Hey guys, I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, but senior year at high school turned out to be more time-consuming than I had thought. I got into college though! So that's nice. I've spent most of my time planning out this story (surprise I wasn't just being lazy) and hopefully the next chapter should come out sooner than usual. This is a chapter I've been looking forward to writing for a long time, mostly because it's a Hiccup realization chapter.

Special thanks to my beta, ChaosX97! If you guys haven't read his stories yet, I really recommend checking them out.


Within the village's forge, there was a little room hidden away in the back. Few people knew about the small, old room in the back of the forge, which allowed it to be a secret, private haven for the blacksmith's apprentice. Hiccup's sanctuary, given to him by Gobber as a present when he had been a child after he had proven himself trustworthy enough to not set the building on fire. While it was small and old, with walls covered in deep scratches and riddled with scorch marks from failed inventions, Hiccup loved the room. He cherished his possession of it. It was one of the few things that Hiccup knew was his and his alone, and there was something comforting about that.

No one ever came back here but him, not even Gobber. This allowed Hiccup the privacy he needed when he spent the better part of his nights holed up in the forge, completely consumed in his work.

Tonight was no different as the tired boy had spent the better part of the night in the room that, as much as it was loved, protested with his cumbersome overtime. He sat hunched over a creaky workbench cluttered with half-finished mechanisms and numerous anatomical sketches of Toothless. His lone companion were candlesticks that had melted down into little stubs, the barely-there flickering of light gave the subtle hint to retire, yet Hiccup, whose eyes were well trained to focus in half-darkness after so many years of nights like these, continued.

Hiccup had returned from the clearing well after the sun had set, feeling confident in his ability to artificially restore his new friend's power of flight. Well, granted, he had yet to prove that by getting Toothless airborne, but in his defense, the innocent-minded Night Fury had to go and made a game out of it. Again and again he attempted to strap his handmade fin on, only for Toothless to playfully dart away, leaving him to grasp only a brush of air.

While it did mean that time to use for the tailfin was wasted, Hiccup wasn't complaining. Not that he had been annoyed by Toothless' behavior. A part of him that had actually enjoyed the simple act of playing.

On the bad side, that meant that there hadn't been any time to test the tailfin out.

On the good side, he had spent the day happily chasing after Toothless, and had already felt their bond growing by leaps and bounds.

Worth it, Hiccup thought to himself happily. He glanced down at his drawings with a grin. And I've finally memorized enough of Toothless to make better, more realistic sketches.

He had quickly learned that Toothless was his favorite subject to draw. He just hoped that his skills were giving the dragon's likeness justice; his only experience in drawing animals had been livestock. How could simple sheep compare to a Night Fury in appearance?

Since the moon had risen, Hiccup had spent his night simply drawing Toothless. There was no sense of order to his pictures, each with a different angle and size, and all were done with great care and a keen eye for detail. However, a good majority of the drawings were discarded on the floor, half-finished as though Hiccup had caught some slight imperfection that made him start all over again, determined to make it right, to make it perfect.

"Then again," Hiccup spoke aloud, as he continued to look at the drawings he had deemed acceptable. "It's not like anyone will see these. No one on Berk knows what a Night Fury actually looks like; they'd all say I was making it up."

Still, it would be smart to keep any drawings either on his person, or in the workshop where nobody else ever used. 'I'll keep the best ones on myself, so I can show Toothless and the rider,' he thought. Next time.

He hadn't wanted to leave the cove, but it seemed the world made point to cut short their allotted time together with a curfew. And now Hiccup had good reason.

His mentor, Gobber, had actually made a small comment when he had returned, still sweaty from running, that Hiccup had been disappearing as of late. However, Gobber was the only one to notice his absence from the village. His teacher had even commented that Hiccup had been acting different.

The mere thought of discovery sent Hiccup's stomach in knots. Then the smith declared that he would not to question it, as Hiccup's antics often led to some killer headaches. Hiccup had never been more thankful for Gobber's overall lack of curiously, even if he did bristle at the poking tease of his 'antics'.

It had honestly hurt Hiccup to leave Toothless. The memory of walking away from the cove as Toothless watched him with those big, round eyes made it feel as though his heart was torn asunder, his gut coiling uncomfortably at the sudden loss of Toothless' presence.

