Author's Note: Before I begin the chapter, I just want to say how happy I am that you guys have been responding positively to the story. There have been a lot of questions in the comments pertaining to the future, or rather, the end of the story, and many are making some guesses as to what will happen to our favorite characters. And I am here to answer all those questions right now.
Enjoy.
…
Teeth.
Eyes.
Claws.
Teeth and claws.
Claws and teeth.
Eyes. Jade. Jade. Eyes.
Hiccup was sinking into his own misery. Overlying himself in his own anxiety. Drowning in his wretched fears.
...
"Ah-Ah didn't think 'e could get any worse than this," Gobber stammered over the unconscious body of his apprentice, completely at a loss to what could have encouraged this type of behavior. He shot an accusing, shocked glare to the guilty party and barked, "Astrid, what did yeh do?!"
Her dignity on the line, Astrid was quick to deflect. "Don't blame this on me, Gobber!" The afflicted child snapped, although it must be admitted that she sniffed with satisfactory scorn at the incoherent boy. "Don't be angry at me because he took a nice trip."
...
Alone in his home, Hiccup convened motionless atop a small wooden stool in a corner of the downstairs, where he had been ordered to reside until his father's return.
"Teeth and claws."
"There's… Cuh…Claws n' teeth."
A finger negligently traced a stark scar.
"Nails and marks."
The digit arched.
"Marks and nails."
The fingernail compulsorily dug into the healing wound, causing it to reopen and a trickle of blood to spill out.
"...Blood."
"Well, I've officially gone crazy," Hiccup mumbled under his breath, half-heartedly reposing his pale face in his palm. It felt so uncomfortable and unbalanced without his left hand present to support anything, but he forced himself to bear with it. His stomach churned with appalling disgust at the amputated limb.
He wished that the dragon could have-at the very least-stolen something expendable, like his foot. It wasn't as if he used it for more than just walking, which could be easily solved with a prosthetic. But with the way things were going along so far, an amputated limb was far down the list of worries as far as his mentality was concerned. Even what the village was going to think of him now was surprisingly far from his mind.
"I never thought I'd be classed as mentally unstable," he mused. "If anyone, it should have been Ruffnut or Tuffnut, or even Mildew...but... I guess it could happen to anybody."
He sighed, sluggishly knocking his bony knees together before going inert once again. His entire body was drained of energy due to the toil of that day. He ceaselessly felt seconds from fading away into a dreamless coma, to which he would have contentedly taken over confronting his disappointed father again, or more significantly, the beast.
"I hope Dad's proud of himself for letting his runt live," the boy muttered humorously, rubbing at his eye. "Should've sent me out t' sea before I went bonkers."
Huh.
He pondered if he could logically identify himself as crazy, did that make him sane? And if not, did that at least encourage the existence of logical reasoning hidden deep within his ruptured thought-process?
"I don't think so," he mused distractedly, shifting upon the stool he was sitting on. "Crazy people can know they're crazy, regardless of their stability. And I'm no exception."
But still, it was so difficult even for him to officially dictate his sanity levels. All his life he had been a stable, levelheaded person, with patience and perseverance. He spoke quietly when others yelled. Negotiated when others fought. Rebelled defiantly when others obeyed without question. Yes, he had been an enigma, but he wasn't insane then. Perhaps he WAS an exception.
"Was I born insane?" He inquired to himself, his twitching fingers twiddling together. It was an interesting observation, one that would provoke many debatable questions, but he dismissed it with a small huff.
Just another stupid question. They were all stupid questions.
"No. All babies are innocent," he reminded himself, "until something screws them up along the way. Even I was normal, albeit kinda small." He smiled softly and tried to picture a tiny baby boy completely made up of innocence and curiosity, devoid of misery and guilt and fear. "Viking life hit me pretty heavily," he quipped darkly, a rickety chuckle forcing its way past his lips. "Heh. Guess it goes to show how much the Gods really hate me."
The small smile disappeared as quickly as it had emerged, along with any pleasantly witty thoughts; they were banished from his mind and were replaced by desolate ones.
"Of course they hate me. I wasn't ever meant to live more than a week after birth. Mom and Dad were supposed to send me out to sea, but they didn't. I grew some, constantly spawned mayhem, destruction...and now a Nightfury...a Nightfury has been shot down, set free, and captured again."
Stop.
"No!" He cried, trying his best to subdue the remorse abating his mind. When had this self-induced torture begun? "I can't do this to myself. I can't dwell on these things!"
Stop.
"Why stop? What else is new?"
"Thor..." Hiccup buried his face in his remaining hand, contemplating his existence. What was the point? It didn't matter what he or anyone else did, because the eyes would forever haunt him, tormenting him until his time of dying. The only way, at least in Hiccup's mind, to escape this anguish was to…
"I can't die," he dully proclaimed, disappointment evident in his tone. "I know I've come undone, but I can' leave my dad. It wouldn't be fair to him." He meant what he said, for he cared deeply for the man, but what was the point of living a life in such a hideous suit of scarred skin? What was the point of trying to earn the respect of his elder when he knew in his heart that it would never come other than as a form of pity? To earn his title to rule over people who looked down upon him? To be weak? To be hated? It just wasn't worth it.
"Death by fire, not teeth." Hiccup thought, imagining scenarios for the next raid. Blood cascaded from his wounds, and he resembles a human waterfall of crimson liquid. "I want to go to Valhalla," he thought, closing his grey-green eyes. "I wanna see Mom. She can take care of me. She can erase my marks-my scars."
A noble part of him took interest in this, but his other half, his all but shattered psyche, hysterically guffawed.
"Is THAT what you believe?!" It inquired. "She sympathized with dragons! She fell in love with the very monsters that not only tore you apart, but your counterparts and ancestors too! The very monsters that have been pillaging and picking us off for centuries! She may not even be in Valhalla, for how could a person like that be granted admission to the table of heroes? And on top of that, what makes you think that you'd be granted admission to the table of kings and heroes?! What have YOU done!?"
"I…"
"How could she love you?!"
Hiccup spluttered in spite of himself and hung his head when he couldn't think up a proper retort. Why did he need to convince himself of the sort of thing? Dead or alive, she was his mother! She must have loved him! And despite his all-around uselessness, she wouldn't cast him aside like many had before. ...Right?
"It doesn't matter anymore, anyway," he muttered.
...
