’s hand, savouring the touch that Viggo had desired for so long. He made no attempt to wake him - Hiccup looked as exhausted as Viggo looked on any typical day.
Viggo took this moment of silence to look around the room, now able to see a little better thanks to the streams of morning daylight. They were on the bottom floor of Hiccup’s hut - clearly Hiccup hadn’t wanted to drag his unconscious body up all those stairs. He was lying in a makeshift bed of furs, and neither Toothless nor the Skrill had left his bedside. Viggo peered over at Hiccup’s desk where he could see crumpled up papers and partially-built inventions scattered about. There were rows of tailfins decorating the walls. The room practically screamed Hiccup, and Viggo had never felt more at home.
The next hour or so was silent, aside from the distant sound of a dragon taking off - Viggo assumed it was Astrid and her Nadder - and the gentle snores of the dragons beside him. It gave Viggo lots of time to lie and think to himself, in the same way he would during all those past nights when he’d lie awake in his tent for hours, unable to sleep. On nights like those, his mind would race and his heart would ache. He’d worry about his village, especially during the early days of the war with the Riders, and would find himself questioning if he was really fit to be chief. Sometimes his past would come back to haunt him and he’d spend long nights fighting off traumatic memories of his childhood and of his grandfather. After Ryker had passed on, Viggo found himself filled with regret, yet another hole having been bored into his heart. He’d regret how he’d thought of his brother, how he’d treated him, how he’d allowed such a rift to develop between the only family he had left. He’d worry about the future, what Johann had in store for him and what assasination method Krogan would try next. His inner voice would scream abuse at him, mock him for his scarring and call him hideous. He’d recount all the times his blindness had ailed him that day and wonder just how long it would take him to get used to living with this disability. Recently these sleepless nights had become more and more prevalent, as Viggo would bury his head under his furs and try to ignore the fact that he was surrounded by the skin and bones of dead dragons whose deaths were the result of his operation. It would never work, and he’d find himself wondering about the dragons whose hides made up his tent, wondering what kind of lives they lived, if they had mates and offspring, and what their futures might have held for them had their lives not been taken.
But what kept him up at night the most was that horrible, creeping realisation that all of his past fantasies about his wondrous future with Hiccup by his side would never come into fruition. He used to dream of the day when Hiccup would be successfully captured and Viggo would be able to take him back to base, to love him as one would love their husband or wife, to share their lives with each other. But as time went on, it began to dawn on Viggo that Hiccup was not just someone to be loved and worshipped, but also someone to be honoured and respected. He’d never wished to take Hiccup against his will; in fact, the thought of doing so made Viggo’s skin crawl. He wanted a consensual, loving relationship with Hiccup, one where the other wasn’t constantly trying to escape, one where they could share every moment together of their own accord, one where Viggo didn’t have to initiate the relationship by capturing Hiccup. Of course, that would never happen, Viggo had realised. Hiccup would never trust him, and certainly would never reciprocate his feelings. That realisation was the one that kept him up at night the most.
The Skrill must have noticed Viggo’s sudden change in mood, because Viggo felt her rub against his other hand and heard her chirp at him. He absentmindedly reached up to pet her, then realised what he was doing. Three months ago he would have captured or slaughtered the Skrill the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Now? He’d earned her trust and affection, and she’d stayed by his side as he lay incapacitated and unconscious. He felt something for this dragon, something he couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, he certainly felt bonded to her. Perhaps it had something to do with the way she’d pressed her snout so gently up against his hand that day. Viggo kept petting her, drawn to the way her scales felt against his hand and the way she stared at him with such familiarity. It was comforting.
Beast. On its face it sounded like a horrible name, especially coming from Viggo, but that was precisely it. It was a form of juxtaposition, because the Skrill was certainly no beast. She was gentle, kind and loyal, but she was also powerful, beautiful and intelligent, just like her namesake: a character from a story Viggo had loved as a child. That was another factor that made Viggo appreciate the name, the idea that he of all people had named his dragon based on a children's fairy tale. There was also the intimidation factor, because as sweet as she was, she was a Skrill, and Skrills were quite frightening when taken at face value. It was perfect for her. Viggo just hoped that she liked it, because he was horrible at naming things and this was the only name he could think of.
