A/N: Hello! I don't actually know how many people are reading this because my e-mail is currently refusing to show any e-mails I get from the website but I just wanted to thank all of you for reading this anyway :D I'm not even kidding, I bought this movie four days ago and I've watched it almost every day since and it still reduces me to a howling wreck. Mostly the last scene. MORAL OF THE STORY IS, I'm trying to capture the emotions during the time when Hiccup had to get back to Berk and to do that effectively is, for me, an enormous challenge given how upset I usually get after watching the movie so please tell me if I'm doing my job well! Thanks again :)

Stoick knew there was no escape. He knew that no matter how far he ran, the problem would never go away. He knew his son was hurt- very badly- and he knew that Hiccup would never be the same.

Worst of all, he knew that it was all his fault.

If he had just spared the briefest of moments to listen to Hiccup, this wouldn't have happened. If he hadn't been so harsh and forbidding and pressuring as Hiccup grew up, maybe they would have had a better relationship, and maybe Hiccup would have trusted him more and told him about his pet dragon from the start. If Stoick had stayed at home more often… His mania with the dragon nest had only started after his wife died. It was a dragon who had killed her, and as the years passed Stoick had convinced himself that it was less about personal revenge and more about what was best for the village but he always remembered the origins of his obsession. Staying at home had always reminded him… Going away on ships was all part of running away. Of hiding from the problem. Of pretending it didn't exist. He was the worst Viking to have ever lived. He was a coward. Not only that, but he was the worst father to have ever walked the face of the earth.

Hiccup's voice rang out, clear in his head: Can you not hear me? This conversation seems very one-sided… For once in your life, would just listen to me? The pain in the last statement cried out as clear as if Stoick was actually reliving that horrible moment in the house a few hours ago. Hiccup had always been right, he had always said it. Stoick had never once listened to him. At first it seemed with good reason: whenever he claimed to have seen a troll or captured a fairy it was always something stupid, it was never real. But Stoick realized that he was right now. When Hiccup was younger Stoick had humoured him good-naturedly, but it got to the stage when he was much too weak for a boy of his age. It was for the boy's benefit, he had told himself. He was only being tough on him to prepare him for the real world, to motivate him to fight the dragons as every Viking had to. Beneath it all, as Stoick now very clearly saw, was a constant knowledge that this boy, the talking fishbone, simply did not set a good image for the fearless chief. It had always been about Stoick's reputation. He had always just been making him into the boy Stoick wanted, completely disregarding who Hiccup was at heart.

What would his wife say now, if she could see him? She'd probably knock his head right off with that killer right hook of hers. Stoick could almost imagine her voice berating him as he strode through the mist, but it melted away to insignificance when he saw the amassed Vikings silently and respectfully hold their helmets to their hearts. Something inside of him had shut down then. The part of him that was in charge of logical thought and emotions evaporated and he numbly strode through the crowd, passing through them as if they were ghosts. He felt not their bodies sliding against his but their grim, pitiful eyes trained on him as he lumbered through them. His head held only enough room for one thought, one thought that chased itself like a dog chasing its tail around his head:

My only son is dead and it's all my fault.

And then he had come close enough to see the Night Fury glaring up at the crowd with Hiccup safely curled up at the dragon's black belly. Stoick's heart soared with hope for a moment, but even from here he could see that Hiccup was unnaturally still. He forged on with relentless indifference, his goal clear in his head: he just wanted to be there. He wasn't there for his son when he had died, so he would be with him now. He would carry him all the way back to Berk if he had to. He would have carried him on his shoulders for the rest of his life, because Stoick had meant it when he told Hiccup that he was proud of him. This boy, the boy who had disappointed him and embarrassed him so deeply in the past was the bravest Viking Stoick had ever seen and a hero to be recognized through the ages.

Unbidden his last conversation with Hiccup bubbled to view in his mind's eye. Had he made amends then? Had Hiccup forgiven him when he said he was sorry? Hiccup had never been an angry soul… But then, what did Stoick know about what went on in his son's head? He didn't know the first thing about Hiccup. His last memory of his father could well have been a bad one. Which was why Stoick would take whatever came following the boy's death, if only to atone for the wrongs he had done to him while he had lived.