Outside the Haddock household, things weren't up to par, especially for those who'd witnessed the young heir's mental breakdown in the forge; namely, Gobber and Astrid. Stoick had rushed over upon being hastily informed of the new development and arrived just in time to catch a glimpse of the ashen face of his unconscious son before he came to with gasps and quaking limbs.
After dismissing the gathering teenagers and other adult Vikings from the area, it didn't take long for him to make a final decision, one that Gobber disapproved of entirely.
"One lapse and yer givin' up on 'im?" He questioned the chief over a mug of refreshing water.
Stoick stared impassively into his own mug before answering in a solemn tone. "Gobber, Ah can't let him out in public like this." Before the smith could object, he added, "He's far too unstable. It's mah fault for letting him out when it clearly wasn't his time yet."
There was a short, understanding silence between the two of them and Gobber glanced at the Haddock home at the top of the hill. The site used to cast a regal tone across the village, ensuring safety, power, and leadership, but now it seemed like cursed ground, cradling within its walls an insane person.
"...Eh, that's alright, old friend," he muttered with a small shrug, banishing his opinion on the matter away. "E-Et's probably for his own good, anyway."
Stoick nodded with satisfaction, taking a long chug of his water before adding, "Ah also need to postpone his apprenticeship for th' time being." Gobber flinched at that and stared at his friend. "If he can't control himself for even an hour or two around other people," Stoick explained, "then he really ought to stay inside until Ah can figure out what's goin' on in that head of his."
Gobber opened his mouth to protest this arrangement, but for his friend's sake, he postponed it. "Ech," he grumbled, taking a large swig. "Good luck with that, Stoick."
...
Hiccup absently picked at his fingernails, a nervous gesture of his mounting anxiety. Was it too much to ask to die a peaceful death rather than one of teeth and claws? Could he not even look forward to his inevitable demise in favor of seeing his long-lost mother? It was madness! It was lunacy!
It was unfair! So, so incredibly unfair...
He shuddered, these thoughts of sadness and death scaring any sane part of him left, into hiding. He was deteriorating once again and there was nobody around who could help him.
Hisssss...
The young Viking clamped his mouth shut, but not before a whimper or two escape the confines of his mouth. He didn't dare to glance upward, to come eye-to-eye with the Nightfury, its razor teeth bared, its claws extended.
"But the claws aren't real-the claws aren't real!" He desperately tried to convince his breaking psyche. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as he rocked back and forth. "The teeth aren't real, Hiccup."
"But they're so sharp," he croaked, clamping a hand against his mouth and hunching over. His stomach was twisting and churning along with the rest of his insides. Flashes of memory overcame his mind; images of the Nightfury's claws raking his chest, tearing chunks of meat out of his backside.
Had the young Viking been standing, his knees would have buckled beneath him. Instead, he began to heave at the memory and promptly expelled the contents of his stomach, right then and there, creating quite a mess on the wooden floor and a sour taste in his mouth.
"Erg..." He gurgled, emerald eyes rolling to the back of his head as he continued to heave. Pixies were swimming before his eyes. "Gotta...clean...that..." But he couldn't will himself to move.
"It h-hurts," he retched with a whine, salty hot tears bubbling at the corners of his blood-shot eyes. "N-Not real, but real sharp. Eyes-" He paused for a moment, contemplating this. "Eyes... Astrid blue, Snotlout brown...dragon green...not real, but I have eyes, you have eyes, Dad green eyes. They're green. Like grass n' stuff. We all have green eyes like a Nightfury. But the eyes aren't real."
He closed his own and wrapped his lanky arms around his torso. "...It hurts..."
...
It'd been a good few hours since he'd been brought back from his unconscious state to find his father, Gobber, and a stricken Astrid hovering above him—well actually, Astrid was hanging back a bit, chatting quietly with the other teens who'd arrived to watch the show. Joy.
"Ye alright there, Laddie?" The man breathed, gently pressing a callused palm against the boy's balmy forehead. "Gave me quite a scare, there." He move a hand under the younger Viking's backside. "Can yeh sit up for me? Hm? There we go. Right. That's better."
Hiccup was listless and limp, like a ragdoll. It was when he made eye-contact with Astrid that he recognized the wary, cautious expression on her flawless face. She wasn't frightened of him, per se, but being somewhat of a traditionalist, she was prone to believe many superstitions about Vikings who'd gone mad after battle, leaving them susceptible to the demons of Loki.
Though, to be fair, it wasn't every day that an acquaintance would go completely psycho and faint in your arms. She had every right to discard him aside, and he came to realize this through a barely functional mind.
And it wasn't just her. It looked as though everybody in town had come over to watch the show.
It was over.
...
The Nightfury had sleek claws that tore through flesh like a knife through butter. That's what he saw and continued to see day in day out.
"But the claws I see aren't real," Hiccup reasoned, fingering his tunic at the chest area where the scars lay riddled underneath. "The claws are fake now, 'cause nobody sees 'em but me. Astrid has claws on her shoulders. Metal ones. But weapons are real-"
A sudden cry tore at his raw throat as his sanity fought for control.
"But claws are real!" It reasoned. "You got hurt because claws are real. Claws ARE real."
Stop!
"No they aren't! J-Just like the eyes. They're false," he said aloud, as lucidly as he dared. He paused, and glanced around. Thankfully, Stoick was out prying information from Gobber about his son, and for once, Hiccup was semi-grateful. Thor knew what his father would say if he found his son rambling like this in a self-induced session of lunacy.
Dad...
"Dad has marks like me," he thought, tracing a visible one at his collarbone. "His are smaller and hidden. They're real."
"A monster wanted to eat him," his psyche moaned. "It wanted to chew on his skull and bones."
Stop.
"The monster gave him marks like me," Hiccup thought, his eyes growing hot. "But why?"
"Monsters are bad, of course."
...
"Does anyone care to tell me what HAPPENED?" Stoick growled with a fiery gaze hot enough to set a thousand tubs to boil.
None the wiser and eager to tell the chef of his son's recent misfortune, Astrid marched straight up to him and put on her best petrified face. "He just went crazy!" Blurted the blonde girl, waving her arms. "I don't know what wrong with him, but whatever it is-"
"ENOUGH."
Nobody argued with the chief, and she fell silent, dropping her gaze immediately. "Sorry,' she mumbled, anger consuming her mind a the man swept passed her and ignored her insincere apology.
