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They leave on September 9th, a cold yet sunny day that leaves Hiccup shivering in the early morning glare as he waits, leant against the trunk of his car, for Snotlout to lug his suitcase down the driveway. He watches the front door, hears faint gruff voices coming from inside, has half a mind to get up and check everything’s okay when they raise slightly. Glancing at his watch, all he can do is wait– it’s a three and a half hours’ drive to Tacoma, and then he will be out of this town, out of this state, and he will finally be free.
Hiccup feels a little selfish thinking that. Dagur and Heather have been kind to him in the past two years– it’s not them that he’s escaping from, though, no, it’s the town itself, really. The way he can walk down any street and remember something new every time, the way his father’s voice lingers in the air of his favourite record store, the way nothing is ever really over here.
The front door swings open, and Snotlout walks outside, dragging his bags behind him. Hiccup goes to help him, offering a quick greeting as he grabs a duffel bag. It’s only then that Snotlout looks at him, squinting like he’s an alien. Hiccup is about to open his mouth and ask what the fuck he’s looking at, when Snotlout says bluntly, “You look like total shit.”
“Thank you so much,” Hiccup says, unimpressed.
“I’m serious. You’ve got these, like, heavy–ass bags under your eyes. Did you even sleep?”
“Somehow,” he replies, ignoring the question because answering it truthfully would only end badly, grunting as he lifts the duffel into the trunk and pushes it to the back, “your bags are heavier. How much did you pack?”
“I have a lot of stuff, Hiccup. Just because you’re all survival instinct and fight or flight, and you pack light for literally moving across the country–”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t know what any of those words mean. We’re only going a state up, anyway,” Hiccup snorts, and Snotlout rolls his eyes. “It’s, like, eight in the morning, Hiccup, it’s too early for you to be an asshole. Save it for lunchtime.”
“You were an asshole first,” Hiccup protests without any real insistence. Snotlout lightly punches his forearm and dumps his suitcase in the trunk next to Hiccup’s.
Snotlout hugs his mother goodbye, glances at his house one more time, and slips into the car. Hiccup waves to his aunt as they drive away. She clutches her hands to her chest, blows them two kisses. (Maybe he’s a little jealous that his own mother isn’t there to send them off to university– she’s actually a country away, though, so it’s fair enough. He wonders if she’ll make more of an effort to visit now that he’ll be in Tacoma, and she has that holiday home in Nanaimo– it’s stupid. He knows she won’t.)
They are gone as soon as they got there, somehow, with no hitches or real arguments. Hiccup is grateful for it.
Snotlout sleeps in the car, travel pillow around his neck, and Hiccup takes the opportunity to play music he knows his cousin doesn’t like.
Honestly, he has no idea how Snotlout is sleeping through it– it’s not like it’s quiet, it’s not like Hiccup is trying not to wake him up. Maybe he’s lonely without idle chatter, backhanded insults to his music taste. The only noises in the car now are shoegaze, Toothless’s soft purring in the back, and Snotlout’s snoring.
Hiccup wishes one of the others would have come with them, but of course Astrid wanted time with Ruffnut, Tuffnut had to go with Ruffnut, and Snotlout seems to be desperately avoiding Fishlegs at the moment. Hiccup hasn’t asked why– it’s not like he doesn’t care, but he hates to pry, and it’s not his business in the slightest, so there’s no reason to. If they want to tell him, they will. Until then, he can only speculate.
Traffic is bad, and Hiccup wants to stop at the only diner he’s vaguely familiar with, and so they stop in Portland at 9:53. Hiccup sits in the diner parking lot until exactly 10– while he’s been getting better with eating, he still has rules, habits he can’t shake just yet. He figures it’s enough that he’s ingesting food thrice a day. Most days.
He shakes Snotlout awake, lightly slapping his cousin’s cheeks when he doesn’t immediately open his eyes. “Mmnfgh,” he groans, pushing Hiccup’s hands away, but Hiccup keeps on. “We’re in Portland. Let’s get coffee and breakfast.”
Snotlout quickly perks up at the idea of food, and Hiccup unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. It’s a little warmer here, he thinks, which he doesn’t at all mind.
As they walk inside, Hiccup looks around– the diner has lovely indoor seating, and Hiccup sees Snotlout glance longingly at the plush leather booths, a sharp contrast from the scratchy nylon of Hiccup’s car’s seats. He feels a pang of guilt– he knows his cousin would rather eat inside, and honestly, so would he, but he’s barely okay in here with a mask on– and it’s not like Snotlout would ask him to take a risk like that. He knows Hiccup’s health is annoyingly fragile, even the slightest cough leaving him bedridden for a whole week.