A cry from Gobber jerked him back to his senses. "You got him!" The burly blacksmith cried and Stoick stopped dead in his tracks. Could it… Could it be possible…? Suddenly Gobber paused and Stoick didn't know whether to be hopeful or not, whether or not he should even dare to believe that his son could have survived that horrific fire… Everyone had seen him fall, it wasn't possible… "Well. Most of him."

Stoick's senses came back in a rush and he shoved through the crowd with new purpose. Gobber's tone hadn't exactly been encouraging, but it was motivation enough for Stoick to find out for certain if his last piece of family was gone forever or not. As he drew to the front he saw Hofferson's daughter, Astrid, stagger back into the crowd, evidently taken aback by something. As he moved, Stoick scanned Hiccup's frail body critically for a sign of injury. His experienced eyes caught it almost immediately: it was easy to believe that one of his legs was hidden behind the other, but Stoick knew better.

That was it, then. His son was an amputee. Possibly the youngest Berk had ever seen.

"That's enough." Stoick heard his voice as if from a distance and was surprised by how firm it sounded. Someone had to pretend he had control of the situation and as chief that was his duty: in reality, though, he knew he was completely lost, caught in an endless moral dilemma. He broke free of the crowd and strode over to the boy and his dragon. His eyes met with the Night Fury and somehow it drained all of the energy from him: when he fell to his knees it was a senseless move, not one made to retrieve Hiccup from the dragon's protective cradle. Still desperately trying to convince the people that someone knew what he was doing, determined not to fall apart when his son needed him the most, Stoick disguised the move by sliding his arms underneath Hiccup's thin back and gently scooping him closer to his barrel chest. He could feel it now: a very weak pulse, pumping the blood from his ragged stump. Slow and feeble though it was, it was still a pulse, and a pulse meant hope. Stoick needed all the hope he could get right then.

He looked at the dragon's emotionless eyes for a few seconds, completely lost for words. He felt, at that moment, that he understood the Night Fury better than anyone else on the island at that moment: he was lost and hurt and confused and just wanted to know for sure that Hiccup would be OK, but he hid it because he was a dragon and he had to be strong. Stoick wanted to tell him he was sorry and that it was all his fault and that he would make sure Hiccup survived to see tomorrow even if he himself was killed in the process, but his tongue fumbled to find the words and he doubted that the dragon would understand him. Then again, he had appeared to understand Hiccup's orders… Stoick gave up trying to speak and tried to channel his thoughts through his eyes into the dragon's. He didn't think it worked, but decided that the beast had instead understood that Stoick's feelings were similar to his and laid back in the pebbles, nodding at Stoick on his way down as though giving him permission to take Hiccup and treat him.

"We have to get him back to Berk," Stoick said, more to himself than anyone. Still, his voice carried to the crowd as he strode off into the mist. Astrid had called him back, seen Hiccup's injury and faltered just as Stoick had. The only difference was, she was stronger. She knew what had to be done, and she had remained standing and reasoned that Hiccup be brought back via dragon. The same thought had crossed Stoick's mind, but he knew it was too risky. They had to go by ship, and Toothless had to guide them. After all, the dragon had no other way home. Plus, Stoick got the feeling he wouldn't let himself be separated from Hiccup for anything.

He walked back to the ship as if through a dream. He was vaguely aware of Toothless' presence at his heels and distantly conscious of the warm blood slicking his arm. He couldn't afford to focus on them, though: after losing his wife and waking up to what a horrible father he had been and now facing his only son's premature death, he didn't think he could handle it. For all the praise that showered him from the villagers about his performance as chief, he couldn't stay strong forever and certainly not when Hiccup faced death at Stoick's indirect hand. It shouldn't have been happening. It should have been him, he should have been mauled by that terrifying fire. He was big and strong and he was certain he would be able to recover. But Hiccup? He was small and weak and young. What would he even say…? No. It didn't bear thinking about. Stoick was glad, if not a little surprised, to feel Toothless' scaly muzzle steadying him when his knees buckled and he threatened to fall again. They exchanged another glance but said nothing, and Stoick continued towards the ship.