"There's always tomorrow," Hiccup said to himself, mostly to cheer himself up.

He focused on his work, carefully etching a collection of scales with extreme patience. However, something came to interrupt him. His nose began to prickle, then itch.

The amount of ash produced in the forge was legendary, and it always managed to creep through the cracks to nestle itself into the floorboards and walls. The product of a long day's work, remnants from a recent clash against invading dragons, or a miniscule reminder of one of his past mistakes, he never knew. Nor could he explain how he would often find his hidden niche covered in a fine layer of powder. It just appeared after a long day of work.

He sneezed violently. Papers flew everywhere, almost comically, as Hiccup jolted in his chair to grab them. Some he managed to catch by the tips of his fingers, but a few mutinous parchments floated to the dirty floor.

Grumbling to himself in annoyance, Hiccup stooped down to grab them. He idly noticed that one of the stray papers wasn't new, but darkened with age and creased from constant handling. Slightly curious, Hiccup placed the parchment closer to the candle for a better look.

Immediately his heart leapt from his chest to the back of his throat and thundered with dangerous speed. An unnatural chill crept its way up his spine, and in that one moment, he forgot how to breathe.

It's old work, Hiccup thought in a panic. Old. I'd… the thought died out as he lifelessly examined the paper closer, sadness and shame oozing from his body in waves.

It was a blueprint to a weapon. One of Hiccup's own designs, all his work, right down to the little signature at the bottom. It was painfully recognizable. Each stroke and scribble of charcoal recalled unforgettable and agonizing months of working on this damned contraption's design, and months more on finding the necessary parts to build it. All of those several sleepless nights modifying it, especially with that stupid malfunction with the calibration.

What had he called this one, the weapon that he used against Toothless?

The weapon he had toiled through trial and error, from concept to completion, over. His attempt at of creating the perfect weapon that would grant that life-deciding power to someone like him, who lacked the power to take a life the traditional way.

What had he named it during that euphoric moment he had felt when he had completed it?

'Come on, Hiccup, what did you call it while you were patting yourself on the back?' He felt like screaming back at the voice in his head, because he knew exactly what moniker he had chosen.

The Mangler.

Mangle. That meant to seriously mutilate, to critically injure, or to brutally harm. It hadn't just been a weapon created to kill dragons; it was also created to hurt them.

'How… could I have done this…?' Hiccup wondered, clenching the blueprint in his hand. I've… never… ever liked fighting…

He had never liked the blood, the fire and the death. It had terrified him, ever since he had been a child, but he had never grown used to it like Astrid or the others. To him, it wasn't self-defense or even sport as Vikings saw it, but a bloodbath in all its gory simplicity. I always hated it, deep down. I loathed it. It was such a waste of life. So why did I….?

Because you wanted to be noticed? The voice whispered to him. What did it matter if Toothless had died on impact? You would have killed a Night Fury, people would have recognized you and you would finally, finally, get the attention you always wanted.

Mangler… his creation… his terrible tool…

It had certainly lived up to its name. It had mutilated the target Hiccup had chosen: the infamous, unbeatable Night Fury.

Toothless.

The thought made his insides squirm uncomfortably; he felt sick to his stomach.

His head reeled at the idea of once purposefully hurting Toothless, of trying to kill Toothless. It may have been before he had befriended the dragon, before he realized that a dragon could be befriended in the first place, but still… he had done it.

By the gods. So much has changed since then, Hiccup thought numbly. How in the world could all of these events occur in the short span of a week? The raid, the downed Night Fury, the kind vigilante and her dragon companion, starting dragon training, learning the true nature of dragons, finding companionship in the woman and Toothless. It was enough to make his head spin.

Hiccup banged his fist against the workbench, half-tempted to throw everything in a fit of rage and self-hatred. "I didn't know…. How could I have known?"

Toothless may have only been a recently gained friend, but he was a friend nevertheless. Toothless had accepted him, cared enough to play with him, never shunned him when he came back.

That was all I ever wanted, Hiccup thought. And I finally got it.

But did he truly deserve Toothless?

Did he deserve to look at Toothless and feel nothing but love and safety? To look into the mysterious dragon's eyes and see all that his starving, lonely heart had craved?

