1. This story picks up at the final scene of "Snotlout Gets the Axe." Slight deviation from the ep in that the subplot with the wedding ends before this scene, instead of ending the episode.

2. Not into Snotlout whump? Click 'back' now. This is an extended Snotlout-centric h/c. Consider yourselves duly notified.

3. The dragons' names for themselves - Fire-Scale, Spike-Tail, etc - are the invention of the wonderful 10Blue10, here on FFN, and used with permission.

4. Gratitude to Thursday26 for editing efforts above and beyond.

5. This is pretty much finished, just at the beta's. Expect frequent updates.

For Meraki7734, with thanks!

"No, it was my fault," Snotlout says, turning his back on his friends, unable to look at them. "I got this." He's glad Hiccup and Astrid can't see his face as he approaches Spitelout. Snotlout can't see Spitelout's face, but he can tell he's not happy from the way he holds his shoulders. He steps up next to his dad, giving him a glance out of the corner of his eye… or he tries to. He can't quite manage it.

His mouth opens before he can stop himself. "I know what you're going to say, Dad—" he can't even look at him— "I messed up again." He looks at the ground, his back to Spitelout. He can't even chance seeing Spitelout's expression out of the corner of his eye. Snotlout takes a breath, "I ruined the union ceremony and I let you down, and all the Jorgensons down." Somehow, he manages to turn around, looking his father in the eye. For a moment. "But you have no idea what I went through to get this here." He holds up the axe. Gods, he fought so hard to make sure that he got the thing here. He puts his hand over his heart, holding onto the axe in his left hand by his side. "I risked my life and my friends' lives fighting a gigantic torch-breathing dragon for this stupid thing." Snotlout grips onto the axe with both hands, glaring at it. Sure it's a ceremonial axe, meant to be treated with reverence, but he doesn't regret saying it. He almost died for this axe today. Hiccup almost died. Astrid almost died. No axe is worth that.

He turns his attention to Spitelout, who is looking down at him, a glare on his face. Snotlout doesn't stop, though. He can't. "And if that's not good enough for you then I guess I'm never going to be good enough!" Spitelout's face twists. Snotlout can't look long enough to decipher why. "There! I said it! So here is your stupid axe, and sorry about the ceremony." He holds out the axe towards his dad, contrite look on his face. His chest is heaving from his monologue, but he somehow feels lighter.

But Spitelout doesn't move. He glares down at Snotlout like he has smelled something awful. Snotlout keeps the axe out, waiting for his dad to take it, but he doesn't. His arm starts to shake as the silence stretches between them. Snotlout holds it out for as long as he can, trying to keep his breathing under control. Then, finally, he lowers it.

The only sound is the sighing of the waves on the sand, muted with low tide. Spitelout remains silent. Except for the one moment when his gaze flickered down to Snotlout like he stepped in dragon dung, he's staring straight ahead at a point on the horizon, like his son isn't there at all. Hiccup and Astrid are standing at a respectful distance of about a hundred yards. From where they stand, they can only see the line of Spitelout's shoulders, hard and forbidding, both father and son little more than silhouettes against the night sky. Snotlout's head is tilted up toward his father, his chest expanding and contracting faster the longer Spitelout remains impassive. Hiccup glances from Astrid to Toothless; it's not their place to say anything, so he doesn't, seeing Astrid do the same. Hiccup's hand strays to Toothless' head, finding some comfort in the smooth scales. Toothless shifts slightly closer, pushing his neck and shoulder against Hiccup's side. Stormfly's throat vibrates with a low-pitched chirr and Hookfang huffs out a breath.

Snotlout's "Dad?" breaks the silence, cutting across the soft sound of the sea.

His father's lips move. Through the thick blanketing silence in Snotlout's ears, he hears his voice, harsh and brooking no argument. "Make yer friends leave."

Snotlout feels his body turn to ice. He knows he's in for it tonight. He can't look at his dad's face anymore. His friends are right there, right there. He could run to them. He could cling to Hookfang's neck and fly away. His chest aches for Hiccup's kind smile, aches for the warmth of his skinny arm around Snotlout's shoulder and his soft voice telling Snotlout he didn't let them down. But his da says that kindness is a lie. He says Snotlout's a disappointment… and his da knows everything. Snotlout aches to jump on Hookfang and never look back, never again see his father's look of disappointment or hear him say there's no such thing as real friendship, only ambition to get ahead. And to be told that anyone who says otherwise is trying to destroy you.