Snotlout nudges him. “Hey– you can go wait outside if you want. I’ll order for you if you give me your card.”
Hiccup nearly takes him up on the offer, nearly scurries out the door and rips his mask off and breathes in the freezing air he can’t get in this stuffy diner– oh, how he longs to do just that, but– but he shakes his head. “Nah, it’s good.” He doesn’t trust Snotlout with his food, not even if he tells him exactly what to order. It’s another stupid rule. This one, he wishes he could abolish.
He stares down at the menu for thirty seconds, Snotlout peering over his shoulder, before deciding on a coffee and a “Mini Volcano”, which seems to be a couple of pancakes, a link sausage, bacon, and an egg. It’s too much. He won’t eat it all. He’ll give the rest to Toothless, probably– but it’s his last meal in Oregon, he figures, he can cheat today, and so he orders it, his hands shaking as he withdraws his debit card. Snotlout’s hand hits his side, and Hiccup swallows. It’s fine. Last meal in Oregon, after all.
Snotlout orders “Bruce’s Meat Lover’s Omelette” and begs Hiccup to let him get onion rings (“I’ll literally cry if you don’t let me, please– bacon ranch dressing–”). Hiccup, of course, gives a begrudging grunt of affirmation, and Snotlout claps his hands like a child and gives the waitress his order, muttering something about a hot chocolate as well. (“But can you, uh– can you write cappuccino on the lid?”)
Hiccup pays and walks out of the restaurant, and Snotlout follows. They stay close to the doors. Snotlout pulls his mask off and swears loudly, rubbing his hands together. “It’s so cold, Jesus Christ.”
“It was colder back home,” Hiccup points out, and Snotlout shrugs. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t paying attention then.”
They get their food and take it back to the car, and Hiccup leans back in his seat for a moment before opening the bag. Snotlout is already eating, and he says through a mouthful of omelette, “Did you wanna sit here while we eat, or are you good driving?”
“I’m fine driving,” Hiccup says. “Can I have an onion ring?”
“Okay, for someone who didn’t want me to get onion rings, you sure seem to want an onion ring. Suspicious.”
“I– what do you mean, I didn’t want you t–”
“You were so close to saying no,” Snotlout huffs. “You’re so mean.”
“You know, if you’re gonna be like that about it, you can pay me back when we get to an ATM,” Hiccup snaps, and Snotlout raises his hands in mock defeat. “Jesus, I was kidding.”
“Yeah, well,” Hiccup mutters, taking a sip of coffee and swirling it around in the cup, “maybe you shouldn’t.”
He starts the car after making sure they got his order right, and Snotlout says tentatively, “I’m on AUX, right?”
“Nope,” Hiccup says, looking over his shoulder as he reverses. “Not until Washington.”
Snotlout groans, and Hiccup sighs. “It’s not even that long, ’Lout, it’s just–” His breath catches in his throat as he eyes the navigation route pulled up on his phone– Google Maps is telling him 22 minutes, and sure, maybe he’s freaking out a little, but Snotlout doesn’t need to know that. It feels very final, the way they won’t be back for months, the way he’s leaving for the first time ever– Canada doesn’t count, really– and twenty–two minutes is a far cry from the three hours it took from Berk.
Hiccup clears his throat. “You can have it.”
They cross the Columbia River in silence, Snotlout pausing whatever indie pop band he’s playing pretty much as soon as Government Island appears in the distance. A green sign to their left tells them they’re ENTERING Washington, and Hiccup feels vaguely ill as he squeezes the steering wheel with so much force his hands shake.
Snotlout notices, of course, because the car is wobbling, veering back and forth like the old kayak in the lake near Raven Point that’s been there since before they were born. Hiccup longs to close his eyes and take a deep breath in, reset himself, but he obviously can’t, settling for rolling his shoulders back and straightening in his seat.
“Are you good?” Snotlout says quietly, and Hiccup nods, silent, loosening his grip on the wheel and glancing at his cousin, whose gaze lingers for a couple of seconds before drifting away and settling on an envelope on the dashboard.
They don’t talk until they get to the other side of the bridge and Hiccup breathes a sigh of– something like relief. Not quite, though. Snotlout whoops, punches Hiccup’s upper arm, shouts, “That’s what I’m fucking talking about! We’ve reached land! Washington state, baby!”
