HTTYD: You Don't Know the Meaning of "Nice"? (Hiccstrid)

Prologue

Astrid's P.O.V.

I dropped my doll as I heard the front door slam shut. I heard the familiar jingle of her keys before the stomping of her high heels on the wood floor of the kitchen.

"Astrid!" Her voice screamed angrily.

"Ooh, I'm gonna get it this time," I mutter before hopping off my bed and running to the living room.

"Playing with your finds on social media?" She spits as she throws her bag on the couch.

"I don't have social media," I say quietly before her head snaps towards me.

"What?!" She snaps.

"Uh, I mean, something like that," I say quickly before she slowly starts toward me on wobbly legs, shoe in hand...or fist. She then grabs my braid, making me gasp in pain.

"I seem to remember you have chores to do. Do you not?" She growls before poking me in the side, firmly, with the heal of her shoe.

"I was just about to get started," I muscle out as I feel the newest bruise of my collection settle into its case. She then throws me against the wall and goes to the fridge as I fall to the ground. She pulls out a bottle of wine and starts to chug. I run to the sink and get my step stool before starting the dishes. "Bad day at work?" I ask as she sits on the couch.

"Shut up," she mutters before taking another gulp. A few minutes later my dad comes home and yells at Mom as he sees the drink in her hand, making me drop the bowl I was washing in surprise. 

"Ingrid! You didn't hurt her did you?!" my dads voice shouts worriedly.

"Why do you care? She's doing the dishes, the little *****," my mom growls.

"She is 5 years old!" my dad yells before he runs into the kitchen to examine me.

"It's just a bruise, Dad," I say as he  lifts my shirt to look at it.

"Bruise or not, she could've done worse. I thought we agreed that when she threatens you, you lock your door," he says.

"It happened in the living room," I tell him as he gently runs his fingers over the black skin.

" Even so, you shouldn't have gone in there," he tells me before putting my shirt back down. He goes to the living room and looks at my mom before coming back to me and helping me dry my hands. "She's out. Why don't you go to bed, you have school in the morning. I'll finish this," he says softly and I nod before creeping passed my mom and crawling into bed. 

8 years later

"Astrid!" my dads voice calls and I run to the living room to see him grabbing the coats in the dinning room. "Pack your things, honey. We gotta go soon," he says.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Dragonworld," he says and I run to my room, knowing it was a lie but not saying anything...yet. Once I'm finished packing, I go to my dads room to see him finishing himself.

"So is it true? Are you guys getting a divorce?" I ask, crossing my arms and leaning my shoulder on the door frame.

"Who told you that?" he asks, walking passed me.

"Figured it out. You guys have been gone all days for months and every night, you've been sleeping on the couch," I tell him and he sighs.

"You always were smart. Go hide our bags in the car. Your mom will be home soon. I'll sneak some Nyquil in her dinner, make her sleep in. That should give us enough time to get out of state," he says and I take his bag before doing as he said. I close the trunk of the car right as a cab pulls up to the curb and my mom stumbles out.

"What are you looking at, you little *****?" she asks angrily as I stare at her with crossed arms. I then look at my body before planting my gaze on her again.

"Uh, last I checked, I have no fur," I say and she storms towards me. She grabs my hair and pulls it to the side a little, sending a sting through my scalp.

"Keep growing these dead vines out and you will," she growls, "I scheduled you for a shearing on Monday. Don't be late." With that, she storms inside and yells at my dad. My eye suddenly hurts and I press my palm to my temple, trying to release the agony.  Ever since she punched me, fighting with my dad, their yelling always triggered the not-quite-faded-black-eye. I go inside to find my mom slouching at the dinning table and my dad putting a bowl of chili in front of her. I reluctantly take my seat before my dad puts a plate of two tacos in front of me and I look at him gratefully. He then sits down with his own bowl of chili.

"So, Ingrid. How was your day?" my dad asks scornfully as his wife grudgingly ate her food.

"Shut up. Can't wait until it's only girls in the house," she grumbles and I exchange a glance with my father.

"How's the divorce going?" I ask bluntly and Mom looks at me.

"Who told you?!"  she shouts.

"Friends at school," I tell her and she rolls her eyes.

"They aren't friends if they don't pay you any mind," she says, taking another bite.

"Then I guess you'd be considered- what?- a '*****'?" I ask and she shoots up from her chair before stabbing my hand with her fork, making me scream in agony. Tears jump into my eyes before she shoves the prongs of the fork farther into my skin and storming to her room, leaving me to rip the utensil from my hand and scream when fire scorches it. My dad quickly grabs some ointment and gauze. He cleans the blood before applying the cream and wrapping my hand in the gauze. He gets an ice pack and puts it on my hand before telling me to go to the car and I do so. After a few minutes, he joins me and starts the car before speeding out of town. 

This is it. Our new life...