Stoick kneeled down to his son, taking in the sight of the boy's sunken eyes, and listless demeanor. He was leaning lazily against his boss for support and averting his blank gaze from his father's.
"Boy?"
No response.
"Hiccup?" Gobber softly inquired, nudging the listless boy.
Nothing.
"Son. Answer me." Stoick ordered gently but firmly, reaching out to slip his fingers under his son's chin to tilt his head toward him. It wasn't until he retched out with a large hand that Hiccup invoked any response, and it was a harsh one.
With a guttural cry, Hiccup swatted his father's hand away, causing everyone present to flinch with deep devastation.
"Hiccup…" Stoick whispered, and then trailed off. Was his son truly even there anymore? It was what everyone was wondering at this point.
...
Hiccup nodded crazily. "Bad. Monsters are bad." It was the only thing he was sure of now.
"Dad is good. Dad protected us. He's good. Gobber's good. Monsters are bad. Markings are good."
"Good?" Hiccup marveled, beside himself as he picked at a scar on his clavicle. "Marks are good?"
"Marks of bravery. He protected his family and you tried too."
When Hiccup had truly gained consciousness from the zombie-like state in the forge, pixies swam before his very eyes, coupled with the jade that-he was convinced now-would never abandon his lie of sight. It was inevitable, he realized morosely, that he would never live the life he had before, and although that life hadn't been all that favorable, it was better than this!
"But not you. You got the marks because you set a monster free!" The psyche snarled, abruptly taking on a different tone, causing him to physically shake. "You are BAD! You set free a monster that tried to eat Dad! Eat you!"
Upon "recovering" from his most recent breakdown, which consisted of hyperventilating, panicked cries, and uncontrollable spasms, Hiccup hid his face as he was personally escorted from the forge by his father, from the plaza, and from the prying eyes of his tribesmen, all the way back to his humble abode. Stoick had him firmly by the uninjured arm, impassively staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable and intentions unclear.
Hiccup, on the other hand, felt numb and dizzy, inside and out. He knew that coming into the village was a horrible idea. He knew it. He knew it. He knew it.
"It's gonna drive you insane, and when it escapes again, it's gonna find you when you least expect it, and eat you!"
Stop.
"It'll crunch your bones-fingers and legs and arms and toes-very sweet and coppery."
Hiccup almost threw up again. He shifted about tremendously and mindlessly tugged at his once again bandaged shoulders. During his freak-out session, he'd managed to tear most of his stitches, which caused him to start to bleed a dangerous amount. Luckily, Gobber was there to help him. Even so, Hiccup was nothing short of broken, with or without the stitches.
"It's gonna get me..." He murmured hoarsely, rocking back and forth on the stool from which he sat. Stoick had commanded him to remain put while he fetched more medical supplies, despite his son's unstableness.
So here he was. Alone.
"It's g-... 'T's...gonna eat me..." He whimpered, wrapping with skinny arms around his torso. "Gonna...G-Gonna eat me alive-"
Tremble.
Tremble.
Tremble.
Stop.
But it didn't stop.
"It's gonna eat me alive."
He's alone and vulnerable, and fear overcomes his being almost instantly, his heart beating like a hammer. He wanted his father, the only person who could ever protect him from the monster. The Nightfury. But he won't talk. He won't disturb the shadows and the silent dead of the morning. Or was it the afternoon? He couldn't really tell anymore.
He couldn't think straight. Something-something crucial in his mind had broken, and he couldn't figure it out like he was supposed to.
His eyes widen after a few attempts to close them, but finding the jade eyes where the darkness should be.
No... No... NO!
His hand jerked up to pound against his face, and a loud 'thock' reverberated around the small of the room upon impact.
"Why won't you go away?!" He howled, painfully digging his fingers into his eyes, trying to scrub away the hallucinations. His sanity was eroding once more into a panicked frenzy. "Go AWAY! GO away! Go away! Go away!"
They hovered above him. To his right. To his left. They wouldn't dissipate. They wouldn't leave. They wouldn't leave. They had teeth. They had claws. They had red. Red stuff... Blood. His blood.
Hiccup continued to scream. Scream until throat went raw. Scream until until a pair of feet rushed into the home gargantuan arms instantly engulfed him. He screamed again, terrified that THAT might've been the forearms of the Nightfury preparing to rip him to shreds. He began to dribble, face marble-white; he was that afraid.
And then he heard his father's voice, the light that banished the dark, and thankfully, the eyes for the time being.
"Enough! Enough!" The man bellowed, and Hiccup resigned to full out sobbing rather than screaming, burying his face into his father's tunic. "Enough. Calm down. Just...calm down." Tiny fingers clenched his tunic and he received no intelligible reply. Just a series of hyperventilating gasps.
"I-I-I can't! I-I can't!"
"Yeh can't?!"
"No! YES! NO!" That's the issue. He doesn't know what. He can't be left alone? He can't go on? He can't escape? What?!
"I-I dunno!" He broke down. "I DON'T KNOW!"
Stoick shook his head and wrenched himself out of the embrace. He needed Gothi's advice and a priest to exercise the demon plaguing his son.
Hiccup blanched and resisted the urge to run to his father, for the fear of being so vulnerable is more than he could bear. Under any other circumstances, he would've placidly remained where he was so that he wouldn't annoy or bother the man, but here, his own life was far more important...
"NO!" Hiccup's will-power shattered and he leapt from the stool, wrapping his arms around the man's waist. The outburst caught him off-guard. "Don't leave me!" He shrieked. Stoick did a double-take.
"Don't leave! It'll come if you leave! It's gonna get me, don't you get it?!" Stoick stared as his son went visibly mad before him. Hiccup's pupils shrunk down to needlepoints and his fingers yanked at the unkempt hair on his head. Stoick's heart plummeted to his stomach and his face turned ashen.
"It's starving!" Hiccup wailed, bashing his own forehead with a fist. "It wants me 'cause I shot it outta the sky!"
"Hiccup-!"
"It's gonna rip my guts out!" The boy gasped, hunching over to wrap his hands around his middle. He was beginning to hyperventilate and he leapt forward with his hand outstretched.
He could see them-the teeth tearing open a hole in his abdomen and drawing out a mess of bloody internal organs, which splattered upon the hardwood floor. "It's gonna EAT ME!" He screamed, vision going white, the world tilting.
"ENOUGH!" Stoick boomed.
