TITLE: Stories

SUMMARY: Stoick is finally going to share at one of his AA meetings, and he knows exactly which story he is going to tell. Inspired by Jayalaw

CORRESPONDING CHAPTERS FROM MAIN STORY: N/A

"I'll be back to pick you up afterwards. You ready?" Gobber asked as he pulled up in front of the church that the AA meeting would be held in. The church was mostly dark, the only light coming from the doorway leading to the church hall.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Stoick replied as he climbed out of the car. He made his way into the hall as Gobber took off, and upon entry he was greeted by the sight of a couple of rows of sparsely occupied chairs and a large thermos of coffee that was most likely cold as always.

The meeting must've started a few minutes prior, as someone was already up on the stage telling their story. Stoick snuck into a seat near the back, careful not to interrupt the man talking by creating any distractions. He listened partially to the story, picking up something about a gambling addiction, but he was too busy being nervous. Today would finally be the day he got up and shared, and he already felt the pattering in his chest of his heart rate elevating. He had declined to speak the last several times, so it was time he finally did it. Before he even knew it, the man up front was done and the leader of the meeting asked if there was anyone else who wanted to share at the moment.

Stoick took a deep breath before he stood. He both simultaneously owed Gobber for making sure he stayed with this and hated Gobber for making sure he stayed with this. But then again, he also knew that this was the only way to stop his life from getting any worse. So he stood and walked up to the platform at the front of the room, steeling himself to take his turn.

He looked out over the crowd, looking at the glazed eyes and near asleep people in the crowd. There were several that legitimately seemed to be paying attention, but Stoick chose to focus on those he thought weren't to help calm his nerves. Talking to reporters about business was easy, talking to a crowd about personal matters, not so much.

"Hi everyone, my name's Stoick, and I'm an alcoholic," Stoick started, beginning his story as everyone else always did.

"Hi Stoick," the crowd droned back, a mindless chant that had been ingrained into them at these very meetings. Another deep breath and Stoick was ready.

"My drinking started years ago, when my wife died. We had met through work, starting in the same division of the force. We had been married for five years before she died in the line of duty, jumping in front of a child to defend her in a fire fight between warring gangs." Stoick paused at this point, concentrating to prevent the tears from slipping past his eyes. Not a day went by that he didn't think about his deceased wife, and he had never been able to speak aloud about her without crying. He was convinced that today was the day he would be able to do it, and so far he was succeeding.

"I was so lost without her. I threw myself into work and lost myself drinking, and when I was drunk I threw myself at other women. I regret it now, all of it, mostly because my relationship with my son deteriorated to levels that left it beyond repair. I didn't realize just how little time I was even around my son, or how much seeing me with other women was hurting him. To me it was just something to do while I was drunk to distract myself from the pain. I didn't realize just how much the alcohol was affecting my character." Stoick paused here, considering just how far to go. He decided that if he really wanted to do this, he might as well do it right and go all the way.

"Eventually I discovered that my son was dating someone that, well, I highly did not approve of. Long story short, I freaked out. I got drunk, cancelled his cell phone plan, cut him off, and effectively kicked him out. In retrospect that should have been my first hint to come here."

"Why wasn't it?" The question came from the leader of the session, and while Stoick knew he wasn't obliged to answer, he figured he might as well. There was no harm, right?

"I'm not entirely sure. I think it was because of the depression. I felt that him dating the one person I couldn't stand most was somehow my fault for being a bad parent, and when I felt bad the first thing I always thought to do was go to the bar."

The leader nodded, and Stoick continued.

"The next day, I made yet another mistake. I stayed drunk the whole night, and when my son returned the next day to ask to get some stuff I refused to allow it. I threatened to call security on him. I have never been as ashamed of myself as I was when I realized what I had done there. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I was sure my son would never forgive me. I had to ask a friend to watch over my son for me from afar, and occasionally he would tell me what was going on in my his life. Those were all the updates I had. I'd officially been cut off from all contact with my son." As Stoick finished that part, he looked around the room. He'd thought Gobber had left, but there he was, standing in the doorway and listening with a smile.

"I owe him so much. He was the one who brought it to my attention that all the drinking I was doing would solve nothing. He kept me sober for a while, but every now and again he would catch me with a beer or some vodka. Eventually he forced me into this, and here we are. And now, I'm proud to say, I'm three weeks sober and counting."

Stoick stepped down to a small round of applause and made his way to the back of the room, where Gobber was waiting. They smiled at each other wordlessly for a moment before Stoick spoke up.

"So, how much of that did you hear?"

"Enough. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, that means a lot."

"One thing though…" Gobber started, and Stoick rubbed his eyes with his hand. He knew where this was going.

'Oh crap,' he thought, knowing exactly what was coming.

"You said three weeks sober…"

'Here we go.'

"But if I recall…"

'Oh boy.'

"Your first meeting was a month and a half ago."

"Gobber…"

"Why Stoick? I thought you were doing so well."

"Ok, ok. It was on the 29th." Stoick needed to say no more; Gobber understood perfectly.

"Hiccup's birthday," Gobber half-said, half-muttered.

"I just, it made me think about how much I missed him. I couldn't take it. I tried everything you told me: working out, going for a walk, everything. But nothing worked. Then, while I was out on the street, I passed my old favourite bar. It called to me and I caved. In my defence though I only had one drink."

"And what was that?" Gobber asked.

"Rye."

"And?" Stoick remained silent, and that was enough of an answer for Gobber. He scoffed before continuing. "Stoick, you can't let yourself cave like that. Why didn't you call me?"

"I guess I was on autopilot or something. I just wasn't thinking."

"Well I can completely believe that last part," Gobber cracked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

"Hey," Stoick exclaimed, punching Gobber in the arm.

"Oh, I'm wounded! I can't drive! You'll have to take over!"

"Hardy har har," Stoick deadpanned as Gobber made a show of grabbing his arm and feigning injury.

"Just remember that you have friends Stoick, and we're here to help you. Alright?"

"I know. Thanks Gobber."