The stumble had awakened him. It was no use wallowing in pity and regret- if he wanted Hiccup to survive, he had to get to that ship, and he had to make it fly faster than the fastest dragon. As his pace quickened, he forced himself to consider no other options: Hiccup would survive. There were no more if's. Stoick didn't have time for if's. When Hiccup recovered, Stoick would tell him he was sorry and he would make everything right again. Everything would be OK.

It had to be.

Stoick stood at the head of the ship and waited for the bedraggled crew to drag themselves aboard, counting casualties and very carefully avoiding addressing Hiccup's injuries until absolutely necessary. He felt a nudge against his legs and looked down to see Toothless coil up behind him, protecting Hiccup loyally. As Stoick counted, he tried to figure out what he would do next. Hiccup would have to be tended to- hopefully the medicine woman brought along hadn't been killed- and someone would have to keep watch over him…

"Who's going to take care of Hiccup?" he called over the Vikings' heads.

"I will."

A firm, high voice. Stoick was lost for a moment before his gaze was directed down; there stood Astrid, standing in front of him like nothing was wrong.

"Astrid," he said, senses foggy with confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"I'll take care of Hiccup," she said again.

The warm blood on Stoick's arm served to remind him of the anxiety clawing at his heart. Yes. Right. Hiccup. He turned sharply on his heel and marched below decks; he heard a roar from the dragon and comforting murmurs from Astrid, but all sounds were soon lost as he disappeared below. The medicine woman was already there, standing grimly beside a bed neatly laid out with a stack of crates at one end. Stoick very gently set Hiccup down on the bed and stood back silently, watching as the medicine woman gently put his leg up on the top of the crate stack and began dressing it.

Stoick tried to fold his arms, but they slipped hopelessly- the blood on his arm was like oil. It jerked him back to painful reality and his shoulders slumped, his face fell hopelessly. How could he have done this? As he watched the medicine woman's tight, drawn face and Hiccup's pale skin glisten with sweat in the candlelight, he felt guilt tear his stomach to shreds. This… He couldn't even find the words. It was ridiculously unfair. Hiccup had been so good… What on earth had he ever done to invoke the wrath of the gods to the point where they would rob him of his leg? Stoick hadn't exactly had a lot of time to examine it, but he could see that Toothless' tail, and the key to his flight, were controlled by Hiccup's foot. If Toothless was going to fly like a real dragon, and if Hiccup was going to keep doing what he loved, he needed that foot. The foot that had been so quickly taken and would never be given back. A metal one could be fashioned, but it probably wouldn't work as well as a real ankle could.

The more he thought about it, the more it weighed down on his heart. Because of his actions, Stoick had robbed his son of a pastime he enjoyed, ruing an activity he was actually good at, destroyed a bond between boy and beast that must have taken weeks to build. How could he have been so selfish? Why couldn't he have just accepted Hiccup for the oddity he was? He had ruined everything. Everything.

The medicine woman told him what he already knew: the longer it took them to get back to Berk, the lower Hiccup's chances of survival became. Stoick said nothing as she left, lost in his head. A nearby creak jerked him back to earth; he turned and saw Astrid emerging into the candlelight. For a moment he couldn't think of why she would be there… Then he remembered. She was taking care of Hiccup. Which meant that he had to be on deck, forcing as much wind into the sails to make it slice through the waters. He tried to keep an optimistic frame of mind as he jogged back upstairs: he was a good sailor, and he had a good crew and a reliable source of navigation. They would be at Berk before he knew it, and Hiccup would be saved and everything would be alright again…

The atmosphere on deck was unbearably tense and the silence was so heavy Stoick was sure for a moment that he had somehow lost his hearing. Then he heard the creak of the wood and the cold water against the hull and knew it was not his hearing that had gone, but the hope of the crew. They knew that Hiccup, the boy they had taken such glee in ridiculing, had done a far nobler thing than any of them had done or ever would do and had saved their lives. They felt as guilty as Stoick- he could see it in their eyes. He couldn't let them see how hopelessly lost he felt inside, though, and strode to the front of the ship as if they didn't exist, stopping when he was behind Toothless. The dragon's shoulders were heavy and his head was low. With lazy grunts he would indicate the path they should take with his head, lamely guiding them through the rocks. The sudden degeneration of this great and terrible beast weighed down even heavier on Stoick's shoulders. He had done this. The cause for every hopeless soul aboard the ship could be traced back to him. The misery clung to him like the fog that surrounded them, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it off he could not rid himself of the sinking feeling.

