AN I saw the movie with friends a few days ago, and that exchange between Stoick and Gobber made me think 'brothers', which meant Gobber was Hiccup's uncle and thus, this fic was born.
Disclaimer- I own nothing.
Gobber the Belch wasn't a sensitive man. He was, after all, a Viking. And despite the loss of his leg and arm, he was a damn good Viking. Still, just because he wasn't a complete sap didn't mean he didn't care. He'd originally taken in Hiccup as his apprentice as a favour to Stoick, his battle-brother, and in remembrance of Vahallarama, a proud Viking woman who'd often brought him a spare leg of lamb for lunch at the forge, especially when she was gravid and Stoick was on a hunt.
Even as a kid, Hiccup had been gangly and weak. He'd often trip over his own feet, and although he'd grown out of the worst of his clumsiness over time, he'd never developed the savage grace of his mother, or the sheer power of his father. At the time, Gobber had pitied the lad, who'd never live up to either parent.
Over the years, the pity had turned to sympathy, as he watched Hiccup grow up hearing tales of how, as a baby, Stoick had bopped the head clean off of a dragon, and how Vahallarama had thrown an axe at a Nabber on her way to the Midwife's house, and how he could never live up to either. The boy would be ashamed, but he'd hide it with a snarky retort that would take everyone else a moment to work out. He'd put up with the loss of his best friend, Fishlegs Ingerman, to the firefighters, and with constant comparisons to his cousin, Snoutlout Jorgenson, with the same bitter humour that he used against everyone who criticized him.
As Hiccup had grown, he'd become a damn good blacksmith. Apart from a few fool ideas, such as the net-cannon, he could make swords to suit a person. For Spitelout, he had made a broad, heavy sword that was perfect for crushing dragon necks, while for Ma'am Ingerman, he'd made a long, thin sword that was sharp enough to pierce most scales, and light enough to allow Ingerman to flee if it couldn't.
The boy was smart in a way Gobber would happily admit he wasn't, and in a way he'd never seen before. He'd had his reservations about Stoick enrolling the lad in dragon training, but Hiccup had turned out to have a way with the beasts. He'd been damn proud of the kid, proud enough to forget to mention the missing leathers and steel from the smithy, and to ignore how the forge was hot in the morning, even when the night had been peaceful.
While he'd been upset to see Hiccup had apparently adopted a dragon, he'd been more upset to learn of Stoick's hard words to the lad. Hiccup's dreams of glory aside, the lad just didn't have it in him to kill. That this minor flaw had combined with his curiosity and lead to the dragon debacle was upsetting, but no reason to disown the lad.
Stoick hadn't been the only one to spot Hiccup as the ships cast off for the dragon nest. Gobber would have sworn that he'd felt Hiccup's accusing stare on his back long after Berk was out of sight. He'd seen his apprentice's work on the Night Fury's tail, and heard the keening in the beast's throat and he'd known what the lad was feeling. He'd felt it as a young lad in dragon training, when Stoick had apparently been doused in acid, and again as an adult when Stoick had lost Vahallarama. The remembrance of his brother's pain was enough to leave Hiccup's contraption on the beast's tail.
Because species be damned, the two were brothers. And his heart ached for the beast, and for his apprentice, who'd somehow become precious to Gobber in his own right rather than remaining his brother's son. And he'd give his other leg to spare Hiccup the agony he must be feeling.