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Drowning, it turns out, is a physically traumatic enough thing for your body to shut down almost entirely.
It’s been weeks since it happened. Three weeks – and he still cannot walk for longer than five minutes without getting out of breath, needing to sit down or lean on Toothless. When this happens, every time without fail, Fishlegs asks him if he feels sick, or has any chest pains. The answer is always no, but it always comes sandwiched between gasps for breath.
Of course, he can deal with this – this being the poor lung capacity and reduced mobility – the attention is honestly more difficult to manage. Hiccup has never been one who can cope with eyes on him, hands hovering around him, voices behind him. As much as he can, he tries to stay away from it all.
It’s one of these times that he’s away from them when something goes horribly wrong. All he’s doing is walking down the stairs of his hut to grab a book he’s been meaning to finish reading, when suddenly a vague, constricted sensation overtakes his throat and chest, and dark spots appear in the corners of his vision.
“Oh, f-fuck,” he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut and immediately grabbing the handrail and using it to lower himself onto the step. Toothless gives a worried warbling sound from behind him, and Hiccup very slowly opens his eyes and reaches a hand out until it touches his dragon’s snout. He swallows, trying to keep his breaths as steady as he can, and whispers, “Hey, bud. Can – can you get Fishlegs, please?”
Toothless licks his hand and gallops the rest of the way downstairs, nudging the door handle and continuing down the bridge. Hiccup closes his eyes tight again, unable to focus on anything other than the sharp, pulsating pain that comes with each breath.
He doesn’t know how long he waits before he hears footsteps and voices, and something inside him wilts. This is more attention, he knows – right now, he can’t bring himself to care all too much, considering he sort of thinks he might be about to die.
“Hiccup?” comes Fishlegs’ voice from above him. Hiccup hums, not opening his eyes, gripping the rail so hard his hand shakes.
“Hiccup, what hurts?” That’s Astrid. She sits down next to him, her hand resting on his back, and he tries to curl away from it. “Don’t –”
“Sorry.” She takes her hand away, and he hears Fishlegs’ voice again: “Hiccup? What’s wrong?”
“It’s –” Hiccup stops, letting out a shuddering breath before continuing – “it’s m-my chest. It hurts to – to breathe, I can’t –” He chokes, coughing so harshly he almost thinks he might throw up, barely able to stay upright.
“Okay, uh – um, let’s – Astrid?”
Hiccup keeps his eyes closed, but he feels himself being helped back upstairs and into his bed. His head hits the pillow and he almost feels more faint, a strange sensation in his body, almost like he’s on a boat.
“Hiccup, just try to breathe slower,” Fishlegs says, a hint of panic in his voice although he’s clearly trying to keep it calm-sounding. Hiccup chokes again, not even aware he was still breathing quickly, and Astrid’s hand falls on his shoulder – this time he doesn’t mind, opening his eyes to see her face, creased with worry, in his blurry vision. He tries to slow his breathing, each inhale and exhale bringing stabbing pains in his chest, just to the left of his breastbone.
He tries. Oh, how he tries – he takes deep, shuddering breaths, slight nausea bubbling in his throat – he won’t throw up. He won’t. How embarrassing would that be, on top of all this?
Eventually, the pain subsides slightly, and he weakly reaches up to grab Astrid’s hand in his.
“Hey,” she says, her voice shaking slightly, and Hiccup doesn’t reply. He can’t, really – he’s still breathing too heavily to get anything out at all.
Fishlegs sighs from beside them, and Hiccup’s eyes wander over to him, a silent question hopefully evident in them.
Thankfully, he sees it, twisting his hands uncomfortably. “This is pneumonia,” Fishlegs murmurs, sounding quite sympathetic. Astrid frowns. “It’s what?”
“It’s a respiratory infection – it happens to some people after drowning. I’ve seen it a few times before on Berk.”
Hiccup opens his mouth and gulps in several breaths of air, before saying, as steadily as he can manage, “That was weeks ago.”
“Sometimes it happens months after,” Fishlegs says, and Hiccup groans, turning over and burying his head in the pillow. Astrid immediately turns him back over, lightly smacking his shoulder. “Hey. You’re not allowed to suffocate right now, idiot.”
“Am I ever?” Hiccup manages to get out before breaking into another coughing fit. Astrid rests a hand on the back of his neck until it subsides, rubbing his back. “You’re especially not allowed right now.”
Fishlegs glances at Astrid, briefly turning his head as what Hiccup can only assume is an indication to step outside. “Hiccup, you should try to get some rest. I’m going to try and find something to help the chest pain, okay?”
“Mhm,” Hiccup says, for once not entirely opposed to the idea of flopping down and letting people take care of him – because, Gods, he truly feels like shit.
He falls asleep quickly, even with footsteps echoing nearby and his door clicking shut. He can hear Astrid and Fishlegs talking outside – oh, it’s probably about him – but he can’t hear anything specific, and so he elects to ignore it in favour of breathing as slowly as he can.
The dark behind his eyes swims and fades, and the pain is finally gone.