Hiccup was too far-gone to care about his non-existent dignity, and he allowed his father to engulf his tiny body with his larger one in a protective, sorrowful embrace. For a long time, there was silence, save for the abrupt gasps and sobs emitting from the younger Viking.
"That dragon... You're scared t' death of it, aren't ye?" Stoick asked softly, running his fingers through his son's auburn hair. It was evident, but he needed his boy to clarify it.
Hiccup would laugh if he could. Wasn't it obvious? Instead, he shuddered and whimpered out a hoarse, "Y-Yes. G-Gods, yes!"
Oh, Odin… "It's alright. It's alright. Ah understand." Stoick sighed, gently tightening his embrace around the hysterical child. "Hiccup, it's in the ring," he tried to assure. "It can't get t' ye."
"No! It can!" The younger Viking cried, beyond the capacity of rational thought. It seemed as though his common sense had been completely tattered. "And it will! If it's alive-it's there-it..." His voice sank low to a whisper, "...it's coming for me!"
"It will no longer be alive," Stoick admonishes. "By this Thorsday, it will no longer be among the living. It will be dead, it's soul in Helheim, that I can promise yeh. Yeh won't have anything to worry about it ever again."
Hiccup's breath hitched upon hearing this new development. "W-What do you mean?" He inquired nasally, wiping his nose. "Are...Are you gonna-?"
"Yes," Stoick answered solemnly. "It's to be executed come tomorrow for its crimes against the Vikings of Berk."
Hiccup finally went somewhat quiet, and sniffed thoughtfully.
"If it's dead," Stoick pressed, "it can't get you, yes?"
Even in Hiccup's barmy state, that made sense. If it was dead, it couldn't hurt him, yeah? "...Yeah..."
"Right. It will never haunt you again."
That assured Hiccup like nothing else ever had. The change in his persona was sudden, almost scarily abrupt, but who wouldn't react quickly if they knew their monster was going to be vanquished off the face of the world by the next day?
Among all the terrifying, gut-wrenching thoughts that had been plaguing his mind for days, this new proposal encouraged a seemly pleasant, yet uncharacteristically odd thought to wriggle its way out of the depths of Hiccup's psyche and penetrate his thought process. "I...I want to watch," he whispered, closing his emerald eyes and bowing his head so that his bangs hid his face from his father.
The statement tugged a slight gasp to emit from the Chief, who hadn't expected his son to desire such a thing.
"Y-...Ye want t'-?"
"Watch," Hiccup insisted, curling his fingers tentatively around each other. "I-I...I wanna watch you...k-ki..."
"End its life?" Stoick supplied. "Ah don't think that's something ye should be witnessing in yer..." He gestured aimlessly. "...In yer state."
Hiccup said nothing, but with his face hidden from his father's line of sight, he allowed his features to contort into an ugly snarl. As strange for him as it may have seemed, he had a sudden...longing to witness the upcoming extraordinary event. To see the vibrant green eyes that had haunted him since the attack to fade to milky death. To watch the body give its last shudder and fail.
"I wanna see it die," Hiccup admitted with a small sob. He knew just how angry his father was at the dragon. "I want it to-to just close its eyes."
Stoick gently gripped his boy's shoulders, uncertain how to feel about this. Not only had this creature stolen from them, hurt them, but it had also pained them in a way that he couldn't describe, but this... He inhaled deeply, remembering his former meeting with the beast. "It deserves no better than to..."
"Die a painful death?" Hiccup mumbled, his emerald eyes flashing with something new. "'Scuse my brashness, but please do."
Stoick was confused but amazed. "Hm?"
"Kill it," he snapped suddenly, his brows furrowing. "You have to. Kill it as soon as possible. I don't want it to find me. I don't want it to eat me."
"And it won't," his father promised, unnerved by the sudden change in his boy's demeanor, "by the time I'm through with it."
Hiccup flinched, but a part of him relished in the prospect of his mauler suffering the way he did. It was the least that thing deserved for mauling him. For stealing his hand. For forever scarring his body. For rupturing his mind. For plaguing it with nightmares that would continue to haunt him for years to come.
Jade eyes…
Stop.
Growl.
"Kill it!" He suddenly shrieked, leaping from his spot on the floor to grab a nearby sword off the wall and shove it into his shocked father's hands before he could even blink. "Kill it! Kill it!"
"Hicc- Thor, boy! Calm yourself!"
"Now! Kill it! While you still have time! Kill it! Kill it!"
*Slap!*
The rapid noise echoed throughout the small hut, effectively cutting off the boy's cries. Hiccup stumbled backward, awkwardly clutching the reddening area of his face, which had just been assaulted full force. The sting itself was unbearable, but the identity of the guilty perpetrator was too much for him to bear.
"Duh-Dad!" His cry was child-like in the midst of betrayal and hysteria.
Stoick's breathing was ragged as he watched his son collapse against the wall near the base of the stairs, drawing his bony knees up to his thin, pale face. His eyes were wild, disbelieving, and spoke of hurt, infidelity, and utter misery.
"Hiccup," the man started, quickly approaching the boy, causing him to yelp and curl in on himself.
"D-..."
The chief quickly knelt down next to him. "Ah'm sorry. Ah'm sorry Ah had to do that, but your behavior is getting far out of hand-... Thor, almighty..."
"I'm sorry!" Hiccup wailed, drawing his knees up to his face. "G-Gods I'm s-so sorry! I didn't mean t-to do that!" What had he been thinking?! "Dad-As long as that thing-I mean, I can't stop-I can't stop thinking about it!"
"About what?"
"The...That Nightfury!" He groaned, burying his face in his knees. "It won't stop-! I can't stop thinking about it and I don't know how much longer I can go on like this-I mean, look at me! I'm-I'm..."
Ah... Stoick understood this type of condition. He'd seen it in warriors who'd fought through decades of battles and had seen more than enough gruesome things to scar lesser men. Those warriors had always resigned, hung up the axe or the sword and live the rest of their lives quietly, away from the thrill of life's greatest pleasures. He'd seen the vacant expression on their faces, the milky blankets in their eyes, their gnarled fingers tightly clenching and unclenching-it was nearly equivalent to Hiccup's nervous actions as of late.
It dawned on him. He needed to destroy the source of Hiccup's suffering, the thing that had started it all. "I see," Stoick softly replied, gathering the child in his arms. "I see."
Hiccup was beyond comfort and he continued to ramble on without thought. "Why did I...?!" He groaned. "Why did I hafta set it free?" Stoick pushed whatever discerning thoughts away that questioned the odd statement and he tightened his hold.