“How do you feel about ‘Beast’ as a name?” Viggo muttered, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.
Beast purred and smiled at him, and so it was.
Eventually Viggo could hear more noises from beyond Hiccup’s hut: the other Riders going to wake their dragons, fires being lit and - who in Thor’s name was speaking and why was it so loud???
Hiccup jolted awake almost immediately and growled to himself.
“Damn it, Tuff,” he hissed, “Trust you to start up Season 2 of your ‘morning show’ or whatever the Hel you call it.”
“Do I even want to know?” Viggo chuckled softly.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Hiccup’s attention turned to Viggo.
“Have been for some time now,” Viggo said.
“Oh, you should have woken me, I’m sorry,” Hiccup replied, “You must have gotten lonely.”
“Not at all, Beast here makes excellent company,” Viggo said, petting the now sleeping Beast.
“Beast?” Hiccup asked.
“Named after Beast from Legend of the Boy Accursed,” Viggo explained.
“Oh, the story about the half-blind boy with the magic eye,” Hiccup realised with a chuckle, “It suits you.”
“I didn’t even consider that part, but I suppose so,” Viggo replied.
Hiccup shifted closer to Viggo.
“Did you sleep alright?” he asked.
“I believe that was the first night in at least three months that I haven’t been woken up by nightmares,” Viggo replied, rubbing his good eye.
Hiccup frowned.
“I didn’t know you got them,” he murmured, rubbing Viggo’s hand which he still hadn’t let go of.
“I’ve had them most of my life,” Viggo replied, “During times of heightened stress and anxiety, mostly. The best nights are the ones where I don’t dream at all. I don’t think I’ve ever had a good dream.”
“What do you dream about?” Hiccup asked.
“This,” Viggo replied, gesturing to his face, “I dream of drowning in lava, or being totally blinded. The worst dream I’ve ever had was the one where you fell in beside me and I was helpless to save you.”
“That’s… traumatic,” Hiccup whispered.
“Many of them revolve around my trauma,” Viggo replied, “When I was a child I’d dream of my grandfather’s… mistreatment, and then I’d have to wake up to the exact same thing.”
“Sounds familiar,” Hiccup muttered, and Viggo squeezed his hand in return. When Hiccup was a child he’d dreamed of similar things, of disappointing his father and him getting angry and violent. Of course, Stoick had never actually been violent with him, not ever, but his face of disappointment and the venom in his words had still hurt the young Hiccup. Hiccup never got those kinds of dreams anymore, and why would he? He got along brilliantly with his dad now.
“I’m sorry that you had to deal with that,” Hiccup replied.
“It’s alright,” Viggo said, then continued, gesturing to the scars lining his neck.
“I dream about isolation. I dream about rape. My mind conjures up hideous monsters that I can’t fight or run away from. But the worst dreams were all about these,” he said, “Of the dragon that gave me them, and of being unable to move or breathe, of feeling the world closing in around me as I bled out. Those ones were especially bad because sometimes I’d actually stop breathing in my sleep and I’d wake up dizzy and gasping for air.”
“That’s… quite concerning,” Hiccup replied, “Have you seen a healer about it?”
“Hah. Healers. They set off just as much anxiety as the nightmares do, I’d rather not see them at all,” Viggo explained, “It’s why I hate the need to sleep. I have insomnia, and when I finally get to sleep I have to deal with all that. I’d rather just stay awake my entire life.”
“I can understand that,” Hiccup replied, “Sometimes I wish I could stay awake all day and all night so Toothless and I could spend the night flying like a wild Night Fury would.”
“He’s rather in-tune with the human way of life, isn’t he?” Viggo asked, gesturing to Toothless.
“Sometimes I think he’s more human than dragon,” Hiccup said, “And sometimes I wonder what the difference is.”