Guess who's participating in NaNoWriMo for the first time ever and has already written 13k words! Its-a me, Mario! At first I was gonna finish IJAS and then start uploading chapters, but then I thought ah, what the hell, I just want you to read it because it's SO GOOD! Not to toot my own horn but I'm really really really happy with how these next few chapters have turned out so far. So, here we go, after basically 5 years of very sporadic uploads, we're gonna go back to a regular upload schedule every Friday! I have so many thoughts, but for now, I'll just say this: bless NaNoWriMo for existing!

quick housekeeping bit: this chapter contains strong language and also a slight tw for homophobia (which is thwarted quickly, not to worry), so if that makes you uncomfortable I suggest skipping the first bit of this chapter. Alright, I hope you enjoy, I really enjoyed writing it!

Chapter 27 - Moving On

The sudden, rough knock on his front door startled him out of his numb daze. He got up, tumbling his way through the heavy, dusty, dim mess of a living room, almost tripping on the weeks-old clothes and pizza boxes, knocking over the whisky bottle by the sofa, eyes never quite adjusting to the darkness. He yanked open the front door, recoiling at the sudden shift of brightness.

He knew Stoick could barely stand the sight of him. This much was evident by his expression, and he was almost surprised his brother didn't spit on him.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Stoick said, his voice rough and low, face cold and full of disgust as he looked at him, eyes even colder as he met his gaze. "I thought our parents raised you better than this."

Logan knew he wasn't just referring to his current state - he looked his brother up and down, eyes full of equal amounts of disgust. "Look who's finally had the balls to show up," he said, his voice dripping with pure contempt.

"You reek," his brother spat as he stepped over the pile of letters and newspapers by the front door and forced his way past him through the dark hallway.

"Don't get your hopes up," Stoick called back towards him as he made his way upstairs. "I'm here for your son, and your son only."

The way he stressed the word son made Logan want to throw up. Before he knew it, he flew after him, but not before grabbing another half-empty whisky bottle standing on his radiator cover in the hall, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he took a swift swig and wiped his mouth, hand coming down on the bannister of the landing.

"Don't you dare come in here on your high horse, pretending you're so fucking perfect. The shit I've heard you say to Hiccup doesn't make you any fucking better than me."

Stoick whipped around, his stare hard and not very unlike their father's. Logan took an involuntary step back, almost petrified as Stoick raised a finger, jabbing it towards him.

"Don't. Don't you fucking dare. You beat your own son to a pulp. I didn't even see him until Gobber had to patch him up. We are not the same. I've never told Hiccup he wasn't my son anymore. And at least I've had the decency to own up and make amends. Look at you. Hiding in this shithole like a fucking coward." With that, he turned back around and continued his march towards Snotlout's bedroom, and Logan saw his hand shake as it reached for the doorknob.

"Once. This one time I beat him," Logan muttered then, not missing the way Stoick's fingers clenched around the doorknob, knuckles white. "Fucking pussy. Should be grateful. I could've done much worse."

"And what, put him in hospital?" Stoick said, grabbing fistfuls of clothes and anything in his reach really, and he knew he regretted the question as soon as it had left his mouth. Logan scoffed but stayed silent. Stoick grabbed a rucksack from the back of the door and stuffed everything in, eyes darting around the room for anything else his nephew had mentioned. He felt Logan's eyes on his back but tried to ignore it, grabbing some books and the box hidden under the bed that Snotlout had told him about.

"So what, he's living with you now? Or with his little boyfriend?" Logan spat, and Stoick closed his eyes. Ignore it, he told himself and pressed his lips together. Just ignore it.

"Guess I can't be too surprised," Logan went on in the background. Stoick tried his best to tune it out. The rucksack had finally reached its capacity, so he turned around and pushed his way past his rambling brother, not meeting his gaze. He was already down the stairs, Logan was following him, still going on, voice growing louder - he was almost out the door, when he heard it.

"- those two fag-"

The slur got cut off as Stoick's fist collided with his jaw. Logan fell to the floor, Stoick hovering over him. For the second time today, he froze. Scared of Stoick, his older brother. For the first time with reason. He knew from Stoick's expression that if all he left with was a punch to the face, he'd be lucky.

Stoick was shaking. His knuckles hurt from where they had connected with his brother's jaw. This had been the line and Logan had crossed it. To use that word - not only against Snotlout, but also against Gobber, had crossed the invisible line they'd both known they'd been toeing for years. He couldn't tell when it had started. Didn't know why it had started. Maybe it had always been this way and had been just a matter of time. The one thing that had bonded them together, both their wives lost to cancer decades ago, leaving them both with young sons, wasn't enough to save it now. Truthfully, as he looked down on the shivering, moaning mess of a man on the floor below him, he didn't really care. Whatever they had still had was now broken, shattered on the floor next to him.

Without saying a word - and without kicking him in the stomach, only just - Stoick turned around and walked towards the door.

"You know I could call the police," his brother called out as he opened the door. Stoick stopped in his tracks, hand lingering on the doorknob once more.