It would be over soon. The nightmare was going to end the next day.
"Tomorrow," he promised. "Ye will be there, because yer goin' t' be th' one t' carry out the execution."
...
Hiccup sat stiffly. Although it was incredibly misty out and the temperature had dropped significantly since the start of the day, he felt dreadfully hot and incoherent. His remaining hand was clustered awkwardly beside his amputated one, clammy.
He sat beside his father, on the right sight of his regal throne, which overlooked the arena to give the person a spectacular view of what was to come. And what was to come was going to be a part of history: thousands of dragons had been executed on Berk, hundreds alone in this arena, but today was special, marked historical by the execution of the first-ever captured Nightfury.
Hiccup rubbed his thumb along the leather handle of his whittling knife, the one meant to finish the job. It didn't feel like his hand, holding that weapon.
He felt off.
Stoick surveyed the arena, his cheering subjects, and decided that with all of them gathered and waiting, now was the perfect time to commence the ceremony.
"Bring out the Nightfury!" He boomed. A group of Vikings rushed over to open the large wooden doors that delimited the aforementioned dragon, unveiling its sluggish, malnourished, but nonetheless impressive form.
Hiccup's breath hitched and he curled up in his seat of honor, the mere sight of the beast triggering all sorts of horrible feelings within him. "Ye alright, Hiccup?" Stoick whispered. His son swallowed and nodded. "Alright, wait here. Ah'll call ye down when it's your time."
Another jerky nod, and Stoick left.
Everyone was invited to come down and deliver his or her own blows to the dragon. For some, like Gobber and Stoick and those whose homes and families it had destroyed, it was out of vengeance, but most of the other participants simply wanted a chance to take a hit at the legendary beast, placing bets and taking names while others sat and watched said beast with stony anger.
Hiccup scrutinized inflexibly, his stomach flip-flopping with every punch, every stab, every kick, but a part of him imbibed the sight like a cup of mead on Snoggletog. A part of his was really enjoying this, more than he ever should have. A small, hysterical smile of sadistic wonder was tugging at his lips, his hand playing with the whittling knife thoughtfully.
What would it be like to finally kill a dragon, he kept wondering? Why would it be like to be the first of his peers to do it? From what he'd heard from warriors around the village, it would be a combination of exhilaration and retribution. Would...Would he even be able to enjoy that?
When he had first met the beast, he'd been unable to do so, his sympathetic compassion getting the better of him. But now, things had changed within him. If things had gone a little differently, perhaps he would have been protesting the treatment of this animal, say, if he hadn't been mauled like a common boar. But he had been. And unfortunately for the Nightfury, its lunch had lived and was coming back to deliver the final blow.
The dragon was screaming, music to Stoick's ear as he ordered five or six men to peel the dragon's lips away with carving knives, exposing its bloody teeth and gums. It wailed in agony; the sound should have broken Hiccup's heart under detached circumstances, but now he felt nothing but satisfaction and disdain, even when the castration began.
"Well, how about that?" He muttered inquisitively, rotating the knife between his fingers as the dragon's screams echoed around the area. "The butcher's getting butchered."
After a mighty half hour of the villagers barraging the dragon, the town dentist was called in to perform exquisite torture methods. He was instructed to yank out the razor sharp teeth of the beast, to which he gladly complied and took the extra time to remove each one tantalizingly slow.
It was an agonizing process, and the dragon strained with all its might to maneuver his maw away from the Vikings, but they held fast. Nothing in the world could distract them from the task at hand; not jewels, nor food, nor treasures.
"MONSTERS!" The Nightfury screeched as more of his teeth were removed. He attempted to retract the ones left to salvage the rest he had, but the offending dentist would simply dig his razor-sharp scalpel into his tender gums to draw the teeth out, causing excruciating pain that would cause lesser reptiles to pass out.
"WORMS! VERMIN! PESTS!"
Yank.
Screech!
Yank.
Howl!
Ya-clink.
The dentist bit the inside of his cheek with concentration. Only part of the tooth had been removed, the rest of the bone hanging by a few threads of shredded gums. An involuntary twinge shot through Hiccup's jaw as he witnessed the brutality.
"Just leave it," Stoick waved dismissively, and the dentist bowed respectively before backing off to the let chief through. He had his own punches to throw in.
Next were the claws. Hiccup watched squeamishly as the blunt force of his father's hammer flattened the paws of the Nightfury, which shrieked with all its might. The hammer had ignited a fire within the reptilian being that surpassed its own plasma blasts. It screeched so loudly that the noise caused Hiccup's ears to ring. And since he couldn't cover both ears at once, he forced himself to wait it out.
"Hiccup!"
That was his father.
The boy stared down at the man, who was beckoning him closer with a finger.
"Get down here, son!" He called almost cheerfully, the rush of the morning improving his mood tremendously. "It's time."
That's right. Everything was said and done and everyone had had their fun; it was time for him to make the dragon exit from this world.
He scurried down without question and hesitance, clutching his knife like a vice as he vacated the premise of the thrones. His heart was pounding like a kettledrum as he entered the circular arena, and he cast his emerald eyes to the stony ground, too afraid to make eye contact with anyone-especially the beaten Nightfury that trained its eyes on him the moment he entered. Would it recognize him?
Stop.
Don't think.
Stop.
Just go.
No, stop! You can't go near that thing!
"Hush. It'll be over soon," he assured himself, carefully wiping the beads of sweat away from his forehead. Despite the cool weather, he felt unusually warm, and whether the cause was anxiety, nervousness, or fear, he didn't care. There were bigger things to worry about now.
His father beckoned him again, and he obeyed, moving stiffly toward the group with his eyes cast downward. "It's gonna be fine," he thought repeatedly, carefully adjusting his helmet, a gift his father had granted him that morning, assuring his role in the village as a warrior. "If, by chance, that something goes amiss, there are plenty of people down here to help me."
Everyone had different expressions on their faces that ranged from pride to indifference to anger. Stoick had a furrowed frown and his form was straight, an attitude of cautious pride. Gobber looked exceedingly worried and nervous, and it was evident that he was trying to mask it, albeit unconvincingly. The other teens, including Snotlout, gave him grins of encouragement. Tuffnut even gave him a light pat on the back as they strode past him to make a respectable distance.
After all, who wouldn't want a good view as the show reached its climatic conclusion?