He's a free Viking. He could turn around and leave his father behind, jump on Hookfang and never look back. Get himself disowned. Disown his father! He could renounce his name, refuse to be a Jorgenson.

He swallows and it hurts. He can do none of it. He's always belonged to his father. And he's never been free.

"Make yer friends leave," Spitelout repeats through clenched teeth, "or don't. It'll only be the worse for you. It'd be no trouble givin' you yer due in front of your cousin and the girl."

Cold pours down Snotlout's back and stomach as he trots back to Hiccup and Astrid. He hasn't realized he's moved until he's already close to Hookfang. Hookfang takes a step toward him and head-butts him. The warm, firm touch feels somehow alien, far away and unreal. He side-steps Hookfang and looks away. "Not now." To his human friends, he says, "Dad wants to talk. Uh, to me. Just me and him. Can you guys go back ho- uh, to the Edge?" He's surprised how normal he can make his voice sound with the surface of his skin curling up and freezing. "I'll catch up with you later."

"Sure," says Astrid uncertainly. "But we can wait…"

"No! No, it's…" His voice is getting a little high-pitched and he clears his throat, forcing himself to sound normal. "This is private, you know. Family stuff." He's missed the mark and his voice is definitely too deep. They both notice, but don't say anything.

"You sure?" Hiccup's face is tight. Next to him, Toothless rumbles, while Stormfly rattles her spikes. "What about Hookfang?"

As the others look at Hookfang, Snotlout makes shooing motions, tilting his head towards the dragon but unable to meet his eyes. "Take Hookfang, he hasn't eaten all day."

Hookfang growls and narrows his eyes. I'm staying.

"No, no you can't stay here. Listen, Fangster..." Snotlout reaches up to his friend's great snout, wrapping one arm around his sinuous neck and stroking his chin with his other hand. "I need you to go." He stands on tiptoe to whisper into the dragon's ear. "Promise me," Hookfang grudgingly tilts his head down to allow Snotlout easier access, "that you won't come back for me till morning."

Hookfang shifts from foot to foot and settles a little more firmly into the sand. Why should I?

"I… I can't…" Snotlout looks round with quick, darting glances. "I can't… It's a human thing, Hookfang. I gotta do this." His eyes are wide and his voice wavers like he's about to cry. "Please go, Hookfang, please. Please, promise me." Thank gods he's not talking loud enough for Hiccup and Astrid to hear.

Hookfang doesn't look too convinced. "Hooky," Snotlout whispers urgently, "you'll just make things worse if you stay. It'll be okay. Just go eat and come back at first light, okay? You can come at first light. I'll be fine. Nothing's going to happen." He wants to believe that, but a stone settles in his gut. He knows that he's lying to his best friend. Snotlout rises to his feet, looking worriedly over at the impassive figure in the shape of his father standing at the end of the beach. "Please just go with them, okay? Please? For me?"

The other dragons chirr and murmur as Hookfang kneads the sand with his claws and turns narrowed eyes on Snotlout. If it's all the same to you, I think I'd rather stay…

"Hookfang please, I'm begging you, get out of here." Snotlout looks up at Hiccup and Astrid, nodding to their dragons. "See, I'm telling them to go as well. My dad and I are going to have a private talk. I just want some privacy! I know you can hear from two or three miles away, you'll be able to hear us from anywhere on the island. You gotta go back to the Edge so we can have our space."

The dragon just looks at him with half-lidded eyes, smoke coming out of his nostrils. His tail is flicking back and forth.

Snotlout blinks suddenly and turns from Hookfang to the others. "Guys, give us a minute?"

Humans and dragons exchange glances, then head for the rock face overlooking the beach. When the quartet is far enough away, Snotlout kneels to Hookfang. "Hookfang. Remember when we were fighting Ryker's men last week?"

Hookfang grunts, pupils narrowing. Snotlout doesn't blame him: it was one of their worst near-misses. Arrows flying, catapults firing, dodging and weaving: a normal day, except he and Hookfang were knocked out of the sky by a well-aimed bola. As they hurtled towards the water, Snotlout could see that the others, fighting for their lives under a hail of hunters' arrows, wouldn't make it to them in time. Snotlout still thanks whatever gods were listening that he thought to grab a good lungful of air before they hit the water.

