AN: Yo guys I legit forgot ff acc existed lol. Enjoy this chapter. A better version of it (with complete formatting) is on AO3, so if you want to read it there (and I highly recommend doing so) do it. A lot of stuff is implied with the way I format my stories, and I really don't want any of you to miss it, especially considering the baseline for the entirety of CotM is basically just internal conflict. So... yeah. I'll continue posting here, but, uh... I might forget? Haha. Sorry?
Man, none of the italics are working, none of the bolds are working, none of the freakin' strikeouts are workin'... *angry muttering*
Before anyone could say anything, Gothi skimmed forward–not a single wobble in her step–and she turned the bag she slung over her shoulder over.
A thin, long dragon rolled out, its scales seeming to shift at irregular intervals. It sneezed twice, blinking its black pupil less eyes at everyone (save Gothi's) shocked faces. Then, it sniffed the air.
Hiccup watched as the dragon waddled over to Snotlout and plopped down on his chest, curling up as if about to sleep.
Ruffnut groaned and stepped forward, reaching out, meaning to pick off the dragon and drop it to the floor.
Hiccup blinked.
Ruffnut was nursing a red, angry bruise on her hand, and Gothi was glaring at her through eyes that looked 10 years younger than they actually were.
"Okay, what in the name of Loki–" Tuffnut blurted out, only for Gothi to sweep forward with a sureness to her steps Hiccup hadn't seen since he was four, and backhand him across the face with her stick.
Then, she pressed her finger to her lips, and glared even harder (somehow).
The dragon cooed suddenly, drawing everyone's attention to Snotlout's body, and Hiccup–Hiccup had to do a double-take.
The dragon was glowing.
Hiccup's heart skipped a beat. I know this dragon.
The familiar purr… the glowing, shifting scales. It was all different, but so similar, and Hiccup felt a sharp twang in his heart at the memory. So it was real.
It was when Hiccup was still young–about 6 months after Snotlout's sharp mood swing and a few weeks since he'd been hanging around the twins…
O~O
In hindsight, Hiccup should not have pestered Snotlout, not on that day, and definitely not when he was holding an axe–his father's axe in his hands.
The sky was weirdly sunny, which just made it one of the few days Hiccup remembered down to the exact details. Although, that also could've been because of what happened.
Hiccup didn't remember the exact words he said–he didn't want to remember, but he said something, and Snotlout just froze. The axe shifted in his grip, and Hiccup was suddenly, keenly aware of the fact that Gobber wasn't outside watching their interaction.
Without thinking, Hiccup turned heel and ran.
Without thinking, he made way for the one place he felt safest–the forest.
When he finally started thinking again, he realized two things–
Snotlout knows how to track him.
Snotlout was what made the forest safe.
Hiccup's own hand over his mouth felt like a binding chain as he heard Snotlout's thumping footsteps and heavy breathing. Then, he heard a roar, and the axe collided with the back of the tree he was using to hide.
Snotlout's breaths got heavier and heavier (if Hiccup didn't know any better, he'd say Snotlout was about to burst into tears), and at one point, the axe hit so close to Hiccup's head, and a whimper just slipped out.
Everything went silent.
Then, in a fit of impulse, Hiccup burst out from the tree, only to end up directly into the pathway of Snotlout's flying axe.
He remembered dimly registering Snotlout's frightened, choked-off gasp.
He remembered dimly registering a thumping sound on the ground, the oozing blood, a bright red against the equally bright surroundings.
He thought he might've sat down at one point, his shoulder spasming irregularly with the beat of his heart.
He could feel Snotlout's warm hands around his shoulders, small and comforting (not like his father's large and expectant–). He could hear Snotlout's voice, but it was as if they were underwater swimming in the cove.
"...stay…et…help…" he thought Snotlout might've said.
And then, the warmth left his shoulders, instead being traded for Snotlout's vest. It wrapped around the entirety of his shoulder, but not his arm(?)
Then, Snotlout was gone.
Hiccup remembered looking up at the bright sky, his head spinning with blood loss and pain.
He remembered blinking, and finding a dragon's head blocking the sun. It was a bright blue dragon, with four strange green, filmy holes down the side of its neck. It had a set of four horns that curled around the back of its skull, and fluffy ears that made it look like a baby yak more than a dragon.