He heard the metallic limping thunk that meant Gobber was drawing near, but he didn't react. The two men stood in silence for a while before Gobber finally spoke.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. If he felt awkward at all, he didn't show it. He rarely showed any emotion.

Stoick looked out across the misty oceans and looming rocks, sighing heavily. "Do you think he'll forgive me?" he asked quietly, so the rest of the crew wouldn't hear him. He and Gobber had known each other for years: he was one of the few Vikings in the tribe who could always accurately read Stoick's emotions, so he didn't bother trying to hide them. Besides, Gobber's advice was usually pretty accurate.

"'Course he will," Gobber said with that unshakeable, cheery confidence. "It's not in the boy's nature to be unforgiving."

Stoick turned to him, trying to keep his face and eyes as hard as possible. "Will you make him a leg?" he asked of the blacksmith.

Gobber nodded. "I'll have to redo the stirrup as well if he doesn't have an ankle anymore, and the dragon'll need a new tail too. I'll do it for Hiccup- he saved all of our lives out there."

Stoick clapped Gobber's strong shoulder and gripped it for a moment. "Thank you, Gobber."

The blacksmith shrugged like it was nothing. "Least I can do," he said, and that was it. With a final glance at Stoick's profile, Gobber limped away, leaving him to his thoughts.

With every corner turned, Stoick hoped Hell Hind's Gate would loom out of the mist and welcome them through to the clear, open ocean, but it never happened. It seemed to drag on forever, much longer than the trip to the dragon's nest had felt. He wondered what would happen once they returned. There was no reason to fight the dragons anymore, now that they wouldn't need to take their livestock. That left very little for the Vikings to occupy themselves with. Maybe Hiccup was right: maybe they needed more bread-making Vikings, or more home-repair Vikings. And the dragons would need a place to stay. They didn't seem to be vicious when unprovoked, and if they didn't threaten to steal all their food again they would remain unprovoked. Stoick tried to picture a Berk where Vikings and dragons existed in harmony: it didn't come easily. Still- there had to be some way he could get everyone to co-operate. It was a difficult concept to face but if Hiccup died today Stoick would do everything in his power to make sure his sacrifice was not in vain, and if that meant somehow transforming the way dragons and Vikings saw each other so they could live together then so be it. Forcing himself to face his son's mortality, Stoick tried to imagine how, exactly, that would work. Peaceful teamwork had always been Hiccup's scene- Stoick had been raised in a vicious world where dragons were killed on sight, no questions asked. Beasts were not privy to mercy and did not deserve peace- they had plagued the village so often Stoick had doubted they would understand the meaning of the term. Killing a dragon solo had always been more admirable, but Stoick knew he would have to face operating with dragons and Vikings alike if he was going to give Hiccup any legacy.

Not that he would need a legacy. He would be able to tell it all himself, because he would survive. When they got back to Berk, when Hiccup woke up, then they would discuss plans. Of course, there was no question that Toothless would stay with Hiccup: the dragon couldn't go anywhere without him and Stoick reckoned you'd have to be pretty slow to have missed the impressive bond established between boy and beast. Besides, he had taken enough from Hiccup: taking away his best friend would be torture.

The ship knocked into a rock; there was a collective gasp as the people were thrown of balance and stumbled to the side. Toothless seemed more alarmed than anyone and stumbled around, making the ship rock even more violently. Stoick lurched forward and tried to calm him: once more they met eyes. Stoick knew there was no love established between them- the only thing that was making Toothless co-operate was because he was worried about Hiccup. Still, it seemed to work, and Toothless calmed himself and resumed navigation. Stoick stood back and blew out his cheeks. Suddenly the urge to get back to Berk became overwhelming- he felt right then that he would do anything just to have the island in his sights, to know that Hiccup had a chance after all.