Astrid was tight-lipped with her arms folded and her entire being as stiff and cold as an iceberg. She said nothing of note as her adversary approached but jealously bloomed within her like nothing else had before. In what world did he deserve to kill that dragon? No, seriously, in what world did a terrible runt of Viking deserve to deliver the final blow? There were hundreds of villagers present who were more deserving than this feeble idiot, but they were still letting him? HIM?! It was ridiculous.
She seethed and growled as someone gripped her shoulder and tugged her away from her desired prize-all to make a clear path for the heir of the tribe.
"That should be me," she growled under her breath, shrugging away from the ones who held her back. "He'd better put on a show worthy of a real warrior," she thought nastily, "or so help me Freya..."
Determination wilting, Hiccup paused a few feet away from his destination, still struggling to control his breathing and heart pace. His clammy, sweaty fingers clenched and unclenched the weapon in his hand and he nearly dropped it several times. His feet couldn't move on their own any longer.
The dragon grimaced up at him, its eye tapering into a slit while its bloody gums bore. Hiccup exhaled nervously. He wasn't sure that it could recognize him through scent alone, but since the reptile chuffed and began to growl even more so, it was evident that the beast withheld the grudge with a passion. The boy's mind flashed to the day where he was mauled and went immobile. A sharp level of anxiety flashed up his spine, causing him to shudder and shake with apprehension. Swathed by trepidation, he didn't realize the world was tilting until Gobber's large hand stabilized his poise by placing his hook on his shoulder.
"Et's alright, lad," the man assured him, sensing his dread. "Aim for the space between the eyes. It's the safest way t' go, for y, and th' dragon. That way, it wont struggle and squirm."
"Oh, Gods...I..." Hiccup sucked in a breathless aperture of air and let it out in a bale of shudders before giving a small smile of thanks to his mentor. "Th-Thanks Gobber. Ah—I-I'll keep that in mind."
The blacksmith gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and lumbered off, but not before saying with a conflicting tone in his gruff voice. "Just—Just…be careful, alright? Ah want t' see mah apprentice back at th' shop!" Hiccup watched him go and sighed, turning back to the transgressing animal—that indignantly hissed at him accordingly, it's brilliant jade eyes never failing to probe into his soul.
Those eyes… Those ancient jade eyes. Hiccup couldn't imagine a more terrifying image shrouded with more hate than those eyes… He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from crying out or doing anything else rash. The pain helped him concentrate, and he was determined not to have another mental breakdown in front of everyone he ever knew. That alone would be enough for everyone to ship him off for fear he'd gone mad.
The crowds, albeit ever rowdy, quieter themselves some as the heir of Berk approached the Nightfury, his scrawny hand raised, clutching the hilt of the knife so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. Stoick watched his son and felt a wave of satisfaction and pride wash over him. His son's first kill. He could've cared less about the circumstances: how it was tied up and restrained, making it incredibly easy for anyone to simply walk up to the beast and shove a knife through its throat. A kill was a kill. But a dragon wasn't just a dragon, and this beast was the finest of them all. To have his very own son be the one to take it down with his own invention and have the honor of killing it with his own hand—he as a father and general of war couldn't be prouder.
Hiccup's hand froze in the air when he came close enough to see the scales aligning its dark eyelids-which were too close for comfort in his own opinion. For a moment, he just stared at the creature, watching its sleek torso faintly swell with every shuddering breath it took.
It was in agony, he realized. Its teeth were ripped from its gums, bloody stubs were in place of its claws, there was nothing but torn tissue between it's legs in a southern region, and there were multiple large patches of bloody skin where he could clearly see that the scales had been forcefully removed.
"H…Hi, Dragon," He whispered under breath, and the reptile's earflaps twitched at the sound of the human's nasally voice. His large left eye, the one that wasn't swollen shut, glared acidly at the Viking.
The young male flinched, sniffing heavily as he glared right back. How dare the beast stare so accusingly at him? "D-Don't look at me like that. You know what you did," Hiccup alleged, his voice raspy with anger and hours of crying and screaming. "Don't you? You knew then, you know now, that I helped you. I-" He re-gripped the knife and shook it. "-I showed you mercy," he snarled through gritted teeth. "Y-You couldn't have done the same for me?"
The dragon stared right at him, and for a moment, Hiccup might actually had thought that the beast understood him. Until it hissed.
Hiccup closed his eyes and blood pounded in his ears at the sound while others took a few steps back from the enraged animal. "That's…Yeah, that's what I thought," he whispered. "Of course you couldn't. You don't have feelings. You don't have a conscious. You—You're just an animal. A stupid animal. You're about as smart as you look. You're a monster. You-."
"Are you talking to that thing?" Astrid abruptly piped in disbelief, catching the boy off guard and pausing his ministrations. The surrounding Vikings glared at her, quite offended that she went and interrupted the performance, but she ignored them, glaring accusingly at her self-proclaimed adversary. "Just kill it!"
Hiccup went red with an emotion he couldn't quite place.
"Bite yer tongue, silly girl!" Spitelout hissed, causing Astrid to grind her teeth together and deliver a death glare to the heir.
"Hurry up," she snapped at the other teen, evoking strange looks from her fellow friends and tribesmen. What was wrong with her? How could she defy the chief and his son? Although nobody could blame the girl for her impatience—everyone wanted to see a dragon get a knife to the gut after all—it was the level of rudeness she was exhibiting that nobody could quite place. They looked to Stoick for confirmation, but he just shook his head, indicting that they were to ignore her. He wanted everyone in the village to witness this, no matter how uncivil they were.
"We want to see you kill it!" Astrid exclaimed, to which many others nodded with encouragement. "Now kill it!"
Hiccup said nothing to her, but tensed, his blood pounding in his ears. "Stop," he desperately wanted to say, "Please, just stop…" Why couldn't she permit him some leniency? What had she to lose? Unlike him, what had she to gain? Everyone adored her already, so why couldn't she bequest him exaltation just this once? Why couldn't she just keep her cruel comments to herself and let nature take its course?
"Because little-miss-perfect's upset that she doesn't get to kill the Nightfury. She's a jealous vixen," his hysterical psyche barked.
Stop.
"That's not fair," he whispered aloud, stepping a bit closer to the Nightfury, which chuffed at him, its eyes widening at the sight of the knife. Instinctively, its ears drooped down in a form of fear and submission.