Hiccup felt a long, whip-like tail curl around his leg, and the brush of feathers along his cheek.
The last thing Hiccup heard before his world was engulfed in warm light was a low, vibrating coo.
O~O
When he woke up, he was in Gothi's hut, Snotlout sitting beside him with a red, ugly bruise on his cheek in the shape of Spitelout's fist.
Hiccup remembered asking Snotlout what happened. He remembered Snotlout shaking his head and getting up.
He remembered, once he finally made it out of Gothi's hut, that he found Spitelout's axe hanging on Gobber's melt-rack. He remembered asking Gobber why it was there, and Gobber's reply.
"The li'l Jorgen-boy pu' i' there."
Hiccup stayed his distance from Snotlout after that.
(He pretended not to notice the bruises that scattered themselves across Snotlout's face and body, the shadow of hands too big and too heavy on his shoulders, weighing them down with visions too far to reach. He pretended, pretended, pretended.)
The dragon on Snotlout's chest shifted slightly, their four feathered wings twitching slightly, before raising their head and warbling slightly. Gothi grabbed the dragon and made off with it. Just in time, too–
Snotlout had awoken.
O~O
Ruffnut was the younger sibling. By three hours, her aunt, who had been the midwife for her mother said. Her aunt said that she took such a long time to come out, and that when she did, she was such a small baby–even by Thorston standards.
From the time she was born to the time nearly half her life passed, it was always stressed upon her brother, her three hour older brother to take care of her. Her brother, who she truly believed would take care of her.
Because she was the younger sibling.
The one they thought wouldn't survive.
The small one.
Those delusions ended when she turned eight and her brother nearly blew off his own fingers in one of their experiments. Ruffnut was horrified. She could see the bone peeking out of Tuffnut's hands, and she was scared because her brother just kept giggling.
From then on, she watched him closer.
She watched him closer, and realized–he was more like a child than she was. He was in danger of doing things she never was. He… couldn't think in the prided Thorston way, but he could think in the prided Thorston way.
He made stupid decisions, but always had some wise insight at the most pointless of times. He connected better with her and with their pet yak than other people.
He was…
He was vulnerable.
More vulnerable than her.
Vulnerable to himself.
Vulnerable to Berk.
Vulnerable to their parents.
More vulnerable than the small one, the younger one, the feared for one.
Why her family wanted him to protect her, she didn't know. But once she turned nine, she decided to, ah, flip the script, and protect him instead.
Her entire life afterwards, from nine to fifteen, she was her brother's best friend. His only friend. His logical mind, and his comfort. And she took pride in it.
She took pride in being her brother's only source of comfort.
She took pride in knowing all her brother's affection and attention went to her, that little starved girl who never had a friend beyond her brother, because he–he was her entire life.
So, she didn't know how it happened.
How Snotlout came in, and slowly started siphoning her brother's attention off of her.
In fact, it'd only become clear for her a few days ago.
When her brother was willing to climb up Raven Point (Raven Point!) for him.
For that Jorgenson who, in her eyes, was just as repulsive as the rest of Berk.
It happened too slowly and too sudden for her to realize. For her to notice.
And before she knew it, her brother was sitting at Snotlout's bedside, next to Hiccup (lonely, lonely boy, just like her–), babbling excitedly at Snotlout's dazed, confused, awake figure.
She hated Snotlout.
She loathed him.
She hated how he took her brother's attention away from her. She hated how little she felt watching them. She hated, hated, hated it.
And she had no idea how it came to it.
She had no idea how, suddenly, her brother decided to adopt him into the Thorston family.
She loved her brother, but she couldn't, couldn't, couldn't accept it–she couldn't accept calling Snotlout her friend, let alone family.
Ruffnut loved her brother.
But that didn't stop the narrowing of her eyes, or the twisted line of her mouth.
She wanted answers.
O~O
Snotlout listened quietly, nodding along ever so often to Tuffnut's words. His eyes were trained on Hiccup, and, quite truthfully, too many thoughts were flitting through his mind to actually listen to what Tuffnut was saying.
Something about a Terrible Terror?
"Hey, Snotlout." Hiccup rasped.
All of Snotlout's thoughts stilled.
"'S… Been a while, yeah?" Hiccup laughed hoarsely, before going quiet. "Are you okay?"