He was unpleasantly dragged back to reality with a scream. Not his scream- Hiccup's. He recognized it from what felt like hundreds of dragon attacks when Hiccup had foolishly ventured outside. This time, however, the dragon was nowhere to be seen: it had already done its work. Hiccup must have woken up. Whatever pain-numbing potions the medicine woman had given him weren't strong enough. Hiccup's world would have disintegrated into one of mindless pain and incoherent thought. Stoick had hoped it wouldn't come to this, he had been so hopeful Hiccup would remain in the world of unconsciousness until they returned to Berk, but he guessed that it was a bit much to hope for.

The crew had fallen silent once more, looking around in alarm. It only took one person pointing down for them to realize what had happened and who was screaming. Once more they fell silent with grim respect. The ship was so packed it was practically impossible to move: they stood, squashed together, uncertain where to look or how to act. It was difficult to block out the terrible sound- it seemed to surround them and the air felt thick with it.

A roar made Stoick turn: Toothless had had enough. He knew his master was in trouble and he wasn't going to wait around. If anything happened to Hiccup, he had to oversee it. He made a dash for the cabin, but once again Gobber stopped him. This time Toothless didn't growl: just howled with hopeless anger, begging for Gobber to let him go and make sure his friend was OK.

"Just get us out of these rocks," the blacksmith grunted- his most soothing tone. "Then you can go see him, alright?"

Toothless cast his eyes pleadingly at the crew, but they avoided meeting his gaze until, once more, he reluctantly followed Gobber, ears pricking and twitching at every scream, constantly looking over his shoulder.

Stoick wanted to let him go down there right now, if only to relieve his consciousness of the guilt that deepened with every helpless step Toothless took, but Gobber was right. There was no way they'd be able to negotiate these rocks on their own, and the longer they took the less likely it became that Hiccup would survive. Lost, Stoick resumed staring out into the mist, trying to avoid thinking altogether. He knew that Toothless was indirectly aiding Hiccup, and that even if he did let him go below decks he would be as helpless as everyone else, but the glance he had thrown over his shoulder haunted Stoick stubbornly. Not that it would matter- they had to be close now. Stoick could almost believe he smelled fresh sea air, not the damp fog that hung over this place. Hiccup and Toothless would be reunited soon… If you could call it that. Screaming in uncontrollable pain didn't strike Stoick as a choice way to reunite with your best friend.

A hand on his shoulder jerked him from his thoughts. He turned and saw Gobber, small eyes watching his face carefully. Stoick's brow furrowed questioningly; Gobber spoke softly.

"You should be with him," was all he said, but it brought Stoick to a hard decision. Did he stay up here and try to actively help his son get back to the island, where there was medicine and people skilled in medicine, or did he go below decks and sit by helplessly as Hiccup screamed and writhed, lost in a world of pain? He remembered that rush on the beach, when he had just felt the need to be with his son, and knew that Gobber was right- if Hiccup did die, the least Stoick could do was be there with him. The coward within flinched away: he didn't want to have to face that poor, flimsy body bucking with indescribable pain.

Stoick opened his mouth to say something, but Gobber seemed to read his thoughts. "I'll cover you up here. We'll be home before you know it."

Home. It seemed too good to be true, but too far away to be achievable. Stoick had to believe that it was possible, though. Otherwise everything was for nothing.

With a tight smile that he didn't really mean, Stoick marched below decks. He felt the pitiful eyes of the others follow him down, heard nothing but his heavy footsteps and Hiccup's tormented shrieks. One step, two step, three step, four: he was here, and the screaming was deafening. In terms of physical appearance, the room was the same as it had been when he had left, but he could see where herbs had been disturbed and, of course, the obvious: Astrid had moved to Hiccup's head and her hands were clamped down on his shoulders, supressing the worst of the bucking and writhing. There was nothing she could do, however, to stop the terrible screaming, and she knew it too- Stoick could see the now almost familiar glint of helplessness in her eyes. There was something else, too… Tears. She was crying. Stoick hadn't seen a Viking cry in a long time. He hadn't even known that Hiccup and Astrid were that close- when Hiccup had actually plucked up the guts to talk to another teen they usually said something rude in response or nothing at all. Then again, what did Stoick know about Hiccup and his personal life? He must have done something to have rounded them all up and fly in on those dragons before. Plus, he had won everyone's respect with his sudden and inexplicable improvement in dragon training… Everyone except Astrid. Stoick had seen how aggravated she was after Hiccup's victory over her, but it had been a day- almost two- since then. Astrid had been the first in the arena to save Hiccup when things went wrong with that Nightmare. And they had ridden in on the same dragon. Everyone had seen Toothless pluck her from the air, and she had volunteered to look after him just now… But what did he know. Maybe they were good friends, maybe they weren't. Maybe she was just a good person.

