So.
I COULD handle the brainwashing/death fallout in HTTYD2 with judicious thought and analysis. I could handle the space between the final scene and the tag with finesse, draw on the gravitas of death and the reality of human (and dragon) emotions to tease out the hidden resentments that simmer beneath the characters' conscious minds, making the reader contemplate the reality that we all live to die and that no friendship or love exists untainted by pain, that there is no unconditional love and nothing lasts forever.
Or.
I could take a brainwashing story and use it as an excuse to add a metric fuckton of gratuitous whump and finally reach a melodramatic resolution with a lot of sentimental tears and bathos.
If you've read anything I've ever written, you'll know what I chose.
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.
"Get up, you useless reptile."
There's a sharp pain in Toothless' side and he startles awake. His rider's standing above him, cold and commanding as Drago Bludvist himself.
"Out."
Toothless cringes on his slab. He hasn't slept with Hiccup in his wings for days, since the chief of the Reprobate Rascals left in fact, but… What's going on? Hiccup isn't asking him out for a midnight fly, that's for sure.
He climbs off the stone. What is it? he whines.
"Out of the house." His rider grabs his tail like it's a thing. "And be quiet. Don't wake my mother. She's gone through enough because of you."
Toothless is a Night Fury. He can slip through the night like a shadow. He flows down the stairs without a whisper. Hiccup follows, taking something from under his bed.
As he noses open the door to the chief's hut, Toothless wishes he was deluded. But to be blunt, he knows the reason for this midnight summons. Dragons can and do forgive. But there are some things that are unforgivable.
He hopes Hiccup will make it quick.
Hiccup is on Toothless' heels as his tailfin clears the door. "Round the back of the house. Over there." Limned by the moonlight, face in shadow, he points imperiously at a patch of grass behind the chief's hut.
Toothless could run. Should run. His instincts are telling him to. But he can't shake the feeling that this was long overdue, that it should have happened earlier. That he's been living on borrowed time.
That if he runs from Hiccup, he won't be able to run from himself.
"Go on."
His friend's voice is unrecognizable. Toothless pads obediently to the patch of grass and crouches in it, shoulders hunched. He can see Hiccup's face in the moonlight now. He smells of Hiccup and he sounds like Hiccup, but he's not Hiccup. It's some other Viking, it's his father back in the bad old days on Berk where all anyone knew about dragons was "kill on sight." And yet, even Stoick the Vast had compassion, doubt and conviction, and you could smell his feelings and see the play of emotions on his face and in his eyes. This? This Hiccup is dead inside. His face is flat, expressionless, his eyes void of their spark. Devoid of love and compassion, yes, but devoid even of anger and vengefulness. Perhaps this is the blankness of grief they talk about.
Toothless is filled with worry for his little human. Perhaps Hiccup has somehow absorbed the old anger and hatred that used to live within his father. They say such emotions leach away from brave and valiant men on their way to Valhalla, finding their way into those who still live on Midgard. If that's so, then Toothless deserves only what he gets.
But that was always true, anyway.
Feeling as he did the day of Stoick's death – no, the day he killed Stoick – Toothless looks plaintively up at his human. Is it worth calling to him? Reminding him of the friendship they share? He can't help a croon.
"Shut up." Hiccup gazes down at Toothless with contempt. "Sure you look innocent now. But a little effort? Working to get rid of the Alpha's control? A moment, that was all I needed. Just to get him out of the way. But you couldn't resist for even that long." He glares, flinty-eyed. "Did you hate him? Did you want to kill him? Do you even know what you've done?"
With inhuman speed, pain claws at Toothless' flank. It's like being struck by another dragon. He lets out a shriek. Hiccup lowers the weapon to his side – through the shrieking of his nerves, he can't tell what it is, but it seems to be some kind of hammer – and grabs Toothless by the saddle. The malevolent grimace shoved up into his face makes Toothless cringe. "Don't make a sound, you…" Hiccup shakes him by the saddle, "traitor…" A blade flashes out and cuts the saddle straps. "I'm taking this off you. You don't deserve it anymore."
At the loss, Toothless can't help a low moan. "I said shut up!"
Hiccup's metal leg whacks him in the jaw, in the sensitive underside where Hiccup loves – loved – to scratch. The blow sends fire down Toothless' nerves. He opens his mouth to scream, remembers he mustn't make a sound, remembers he deserves it, remembers how he was a monster, and swallows his pain. Panting, he crouches in the grass. He's earned this. He can take it.
"What's with you? Fight back! Why are you just rolling over?"
Toothless whimpers, meeting Hiccup's eyes. He doesn't deserve forgiveness, but he can't help but try to make contact any way he can.
"Shut up!" Hiccup screams, then lowers his voice to a hiss. "Your eyes weren't that innocent then. They were scary. Couldn't you have fought off the brainwashing a few hours earlier? You couldn't have shown some of that recognition maybe when you were KILLING MY FATHER!"
Hiccup draws back his leg for another kick. No no no no please please not there again is all Toothless can think before another blow cracks at his under-jaw sweet-spot. The nerve bundle sparks and blazes white behind Toothless' eyelids, then goes dark. He drops. Hiccup is still hissing at him to fight, but his hearing is nothing but a piercing whine. He closes his eyes.
