Notes: Yes I know this is a cheap and unrealistic oversimplification of years of emotional abuse. What can I say? Cheap is what I DO. You want not-cheap, go read s/8973642/1/Challenge
Also, I'm not entirely sure whether this takes place on the Edge or back on Berk. Or what Lout did. I just needed the wallow.
Note: The dragons' names for their own breeds in this - "Rock-Tail", "Fire-Scale", "Swift-Wing" and so on, are used with grateful permission from 10Blue10, author of "Heart Bound," who first came up with them. The whole idea of using different names from the humans' names for them, since they have their own language, is hers, and for the record, I think it's awesome. The exception is "Nightwing," which is used with permission from Raberba_Girl, also here on FFN. Raberba also came up with the term "flockling" for a member of an Alpha's flock, and "Precious One" or "Precious Thing" for a dragon's 'treasure', or the person/thing a dragon loves the most. All of these I use with permission and bouncily welcome into fanon, because fanon worldbuilding - Nyota Uhura, for those who remember that the name was originally fanon? - is the best.
After the confrontation with his father, Hookfang finds Snotlout huddled on the floor, shaking. Hookfang is a real dragon, not some kind of domesticated parrot like Stormfly, or that tame excuse for a Nightwing forever petting his human – but he approaches Snotlout with unusual carefulness, and even lets out a soft whuff to alert him to his approach.
"Go away, Hookfang."
Of course, he's not some obedient dragon to just do what he's told. Besides, Snotlout's voice is… strange. It makes Hookfang feel as if he's swallowed something that doesn't agree with him. How can a voice make his stomach hurt?
The pull in his stomach is telling him to approach his rider.
He's maybe half a wingspan away when he's hit by the stench of pain and fear and misery. He recoils and roars.
"Shh! Keep it down! I don't want the others hearing!"
Blast it. Fire-Scales are not built for caring. He tries to find out what's wrong with his rider, but can't very well nose around at him like a Terror: everything he tries to do is blocked by his own teeth. Hitting upon a solution, he starts to investigate with his tongue.
Snotlout stiffens when Hookfang licks him. Huh, Hookfang thinks, the way he acts, you'd think I never groomed him before. Hmm… Has he ever done it before? Well, it's high time he started. So he does. Snotlout tastes like he smells, but just now he tastes bitter. And scared. And lots of twisted emotions humans often radiate.
Now he thinks of it, he's always felt those twisted emotions on his rider. He just never tasted them so strongly before. What's causing all this? he asks the human. It comes out as an inquisitive whuff.
"Ah, I disappointed my dad," Snotlout mutters. "We had… words."
Hookfang looks closely at Snotlout's face. From what he's seen of his rider's sire, "words" means his sire has probably been screaming at him and berating him. Spitelout reminds Hookfang of his own sire, always on about the honor of Fire-Scales. The honor of a single human bloodline so intermingled with all the bloodlines of the village that the scent is indistinguishable, this "Jorgenson," is much sillier than his own sire's insistence on Fire-Scale honor, but at least he gets where the deluded human is coming from.
What Hookfang can't get is where Snotlout's sire gets off making him smell like that.
He finishes licking Snotlout's hair and face. He expects some sign of irritation from his rider, but the human just lies there. And the smell of fear and pain is still strong. Is it lurking somewhere Hookfang hasn't licked yet?
Snotlout makes to move, but he's still shaking. It makes Hookfang feel odd. He makes a little sound, and starts to slide his tongue underneath Snotlout's tunic, where the smell is strongest. "Hookfang! No!" Snotlout snaps. Hookfang, of course, ignores the human's command – it's what he does, and Snotlout knows this. Snotlout flails, so Hookfang lays a forewing on top of Snotlout's head to shut him up. Free to investigate, he slips his tongue under the hem of the tunic where it meets his trousers, nudging aside the waistcoat. The smell assails him, heat and pain rising from…
Hookfang hisses and recoils. Is Snotlout burned?
