A/N- Well, it's been a while since I posted something for the challenge, so here's one.
Based on the DA visual art piece "It Would Have Been Better" by Contraltissimo. Used with permission.
Part of the 20 by 20 Challenge.
WARNING: THIS IS A DEATH FIC. IT CONTAINS A CONSIDERABLE AMOUNT OF VIOLENCE AND SOME CONCEPTS THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL READERS. IT IS MORE GRAPHIC THAN ANY OTHER FIC I HAVE WRITTEN.
That said I hope those of you who decide to read this will not hold the subject against me. This, like many of my other fics, was an experiment to see if I could write a fic based on the above image from DA.
Also, I've changed a lot of the details from the film from the opening scene (right after Hiccup is sent back home with Gobber).
AGAIN A WARNING: THIS FIC IS EXTREMELY VIOLENT AND IS NOT FOR THE QUEASY, GRAPHICALLY SENSITIVE AND ANTI-DEATH FIC READERS. I WOULD APPRECIATE IT IF YOU ARE NOT THE TYPE TO READ THESE KINDS OF FICS, THAT YOU NAVIGATE AWAY FROM THIS PAGE AND DO NOT LEAVE A REVIEW. I DO NOT APPRECIATE FLAMES.
-Don ^_^
Hiccup let the blade slip from his hands. "I did it. I did this." He slid down against the rock, finally letting go of the fear and tension that had risen in his throat. Out of all the words that he could have come up with when he'd accomplished what he came to do, what he'd thought he'd wanted, left him in exchange for the rise of bile in his mouth.
He lost his lunch over the rock and as he wiped the remainder from his lips, he stared blankly at the corpse of the dragon before him.
It had all begun with the words his father had said earlier that day. They had been having an almost normal, or as normal as their relationship could get, dinner when Spitelout banged on the door. Stoick had stood up and answered it.
"Can I talk to you, Stoick?" Spitelout jerked his head at Hiccup. When Stoick remained unmoving, he elaborated, "Alone, please?" Stoick folded his arms across his chest.
"Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of my son, Spitelout," He scowled, "He's your nephew after all."
Spitelout laughed hollowly, "Oh, come off it, Stoick, you honestly don't believe that he's the right material to follow in your footsteps? I thought you knew as well as I that Snotlout is the right one."
"I agreed to nothing of the sort, Spitelout," Stoick said coldly, "Now I'll have to ask you to get out of my house if you're only going to insult me."
"I'm just telling the truth, Stoick!" Spitelout said, "Gods, can't you see that he's not a Viking? He's not even in training!"
"Aye, and that's my decision, not yours," Stoick replied. "Are you through?" Spitelout stepped back, glancing behind Stoick's bulk at Hiccup, who was shocked as anyone that his father had defended him.
"No, I came to give you a report for the damages tonight," He held out a stack of parchment. "We'll be short for food this Winter." The statement was a direct stab at Hiccup and Stoick failed to notice it.
"Get out of my house," He stepped forward, forcing Spitelout out of the threshold.
"You're just afraid to admit that he's no good. The sooner you realize it, the sooner we can be rid of the real problem." Spitelout stated. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he was lying on the ground with bright red stains around him and blood streaming from his nostrils. Spitelout shook his head and then stood up to walk away, but not before giving Stoick a look of skepticism. It was the first time that anyone had questioned Stoick's validity as a leader, and the exact words didn't even need to be spoken for it to be clear.
Hiccup felt himself flinch as his father's eyes turned around to rest on him. The silence hurt more than any of the words his father had said in the past and that included, "You're many things, Hiccup, but a dragon killer is not one of them."
For a moment it seemed like Stoick wasn't going to say anything and the night would end with the Chief having defended his son for the first time in either of their lives since the death of Hiccup's mother. But Stoick squared his shoulders and came back to the table, sat down and stared coldly at his son. He lowered his eyes and rubbed his face.
"I've never hurt Spite before," He mumbled and then his gaze lifted to look at Hiccup, "You need to stop having these delusions that you can ignore what being a Viking is, Hiccup. We are dragon killers and by Thor's mighty hammer you will be too."