Snotlout managed to clamber out of the saddle underwater and started cutting desperately through the bola binding the dragon's wings tightly to his body. Belly-up, Hookfang sank, Snotlout clinging to the ropes even as he slashed at them with his dagger. Snotlout still recalls how the water darkened, can still feel the painfully sharp texture of the ropes under his hands, remembers his gratitude for their blacksmith leader's diligence at sharpening everyone's weapons. He still wakes shuddering, feeling the chill of the water and the desperate pumping of Hookfang's heart under the hand Snotlout kept pressed to his chest. Recalls the thrill of relief as the ropes parted and Hookfang surged upwards, Snotlout in his claws.

Snotlout stands a little straighter. "Hookfang," he says formally. "I hereby invoke your life debt."

Hookfang shrieks and bursts into flame. Snotlout ignores the outburst. "You are bound to obey my command," he intones, "in repayment for saving your life."

Hookfang's flame subsides. He circles around himself as if chasing his own tail, winding round and round Snotlout in a long, frantic loop. Panting, he comes to a halt, staring at Snotlout pleadingly. Don't do this to me. Please don't make me.

Snotlout has no sympathy. He can't afford it, not with his father standing at the other end of the beach, silent and probably getting tired of waiting. "You know you must do as I say," he rasps. He clears his throat and speaks a little louder. Perhaps his dad will hear how well he's able to control his dragon. "I command you to return to the Edge and only return at first light."

The heartbreak in the dragon's eyes would sway Snotlout any day of the week. Any other day but today. Snotlout drops the formality, coaxing now he's got his way. "Go on, Hooky." He gives Hookfang a gentle shove. "Go back to the Edge, get something to eat, catch some Z's, be back for me in the morning. Okay? Huh?"

Hookfang takes a step back, then another, and bursts into flame. A Nightmare's eyes aren't as human-equivalent as many other dragons', but Snotlout's always found them plenty expressive. Right now, Hookfang's are saying You better not give me reason to regret this.

"First light, Hookfang." Snotlout lets his voice soften. "It'll be okay."

Hookfang growls. It better be.

"Hiccup! Astrid!" Snotlout calls. The others approach, the dragons looking at them far too knowingly. He doesn't care what they think; he just wants them gone. "Take Hookfang with you to the Edge."

There must have been something in his voice, because the humans and dragons don't answer: they just nod at him, Hiccup trying valiantly for an encouraging smile, then mount up and fly away. Hookfang's gaze lingers before he, too, is gone.

Snotlout stands looking into the distance until they're out of sight. Then he trudges over to his father, who has not budged from his spot. He tries to breathe, but his lungs seem made of lead.

"Took you long enough to get rid of that dragon," Spitelout says conversationally.

Snotlout finds his knees are weak. "He's j-just... kinda protective."

"Protective. Wonder what he thought you needed protection from. Unless it's the consequences of your own actions."

Snotlout stares at his father, a sick lump in his stomach, not sure what he can say.

"You don't seem able to control him," Spitelout remarks as if they're sitting by the fire at home drinking cider, as if they're not out here for reasons they both know all too well. As if Snotlout isn't about to be sick from fear. "You know your problem?" he goes on, tone still unnervingly light. "You think the dragons are people. You and that cousin of yours. Dragons are useful, o' course. Great beasts of burden, far better than horses or yaks. And I won't deny sometimes when one of them looks you in the eye, you fool yerself into thinking there's intelligence there. That they have feelings. I was almost deluded once or twice meself. But it doesn't have higher thinking like a human. Only a fool would fall for that."

It. Snotlout chokes.

"I know yer thinking of your Monstrous Nightmare. Take it from your old man: it can't feel. And all the soft-hearted talk in the world won't change that. That Hookfang? It's a thing, like a mace or a sword. Just a thing."

For a moment, there's silence. Snotlout knows he needs to stay still. Back straight, chin up, eyes front, mouth shut. Anything else would be disrespectful. Staying still is safe. For now. Staying still means that his father's lesson is sinking in. If Spitelout thinks that, the punishment won't be as bad later on. He swallows, trying to straighten a little more, but he can't get any taller.

Snotlout aches to defend Hookfang. But he's a coward. He can't say 'no' to his father to save his life. He's going to let his friend be thought of as a thing, like a mace or a sword, because he can't bear to be punished more than he's already brought on himself. More than what he's earned. But, hearing Hookfang called a thing and unable to protest, it's as though he's never known pain before this moment.

He lets the head of the ceremonial axe drop to the sand, supporting himself on the handle with both hands like a walking-stick. He really is the weakling Spitelout never wanted him to be. The weakling his father tried so hard not to raise.

Then his father swipes the axe from his hands, and he staggers forward so he won't fall into Spitelout. He swallows as his fear blots out everything else.