Hey, guys :D This is a sequel to "Arrowed". So if you didn't read "Arrowed" first then there's a decent chance that you won't have any idea what's going on. Yes, also, I'm going to warn you: THIS FIC IS SHAMELESS PERVERTED SMUT. So if your sense of humor is not quite as dark as mine, and/or your prone to vomiting then don't read it. Also, I might not update this one as quickly as I did the original. Don't worry, you guys, it has nothing to do with you personally. I just need to spend less time on the Internet because, I assure you, I spend way WAY too much time on the Internet. Eventually this story will be completed. Better audience response will inspire faster updates.

Sequeled

Fishlegs didn't feel like going to dragon training today. He didn't feel like putting up with the Snotlout and the Twins, and answering their stupid, inane, questions about where he was last night, and he didn't feel like making up bunch of dumb lies to shut them up.

This was a sort of domino effect that was both predictable and inevitable. Eventually it would happen. But it didn't have to happen today. Fishlegs wasn't much in the mood for it...and beside he was too damned depressed.

He was going to ditch class, he decided. He was going to ditch class and...um...join a band of roving warriors? No that was stupid. Maybe he would develop an super hero alter ego and fight crime. That was less stupid...well almost. A series of impossible, impractical, scenarios unfolded themselves in Fishlegs' mind, all of them seemed to have something to do with changing his identity. Maybe he would dye his hair black and change his name to something more sinister sounding...like Bob...or Richard-but no, those names sounded too fake. People would figure out that it was him. He would have to change his name to something believable...like Sharkheads. Yea, Sharkheads, that was totally sinister sounding, and it was believable too.

Fishlegs searched his room for some more sinister-looking clothes. He found a shirt that was grey, and some dark colored pants that were ripped at the knees. He found an ink well in the top drawer of an old cabonate, and dumped the contents out onto his head, massageing into his hair to disguise its sunny, blond, color.

He examined his reflection in the cracked surface of a dusty mirror that was hanging on the wall above the old cabinet. A sullen, dark-haired, boy stared back at him. A doofy looking grin curled his fat face. He was very pleased with the results.

He mussed his hair a bit, and attempted a scowl. The effect was rather comical, but Fishlegs didn't care. It was like he was a different person now, and that was all that really mattered.

He walked out into the living room where his mother, Rocka, was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs. She seemed to be staring at the wall in front of her with a glazed look in her eyes. A few feet away, Fishlegs' youngest Brother (who was about three and a half) was playing with Rocka's collection of razor sharp kitchen knives.

The old Fishlegs might have done something about this. But the new Fishlegs didn't care. He wasn't even going to mention it.

"Fishlegs, what in the name of Oden have you done to your hair?" exclaimed Rocka, when she noticed Fishlegs walk into the room.

"Surpised you noticed it," replied Fishlegs dryly. "I'm dark and disturbed now."

"-And you look ridiculous."

"What?"

"You keep telling me that your 'dark and destrubed' now," said Rocka. "But you keep forgetting to mention that you look ridiculous. 'Your dark, and disturbed and you look ridiculous.' That's what you should be telling me."

Fishlegs tried to scowl, but only managed to look like he had a headache.

"You don't understand me anyway," grumbled Fishlegs, and he stomped out the door, but not before wresting the kitchen knife out of his brother's hand and placing it on a piece of furniture too high for him to reach.

...

Hiccup was back at work, and hating every minute of it. The customers were driving him insane with their idiotic questions, and shameless nosiness.

It wasn't enough to just drop your sword off at the freaking blacksmith's shop anymore, oh no, people had to stick around and make small talk.

Hey weren't you that stupid kid that shot himself with an arrow? Why do you have two black eyes? Did someone punch you? Are you stupid? Because if your stupid then I don't think I want you touching my armour. Why are you all scratched and stuff? You better not have a blood disease, because if you make me catch a blood disease then I'M NOT PAYING. Why is there a cushion on your bench? Does it hurt to sit? Your kind of a wuss, aren't you? I hope that you repair weapons better than you do everything else, because if you don't then I'm taking my business ELSEWHERE.

Hiccup was beginning to wish that they would take their business elsewhere, but this was very much an empty threat. They were much too interested in Hiccup's business. Berk could be a very dull place in peace time, and gossip was one of its residences' chief diversions (after drinking, combat, and competitive winter sports).