"But Dad-"
"No!" Stoick stood up, and almost upended the table with his vast stomach. "You are my son, Hiccup, do you know what that means?" Hiccup paled and shook his head.
"You'll be taking over for me some day as Chief," Stoick said. Hiccup immediately backed away, waving his hands in dismissal.
"Wait, wait, wait, no, Dad, you know I can't do that," Hiccup said. Stoick crossed over and placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder.
"I know you can, Son. It's time I stopped doubting you and it's time you became one of us," He scowled, "No more of this," He started away and then turned, "And one more thing, Hiccup. When you do catch a dragon, I expect you to kill it."
That night Hiccup had tossed and turned in his bed. Eventually he gave up sleeping and slowly crept down the steps and out the back door to the lodge. He kept running until he reached the forest. He walked slowly down the path, kicking up dirt as he went.
His father had told him to kill dragons if he found them. But what about that Night Fury? He hadn't found it yet, but it was out here. What if he found it? Gobber had said himself that Hiccup wasn't a killer and Hiccup knew that he had to kill dragons. It was what he'd wanted for so long. As he stared at the ground he didn't notice the low hanging branch ahead of him and it jabbed him in the forehead, sending him backwards onto the ground. He lifted a hand to his bleeding forehead and his gaze followed the branch to the point where it was cracked, split into fractions and bark was scattered across the dirt trail. The trail itself looked like a ditch because of the marks on it. They ran deep and ragged. A struggle of some sort?
Hiccup ducked under the branch and got down on his hands and knees as he peered over the dirt hill. He immediately retreated. The dragon was there. It was still tied up in the knots of the rope Hiccup had used to bring it down. He'd brought down a dragon. No, not just any dragon, a Night Fury. The strongest of the Vikings couldn't capture it, let alone get near enough to kill it and Hiccup was just feet from it.
He pushed himself to his feet and walked towards the form. It was surprisingly small for the fiercest of dragons and the ragged breaths coming from its nostrils were ragged and vulnerable. This was so odd. Its greenish yellow eye rotated in its socket and rested on Hiccup and for a moment, neither one of them moved. Then a low growl emitted from the dragon's mouth. Hiccup took a step forward and the growl went a notch higher into a whine. Was the dragon afraid? No, it was a dragon and dragons weren't afraid of anything.
Dragons weren't capable of having fear.
Hiccup reached into his belt. He didn't want to wake his father up, so he had to grab the biggest weapon lying out in the open. It was a fish gutting knife. Sharp and excellent for fishes, but Hiccup doubted it was any good on dragons. The Night Fury turned its head, moaning as it did so. The eye was still trained on Hiccup.
"Stop looking at me like that!" He yelled, squeezing his eyes shut, "This is better for both of us." He wasn't sure if the dragon could hear the hesitation and doubt in his voice, but it was apparent by the vibrating sensation in his throat and the shaking of his hands. He swallowed.
"I'm going to kill you, Dragon," Hiccup stated, raising the knife, "I'm going to cut out your heart and take it to my father," He glared at the dragon. This dragon would be the end of all his pain, suffering and the feeling of incompetence he had around all the other Viking trainees.
"I am a Viking," Hiccup said to himself. The blade went down into its eye and the dragon let out a screech of distinct terror. The blood began trickling from the socket onto the ground. "I am a Viking." He repeated and stabbed again. By now the screeching had rendered Hiccup immune to any of the blood pouring from the wounds. He had finally opened his eyes and saw that the dragon was making tiny incoherent noises and whimpering. He didn't look at the blade before he drove it into the dragon's exposed underbelly. It barely had the energy to cringe in response but the sound was much louder. It was a roar. The dragon began thrashing and it caught Hiccup on the arm holding the blade and his foremost leg. He raised his knife and slashed each of the legs, hopping back as the dragon attempted to fight off its attacker.