"HOOKFANG!"
He ignores the human. His scales itch to flame, but he pushes it down. It's hard to suppress. He wants nothing more than to set himself on fire to relieve the pressure within his head, caused inexplicably by knowing that another dragon has scorched Snotlout – scorched him far far worse than anything Hookfang would ever inflict on him. Snotlout has never recognized that a Fire-Scale can lower the temperature of its flame. Hookfang suspects that Fishlegs knows, but doesn't speak of it, and he's always appreciated the boy's circumspection in leaving the honor of Fire-Scales intact. Hookfang has never used anything but the bare minimum of heat in his body to mess with his short, stubby, delicate-skinned human rider with his fragile, fragile skin. And now someone has hurt him.
The pressure in Hookfang's head is getting uncomfortable. He bumps Snotlout with his nose. Who did this to you?
"Hookfang, get off me!"
He lets his tongue investigate further. When it slides fully under Snotlout's tunic, his partner flinches and hisses. In pain. Someone has hurt him. The human's delicate skin is ridged and hot, broken in places.
When Hookfang's tongue touches the wounds, Snotlout stills entirely, as though caught doing something wrong. He slumps, strings cut. As Hookfang's tongue probes and soothes, Snotlout flinches, his little human paws curling into fists. Hookfang doesn't coo like that pathetic excuse for a Night Fury, but he doesn't see anything wrong with a manly purr. Snotlout needs it. He needs – Hookfang is very gentle as he laves the hot and wounded flesh – he needs… he needs… Hookfang purrs, feeling Snotlout tremble at his touch.
The human is crying. This is too much. He really, really needs to flame. Who did this to you?!
"I just, I made a mistake. It's my fault."
Hookfang growls. If I see the one who did this to you, it'll be HIS fault.
But Snotlout cringes and shakes his head.
Why? Hookfang asks. He waits, but no answer is forthcoming. Hookfang tongues his shirt up, sniffing delicately at the wounds. And he smells kin.
Kin. But not Hiccup. He knows Hiccup's smell pretty well, and the little human's scent translates to leader/queen anyway. No, this… He recoils. Snotlout's sire? Your father did this to you?
His human doesn't speak Dragonese, but he's probably understood that Hookfang's sniffing has told him what he needs to know. "It's my fault, Hookfang," he mutters, face still pressed into the dirt. "Don't worry about it."
His fault? Humans are crazy. His rider is still in pain, fearful and anguished and trembling, everything about him screaming injured-vulnerable, and he blames himself? Hookfang growls again. How can this possibly be your fault? He slips his long, flexible tongue beneath his rider's shirt again, tracing the painful area. Snotlout shudders at his touch. What is this pain in Hookfang's chest? It seems to be relieved when Hookfang croons to his rider, so he does. That's just self-interest. Anyway, the fledgling's hurt, it won't kill him just this once. Besides, no-one's watching. He applies soft licks all over Snotlout's back, using the underside of his long tongue, which he knows is smooth enough to be soothing. His partner's relaxing a little. Hookfang can smell that his physical pain is easing, although his heart is aching. He licks his partner's wounds again, glad to be able to make him feel even a little better. The stupid feeling in Hookfang's chest is still there. You don't deserve this, he purrs, pushing down the anger that Snotlout's kin hurt him, and that for some reason Snotlout thinks it's his due. It's not your fault.
"I shouldn't disappoint him."
Hookfang growls. He's your sire. If anyone should forgive mistakes, it's him. There's a memory buzzing in his skull, not worthy of the name Fire-Scale, but it's not worth remembering, not now.