Stoick slid his massive bulk down the wall and let his head fall, let his elbows find support on his hairy knees. He slipped his helmet from his head, holding it by the horns and looking at his warped, tarnished reflection hopelessly. He had always believed that keeping the helmets was a way of keeping his wife close, but if she had always been so close she probably would have somehow imparted some kind of parental advice, especially seeing as the helmet was on his head all the time. It had done nothing, but Stoick wasn't giving up yet. If she still was watching over him, he was going to make her proud. He would make up for everything in Hiccup's life he had ruined. The idea of possible forgiveness seemed to be the only thing keeping him up.

"Hiccup... Hiccup, please don't…" Astrid's teary voice recaptured his attention: he looked up hopefully, but nothing had changed. She was still crying, he was still screaming.

Stoick spoke before he could stop himself. "The pain will probably come and go in waves," he said, and was surprised by how dead his voice sounded. He felt Astrid's eyes on him, but couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. Enough guilt pressed down upon him as it was. "Once it's gone, he'll probably only have energy enough to sleep."

As if to prove his point, Hiccup suddenly fell silent, collapsing limply on the bed. Stoick heard him gasp down ragged breaths, heard Astrid fall away as limply as Hiccup had. He could still feel her eyes boring into his skull, and he could guess what she was thinking: that he was a coward for objectifying Hiccup instead of addressing him as a human being. She was absolutely right, and Stoick didn't see the point in pretending otherwise. Let the whole world know that Stoick the Vast was a downright, good-for-nothing coward. The worst Viking to have lived.

Silence descended, broken only by Hiccup's desperate struggle for air and Astrid's occasional sniffles. Everyone was lost in their own world, but Stoick didn't want to imagine where Hiccup was right now. He was still breathing, the only sound that Stoick made actively sure that reached him in his near stupor because the moment it cut out was the moment Stoick fell apart. He could only hope that whatever world of unconsciousness he dwelled in was a happy one…

An eternity seemed to pass before Hiccup woke up again. It startled Stoick- he hadn't expected him to come back around so soon. Stony faced, mouth a grim slash of determination, Astrid resumed her post at his shoulders. He could see by the way her lips pressed together that she was fighting off more tears. He straightened, unsure of what to do with himself. He didn't want to risk hurting Hiccup's leg more by wandering near it, but he felt as though with every second that passed Astrid was silently condemning him further for being a coward and for letting himself become so helpless. He tried to think of something he could do-

There was a strangled roar from above, a few muted shrieks followed by a series of thumps and crashed until a wild-eyed Toothless had appeared, big eyes darting around until he found Hiccup. He almost knocked Stoick over as he pounced, standing next to Astrid and desperately sniffing Hiccup's sweaty face. Once more Stoick's heart sagged: the poor beast hadn't the slightest idea what was happening, or why. They were more alike than anyone might have guessed: neither of them had any clue as to the future of the most important person in their lives, both of them needed to be tough and hide the complete confusion within and both felt an overwhelming sense of guilt at having failed to protect the bravest boy Berk had ever seen. Toothless' appearance signalled one good thing, however- they must have been clear of Hell Hind's Gate and well on their way to Berk now.

With a confused moan, Toothless began running circles around Hiccup's bed, roaring piteously as he did. More tears sprang to Astrid's eyes and fell freely as she tried to calm the distraught dragon. "Please- please, Toothless, calm down, he's OK, it's all OK, shh, shh, please don't, you'll tip the ship…"

But he wouldn't listen. Watching his demented circles, Stoick could scarcely begin to wonder what was going through the beast's head at that moment…