Everything
Um, yeah. Newest one-shot, I suppose? I hope you all like! It ended up way longer than I wanted it :P
Stoick looked around the dock and noticed the man with the brown hair was struggling under the weight of his many weapons. He automatically moved to help him, before noticing Gobber on the way to do just that and he let his friend take care of it instead.
Hiccup stared down the dragon, hovering a palm just an inch above its nose. His helmet was off; his red hair still tousled from wearing it. He had dropped his shield and tiny dagger moments ago. Any second, the dragon was going to attack…but it wasn't attacking…its eyelids were getting lower and lower…
Stoick leaned forward in his seat. He had seen enough. He could feel the anger pumping through him, but at the moment, it was calm. It was a carefully controlled campfire. "Stop the fight," he intoned sternly.
Stoick shut his eyes against the flood of memories, but before he could fully stop them, he wondered where his son even was. He hadn't seen the boy since he'd left him in the Great Hall after…after everything.
"No!" Hiccup replied, before the watching crowd could even so much as move a muscle. "I need you all to see this! They're not what we think they are…we don't have to kill them." His voice was quite steady; Stoick would've preferred it to be shaking to that calm, determined tone he'd never heard his son use.
The moment he heard Hiccup speak the words, his anger burned fiercely; the campfire became a raging bonfire. "I said, stop the fight!" he yelled. He slammed his hammer down, as hard as he could, against the wire cage separating him and the rest of the audience from Hiccup and the dragon. The wire creaked in protest, but bent under the thwack of his hammer.
The dragon's yellow eyes snapped open and he snapped his jaws, nearly taking Hiccup's hand off. Stoick pushed through the crowd; his thunderous scowl seemed to help. When people saw Stoick the Vast looking angry, they tended to get out of the way.
He could feel somebody's gaze on him, even as he thought these words and he glanced up at the higher docks to see a small figure standing there, unmoving. The figure was silent and still and looked ever so lonely. Stoick could feel a scowl twisting his brow. He couldn't help but recognize the figure. There weren't any people on Berk that small…except one.
By the time Stoick made it to the arena door, Hiccup and Astrid had both entered the ring; Astrid had thrown a hammer at the Nightmare, hoping to distract it and it worked. The dragon abandoned his smaller, slower prey and began chasing the tiny, distracting blonde gnat instead. Astrid took off immediately and Stoick ripped up the door, nearly pulling it off its hinges. Astrid took a left and arrived safely in his arms, looking out at the arena, waiting for Hiccup to join them.
"This way!" Stoick yelled for his son, but just as Hiccup was approaching the door, the dragon blew a blast of fire at the wall, trapping his son. Hiccup was forced to run another way to get away and the dragon caught him.
With one talon, it pinned him down easily. Stoick saw it building up a fireball in its throat…
He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and screamed for his son, tearing his throat.
Stoick scowled thunderously up at the figure of his small son, hoping the boy would get the message; Hiccup was too far away for Stoick to clearly see his features, but he could've sworn the boy shook his head.
He turned back to the stocking of the boats; fine, he decided and he shrugged a pair of massive Viking shoulders. Fine. That was just fine with him. If his son wanted to watch what they were doing to the precious dragons, then why the hell should Stoick care?
His son was a traitor. Why should he care? Why in the—
"Stoick." Gobber rested a prosthetic hand on his best friend's shoulder and tilted his head questioningly at him. Stoick heard the unspoken question: 'are you all right?'
Stoick struggled to remember what had been fueling him just seconds before; before he'd remembered everything that had gone in the Kill Ring with his son.
He needed to stay focused. He couldn't afford to think of anything else just yet.
Hiccup turned away, scrunching his face, waiting for the blow.
But it never came.
There was a high-pitched screaming sound and the domed top burst open; the wire shattered badly and a black as night dragon flew into the arena. In the dust and smoke and scorching heat, Stoick could still hear his son yelling at somebody unseen to get away.
Stoick heard several watching members of the crowd gasped and peered through the thick haze of smoke to see the black dragon growling at the other.
The Monstrous Nightmare was moaning, licking its wounds and letting out a high-pitched screech every few seconds, a screech that made it sound like a hatchling. It had a savage cut over one eye that was bleeding savagely; its wings were scraped and bloody.
The black dragon looked roughed up, too, but he didn't seem to care. The thing was turning towards his son; his green eyes were locking on the boy, who stood frozen to the spot for a few seconds. The chief assumed he was stiff with fear, but this was quickly disproved: Hiccup moved forward and gently put his hands on the dragon's snout. His touch was gentle, but familiar; he'd clearly done this many times.
That was enough to root Stoick himself to the spot and Stoick wasn't a very easily flabbergasted man.
Hiccup began pushing the dragon firmly towards the exit. Through the noise, Stoick could faintly hear him saying something. "Alright, Toothless," he murmured to the black dragon, "go, get out of here."