"I disgraced the Jorgenson name… No-one in my family ever did that before. He's right to be disappointed." Snotlout makes a soft sound that Hookfang knows is human weeping. "I wish I'd done better. I wish I'd made him proud…"
Hookfang pulls in his tongue and nuzzles Snotlout openly. Cast the human off your back, he hears his own sire's voice in his head. You are unworthy to be a dragon, much less a glorious Fire-Scale. For answer, he rubs the soft parts of his chin and the top of his head against his human's cheek.
"He said love had to be earned. Why can't I earn it? I want him to love me." Snotlout is still crying softly. Hookfang rubs the side of his massive jaw against the human's, wonders what his sire would have thought if he could see this. He's never wished he was a small and puny Nightwing before, but now he thinks that if he was soft and tame like Toothless, he could better comfort his small, soft human. He presses his neck against Snotlout's cheek.
There's an odd wrench in his chest – but not a bad one – when Snotlout reaches out, almost hesitantly, and puts his arm round Hookfang's neck. Hookfang purrs, loudly, to let him know it's okay – to let him know to not let go – and keeps purring. The sound soothes most humans. "Thanks, Hooky," Snotlout mutters into Hookfang's neck. He pulls Hookfang in tighter. Hookfang won't wrap his wing about the human – disgrace to the name Fire-Scale – but it's no shame to curl his tail about his legs. It's not like it's some kind of overt gesture, not like that Nightwing and his—
"Hiccup. I fucking hate that little runt," Snotlout mutters into Hookfang's neck. "Hiccup makes so many more mistakes. I remember when he destroyed half the village and Stoick still didn't punish him. Stoick thinks Hiccup's so cool." For a moment, the human's body radiates more pain than it did when Hookfang first found him, more pain than Hookfang can still feel coming from his back. "I always do everything right! I try to be a Jorgenson. Why can't I make him proud of me?"
Hookfang's urge to flame is so strong it's starting to hurt. And what in the name of shells and flames is wrong with his chest?
Wait. Voices. Outside.
Hookfang slips his head out of Snotlout's grasp. Snotlout turns to him, human ears picking up a second later on the sound of teens walking and talking outside. "Hookfang!" he says desperately.
This is why Hookfang cares – no not cares caring for a human is a disgrace to dragons – why he appreciates Snotlout. Hookfang wouldn't want anyone seeing him weak either. He gets between Snotlout and the doorway, and flames up. Snotlout obliges by yelling, "HOOKFANG! CUT IT OUT!"
"Think we should do an intervention?" comes Fishlegs' amused voice.
"Are you kidding? I'm not getting in there," Astrid replies.
Toothless – at least the Nightwing is discreet, for he can surely hear and smell what's really going on – says yes you're right, stay away.
"They'd probably turn on us, anyway," says Hiccup.
Snotlout's eyes meet Hookfang's, and they both preen a little at that. At least the others treat them with a healthy respect.
The footsteps fade away. Hookfang lets his flames settle, shaking himself so he won't hurt Snotlout by accident. Snotlout half-turns onto his side. The motion makes him groan. "Nobody finds out about this. Nobody. You hear me, Hookfang?"
Hookfang grunts. Not like he could tell any of the humans, and the dragons will smell it on him anyway. But they'll keep quiet.
"Especially not my cousin."
Hookfang grunts again. His sire would bite his head clean off if he saw what Hookfang has become. He knows what it is to need to keep secrets from family.
He moves closer to Snotlout, and offers his neck for his friend to hold.
Snotlout reaches for him. His arm is still shaking. Hookfang slips his tongue under Snotlout's clothing again, checking his injured back. The welts are not as hot as before, but they need soothing. He gently hooks Snotlout's waistcoat in his outer fangs and pulls it off. Snotlout allows it, but tenses when Hookfang pulls at his tunic. "No! They can't see! Hookf—"
Moving between Snotlout and the door, Hookfang flames up. I'll protect you. I won't let them see.
Snotlout starts to get up, panicky. He's still shaky. "Hookfang…"
Hookfang pushes the door shut, hard. I won't let them see. I know.