Snotlout felt emotions clog up his throat, "Y-Yeah." he stuttered out, "I'm… fine." Lie. Every time Snotlout squinted, he could see the shadows against the roof of Gothi's hut bend and twist. Sometimes they grew a face.
It probably wasn't normal.
"—Snot! Snotlout! Snotty the Lout! Hey!" Tuffnut snapped his fingers in front of Snotlout's face, casually flicking his nose upwards and admonishing him, "Are you even listening to me?"
Snotlout shook his head slowly, "No–"
"Great!" Tuffnut groaned, "Now I have to start all over, how about it? So anyways, we were there, Hiccup almost died–"
"He what?"
Hiccup laughed, cheeks red with embarrassment, "I didn't really… you know…"
"You were trying to sniff a death flower, Hiccup." Ruffnut pointed out, more than a bit of bite in her tone, "You almost died. End of story."
"No." Tuffnut protested, "Not end of story! There's still more!"
Ruffnut glared at her brother, and Snotlout couldn't help but observe the shadows around her curl and lash out threateningly, not a single smile in their wisps. "No, there isn't!"
Snotlout tore his gaze away as the twin's spat expanded into a full-out argument, and glanced at Hiccup incredulously, "You tried to sniff a death flower?"
"In my defense, I had absolutely no idea it was a death flower!"
Snotlout opened his mouth to retort, but the words died in his throat when Gothi came up next to the bed and placed the back of her hand on his forehead. She tapped her staff against the ground twice, and looked at him expectantly.
Is she… Is she asking if I'm okay? Snotlout gulped, "I'm… fine?"
Gothi waved her hand, beckoning for him to continue.
Snotlout shuffled slightly, "I'm fine." he said again, this time more forcefully. He looked at Hiccup, who was watching him more lucidly, with those cold green eyes. Suddenly, he shifted and tipped over. His legs hit the ground with a solid thump and he worked his jaw for a few moments.
"How much did I miss?" he asked dully.
Hiccup snorted, and Snotlout didn't miss the humorous light re-enter his eyes. (Privately, he was thankful. He would never, never, never admit it, but Hiccup was terrifying when he was thinking objectively).
"About two-ish days. Going to be three soon, though."
Snotlout felt a chill run down his spine, "What?! What about–"
"Dragon Training?" Tuffnut interrupted with a strangely knowing look, "Worry not, Snotlout. No grade is more important than your life."
Snotlout hid a shudder. "That's what you think." he muttered. If it were to ever come to Spitelout's attention that–
His mind froze. The gears turned back again.
If.
If.
If it were to ever come to Spitelout's attention, then Snotlout would be rotting meat hanging from a Monstrous Nightmare's maw.
But it wouldn't. He would just have to make sure it wouldn't.
Snotlout's face scrunched up in thought This was hard, how did Hiccup do it so often?
(Snotlout refused to entertain the little voice in the back of his head telling him that his father would find him, hurt him anyways–because he had hurt him for less. He would find out, he would find out, he would–)
He… He needed to make his father unable to punish him. But how?
O~O
Astrid shifted the grip on her axe and gritted her teeth. It was the second day. Neither Hiccup nor the Thorstons nor Snotlout were in the Arena.
She threw the axe, her aim straight and true.
She missed.
Astrid roared, and threw her shield at her axe in rage.
She missed again.
She collapsed, landing heavily on her knees. The spikes on her skirt dug into the ground, ripping and tearing a dark promise to whichever fool, dragon or human, tried to touch her where she didn't wish.
What is wrong with me? She thought furiously, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. What is wrong with me?
She was a Hofferson.
Hoffersons don't miss.
(She had the expectations and weight of an entire clan–of her dishonored Uncle bearing down on her. She wasn't allowed to miss.)
Hoffersons don't have conflicting thoughts about dragons, either.
They were all enemies.
They were all monsters.
It was her duty to kill them.
As many as she could.
But she couldn't stop thinking about the Gronckle's eyes. How they widened in fear. How the pupils contracted, expanded, and contracted again.
How its maw opened up and let out a low, broken moan of pain.
How its eyes shone with resignation, and its head thumped on the ground, acquiescing to its death at her hands.
How its wing was split open, how the bone was startlingly white, just like a human's, how it spasmed, almost like–almost like–almost like it was crying.