"Oh, no you don't!" Hiccup grabs him again, but not by the saddle: there is no more saddle, because Toothless no longer deserves it. He can't blame Hiccup, really. Why would he want to fly with the dragon who killed Stoick? "Open your eyes," Hiccup urges, hands fisted in Toothless' ear-plates. "I want you to feel this!" Toothless has a moment more to mourn the saddle before Hiccup lifts the weapon. It swings in an arc, impacting his cheek and feeling like it's taken his head clean off his neck.
He swallows his scream. He's promised Hiccup he won't cry out. After all… he closes his eyes to blot out the spinning in his throbbing head… Stoick never got a chance to.
Hiccup's suddenly close, crouching so near that Toothless can feel his body heat and smell his sweat. Wait, something is wrong… there's a smell mixed in with Hiccup's that shouldn't be there. Then he forgets everything as Hiccup whispers with venom, "I should kill you right now."
His friend's soft hands roll Toothless over onto his back. Normally, Toothless would feel safe in the knowledge that Hiccup would never hurt him. Now, he knows what's coming, but he doesn't resist. It's Hiccup's right, has been ever since Toothless fired that fatal blast.
"I should have killed you the day I met you," Hiccup hisses, "and my father would still be alive today."
A tremor goes through Toothless, deep as his old life, deep as the egg from which he hatched. The day I met you. The uprooting of the memories they share is worse than the pain in his body, worse is the knowledge that he's earned it.
Stricken, he stares at his Hiccup. The one for whom he would give anything. The one from whom he took everything.
"You should have died instead of him," Hiccup hisses. "You should have swallowed your flame. If you were really the friend you say you are, you'd have let it kill you. Dragons can do that, can't they? Swallow their fire? Then you'd have been dead out there and he'd be alive. And I'd be glad." Hiccup grabs Toothless' ears, fingers digging into the sensitive nubs. "Glad, you hear me?"
Toothless wonders if Hiccup cutting out his heart would hurt more than this. He'd have expected this in the immediate aftermath, but Hiccup was so loving, so forgiving. It wasn't your fault. You'd never hurt him, you'd never hurt me. That was what he'd said… My best friend...
"Yeah. Yeah, I said what I had to." Toothless must have shown what he was thinking somehow, for Hiccup to know what he's referring to, but Hiccup can always read what he's thinking, anyway. "I told you I forgave you because I'm a spineless wimp. And I needed you. Nothing would have gotten you away from Drago but that, so I said what I had to say. But it was a lie. It was all lies. What you did doesn't deserve forgiveness."
Hiccup thuds down onto one knee on Toothless' stomach. He's not heavy, but the movement is hard enough to drive the breath out of his lungs. "I should…" He draws his dagger. With its point, Hiccup traces the place on Toothless' chest that lies over his heart. Toothless is sure Hiccup can see it beating: it feels like it's going to beat its way out of his chest. The stench of human iron and sweat and anger radiates from the Viking. "I'm gonna cut out your heart… like I should have cut it out and taken it to him…" He bursts into tears, and through the ringing in his ears and the buzzing in his head and the hateful expression, Toothless still wants to comfort him, to take that pain away.
The pain he caused the person closest to him in all the world.
Hiccup's so close that Toothless would have to hurt him to get away. He could throw him off, fight him off. But he won't. Toothless won't defend himself, not even to save his life. It is what he deserves, after all – what he has known he deserved since that moment he woke up from the brainwashing and found Stoick the Vast dead by his flame.
But he can't watch his best friend do this. He turns his head away and closes his eyes.
The point of the dagger presses against Toothless' chest for a long, long moment, the piercing sensation fractionally harder then softer with each pulsing ba-dump of his hammering heart. Then the knife is withdrawn, and almost immediately a weight smashes into Toothless' side. It's numb for a split-second... "Stupid useless dragon…" then his side explodes into pain. Toothless chokes. Now he recognizes Hiccup's weapon. It's a mace.
The next few minutes are a blur of agony the like of which Toothless can't recall since losing his tailfin. Dragon-root poisoning doesn't come close. Hiccup swings the mace into Toothless' ribs over and over, sobbing and shouting about Toothless killing his only family. Sometimes the mace catches his wings. When it's over, Hiccup storms off without looking back, and Toothless is panting and writhing in the grass, ribs pulsing in time to his heart.
Minutes pass, then hours, the night-dew descending onto Toothless' body and soothing the aftereffects of the beating. He should run, logic tells him. He doesn't know what tomorrow will bring. Hiccup probably plans to finish the job, but will wait till morning so as to make it an execution, not a blood-feud killing. It's intelligent, for if their Alpha is murdered in dead of night, Berk's dragons will seek vengeance, unlike if his life is legitimately forfeit. If Toothless wants to live, he should run. But where would he go? To the forest? To live out his life in exile?
He lies in the grass, still trembling in shock and pain. It's not even his life anymore. Human and dragon cultures agree: after what he's done, he belongs to Hiccup. Whatever his little human wants to do to him, Toothless will accept. Even before Stoick, it's been that way for a long time now.
Eventually, he starts triaging himself, and comes to the conclusion that, other than the shock, it's not as bad as it could be. His head and neck – he checks gingerly – are sore but intact. His wings are sparking with sharp, lancinating pains, but not broken. His ribs are throbbing fiercely, probably badly bruised, but again, not broken as far as he can tell. He's a strong dragon, and Hiccup's never been the most powerful Viking, even with a mace. His swing has never been as strong as Stoick's –
Toothless buries his face in the grass, and begins to keen.