“You say that like we’re, like, pirates or something,” Hiccup remarks, flexing his arm slightly to lessen the sting. Snotlout punches him again, unpausing his music. “Pirates of the Cadillac!”
“Snotlout, this is a Ford Taurus.”
“Fuck yeah!”
Hiccup can only go so far before he starts feeling physically ill, the half a pancake he’d made himself eat fifteen minutes ago threatening to make a reappearance, the pine needle air freshener smelling more like salt and dust, Snotlout’s music distorting and warping.
He changes lanes very suddenly, turning onto the right exit and following the loop.
“Woah– Hiccup, what are we doing?” Snotlout says, slight panic lacing his voice, and all Hiccup can do is shake his head. “I– I need to stop. I need to get out, I need to walk, I need to– I have to get out.”
“O–okay,” his cousin replies, understandably confused. “Are you, like– are you gonna barf? Because if so, we should definitely stop–”
“Snotlout, no, I’m not going to barf,” Hiccup snaps, speeding up slightly as the loop straightens and then ends. Maybe it’s a lie. He doesn’t really care. They’re stopping anyway. His navigator makes a noise. Re–routing. Re–routing. He ignores it.
He doesn’t know how long it takes, but soon, they’re pulling into a small parking lot with a bay in front of it. Hiccup practically rips his seatbelt off and falls out of the car, catching himself on the door and taking huge, heaving gulps of cool air.
Snotlout gets out too, walks around the car to place a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. “Dude, are you… okay?”
“I’m fine,” Hiccup chokes, shrugging his hand off. “I just need… I need a minute.”
He keeps breathing, heavy, desperate, and somehow, at some point, he forgets that the air isn’t a finite resource, that they’re in no rush, that they can stay for as long as he needs, and he’s hyperventilating, sucking in as much air in half a second as humanly possible. He knows that he can stop panicking, but his body doesn’t. He gasps, and there’s another hand on his shoulder, and someone is pushing him to the concrete ground, and he realises, quite distantly, that it’s Snotlout.
“Okay,” his cousin’s voice says, gentle and calming. “Okay, hey, breathe.”
A hand on his chest. His hand on Snotlout’s chest. Hiccup is copying, keeping pattern, his breathing getting gradually slower and more even. He opens his eyes– they were closed?– to see Snotlout’s concerned face staring back at him, and he sighs, leaning back against the car door and withdrawing his hand. “Sorry,” he says shakily, and Snotlout shakes his head. “Shut up.” He doesn’t make him explain. Hiccup thinks, maybe, it’s because he knows already.
They make their way down to the beach at Snotlout’s suggestion, staring out at the vast expanse of water followed by the plains and trees of– of their old state. Hiccup supposes it’s incredible, really, and he echoes this to Snotlout, who nods. “Have you ever seen it from here before?”
“Nah,” Hiccup says, shaking his head. “I’ve never been here, so.”
“I always thought it’d be more… more,” Snotlout murmurs, gesturing wildly, and Hiccup– Hiccup gets it. He imagined a cliffside, a view of Portland he couldn’t get from Berk, something more impressive, for want of a better word. It’s still there, though, from the other side, and Hiccup thinks that’s beautiful.
They stand in silence for a couple more minutes, until Hiccup says, “We’re here, though. We made it. You always said we would.”
“You never believed me,” Snotlout snorts. “You’re so– you’ve always been so pessimistic, it’s annoying.”
“I always wanted to believe you,” Hiccup says mildly. “I just… I never thought we could. I thought we’d be there forever.”
Snotlout is silent for a moment, and Hiccup is about to say something else, but then he mutters, “I don’t see how, though.”
Hiccup stares. “What?”
“At least you got out,” Snotlout says, his voice slightly bitter– but Hiccup could be imagining it. “You left. I– I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t go anywhere. You were lucky.”
Hiccup frowns, a horrible feeling coming over him– he supposes he wasn’t imagining it. “I’m sorry, do you actually resent me for escaping an abuse situation?”
Snotlout says nothing, and Hiccup feels something inside him wither and die. He doesn’t know what to say for a minute, instead just breathing the salty air in, calmer this time– there is no rush, he has to keep reminding himself.
