When Ingrid went in to wake Hiccup in the morning, he was coughing hard and his eyes were feverish. His pale cheeks were bruised and flushed with fever. She gently walked in and pulled the curtains open, flooding the room with sunlight. Hiccup gave a whine that deteriorated into a bout of coughing, curling up and shaking. His bony shoulders heaved and he coughed again, lifting his aching head.

"Hiccup-are you alright?" she asked gently, seeing his emerald eyes glassy with fever. He nodded dumbly, grimacing as he tried to get up.

"'m fine," he rasped, his voice almost gone. He looked exhausted. She calmly walked forward, leaning forward and resting a hand against his forehead. His skin was scorching and he recoiled from her touch, his eyes widening in shock.

"No-you've got a high fever," she said and stared at him. "Stay there." He shook his head, grimacing.

"I-I can't..." he mumbled, coughing. "I can't because...I don't belong..." She pulled the drapes back, half-covering the windows once more.

"I'll get some aspirin," she told him, peering at the boy. Skinny, bruised and sick, he looked unloved and in need of someone to care for him...someone who clearly wasn't among his parents. He coughed again, his whole body shaking. "Have you got any clothes, Hiccup?" He shook his head dumbly.

"Um...no..." he rasped painfully, tugging the quilt up to his chin. "I left them all to be washed...um...just in my shorts here...: He flushed with embarrassment.

"Give me your address," Ingrid said firmly. "I'll collect some clothes." She paused. "Surely your mother must be concerned about you?"

"Not sure she is," he sighed. "Just...don't go when my step-dad is there. Please..." She nodded.

"I'll bring you something to eat and then you're resting here today," she decided. "I'll fetch you some clothes once Astrid has gone to school. And don't worry-I am sure she can collect your lessons for you to catch up!" He coughed again, grimacing against the pain in his chest.

"Thanks," he murmured, his eyes fluttering closed.

Ingrid's eyes were very thoughtful as she walked into the kitchen, looking up to see Astrid's bright blue eyes. "How's Hiccup, Mom?" she asked. Ingrid shook her head.

"He's got a high fever and a horrible cough," she reported. "He needs to stay in bed today-and you need to stay away from him, Astrid. You don't want to get what he's got."

I won't. I haven't been sleeping rough in the freezing cold on no food, Astrid thought silently. But she nodded. Her father looked up from his plate.

"I don't approve of having that boy here, Ingrid," he commented, his eyes cool. "But he obviously can't go when he's sick. Where are his parents?"

"His father's dead and his mother...well, his step-father doesn't want him at home," Astrid explained, chewing her muesli. "He's a friend...and I couldn't leave him to freeze." Martin Hofferson nodded.

"Don't let him distract you," he ordered her, then nodded, grabbing a piece of toast and heading for the door. Astrid got up as well, kissing her parents.

"Tell Hiccup I'll see him later," she said urgently. "I don't want him thinking I've forgotten him."

"He's sleeping," Ingrid told her, kissing her lightly. "Off you go. I'll watch your friend for you." Astrid smiled and then grabbed her coat and left. Ingrid stared after her and recalled: the boy hadn't even had a coat. What would she find when she went to his home?

oOo

What Ingrid Hofferson hadn't expected was a neat house on the far side of town, the drive and house immaculate. She pulled up onto the drive, past the mailbox reading 'Treacher' and stopped by the front door. Calmly, she rang the bell and after a few moments, the door opened-to reveal a slim woman with greying auburn hair in long braids, her emerald green eyes the mirror of her son's. Ingrid could see the same face shape and echoes of Hiccup in her anxious features.

"Mrs Haddock?" she asked. The woman shook her head.

"Treacher," she corrected Ingrid and Ingrid smiled, her blue eyes inspecting the other woman thoughtfully. They had been on smiling terms in elementary school, though Ingrid hadn't spoken to her-or seen her-for years. To her eye, Valka Treacher looked really defensive and hunch-shouldered.

"I'm sorry," she apologised softly. "I'm here on behalf of Hiccup." There was pause and the emerald eyes flicked up.

"Is he alright?" Valka asked softly.

"He's got a nasty cough and a fever," she said calmly. "He's staying with my daughter...but he needs some things..." The woman stopped aside.

"Come in," she invited Ingrid and the blonde woman walked in easily, seeing a spotless house with nothing out of place. Valka was nervous, looking more at the floor than at anything else.