It was struggling against him, against Hiccup. He couldn't believe that this dragon was suddenly so powerless. It was invigorating and yet sickening all at the same time. The moaning had died down along with the thrashing. The legs were all limp on the ground, flesh exposed. It was pink and raw. An almost human skin tone color with throbbing green veins running through to the scales stared Hiccup in the face. He lifted the blade and stabbed at the veins. He wanted them to go away. He didn't want to see what he was doing. The blood began to flood out; its dark color stained the ground and soaked through Hiccup's boots.
But he was a Viking. He had to get to the dragon's heart. The knife dragged on in its desperate pursuit while Hiccup simply held onto the handle, hoping that his grip wouldn't slip. His hands were layered in a mix of dried and new blood. His hand slipped and cut the rope near the tail and the blade dropped. With a cry the dragon's tail smacked Hiccup and he fell back against the rock, hitting his head. The pain from his abdomen caused him to stare at the beast on the ground.
It was eerily quiet. The only sound was that of the occasional heavy breath from Hiccup's mouth or the ragged whine from the dragon. Its chest heaved up and down, rising and falling. Hiccup swallowed, his adam's apple went out and in and he resisted the urge to run away to throw up.
"A Viking…" He breathed and then bent over to pick up the knife again. The dragon's body had begun to vibrate, the blood seeping out of the exposed flesh and from the remaining scales around the area. Hiccup's body was in a cold sweat now. His skin shivered and he closed his eyes. He had to shut out the cries of the dragon as he pulled the knife through the flesh and sliced off the scales one by one. Don't look, don't smell, he told himself. "I am a Viking…" His arm strained and he opened his eyes. The knife was blocked by the dragon's bone. Hiccup moved his eyes down mechanically and bit his lip. He sawed for a second until the knife hit what he'd been looking for.
By now the dragon was completely silent. It was long dead and with the bloody oozing blue mass that was its heart in his hand, he staggered backwards and his knees finally gave way.
Until dawn he was sprawled on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest and his knife on the ground beside him. He'd already puked several times behind the rock and now was shaking, elbows resting on his bony knees and his face in his palms.
Hiccup couldn't remember when he began, but tears were now streaming down his cheeks and washed a bit of the dry blood from his fingers, but it only ran freely down his arm, soaking little spots into his tunic.
It was well into the morning when Hiccup finally got done catching up on his crying. He wiped his eyes and went to the lake to wash his hands. He splashed his face and stared at his reflection. His eyes were raw and red, much like that of the dragon's, only one of its eyes was torn apart. He hadn't wanted the beast to see its killer, to know who had killed it so ruthlessly. When the other Vikings saw the body, would they think he was a brutal murderer? No, they would likely hail Hiccup as a hero and be proud of him.
For something he did.
When he'd finally gathered himself, Hiccup straightened and set out for his father's lodge. It was time to break the news about the killing and there wasn't anything Hiccup wanted more than to forget it altogether.
Stoick's eyes filled with pride and awe as Hiccup presented the dragon's dead body to him. Then when he saw the pulpy heart on the ground, Stoick's own swelled with a feeling he'd never known before in his life, it was distinct fatherly love. He clapped his son on the shoulder.
"You did it, Son," Stoick said, "You'll be a warrior like no other and a mighty fine chief. Wait until I share the news with the village. We'll never have to worry about the bloody beast ever again!" The smack to Hiccup's back sent him staggering. When Stoick looked down, Hiccup wondered for a second if his father had suddenly become disgusted with the sight before him. "If your mother were here, she'd be so proud of you, Hiccup. I know she would." With that, Stoick started back to the village and for the rest of the afternoon Hiccup made himself scarce.
Astrid had never been more shocked in her life when she saw the dragon and even more shocked when Stoick announced that it had been Hiccup who had killed it. Hiccup the screw-up, the cowardly, the stumbling, bumbling, village idiot who knew about as much about dragon killing as the dragon itself.
Yet here was Stoick telling the entire village that because of Hiccup, they were now rid of the Night Fury. Something told her the Chief was trying to pull the wool over their eyes. Maybe Stoick himself had killed the dragon and to cover for his son's latest screw-up, he'd claimed Hiccup had done it.
