He awoke the next morning, aching all over. His head was aching and his face felt stiff from the blows. He grimaced then got up and yawned, regretting the stretch which pulled on his welts. Cautiously, he lifted his T-shirt and sweater-to see a mess of bruises over his back from the belt. He grimaced, shucking off the clothes and changing into a green long-sleeved T, the green sweater and a fresh pair of brown jeans. He pulled on new socks and trainers, then walked to the door-and found it still locked. He paused and leaned against it. He had no clue what to do now...Alvin could open it any time or he could be locked in his room with no food, water or even toilet facilities until Monday as he had threatened. And he wouldn't put it past the man. He closed his eyes for a long moment: he had a decision to make...and then his hand dropped to the phone and recalled the only person who had his number. Perhaps the only person who actually cared. Decisively, he grabbed a change of clothes and underwear and shoved them into his school bag, grabbed his coat and scarf and pulled the window open, scrambling onto the sill and pulling the window closed behind him as he jumped, landing with a sprawl on the yard and ducking out the gate.

It was early so he took his time walking back to town, heading for the Forge, his head down and hands stuffed in his pockets. It was cold with his breath coming in clouds and mist hanging in skeins between the trees as sunlight hesitantly began to light Berk. He ignored a few joggers as he trudged along. He was stiff, cold and hungry and he knew he had to stay away from Alvin for the moment. And he was angry-more angry than he could express because the man had beaten him in front of his mother...and because somehow, she had supported him against Hiccup. And just now, he had to get away, or he would say something so catastrophic that he may end up killing Alvin or being thrown out. He needed to cool off.

Idly, he looked up as the next jogger closed, a young woman with bouncing blonde plait and pale blue jogging pants and sweat-top...and he did a double-take. It was Astrid. Sighing, he stuck his chin in his chest and walked on as she bounded by him, eyes fixed ahead and ear-buds attached to the MP3 player on her arm. He sighed as she went past but he heard her draw to a stop, pause and then trot after him.

"Hiccup?" she asked. Yup, it was Astrid. And she was going to stick her nose in his business again. Warily, he lifted his head and turned to face her.

"Yes?" he said a little more shortly than he had intended.

"I...er...I wanted to thank you," she said in an embarrassed voice. Then she shook herself and looked more composed, her voice firmer. "You...er...I got away. My parents were very relieved that I hadn't gotten myself involved."

"Good for you," he said sarcastically and she gave a small gasp.

"Your face..." she murmured, pointing. He turned away.

"Yeah, well you get bruises in fights," he told her shortly.

"But I didn't think..." she murmured then saw him continuing to walk away. "Thanks, Hiccup. I mean it." He just waved a hand in acknowledgement, not looking back. He heard her sigh, then turn and her running steps recede and for a moment, he wished that he had taken the olive branch in the spirit it seemed to have been offered. But it wasn't real: Miss Perfect would have just stuck her nose in and then on Monday, everyone would have know how he got beat up at home as well. Or he would go back to being public enemy number one. He stuck his chin into the thin scarf and sped up.

He was sitting in the back of the Forge when Gobber arrived, having already fed Toothless and fussed the mongrel...and munched down a spare and moderately stale granola bar he found in his locker. The older man stared at him as he looked up, his bruised face resigned and emerald eyes bright.

"Yer here early, laddie," Gobber commented, ambling to his locker and grabbing a stubby cigar. He stepped into oil-stained beige coveralls and then turned back to his protege. "And what happened ter yer face, laddie?" Hiccup stood up and gave a small smile.

"Well, the guys and me got into a fight with the jocks behind the Mall and...not much of a fighter..." he admitted. "We gonna stand here chatting, old man-or are we gonna fix some cars?" Gobber patted him across the shoulders and seemed to miss the unconscious hiss of pain the boy gave. Hiccup grinned at him as he popped the hood and peered into the engine. "What's the problem, Gobber?" The one-handed man hobbled to the job sheet and peered thoughtfully.

"Misfiring," he read. Hiccup grinned.

"Be done in ten," he grinned.

They worked steadily through the day, working all the way down the problem list until, around four, the last job was done and Gobber laid back, sipping mead from a hip flask as Hiccup tidied the workshop up and wiped his hands then washed them clean. Gobber gave him a grin.

"That was good work, laddie," he complimented the boy. "Y'know, if ye've got time, we could go and grab a bite..." He expected the boy to decline but there was a pause and Hiccup's wide green eyes were suddenly uncertain. He shuffled his feet and looked away.

"Um...I'd like that," he admitted. He was starving, his stomach growling painfully. No dinner, a granola bar for breakfast and no lunch meant the teen was starting to feel lightheaded. He scuffed his trainers on the oil-stained concrete floor and he paused for a long moment. "Um...Gobber? You know you said I-I could maybe stay on your couch if there I-I ever needed to get away?" The mechanic's eyes widened in shock and he walked carefully towards the lean shape, seeing Hiccup stare at the floor and look ashamed.

"Of course, laddie-it's got yer name on it!" he assured the boy. "Yer welcome ter stay as long as ye need..." Hiccup raised his bruised face and there was immense relief there, making Gobber feel worse. "And I will expect tae be told what the Hel happened, boy," he added seriously. Hiccup opened his mouth to protest but finally, he gave a defeated shrug.

"Not much really to tell," he admitted, opening his locker and stripping his overalls off. "The guys got into a fight at the Mall and Alvin caught me running away. When he got me home, he decided to teach me a lesson..." He reached up and his T rode up, granting Gobber the merest flash of his bruises. The older man swept forward, grabbing his shoulder and using his hook to very carefully slide the cloth up over the boy's smooth torso, revealing the bruises-large clumps from fists and the the long lines of bruises from the belt.

"Hiccup!" Gobber breathed in shock. "You..."

"Leave it!" Hiccup said sharply, jerking away and swiftly tugging his sweater down. "I'll deal with it..."

"But if yer tell the authorities...?" Gobber began and the boy slumped.

"I've been in a fight and am a total screw-up. Alvin is the well-respected Principal of our High School. Who do you think they'll believe?" he asked dully. "And if-if-they did arrest him, what would happen to Mom? She still loves him. She-she keeps telling me to try to get on with him! And I did hit him...after he's hit me for years...but it's my fault." He swallowed. "If I did that, she might choose him over me."

He slammed his locker and grabbed his bank card, slinging his school bag over his shoulder. Gobber nodded, not really knowing what he could say.

"Yer always welcome with me," he assured the boy as they headed out to the local diner, 'The Meade Hall' where Gobber stuffed the boy until he couldn't eat another bite and paid for the lot. Hiccup had offered and almost seemed offended that he wouldn't accept his money but Gobber pointed out that he had not had a lunch break and Gobber owed him wages anyway. With a grateful grin, the lad followed him to his tiny, stuffy flat and after a shower and an evening watching obscure sports and war movies, he slept secure and safe for the first time in years.