“It doesn’t go away,” he says eventually, his throat burning slightly. “It stays with you. He… stays with me. His hands don’t leave my neck, or my shoulders, or my wrist. You know I still have those burn marks, right? On my arms, and my stomach? From when we were, like, fourteen? You don’t see them, because I can’t stand to uncover them, but they’re still there, and every day–” his voice breaks slightly, and he clears his throat– “every fucking day, I have to look in the mirror and remember everything he did to me. I left, yeah, but he didn’t. And you can leave, you can get out, you can pretend you’ve escaped, but this? This stays with you forever. And you never really– escape.”
Snotlout’s eyes are wide as he stares into Hiccup’s. Hiccup licks his lips slightly, the breeze making them dry.
Snotlout says, his voice shaking, “Then what the fuck did we do all this for?”
Neither of them talk when they get back into the car. Hiccup leans against the window, glancing at Snotlout, who’s now driving after Hiccup reluctantly admitted he hadn’t slept the night before, every few minutes.
There is no music playing. The car is silent save for Toothless mewing every so often in the back seat, and Hiccup feels a strange urge to say… something. Sorry, maybe. He clenches and unclenches his jaw, breathes in through his nose and out through a tiny gap between his lips, opens his mouth, and–
“I’m sorry I resent you,” Snotlout says quietly. “I shouldn’t have said all that shit, I just… I get angry. I get angry at my dad, and your dad, and then I get angry at you even though I know none of it’s your fault, because– you were luckier than me. Like, even if it still… hurts. You still escaped.”
Hiccup blinks. “I… I know. It sucks. I’m sorry you didn’t get out sooner.”
“It’s not your fault, though,” his cousin insists, his voice cracking slightly. “You didn’t– I’m glad you got out. I… when we found you there, I… I mean, fuck, Hiccup, at least I’m– I was– allowed to eat. At least I didn’t have to sneak food to my room. You… you were so skinny. You are so skinny, but back then… I just– I genuinely think, sometimes, that you would have died if we hadn’t found you.”
“I’m sorry,” Hiccup breathes, ignoring the comments on his weight. It’s not like Snotlout knows. It’s not like Hiccup wants him to know. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t– I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I’m sorry.”
“Do you understand,” Snotlout scoffs, “how much that whole thing wasn’t your fault?”
Hiccup sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, I just… yeah.”
“Yeah.”
They fall silent for a couple of minutes. Hiccup doesn’t know what to say. He’s filled with shame, regret, shock that he would dare to say something like that. He knows how their family is, he knows how Snotlout’s dad is, he knows how badly Snotlout craves hope and reassurance, even if he doesn’t express that. He knows, and still, he would crush that, a rock in his fist, a heart in his hands– why would he say that? So cruel?
Eventually, he figures it out. “I shouldn’t have said anything either,” he sighs, curling his hand around the hem of his shirt. “It… it does get better, at least.”
“It does?” Snotlout’s voice is hopeful, nearly begging, and Hiccup nods. “Yeah. It does, I think. Like, I don’t look around doorways before I enter rooms anymore. I can exist in the kitchen without being scared now. I’m not like I used to be. I don’t think you will be, either. It just… it takes time.”
Snotlout nods, his fingers drumming on the wheel, and Hiccup continues, “And I think being in… not Berk… will be good. For both of us. We’re away from all that now, and– you were right. We made it out.”
Snotlout tries not to smile, but he can’t quite suppress it. “Yeah, I’m kind of always right.”
“Shut up,” Hiccup scoffs. “This was a fluke.”
“Yeah, right.”
Now, the tension has melted away, the blow has softened, and although Hiccup is still ashamed and guilty and slightly horrified, he knows it will lessen in time.
“Nothing sounds good anymore,” Hiccup murmurs, scrolling through Spotify, nothing catching his eye.
“Okay, wash your mouth out– I listened to Madvillainy like five times yesterday.”
“I know. I saw your scrobbles go up. I was horrified.”
Snotlout huffs. “Literally whatever. Pick something.”
“It’s just boring now, I don’t know. Like, I’ve heard everything one too many times. I know everything too well.”
“Go to the new releases section, then,” Snotlout says, craning his neck to get a better look at the phone. Hiccup tilts it away from him. “Hey– you focus on driving the car, I’ve got music.”
“I can’t believe you told me I got AUX at Washington and then as soon as we got to Washington you made me drive.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of what happened,” Hiccup laughs, and Snotlout rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Hey, play 100 Gecs.”
“I’m not– Snotlout, I’m not corrupting my Wrapped like that, are you kidding me?”
