Gobber found Stoick at his son's bedside, like he knew he would. But Hiccup was not in his bed like he should have been. He was in Stoick's arms. Again.

"Last I checked," Gobber drawled, closing the door to the chief's house behind him, "the term bed rest meant something like letting the boy get his rest. In bed."

"He was awake again, Gobber," Stoick choked. His eyes never left their observation of Hiccup. The blacksmith drew out a long sigh and hobbled to the larger man's side. Hiccup's night fury rustled in his corner with a quiet whine, drawing Gobber's eyes to his shadowed nest of blankets for a moment. The dragon was still exhausted, nursing battle wounds and sleeping, mostly. But those eerie green eyes were focused intently on Stoick's charge.

"Stoick, I know it's not very Viking-like, but maybe you ought to tell me what's on your mind." Gobber dragged a stool from its place by the hearth and sat next to his friend. The blacksmith was not daft by any stretch. He could even say he was in his element, having lost a couple of limbs himself.

"I was told he would sleep until his injuries were recovered. He keeps waking up, and he's in so much pain..." Stoick trailed off there, sounding so vulnerable it made Gobber's heart ache. But Hiccup had been through several accidents in his growing years, and a serious illness in his infancy. All that line of thinking did was account for Hiccup's small size compared to his peers; it did not account for Stoick's unusual behavior.

But Gobber knew what it was: guilt. The blacksmith was used to having serious talks by the hearth concerning the teenager – they happened often. It didn't make them any easier.

"Stoick... You can't blame yourself for what happened."

"Oh, I think I can," he replied. He stroked Hiccup's hair back from his sweaty forehead with a gentleness only a father could know. Hiccup's eyes fluttered, opening only briefly.

"Dad..." he muttered. His tiny chest heaved in sporadic bursts for a moment, and Gobber knew the pain was rousing him from much-needed rest.

"I'm here, son," Stoick answered, brushing his hair back again. Hiccup settled a little, but true rest would elude him for some time – he had always been restless, a light sleeper "It's my fault, Gobber."

"I know," the blacksmith replied with classic Viking bluntness. "But you apologized for et, and he chose this anyway. Mostly." Stoick sighed, seeming not to have heard him.

"He shouldn't know this kind of pain so young –" he froze at a sudden, shuddering moan from Hiccup. Toothless whined in the corner, shuffling closer to the hearth. Stoick watched the dragon for a moment – the presence of the creature was quite a change. One that would take the man some time to get used to.

"Dad..." Hiccup whispered, drawing the attention of the men. He squirmed in the cradle of Stoick's massive arm, and Gobber was reminded how small the boy still was next to the stock he came from.

"Sum'm's wrong," Hiccup slurred, "m- my leg..." His brow cinched and eyes opened a little, but he wasn't focusing. Wasn't wholly there.

"Easy, now," Stoick said gently, setting his hand on his son's chest to still his squirming. That hand easily covered half of Hiccup's scrawny torso, moving in a small circle. It was a trick Stoick had learned from his wife, to soothe his ever-restless child when he was hurt or sick and needed to rest.

"Gah! … N-no..." Hiccup gasped. "Toothless!"

Gobber was tipped precariously to the side not a moment later as the dragon pushed past his seat, nudging Hiccup's elbow with his nose. The boy reached out blindly, and Toothless moved his head to touch hand to forehead. Hiccup began to calm immediately, but he gasped and heaved with overexertion. Stoick kept rubbing his chest, sparing a stern glance at his comrade. "This is the third time today, Gobber, and it's barely past morning. Spitelout has done everything he can."

"Hm," Gobber grunted, scratching his chin. He didn't recall being so restless during his own recoveries, but then he'd been older, already battle-hardened. "Have ye tried giving him any more of that special mead?"

"Aye, but he can't keep it down. Stuff's too strong for him now."

"Perfect," Gobber muttered. Well, now was as good a time as any to be honest with his friend. "Ye know, Hiccup probably won't remember most of this when he comes to."

"Wish I could be sure of that..."

And just like that, Gobber had had enough. Stoick was not ready to listen to reason; at least not yet. With a sigh, he stood and shoved the stool back to the hearth.

"Very well; I'll leave you to your sulking. I have a project waiting in the forge anyway." As he reached the door, he looked back. "You should give your son a little credit, Stoick. He has a soft heart, not a frail one."

At least the chief had the decency to blink and look a little ashamed. Gobber's heart ached for the man and his boy. And maybe a little for the dragon at their feet. Probably not. But maybe.

"And give yourself a little credit, while you're at it," he grumbled, flinging the door open and staring out at the changing village as he finished, "It takes great fortitude to sit by and watch yer child suffer."

With that, Gobber closed the door and hobbled away. He had a lot of Hiccup-esque thinking to do at his forge, and there would be plenty of time for more serious talks by the hearth later.

Another really old piece. I'm not sure how I feel about this one, but there are aspects of it that I like. It feels almost like it's not supposed to be finished. Perhaps I'll try to extend it at a later date, but for now it shall be posted as only a semi-polished installment. It's not directly connected to any of the one-shots here, but I suppose it could be a sequel to Drink if you squint at it long enough.

Thanks for reading!

~mj