"No?"
"Come on!" She demanded. "Show us what a Viking you are and do it!" Stoick tensed and crossed his arms, shooting a conflicted gaze toward the girl.
Hiccup nearly teared up at the anger in her voice, and took a deep breath. He was trying. Trying so hard not to break in front of her, his father, his peers, Gobber, everyone. They were counting on him and he needed to be strong, not only fir them but for the sake of his dignity.
"Okay, okay," he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking as a sob threatened to escape him. "Go time. It's go time." He approached ever closer to the dragon. "What do you think, Mr. Nightfury?" He tried to insure in confidence, although it must be admitted that his hand shook. "Death by teeth, claws, metal, or fire? Hm? Well, I'm sorry to say that you don't get a choice."
Astrid was livid and she snorted. Was he purposely having a bogus conversation with that thing to personally ire her? If so, he was doing a brilliant job, and it was taking all of her willpower and strength to keep her self from flying at the boy, knocking him down, taking the knife away from him, and finishing the job herself. After all, she deserved that honor, not him. She'd poured her blood, sweat, and private tears into her training, trying with all her might to prove to everyone that she was worthy of protecting her people. All he had done was accidentally get himself mauled.
"Hurry up!" She snapped over the shouts of encouragement from the other Vikings. "Are you stupid or something?"
Hiccup snapped out of his self-induced mania and swiveled his head around to peer at her with horror. N-No… Fortified by his response, she demanded, "Just stab the thing and get a move on, for Thor's sake! Be a man for once in your life!" She was coming closer until she was a mere few feet away, and then added in a lower tone that only he could hear, due to their proximity, "Or are you too weak to do that?"
White-hot slurries of embarrassment, shame, and horror flooded through the abyss of Hiccup's mind, and his knees almost buckled beneath him.
No…
He wasn't sure by that point if his face had either gone an ashen grey or an ember red, but the one thing he was certain of was that he was unhinging. It was too much. Too much.
"Are you deaf and blind?!" Astrid snorted. "The thing's in shackles! Do it!"
Hiccup inhaled shakily, trying his best to ignore her and focus on the situation at hand. "Okay, okay," he mumbled. "Don't freak out. Don't. You can do this."
"You can do this. You can do this. If you do this, the eyes will never haunt you again."
"Right," Hiccup answered allowed, taking a deep breath before raising his right arm with his non-dominant hand awkwardly grasp the knife, poising it at the area between the dragon's eyes.
He could do this. It was simple. At least, that's what his father made it look like. A simple plunge into the skull would be merciful enough.
Hiccup shook his head, and peeked at the dragon, staring directly into its jade eyes, so full of hate and animalistic anger. Why was he hesitating? It was right there waiting for him! Everyone was leaning in to catch a glimpse of the final blow, and most were getting impatient.
The Nightfury hissed accordingly, as if it too was tired of the anticipation, and Hiccup nearly fainted with fear by the abrupt noise. But his arm refused to move.
Take a deep breath.
Do it.
Don't untie it this time.
Kill it.
Do it.
His hand was rigid in the air, poised to strike, gripping the knife so tightly that his knuckles were white, but he didn't move.
Hiccup was so perplexed by his unwillingness that he was beginning to panic. Why wasn't he eager to kill the thing that plagued his life? He'd been very eager to watch everyone cause the ruination, but HE couldn't do it himself.
"What is wrong with me?" He said aloud, luckily, quiet under the roar of the crowd and the growls and moans of the Nightfury. "Why can't I...?"
"Because there's a smidge of humanity left in me," he realized with surprise. "I can still sympathize..." His hand trembled and sweat trickled down his forehead. His stomach was churning and he desperately wanted to find an ale bucket to barf into. "W-With a monster...?"
The dragon glared him down and he took a retreating step backward, evoking confused murmurs to rise amongst those watching. Why wasn't h finishing the job? Astrid smirked in spite of him.
"I..." He lowered his hand, contrite and mortified. He stared at his boots since he couldn't look anyone in the eye. "...I don't know if I can do it," he whispered.
"Hiccup?" Stoick called out, surprised, but understanding. "Are ye-?" His son sent him a pleading look one that said he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't do it anymore. "Ye-Ye don't have to do this," he offered conflictingly, causing everyone close to gape at him with shocked surprise.
Astrid choked out a laugh of utter disbelief. "What are you-? It's right there, Hiccup! Do it! Don't be pathetic!"
The other teens glanced at each other with clueless concern. "Astrid," Fishlegs tried. "I don't think you should-"
"Hurry up!" She snapped, blatantly ignoring her friend. "Kill the Nightfury! Kill the Nightfury! Kill the Nightfury!"
"Yeah, c'mon Hiccup!" Snotlout encouraged. "You can do it!"
"Yeah," Tuffnut added, unaware of the danger approaching. "Show the dragon who's boss!"
Hiccup ducked his head and shook. He couldn't do it. The dragon garbled at him and he stared at it in shock. Was that thing mocking him? "S-Shut up," he whispered, tears gathering at the corner of his bloodshot emerald eyes. The dragon howled and he screamed right back, drawing the knife up but refusing to use it, shocking everyone. "SHUT UP!"
"Stop talking t' it!" Gunnar called out with laughter. "Just kill it!"
"Kill it!"
"Ye 'eard 'im! Kill!"
"Do it!"
The shouts clouded Hiccup's mind and he stumbled back, dizzy. "Stop."
Astrid shook her head, blinking rapidly with utter disbelief. "Okay, that's it." Unaware of the dangerous state of affairs, she carelessly approached, shocking everyone by grabbing his hand, the one with the knife in it, and snarling, "If you're not man enough to harm a flightless, restrained dragon, then I'll just have to do it myself."
Her abrupt actions stirred a panic in Hiccup, a type of panic that finally broke the dam that separated insanity from whatever humanity he had left. And it was she who paid the price.
Stop, his conscious whispered. St— "SHUT IT!"
His pupils shrunk down to needlepoints, his lips pulled back into a snarl, and he screamed at the top of his lungs, "LET GO OF ME!"
Slug. Thock. Stab.
Astrid's body fell to the stone floor, her skull coming into contact with the ground with a sickening crack.
Shock. Silence.
Hiccup stood above her body, a now blood-coated knife in hand, panting heavily. And then a sharp cry broke into the pregnant pause from someone in the ring, and that's when Hiccup unhinged.