"Feel free. I'd make your life a living hell." As he slipped out the door, the last thing he heard his brother say was, "Don't bother. I'm already there." The door clicked shut.

"Hey."

Snotlout startled and looked up at Fishlegs, who was smiling at him in the way that he did when he knew exactly what was going on with him. He gently closed his hands around Snotlout's fidgeting fingers, forcing him to stop tapping the table.

"It's gonna be okay," he said, softly, and squeezed his hands. Snotlout dropped his gaze and continued bouncing his left leg.

"I hope so," he mumbled, staring at the red and white gingham on the tablecloth of the café they'd chosen for lunch. He didn't feel like eating anymore and pressed his lips together. He took a shaky breath.

"Look, I know I asked Stoick to go, but I just ... maybe I should have gone."

"So he can put you in hospital this time?" Fishlegs said, his tone unwavering, eyes gentle but his voice almost stern. Snotlout shrugged.

"Don't be silly. He's his brother. I don't think he'd - I mean, he knows the influence your uncle has. It's going to be fine. Trust me."

"Okay," Snotlout muttered, finally meeting Fishleg's steady gaze for a second. "I love you," he mumbled. Fishlegs squeezed his hands again. "I love you, too." He paused, looked around for a second, and then announced, "Alright, I'm gonna get you a decaf oat latte, because I don't think you need any more adrenaline for this afternoon. Do you want a pastry, croissant or something? Or a sandwich?"

Finally, he'd elicited a smile. "No, I'm okay," Snotlout said, and Fishlegs beamed back at him before pulling his hands away, grabbing his wallet off the table and making his way into the café.

Snotlout had learned very early on that this was the way Fishlegs showed people around him he cared. He'd buzz around them, almost nervously so, looking for things he could do, a way he could help, even if it was wildly inconvenient for him. Once, he'd made the 45-minute-long way back from the mainland just because Hiccup had asked if he would at all be able to drop his forgotten lunch by the station. This quality, of course, made him quickly fiercely adored by the whole island, and, in turn, by Snotlout. Of course, knowing Fishlegs preceded their relationship by a long time, but Fishleg's habit of taking on everyone's problems, worries, and tasks had only properly revealed itself to Snotlout as they had gotten closer.

Their relationship had progressed quickly, almost comically so, considering Snotlout's initial anxieties which Fishlegs had very quickly dispersed. He thought himself quite silly now in retrospect. Admittedly, it also helped that Hiccup and Astrid were in a similarly quickly progressing situation. Sometimes, he felt like he and Hiccup were more like love-drunk schoolboys, the way they'd hang around in the break room, chatting long, late-night shifts away. Only thing missing is us giggling and kicking our feet, he thought, and the thought made him grin. Those nights over steaming tea with Hiccup, the entirety of Keanu Reeves's videography he, Gobber and Stoick were still working on, his walks with Hookfang, and all the moments spent with Fishlegs and Meatlug were more precious to him than he'd ever admit to anyone. Still, the thought of his father hung over everything like a dark, heavy cloud announcing a storm. Sometimes, he wished he could just pack it all up and run. He knew it wouldn't solve anything. Another part of him knew there was never anything to be solved - his father wouldn't change and neither would or could he. Except that, if he wanted to, his father could actually change. Maybe that was what was still bothering him, even months after that night.

"Here you go."

He looked up to see Fishlegs set down his coffee and a raspberry white chocolate croissant down in front of him. His fingers relaxed around the gingham tablecloth he realised he'd been clutching. He shot Fishlegs a smile.

"You can't turn that off, can you?"

Fishlegs smiled quizzically, tilting his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Your café voice," Snotlout chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. "You have the same voice when you talk to your customers. It's, like, more high-pitched. It's really cute."

Fishlegs laughed. "Thanks. The restauranteur in me also got you a croissant. Don't feel like you have to eat it."

"We'll share it," Snotlout decided, took a huge bite out of it and pushed the plate over to Fishlegs, who ogled at him.

"Dude, how can anyone's mouth be this big?"

"Never heard you complain about my mouth before," Snotlout said through a mouthful of croissant and winked, albeit half-heartedly. Fishlegs snort-laughed in the way that he did whenever Snotlout told him one of his particularly skilful innuendos.

"Nice one, babe. By the way, we still on for later?"

Snotlout checked his watch. No text from Stoick yet. "Yeah, should be. Stoick hasn't texted me yet, but I guess he's still over there. I wonder what's taking him so long. I hope he managed to find Snuffles." Fishlegs bumped their feet together under the table.

"I'm sure he has. You were very clear that was one of the priorities."

That was a graceful way of putting it. In reality, Snotlout had all but begged Stoick to get his old, battered stuffed bunny - the one keepsake of his mother's he had left beside a few old photos. He often wondered what she would think about how he'd turned out. In his heart of hearts he knew she'd be proud, despite how rocky his teenage years had been.