“You literally listen to The Garden,” Snotlout exclaims, letting go of the wheel to gesticulate. Hiccup makes a noise, and he puts his hands back on the wheel. “Okay, okay, I’m just saying, pot, kettle…”
“Shut up,” Hiccup grumbles.
He scrolls for maybe thirty more seconds until he sees an album that looks vaguely interesting, tapping on it to see the details. “Hey, you liked Jockstrap, right?”
Snotlout squints at the road. “Uh… yeah, I think I listened to a couple of their EPs. They were pretty good– it was a while ago, though.”
“They just released a new album. Like, literally today.”
“Oh, shit,” Snotlout exclaims. “Okay, put it on.”
Hiccup does, exiting out of Spotify and Googling the band after pressing play. He knows nothing about them, but as the vocalist begins singing and he clicks onto their Wikipedia, he raises an eyebrow. “Oh, she’s in Black Country, New Road.”
Snotlout turns his head slightly. “What? No way. She’s the girl singer?”
“No, asshole, that’s May Kershaw.”
“Well, sorry,” Snotlout mutters. “I don’t actually care about math rock, I know that’s super hard for you to believe.”
“That’s crazy– weren’t you crying about Haldern on my bedroom floor a couple of weeks ago?”
“That doesn’t count– I can’t be held accountable for my music taste when I’m drunk,” he protests, and Hiccup shushes him as the beat comes in. “You’re making me miss the song.”
So they listen in silence for a while. They get through the first four songs, and then when the fifth one is nearly over, Hiccup says, “Holy shit.”
“… Yeah, that’s fucking crazy,” Snotlout mutters, and Hiccup adds it to his liked songs, making a mental note to listen to it again later.
They have about an hour and a half until Tacoma, and Hiccup almost feels the panic rise in his chest at the fact that they’re leaving, that they probably won’t be back until Christmas at the earliest, that this is happening, but he pushes it down– and he chooses not to. He chooses, instead, to keep listening.
“What flag is that?” Snotlout hisses into Hiccup’s ear, and Hiccup swats him away. “What do you– it’s Lebanese. How do you not know that?”
“Obviously because I’m not insane?”
They’re lugging their bags down the hall of their dormitory, wandering along until they get to room 16. There are corkboards on some of the doors– flags, papers, and flyers pinned to many of them. Snotlout has been pointing at every single flag and asking Hiccup what it is ever since they got into the building.
“Okay, first of all, it’s not insane to care about vexillology–” he ignores Snotlout’s mocking eyeroll as he mutters vexillology under his breath– “and the Lebanese flag is so recognisable– did you really not know that?”
“No! Leave me alone– ooh, what’s that one?” He points at one next to them, and Hiccup stops walking for a moment and gives him a look. “Are you– are you serious?”
Snotlout stares for a second, and mutters, “That’s– my one. Okay. Whatever. Shut up.”
Hiccup shakes his head, continuing walking. “Your mom has, like, fifty of those on the fridge, how do you not instantly recognise it?”
“Do you recognise the Canadian flag as soon as you see it?” Snotlout challenges, and Hiccup frowns. “Well… yeah?”
“Whatever.”
Eventually, they find their room, and Hiccup drops the handle of his suitcase, holding his hand out for the key. Snotlout stares. “What… what’s that? What are you doing?”
“… The key.”
Snotlout shuffles his feet. “Oh, yeah. Okay, so I– I don’t have the key.”
Hiccup throws his hands up. “Jesus, what were you doing while I was getting our bags out of the trunk?”
“I– the lady at the front desk was scary!”
Hiccup runs his fingers through his hair, ignoring Snotlout’s sheepish glance. “Scary? God, I have to room with a child for the next four years.”
“It’s gonna be so much fun,” Snotlout grins, his already faint shame quickly disappearing.
They leave their bags at the door, and Hiccup reluctantly accompanies Snotlout down the stairs– there are two flights, and Hiccup would much rather not be taking them, but here he is, taking them anyway.
Eventually they reach the office, and sitting at the front desk a middle–aged woman with red hair tied up into a ponytail, a pair of browline glasses on her face. She’s wearing a beige sweater, looks very focused on the Solitaire reflected in her glasses, and is quite possibly the least intimidating person Hiccup has ever seen in his life. He gives Snotlout a look, walks up to the desk, and says, “Hi, sorry, we’re just here to get our room keys.”
“Mhm,” the woman says, quickly closing Solitaire and giving him a friendly smile. “Do you have your student IDs?”