With an animalistic scream of rage, he leapt toward the screeching dragon and sunk his whittling knife into the jade of said Nightfury, all the way to the hilt of the weapon. The arena suddenly went silent with shock as he gave the weapon a twist. Blood spurted about the injection and sprayed everywhere as he yanked the knife back out, only to plunge it back in again.
Everyone was stunned by the display. Nobody had accounted for this.
"SHUT YOUR EYES!" The boy screamed, tears leaking down his face, draping his body over the head of the beast so that he could stab the area again and again and again. "SHUT THEM! SHUT THEM! SHUT THEM!"
After a while, the dragon had stopped moving, for its face quickly transformed into the pin cushion, but Hiccup kept going, slamming the razor-sharp knife over and over and over into the skull of the beast, and finally destroying every trace of those haunting, disgusting jade eyes, putting as much sadistic vengeful hate he could with every stab, making sure to leave no area unharmed.
Once the orbs had melted and dissolved into green-white-red gooey slush. Hiccup at last backed away from the dragon and stood still, rapidly blinking with insanity.
Stoick was still too shocked to move while others stepped back.
And then, something clicked.
"What happened?" Hiccup asked, his face going from that of a murderous rage to that of normality. As usual his voice held its pleasant, nasally intonation, but he'd dropped the volume to a whisper. Clearly bewildered, he lowered his fist to his side – still curled tight around the knife, as though he wasn't sure if he was still supposed to hit something or not. He looked around, trying to gauge where he was, trying to remember.
"Hiccup..." Stoick whispered, reaching out a large hand toward the trembling, bloody boy. "Son..."
"Why am I all-?" He scrutinized himself, taking in the sight of his bloody body. "O-Oh! W-W… What…?" He stared at the blood on his hand and gasped, twitching slightly.
"W-Wait, Son!"
Hiccup was starting to malfunction. The stress of knowing that he hurt a living being was bad enough, but that he knowingly and willingly hurt his own tribe-member? It was too much for him to bear. He was operating without his logic, without calm and sharp tongue, which meant that all decisions were based off his own internal psyche destroyed by his horrifying encounter with the dragon, and he wasn't sure how reliable it could be.
"I-I..." The sea of faces surrounding the boy had blended into one single entity, filled with intense emotions-none of them good.
Murderer.
No... One look at the blonde girl he'd fallen in love with crumpled on the ground, curled up around her stomach where a deep stab wound was in place, the mutilated Nightfury, and the bloody knife in his hand... Not to mention the torrent of life essence covering him from head to toe.
"G-Guh-! Astr-!" He spluttered, nearly dropping the knife as he bit down on his amputated limb to muffle his screams, ignoring the pain. "N-Nuh..."
He couldn't even form the words to express his sorrow. He'd never felt this level of guilt before. He'd never known this much regret. Or even this amount of fear. But now that he did, he was unable to put a name to it. He didn't know what to do; he couldn't formulate a practical solution. He couldn't move. He didn't know where they were. And if his former self were to shut down completely, he wouldn't know what might happen to everyone else.
The aperture of Hiccup's eyes opened and closed with short, rapid movements. His pale body shook uncontrollably. Stoick watched quietly, not bothering to blink back the tears as his son's mind dissolved into a string of senseless apologies and low pitched keening while his thin body jerked in spasms.
"N-... Nuh..." Hiccup gurgled, flicks of spittle expelling from his mouth as he gripped the knife like a vice, his eyes staring widely ahead in horror yet without clear direction. He was broken. "Muh... I-Guh-I..." He choked unintelligibly. "S-Sorry, so so so-I-suh sorry..."
Was this logic, destroyed? Stoick was sure of many things, but this was beyond his expertise. "Hiccup-" He tried, reaching out, but the young boy backed away, jerking faintly with an overwhelming amount of fear.
"No-please! I-I didn't-no, no, no, I didn't mean-I didn't mean to-no!" Hiccup shuddered and nearly collapsed right then and there with his knees shaking beneath him, almost unable to support his lithe weight.
Murderer.
"Dead. Dead. Dead. Astrid's dead. Dragon's dead. They're dead. Dun-dun, I'm dead."
Murdered.
His mind was focused but haywire. He was unconscious but conscious. Dead but alive. Sanely insane. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't. It was impossible for him to do. A gasped sob forced its way past his lips as he hunched over and heaved. "N-No! I didn't-" Hiccup held the knife so that the razor sharp blade pointed skyway. "I didn't MEAN TO!"
No. Not any more. He wasn't alive anymore. He'd been dead since the day he was meant to die.
"I can't-no! ...Nuh, not anymore...not-no-no more..." He leaned his head back and tightly gripped the knife, arching it slightly so it pointed skyward. Everyone was tensed, waiting to see what he would do. For a moment, he just stood there, shaking. "Nuh..." he gurgled, a trail of saliva streaming from the corner of his mouth. "G-Goodbye."
Stoick's heart sank. His intentions were clear. "Wait-STOP!" He shouted, using all of his strength to rush forward and prevent his son from-
Shk.
Ruffnut screamed, Fishlegs covered his eyes and turned away from the gruesome act, and Stoick felt the life drain from his being.
Hiccup collapsed onto his bony knees, the knife buried to the hilt in his skull. For a moment, all way still, all was quiet as the boy's jade eyes flickered upward to meet his father's, which were wide with shock and absolute devastation. He opened his mouth-Stoick tensed-and a bright red bubble formed between his lips. The chief's stomach churned when it popped and Hiccup's body fell to its side, it's dull emerald eyes staring blankly at the man.
"NO!" Stoick stretched out his arms and caught the body before it made contact with the ground. "No, please! Gods, NO!" He bellowed, his anguish echoing throughout the arena, inflicting the hearts of everyone there. "No, no, no, no, no... Come back..." He whispered, his gruff voice wavering. "Please, please, please...come back..." An instinctual drive told him to do all that he could to revive his child, to abandon all logic and do whatever it took to bring him back to life, but he could do nothing but watch and wait.
Watch as a sobbing Gobber removed the knife from his son's forehead.
Watch the torrent of blood trickle down the pale skin of his son's face.
Watch the color fade away from the emerald eyes of his son that would haunt him for the rest of his days, just as the Nightfury had done unto him.
...
Author's Note: ...What? I'm not making another chapter. Well, I'm not! *looks around nervously* Okay, I MIGHT. Alternate ending have always been a favorite of mine.