"Thanks." Snotlout slumps. His scent says fatigue, not just misery. "He means well."
Hookfang was just going to let his fire die down, but the outrage fans his flames. He growls.
Snotlout's voice cracks. "He means well, Hookfang! He's just looking out for me."
Hookfang suppresses the urge to roar.
"He's a good dad, Hooky."
Hookfang takes a couple of steps away from his human, because he can't help the increasing heat that flows into his flame.
"No, Hookfang, don't say that! He's a good dad, I just need to try harder!" Snotlout's voice is raw now.
Hookfang narrows his eyes at Snotlout. A good dad compared to Razorwhip sires, maybe, who eat their young as soon as they are hatched. Or… or his own…his own...
Hookfang shakes his head and growls. His flame feels good. Like vengeance.
Snotlout is muttering on the ground, soft human fists clenched, water coming from his eyes as he calls himself a disappointment and a failure for losing some stupid race.
Hookfang's sire says Don't you dare douse your flame for a human.
Hookfang carefully douses his flame. Then he pads over to Snotlout, wings spread. Nobody will see us. Let me take care of you.
Snotlout looks up at him, and his soft human eyes look so wounded. He makes a thin sound in the back of his throat.
Hookfang hooks one of his long teeth into Snotlout's tunic and pulls it off. The sight of Snotlout's burn—not a burn, he reminds himself, for all it looks like a burn—makes his chest feel funny again. He curls himself around the human, offering his neck for Snotlout to hold. The stubby, soft human arm wraps round Hookfang's neck. Hookfang rests his head on Snotlout's legs, glad that Snotlout's fragile burned – no, whipped – human skin isn't suffering more pain by being trapped under heat-trapping layers of clothing. Using the underside of his tongue, he recommences lapping at the large overheated area of swollen welts and bleeding places on Snotlout's back. Maybe it will do some good now that he can actually cool them. He starts to purr, knowing it will soothe his partner.
Miserable excuse for a dragon, Hookfang's sire says in his mind. Soft. Disgrace to Fire-Scales.
Hookfang keeps up a strong, steady purr, tenderly using his tongue to ease the pain in his partner's burning back. Oh, shut up.
Snotlout's breathing is evening out, his trembling easing. "Thanks… Hookfang," he says, and his tone is stunned, as if kindness after his supposed 'failure', whatever it was, was unthinkable to him until now.
Hookfang doesn't even think what his sire would say. He just reaches out for his badly shaken partner, using the smooth outer curve of his front claw to brush the hair from his face. The next time I see your sire, Hookfang promises, you better keep him away from me or I will set him alight.
He's fairly sure Snotlout hasn't understood the threat, because he just reaches up and curls his soft human fingers around Hookfang's claw. "Thanks, Hookfang," he repeats, still with that wondering tone. His fingers tighten as Hookfang's tongue makes contact with a particularly sore welt, and Hookfang lets out a growl before purring again. Yeah, he's like the Nightwing. Anyone wanting to get to his rider will have a Fire-Scale to get through first.
His purring seems to be lulling his rider to sleep. "Hooky…" He's never heard Snotlout so vulnerable. "You won't let anyone see… okay?"
Hookfang presses his claw into Snotlout's cheek and nods. Go to sleep, fledgling. You are protected until you are strong again.
Fire-Scales aren't the best suited for comfort. If Hookfang was built like a Nightwing – shells and flames, that dragon and his human are like a pair of stuffed toys – he could cuddle Snotlout. Or nuzzle him like Toothless does Hiccup, if he didn't have teeth protruding. Or take him flying, if he wasn't so fragile right now.
But he can lick his wounds until the burning is cooled and give him his neck to embrace and lie down next to him and wrap his tail about him and cover him with his wing and purr through his dreams as he cries and murmurs in his sleep about disappointing his sire.
So he does.
And after a while, Snotlout reaches out and clutches at his wing like a stuffed toy too.