And then, when the other Vikings began coming toward the two with weapons, Hiccup actually screamed. "GO! GO!" he was pushing the dragon frantically towards the exit now, panic in his clear green gaze.
Stoick was quickly getting over his shock and it was being replaced by anger. It was the same wild anger that had raced through him when Hiccup had been fighting the Monstrous Nightmare. He grabbed the nearest thing he could find and attacked; halfway there, he realized he was clutching an axe with a bloodstained blade, but he was so furious he hardly cared.
He knew what had to be done; he had to get that thing away from his son and the other villagers. He had to lock it up, kill it, throw it out to sea with a necklace of stones, to make sure the thing couldn't kill anybody else…
Stoick nodded to reassure his friend, struggling to fix a murderous look on his face, but his mind betrayed him. His heart tugged for just a second as he remembered those few seconds in the Kill Ring when he'd thought…when he'd thought…he'd seen his son throw away the last bit of his mother… And he'd seen his son nearly die, too, the same way he'd watched his wife die…
He wanted to forget everything about today. He wanted to wake up and realize this was all a dream and hear greedy shouts of joy as he saw his son kill a Monstrous Nightmare…he wanted this day to end.
"No, Dad!" Hiccup cried; there was definite panic to his voice now as he yelled. "Dad, he won't hurt you!"
Stoick could faintly still hear his son's cries and he thought he detected a female voice within them, too, but he dismissed it as he wrestled the beast to the ground, holding the shining axe high, high in the air, trying to chop its head off at the neck, trying to do something…
A green smoke began pouring out of the dragon's mouth and Stoick understood: the dragon was building up a fireball. It was going to kill him. Very well, then. Stoick didn't much care. Hopefully, all of his villagers would make it out of the arena alive and sure, he'd want to live too, if that happened.
"No!" he could hear his son still crying out, but he wasn't sure who he was talking to. "NO!" Hiccup yelled again, louder this time.
The green smoke retreated and the dragon swallowed. He lowered his head in submission and Stoick swore he saw the boy and the dragon exchange horrified glances just before the other villagers hauled it off him, which was a lucky thing; he could scarcely breathe.
When the dragon was removed from his chest, he stood, slightly off-balance. Another Viking man stood beside him, quietly holding the axe he had dropped. He offered it up to Stoick, but the chief ignored him, turning instead to the Night Fury. What had happened with that beast?
To his relief, he saw that several Viking men were holding the beast's mouth tightly shut, gazing up at Stoick like they weren't sure what to do.
He turned back to his son. The blade of the shining axe the other man still held glinted an inch from his nose and he shoved it away. "Put it with the others."
He couldn't afford to think of anything else, no – but he couldn't help but think of everything else.
Hiccup never once looked at his father and that was the hardest part for him; he wanted to look. He wanted to, he wanted to look so badly just to check and see, to make sure his father wasn't scowling in rage or about to start shaking his fists and yelling again, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
His fingers fumbled with the buckles on Toothless' saddle for a few seconds and he fussed with them a little more than was necessary because he could sense his dad standing right beside him and that was the last person in the world Hiccup was going to talk to.
He couldn't help but replay everything in his head…
His dad's eyes widened suddenly; his eyes were alight with fierce, fierce glee. The look on his face was calculating. Hiccup knew what had just happened and he wanted to correct it, needed to correct it, but he knew his father and he knew the man wouldn't listen…
"No, no, Dad, no, please, it's not what you think, you don't know what you're up against!" Hiccup tried. "It's like nothing you've ever seen!"
His father barely seemed to notice he was there; he gently batted him aside, shoving him out of the way and heading for the door with a fiery determination.
Hiccup's hands slipped on the buckles of his saddle; should he look at his dad? Should he not?
"Dad?" Hiccup called to him. "Please! I promise you, you can't win this one!"
His dad never once broke stride; he wasn't listening. And all at once, anger flew at Hiccup from all sides. It was a burning, scorching, blazing rage and he was overcome by a sudden, strong desire to grab his father, shake him, make him understand that his son wasn't joking…it was a desire, above all, to make his father listen.
Should he look at his dad? Should he not?
"FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST LISTEN TO ME?!" he was fueled by anger and desperation, he knew, but he clung to his father's arm anyway.
The man shook his arm roughly and Hiccup flew from his hand onto the wooden floor of the Great Hall and stared at the chief in shock.
"Hiccup!" Stoick reached out, making the decision for him. Hiccup looked at him and saw something warm there; his beard was dripping wet and his helmet was tilted at an odd angle, but despite how rough he looked, his eyes were kind.
Hiccup felt his stomach give a jolt; was his father going to say…? What was the chief going to say…?
"You've thrown your lot in with them." Stoick whispered and his voice was truly terrible to hear. It was low and angry and dangerous.
"I'm sorry."
Hiccup's heart lifted with hope.
"You're not a Viking."
"For…"
"You're not my son."
"For everything."
"Yeah, me, too."