"Do you want to know anything about Hiccup?" Ingrid asked. His mother looked at her as if she had asked an indecent question. How he is? Why he's staying with a total stranger?

"He ran away again last night," she said quietly,. "He didn't come home on Monday and last night he was brought back by the police after being caught breaking into a garage. He's been fighting and as soon as he got home, he got into a fight with my husband and ran away again." Ingrid stared at her and tried not to look shocked.

"He ran away?"

Mrs Treacher gave a grim laugh. "Has he told you something different?" she scoffed. "He has been sullen and troublesome since his father died. He won't get on with my husband. His grades are appalling and he's always in trouble at school. He has detention every single day! I-I don't even know who he is any more! And you say he's friends with your daughter?"

Ingrid nodded carefully. So she says... "Where is his room?" she asked, determined to ask some more questions when she got home.

"Top of the stairs-last room on the left," she explained and turned back to the kitchen, leaving Ingrid perplexed. What mother wouldn't worry if her son was sick? What mother wouldn't worry that her son had run away? It was clear that he was unloved and she began to wonder what exactly she had got involved in. But she walked up the stairs and went to the room, pushing the door open and noting the bolts in the outside. Inside, a single bed and chest of drawers was the sum total of furniture. Swiftly, she found a bag and located a grand total of two scruffy pairs of jeans, four T-shirts, two shirts, a patched sweater, one hoodie, a single jacket, one pair of sneakers, a handful of boxers and socks and one pair of training bottoms. She stared: this was absolutely everything, every single item of clothing in the entire room. She found a wash bag on the chest and a photograph of Hiccup, his mother and a huge man with flaming red hair and a huge beard-presumably Hiccup's dead father. She slid the photo into the bag as well.

Then she turned back to the room: it looked as if no one lived there at all now. With a sigh, she walked down the stairs and met Hiccup's mother again. "Don't you want to know where he is?" Ingrid asked quietly. The woman shook her head.

"Until he promises to get on with his new father, no," she said quietly.

"But he's your son..." Ingrid protested and the woman gave her a strange look.

"Don't judge me!" she snapped. "You don't have to live with him. He's just trouble."

"Please-it's me, Valka-Ingrid Hofferson! If there's something wrong, I can help..." For a moment, it almost looked as if Valka was going to say something...but then she stared at the plain gold band on her finger. When she looked up, her expression was flat and expressionless.

"I think you had better leave. My husband wouldn't like you being here." Ingrid was shocked to find herself seen rapidly out the door-and had it slammed almost as soon as she had stepped through, hearing bolts slam into place. She looked at the paltry bag of clothes that seemed to be all Hiccup owned in the world...and then she walked back to her car. She thought she saw the curtains twitch but when she looked up...there was no one there.

oOo

Hiccup woke up in the afternoon, his head still aching and chest hurting from coughing. There was a glass of juice by his bed and he slowly lifted his painful head. He blinked and looked around, trying to remember where he was...and then he saw his bag resting against the bed. Grimacing, he scrambled up and swayed, then walked over to find basically all his possessions-including the precious picture of him with his Mom and Dad. For a moment, he stared at the image, then stroked his thumb over the huge shape of his father...before reverently putting the image by the bed.

He swiftly pulled on the training pants and a T-shirt, then drank the juice and slowly walked down the stairs, coughing intermittently. He wondered if he could find some aspirin or some food...and another drink because his throat felt really sore.

Astrid's Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, searching through a recipe book but she looked up as he walked hesitantly in, his bare feet almost silent on the wooden floor. She looked like an older version of Astrid, her blonde hair swept up in a fashionable style and her blue eyes calm and thoughtful...but they hardened slightly as he entered the room.

"Ah, I see you're up," she commented and he nodded, covering his mouth as he coughed again.

"Um...yeah..." he rasped. She pointed to a chair.

"Sir down, Hiccup," she said sternly. "We need to talk."

His heart dropped to his boots, hearing the tone that usually meant someone was judging him once more. He sat down and folded his arms across his chest, willing himself not to cough. At least he had his things for when she threw him out...though he doubted that would help much in a subzero Berkian night. If he was going to be thrown out to freeze, he might as well go with his head held high.

"What do you want to ask?" he asked snarkily, eyeing her warily. She stared at him coldly.

"Why did you lie?" she asked him coldly. "You aren't Astrid's friend, are you?"