Summary: Stoick's death leaves holes in many hearts, some with surprising depths.
"We're home," Tuff said, dropping his gear next to the door. Ruff walked past him, not even bothering to speak to the man slouched before the fire. He merely grunted at Tuffnut's words, reaching over for another log to throw into the hearth.
Tuff came over to face him, the same impassive and distant expression on his father's face didn't dissuade him any. He sat on the stone, letting the fire attempt to warm away the despair in his aching shoulders and neck. "We got Drago. Well, Toothless and Hiccup got him anyway. Everything's gonna be alright now. Everyone's safe."
Another grunt. His father glanced at him irritably, but it was a glance and Tuff felt almost elated by the attention until the man motioned to his empty cup. He handed it to Tuffnut who hesitantly took it and filled it up, like a good son, and handed it back to his father.
The man drank deeply, eyes no longer on his son but staring into the fire as though it held all the wisdom of Odin. Or maybe something he'd care more about, like all the mead in Valhalla.
"Ruffnut's going to marry three people," Tuff told him. "Snotlout and Fishlegs, and this other guy. He's a pirate or something. Has all these tattoos and scars. He'll probably end up kidnapping her."
Not even a blink of concern. And it had always been that way, hadn't it? Oh it was great when they were younger and their father just yelled for quiet whenever their mother scolded them for their antics. Their father's angry bellowing at their mother got them out of a lot of ear twisting; she had eventually given up on correcting their wild ways.
But Stoick had not. He'd yelled at them, punished them, angrily asked what they were thinking whenever they risked their lives. Tuff's father didn't even glare in disappointment when they were brought home in disgrace and handed over to their sullen, silent mother.
Always staring into the damn fire. Always drinking, or eating, just letting bits of meat and bread fall into his beard and rot there, until their mother combed it out for him.
Tuff's heart was branded with guilt over all the times he'd wished Stoick was their father, instead of this silent brooding shadow. He grit his teeth, not willing just now to give up.
Stoick was gone.
His father was here now.
"Dad," Tuff said, desperately. Deep down he knew it was useless. He knew their father didn't care whether they risked life and limb or destroyed property, but it would never stop him from trying. He debated how to best get a reaction, but he knew anything he could possibly say wouldn't matter.
The man didn't care. Not like Stoick had, and the gap he'd left was huge and suddenly too much. A wave of grief hit Tuff in the chest and he bowed his head in defeat, eyes filling with tears.
He let them fall, aware of only the fire's dull crackle and the sound of mead pouring down his father's throat.
It felt like hours later when a slender calloused hand gripped his shoulder.
"Come on," said his twin. "Come outside before you start to smell like him."
Tuffnut hitched painfully; his sister's disdain for their father had come much earlier than his ever would. It hurt to hear, but her hands were gentle as she pulled him to his feet and led him away.
Ruffnut didn't ask him why he'd tried. He knew she understood, especially now. Once she got him to sit on the porch of the chicken coop, her fingers found the knots in his shoulders and neck, deftly massaging them away. She twiddled with his hair, braiding and unbraiding until the sound of his grief had subsided into tired silence.
"I miss him too," she said finally, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Tuffnut knew she didn't mean their own father. He turned to put an arm around her shoulders and together, they watched the windows of their home remain dark, even as night fell around them.