Now, whenever he looked into those brilliant green orbs, Hiccup would remember that he was one that had caused the dragon such agony. Hiccup had mutilated his friend, had crippled and broken him, confined him to the ground with no hopes of escape. All that he could hope to do was rectify his mistakes with an invention that he didn't even know if it worked.

Hiccup glared at the piece of parchment in his hands. The flame of the candle barely made the ink readable.

Burn it.

The dark thought made Hiccup freeze in place.

Destroy it, or someone else will get hurt because of you.

Trembling, Hiccup gave the thought consideration. If he left this out, Gobber could find it and recreate it. Anyone with mechanical skills could recreate any of his designs, not just the Mangler, and use it against dragons. With a bit of remodeling and experimentation, any Vikings could use Hiccup's weapons with deadly precision. The mere thought of someone like Snotlout using a Mangler to bring a dragon crashing down to earth before brutally killing the defenseless creature made Hiccup furious.

An odd madness seemed to seep into him at that point, thrumming in his veins. His thoughts were silenced by the sound of roaring waves crashing against the inside of his head. For the first time in his life, Hiccup felt true anger.

The anger had always been present inside him, Hiccup realized, but it had always been palpable, neither strong nor weak-if anything it was both there and not- that had long been smoldering like a dormant ember. Only now, it had sparked into a wild inferno. It wrapped itself around Hiccup's aching chest like a coiled snake, getting tighter and tighter with no hope for release. Boundless energy swept through him, leaving his heart thundering rapidly and making his fingers twitch and shake inconsistently.

He could now understand, however miniscule it was, what a Viking felt like.

He, Hiccup, understood the malevolent thought processes of his ancestors and fellow tribesmen for the briefest of moments. He wanted to scream until all could hear him, until his throat was fit to burst. He wanted to grab something –anything- and break it apart piece by piece, but, most of all, he wanted action.

Hiccup, who had never truly understood the violent tendencies of those around him, who always wished for the unpopular alternative of diplomacy, wanted to fight.

He wanted to provoke a greater foe than the giants that mocked and made light his presence, without the need for the sharpest weapon or nearest shield. He wanted to fight and rebel against everything he knew and had once known.

He wanted to destroy.

He wanted to grab a torch and burn the forge down until there was nothing left but ash and useless rubble. Let the village's precious tools and weapons melt in the blazing inferno. It wouldn't be too hard, so long as the fire was hot enough. The night sentries weren't even near the forge, but stuck close to the food stocks and the grazing herds of sheep. Berk slumbered, believing itself safe from a raid, foolishly ignorant of any internal threat. They would never expect one of their own. They would never suspect Hiccup - annoying, useless Hiccup.

Would it be enough though? Would the destruction of the forge even achieve anything? A small part of him niggling in the back of his mind was wondering: Was this insanity?

His fingers clenched the parchment trembling with the edges of his sight turning blood red. Maybe he was losing his mind; that was all it took, right? Destruction came easily enough when thought was no longer a factor – too many Vikings he knew proved this. The urge to surrender himself to his emotions echoed its siren song of temptation within his consciousness, the sweet paradise he longed for when effort brought nothing but pain and disappointment.

Burn it…

His glare turned harder by the second. The sound of stones grinding against one another came from his own gritted teeth.

Burn it all...

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGHHHHHHH!"

He blacked out for just a moment, feeling a hard impact on his arm and a series of loud crashes. By the time he opened his eyes again, most of his desk's contents had found a new place scattered over the floor. The boy panted heavily trying hopelessly to grab at fluttering thoughts. When he turned to the slightly torn plans before him, the only thing remaining on the table, it all came back.

His grip was more relaxed this time when he held the paper, though it still ached merely looking at every desperate scribble and note that sought approval from some jaded neighbor or superior. His hand came in part to ease the migraine that came but also hoping to once again keep them from his sight.

He had been blessed with such knowledge, such ingenuity, that was poured into this and every other design scattered all over the room. Now, as he gathered them together, all he could see was some convoluted blunt instrument meant to rob a life. He threw them onto the table in contempt, but he still held onto to the blueprint to the Mangler. He barely even had the strength to hold it anymore, so by the time he brought it up towards the candle, it fell from his hand.

Drained of all energy, Hiccup just watched the piece of parchment catch alight before slowly curling inwards as the flame rapidly consumed it. Soon, there was nothing left but ash.

More papers followed.