"Yeah," was all he could say then and felt treacherous tears well up. He quickly wiped his eyes and felt Fishleg's sympathetic gaze on him. He hesitated for a moment, then whispered, "You know, I think my Mum would have really liked you." and it was almost like a confession. He didn't need to look up to know Fishlegs was tearing up, too. Snotlout had shown him a picture of her, once. The one he kept hidden in the box under his bed. They'd had to be quick, anticipating Logan to get home from work any moment. Fishlegs had remarked the kindness in her eyes, he'd seen the gentleness in her laugh lines and her beauty. Snotlout knew there was no such thing as a flawless human being. But as he'd looked at Fishlegs holding the picture of his mother, he'd thought how maybe these were the only two people in the world who had ever come close.

"I can't believe you guys haven't watched Speed yet," Fishlegs said as he crossed his legs and pulled Snotlout closer to him - partly to reach the popcorn. "Like, what have you guys been watching all this time?"

"Hey, go easy on us, we can only watch one film per, what, 14 working days? We're busy people, lad. Can't all live the self-employed waffle high life like some of us," Gobber quipped from his spot on the old, battered armchair in his and Stoick's living room.

"God, if only you knew," Fishlegs sighed, grinning. "I've had to ban people. From a waffles and ice cream place. Rough crowd. It's a tougher business than you might think."

Snotlout snorted. "It's true, I've seen his 'DO NOT FEED' list up on the wall in the bakery."

They all looked up towards the door as the key clicked in the lock. Stoick stepped into the small hallway that connected to the living room, shoes already in hand. He popped his head through the door to the living room and smiled.

"Hello, sorry I'm late! Hope you didn't start without me, I don't want to miss a single second." He caught Snotlout's glance and motioned for him to follow him.

"Wouldn't dare," Gobber laughed as Snotlout got up and forced his feet to carry him into the hallway towards his uncle's bedroom, where he was waiting, his head poking out from the door.

Why am I so worried? "What are we doing, a poorly timed drug deal?" he chuckled nervously, and his uncle shot him a look that could only be described as fatherly disapproval. Snotlout slipped into Stoick's bedroom, the harsh overhead lighting making him squint. You can really tell this is serious 'cause he's got the big light on, he thought - for some reason, this was the only thing his brain could conjure the moment he laid eyes on his old rucksack.

He didn't mean for his voice to shake. "How was it?"

Stoick paused, then sighed. "Difficult. I don't want to lie to you. I don't ... it didn't seem to me like he ... he's not well. I won't be seeing him again."

Snotlout knew there was so much more than what his uncle had actually said but didn't want to press for more right now. Maybe he never wanted to find out at all.

"Thank you for going. I'm sorry I put you in that position."

Stoick waved his hand. "Nonsense, boy. You know I'd go back over there again right now if you asked me to." He was overcome by a sudden, overwhelming wave of love for his uncle. Because he couldn't really think of what to say, and because maybe no words would ever be enough, he reached out and gave Stoick a hug. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that. He also couldn't remember the last time his father had embraced him. He couldn't stop the tears from falling as Stoick's arms tightened around him, warm, protective and all-encompassing. Stoick sniffed. Snotlout's voice was muffled against his shoulder.

"Wait, are you crying too?"

A pause. "...yes." He didn't pull back and instead patted his nephew's back. They stood like this for a few minutes, perhaps both lost in the stinging grief of having lost Logan, when Snotlout pulled back and offered Stoick a watery smile. "Thank you. For ... this." He gestured vaguely up and down. His uncle cracked a smile.

"Taking a page out of Hiccup's book, huh? Gesturing to all of me?"

Snotlout laughed and wondered what Hiccup would have thought if he'd been witnessing this scene, watching both big-shouldered, burly men cry their eyes out in each others' arms. He knew Hiccup would say it made them better men and he was strongly inclined to agree.

"Yeah, I've been doing that more in the past few years," he responded, smiling at the thought of his cousin (who was currently stuck at a night shift with their new colleague Jim). "You raised a great son, you know. With Dad, I feel like I just ... grew in spite of him, you know? " Stoick nodded, staying silent, somewhat avoiding his gaze. He knew that Snotlout knew he'd been far from perfect when Hiccup was growing up.

"By the way, did you get Snuffles?" He looked up now at Snotlout, and for a second he swore his nephew was eight years old again. A warm smile crept on his lips.

"Of course," he replied and zipped open the rucksack. "I got you some more clothes and some books as well, I think I got all the books that you mentioned - and the photos from the box, of course-"

A soft knock at the door. Fishlegs popped his head through the gap, a hesitant smile on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt. Are you almost ready to watch?"

Snotlout and Stoick exchanged a glance, and then Snotlout - for what felt like the first time today - grinned honestly, warmth settled into his chest. "Yeah, I'm ready. You guys should get ready to have your socks blown off by this one. Do we have more popcorn?"

He took Snuffles with him, even if it was slightly embarrassing. Or maybe it wasn't, he thought, as Fishlegs took great care to position the bunny in between them before they pressed play, "So he can watch too", and it made Snotlout's eyes well up again. This time, he knew, as he sat between Snuffles, Fishlegs and Stoick, with Gobber in his armchair, they came from the feeling of being surrounded by those who truly and honestly loved him for who he was. He settled into the sofa and sighed. The weight on his heart was starting to get lighter.

Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think and leave a review! :D