Either way, Astrid was determined to get to the bottom of the story. She slipped away while the others were busy examining the dragon's corpse. To be honest, she'd never seen something so revoltingly grotesque. She'd seen dragon corpses before, sure, but they'd never been torn to pieces like the other animals had been at it.
The twigs and ground crunched underneath her boots as she climbed through the brush. Ahead of her was the narrow pathway through two massive walls of stone to the cove of Raven's Point. There on the boulder overlooking the tiny lake was Hiccup, eyes staring straight ahead of him and his knees up and his feet right on the edge of the boulder.
She made sure to keep her footsteps quiet and Hiccup didn't turn around, even when she was standing next to him. "So you finally killed one." Hiccup started, and staggered back from her. She frowned at him, doubting now more than ever that it was he who had killed the famed Night Fury.
"Astrid-hi, hi, Astrid, hi Astrid….W-what are you doing here?" He asked and when Astrid didn't answer, he had the sinking feeling she was here to kill him for something. Maybe for killing a dragon she herself wanted to off.
"I want to know what really happened to that dragon," She stated, folding her arms across her chest. "Start talking." He drew a blank. So she didn't want to kill him for killing the dragon, as backwards as his first thought was. She didn't even think he'd killed it in the first place. Well, that was somewhat comforting, but at the same time, disconcerting. Hiccup stared blankly at her for a while and then averted his eyes to the ground.
"I… I don't want to talk about it," He said finally. Astrid's brow furrowed even more deeply.
"Why, because you didn't kill it?" She asked, smirking complacently as though she'd figured out what he'd done, or rather, hadn't.
"No, because I did." For a moment she stared at the lanky boy before her. There were many things hidden in his expression. His eyes told layers of anguish, regret and most of all, shame. None of them were things she'd have felt if she'd killed a dragon, least of all a Night Fury. He picked up a stone and chucked it into the water, the slide off the boulder to walk to the lake.
Astrid watched him for a moment, briefly wondering if he intended to throw himself in. With a low sigh, she followed.
"I don't get you, Hiccup," She said, coming up behind him. "Why would you run away when you've finally done something right?"
"Because I'm not sure what I did was right," Hiccup said with a shrug. She stared at him, frowning.
"Then why did you kill it?" Astrid asked, "Why, if you didn't want to, did you kill it?"
"Because," He seethed, "I thought it would be better for everyone. It would have been better if I'd killed it than if I hadn't. I thought if I killed a dragon, everyone would look at me differently," He stared down at his boots. The dark stains from the dragon blood were still apparent. For a moment Astrid didn't say anything. She had a hard time remembering the last minute, hour, second or even moment where she'd actually had a decent conversation with Hiccup. Or even a time when she'd look at him, really looked at him and examined those rich green eyes now filled with shame because he'd done what the village expected of him.
Even she had to admit there was something inherently wrong with that notion. "What are you going to do?" She asked tentatively. Hiccup didn't answer. "Hiccup?"
"Nothing," He said, "That's all I've ever done and I've never been happier," He laughed. Astrid didn't find anything funny about this situation and that's what finally made her see that because the dragon was dead, that oblivious look in his eyes was too.
If she were honest, she'd say that she honestly missed it. He heaved a sigh and stared out at the glass like water. He picked up a stone and hurled it in, rippling the water and disturbing his reflection. He picked up another, and another and continued hurling the stones into the water and scrunching up his face and yelling in frustration as each one left his hand. He was about to pick up another when something caught his wrist.
"I get it, Hiccup," She said, "Your father was right. You're not a Viking and you're not a dragon killer." Hiccup tried to wrench his hand from her grasp but she held on.
"You don't get anything," Hiccup said, "This is nothing to you." Astrid shook her head.
"No, it was nothing," Astrid said. "But I want to know why you killed that dragon."
Hiccup choked back a sob, "I just wanted to be one of you guys." Then the tears came back. Astrid let go of his hand and stood there, rooted on the spot. He wasn't what they wanted him to be, but he wasn't wrong about that either. It was all clear to her now.
He had literally torn out more than one heart that night.