He saw Astrid from time to time, who often wandered into the shop to stare at Hiccup, with an expression that said: "I want jump on on you and rape you." She never said anything to him. She just stared. He had to admit it was pretty freaky...but it was still flattering, and the moment that Astrid had declared her love for him was still one of the proudest moments of his life.

She would never admit it, though. She was convinced that Hiccup hadn't heard her say it, and she wasn't about to go and say it again.

He watched her, watching him from across the room. Her blue eyes had a sort of glassy, inanimate, quality to them. Her hair was disheveled, and she had dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. She was still pretty though, and Hiccup really liked her. He wanted to say something to her, but he was afraid that she might just ignore him, and that would just make him look pathetic. He contented himself with looking at her, observing the way that she fained interest in a display of double-edged battle axes that were organised into various sizes and colors.

Then she did something that he hadn't expected. She scanned the blacksmith shop with her cold, blue, eyes to make sure that no one else was watching. And once she seemed satisfied with the idea that there were absolutely no witnesses, she walked up to him and greeting him with a sort of half-hearted smile.

"Hello, Hiccup," she said, and Hiccup was so shocked that he almost fell off of his stool.

"H-hi Astrid," replied Hiccup shakily.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him conversationally.

"Good." he replied.

Astrid noted the scrapes and bruises on his face and arms. The pillow that he was sitting on. The bandages on his hands and fingers.

"...You're a liar," she accused.

She looked like she wanted to hug him, but she didn't. She just kept staring at him with that same glassy, far away,expression. It was more than a little unnerving.

"Yea, so I'm a liar," admitted Hiccup. "...So um do you require the assistance of a blacksmith or what?"

"Your a blacksmith's apprentice."

"It's the same thing really."

"No it's not."

There was an awkward silence.

"So did you hear," said Astrid in another attempt to make casual conversation. "Fishlegs is 'dark and disturbed' now."

"'Dark and disturbed', huh?"

"He feels bad about what he did to you, I think," said Astrid. "And he's acting like a complete idiot about it."

"You mean he wasn't a complete idiot before?" interjected Hiccup.

"No, what I mean is...um. I ran into him the other day, and he looked really different," explained Astrid. "His hair's black, and his clothes are all ripped up, and he wants me to call him 'Sharkheads', apparently. It's...uh it's pretty weird."

Hiccup was pretty fucking pissed at Fishlegs, and he was eager to change the subject.

"You know what else is weird," he began. "Uh...dragons. They breve fire, and yet they manage to not spontaneously combust, somehow. You'd think that the chemistry in there is pretty volatile but apparently its not..."

His voice trailed off. Asted had grabbed one of his hands seemed to be observing his bandaged fingers.

"Are they broken?" she asked him.

"Uh no," said Hiccup pointing to the index finger on his right hand. "This one's sprained." He pointed to his middle finger. "This one's broken."

"Heh. Very funny."

Hiccup looked down at his hand in confusion, and wiggled his bandaged fingers, as though trying to gage which one hurt the worst.

"Or is this one sprained," He pointed to his middle finger again. "And this one broken," He pointed back at his index finger. "They both really hurt, so I'm not sure."

"What about this one?" she asked pointing to his ring finger which was bandaged as well.

"That one's cut," said Hiccup. "It needed stitches."

"Bet you took that like a man," chuckled Astrid sarcastically.

"I didn't," said Hiccup. "But thanks for the vote of confidence."

She stared at him for a moment, noting the way that the light of the fire from the kin was reflected in his green eyes. His brows seemed to be furrowed with an expression of mock indignity. But this was only an act. That little sideways grin of his was just a mask he wore so that she wouldn't see that he was in pain. And she knew it because...his eyes said something different.

"You shouldn't be working with your hands all injured like that," said Astrid concernedly.

"Yea, well, I missed too much time at work, and Gober's away this week so he needs someone to watch the shop."

"I'm serious, Hiccup, they won't heal right." said Astrid. She was starting to sound a bit angry.

"Well, you don't care about me, right?" said Hiccup crossing his arms. He knew he had the advantage in this argument. "I'm just a worthless, useless, cry baby to you, anyway."

"Shut up, Hiccup. You're a moron too."

"So why do you care if my fingers don't heal right?" complained Hiccup angrily. "You know that you don't. So just shut up and leave me alone."

"You know, there's a reason why nobody likes you," seethed Astrid.

Hiccup didn't have an answer for this. His face fell. He looked as though Astrid had just stabbed him in the heart.

Astrid left the blacksmith's shop, still seething with characteristic rage. This was all so messed up. There had to be a way to fix it...but how?