Hiccup pulls his card out of his pocket and hands it to her. She squints at it, types something on her computer, and then looks at the card again. She looks up at Snotlout. “Do you have yours as well?”
“Yeah,” Snotlout says, stepping forward and placing it on the desk. The woman frowns.
“… Is something wrong?” Hiccup says, and she sighs. “Oh, they should have sent you an email about this.”
Hiccup tilts his head, and the woman continues, “Your gender marker is female, honey. So we can’t have you sharing with a male.”
Snotlout very audibly inhales to retort something, and Hiccup lightly slaps his hand before he can. “I called ahead when we were accepted, they said it was fine for me to stay in the men’s residence hall. Is that not the case?”
“Oh, no, it is! You just can’t room with a male, that’s all. It’s just a safety issue, you know how it is.”
“We’re cousins,” Snotlout protests, and she shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s just policy. Now, this actually works out well, because we had another case of this, you know, a female and a male trying to share a room, so you can very easily just swap roommates.” She smiles at them, like this has solved all their problems instead of creating a massive new one.
“… Okay,” Hiccup says. “Um… who are the other students?”
“Oh, honey, I don’t know, I’d need to see their IDs, and they haven’t checked in yet. You’ll see later today, I’d guess. I’ll give you your keys for now.” She hands them two keys, different cuts, clearly labelled 16 and 29. Pointing at 29, she says, “This one is just down the hall. First floor, not upstairs.”
As they leave, keys in hands, Snotlout mutters to Hiccup, “Y’know, I bet the other case is Tuff and Fishlegs. So, hey, worst case scenario, we’re rooming with them.”
“Worst case scenario is that we’re rooming with random people, Snotlout.”
“I can text Tuff and ask what his room number was.”
Hiccup sighs. “Sure.”
They walk back up to room 16. Hiccup doesn’t want to take his bags down to 29 yet– he already spent fifteen minutes getting them upstairs, and the idea of taking them back down doesn’t appeal to him that much. He supposes he should be glad he’s living on the first floor now– for whatever reason, there is no elevator, and he knows taking the stairs every single day to get in and out of the building would be his own personal hell, but it’s really just inconvenient. They should have emailed. They should have told them. And it’s a stupid rule anyway.
Snotlout seems to share his unenthusiasm, lagging behind slightly. Hiccup glances at him, and he says, “Yeah, Tuff says he was assigned twenty–nine. That’s the one they gave you, right?”
“Mhm,” Hiccup says. “That’s– okay, I guess that’s good, then.”
“I guess,” Snotlout echoes. Hiccup tilts his head. “Are you… you don’t want to room with Fishlegs?”
“I wanted to room with you. That was the plan.”
“Yeah, I know… it’s Fishlegs, though–”
“Yeah, Hiccup, that’s the problem,” Snotlout snaps, speeding up slightly, taking the stairs two at a time until he’s planted firmly on the landing. “This wasn’t the plan, they’ve fucked up the plan, and now I have to live with Fishface for the next four fucking years. I don’t wanna do that.”
Hiccup doesn’t say anything. He just eyes him curiously. “Snotlout, what happened between you guys?”
Snotlout stops walking and looks back at him. He swallows, quite audibly, and then says, “I– I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. I just… it’s whatever. I don’t care.”
Hiccup studies his face, walking up to stand in front of him. Awkwardly, he puts a hand out, placing it lightly on the other’s forearm. He’s never been good at comforting people, he doesn’t think. “Well, if you change your mind.”
Snotlout looks down at Hiccup’s hand, letting it rest there. “Yeah. I know. Just… yeah.”
Hiccup doesn’t pry further. They go back upstairs, and he helps Snotlout unpack, holds the mattress up while his cousin struggles to pull the fitted sheet onto it, and once they’re done, they sit on the bed. When Hiccup checks Astrid’s location, he sees that she and the others are about half an hour away: they’ll be there soon, and then this– this temporary, vague peace, limbo, whatever– will end. He tilts his phone screen towards Snotlout, who nods like nothing’s wrong, but Hiccup sees his face pale a little. He wonders if he will ever find out what happened. He wonders if that really matters.
“We’re gonna be okay, right?” Snotlout says eventually, when Hiccup has shifted to sit with his back on the headboard, Astrid’s location creeping closer and closer by the second.
“Yeah,” Hiccup says after a moment. “Yeah. I think so.”