Astrid's mind drifted, and her mind suddenly landed on Hiccup, as it so often did.
He was a subject of endless thought for Astrid.
His mind was the only one in Berk sharp enough to politically challenge and succeed against Hofferson influence.
None other.
It was a topic that came up over multiple family dinners. Her family had debated, quite seriously, over killing Hiccup, for his weak body and strong mind, and putting Snotlout as chieftain.
He would be easier to control, of course.
The Jorgensons would be unbearable, though, so the idea was scrapped every single time.
Sometimes, she felt like she was the only one who saw Hiccup for what he was.
He would make an excellent leader.
He just…
Astrid winced.
He just… He was too… curious.
Astrid picked her axe up off the ground and took it with her to sit.
Hiccup kept asking questions. Questions he wasn't supposed to ask. Questions that, if he were anyone else, would get exiled for. Questions that risked the entirety of Berk turning and falling in on itself if anyone were to listen.
Questions that… Questions that Chiefs weren't supposed to ask.
Forget that–Chiefs weren't supposed to ask questions, period. Chiefs were subject to tradition–and tradition on Berk was to kill dragons, tradition on Berk was to celebrate festivals with the heady taste of mead, tradition on Berk was war.
And wasn't that a sad thing?
Sometimes Astrid wished she could have one day–just one day without hearing her mom's lectures about Hofferson superiority and strength–how better they were than the Jorgensons, than everyone else on Berk at anything and everything.
Just one day.
Sometimes, Astrid was just tired.
No–exhausted.
She was exhausted.
Exhausted with her parents, exhausted with the war she's expected to fight without knowing why, like the mindless soldier her parents raised her not to be–
Exhausted with thinking about that accursed Gronckle and its sad, sad eyes.
Just–Just exhausted.
Astrid buried the heels of her palms into her eyes again. Unwillingly, she felt her throat choke up and heat build behind her eyelids. She felt it becoming harder and harder to breathe, and for a moment, the cold part of her mind thought she was suffocating, and then–
A tear fell.
And another.
Stop. A desperate voice in Astrid's head screamed, at the same time another one–eerily like her mother's own voice–yelled, Hoffersons don't cry!
Two more fell.
Then, a new voice, soft and steady, low and breaking with that awkward year of youth, echoed in her mind. Astrid. You can cry.
And all of a sudden, a low, pathetic whine clawed its way out of her throat, and everything in Astrid's mind went blank.
She cried, she wailed, she sobbed so shamefully that the fading rational part of her mind was sure that if her mother were to see, she'd disown Astrid then and there.
She didn't know how long it took before her tears dried up, before her wails subsided to sniffles, and her back started hurting from being forced into a fetal position so foreign to her countenance.
The air was chillier by then, and wind was gusting through the trees, carrying leaves in an ominous warning of yet another winter storm yet to come. Once Astrid was able to scrape up the pieces of herself that she let crumple to the ground, she estimated about an hour.
She should've been in dragon training by now.
She should've been taking that dragon test by now.
She would've completed it by now, if she had.
So, despite the creaking and protesting of her bones and joints, Astrid got up, slung her axe in its sheath on her belt and limped over back, a stray thought flitting through her mind, so familiar, so impulsive .
"Figure out which side you're on!"
Astrid shook her head and chuckled wetly. It seemed she needed to take her own advice.
O~O
Gobber hobbled around the Arena anxiously. Every so often, he looked at the heavy metal cage-door and cursed internally when he saw no tiny humans enter past.
If no one showed up, he'd have to postpone the test. Again.
That wouldn't be good.
(It was already a whole week–Stoick was expecting progress by the time he came back, and if he kept following this pattern of teaching…)
Gobber ceased his pacing and glared at the cage-door again, thoughts sifting through his mind at a pace that only Hiccup could match.
It was already midday…
Gobber sighed and groaned.
This test was needed if they wanted to move up from Gronckle and Nadder to anything else. Where–where even were they?
Where was Hiccup?
"Uh, sir?"
Gobber's head swiveled and he turned to face Fishlegs who–incidentally–was the only person who actually attended. "What d'ye want?" he groused.
"Are we… Is the test ever going to start?" Fishlegs asked timidly.
Gobber glared at him without averting his eyes from the cage-door (somehow) and groused, "The test was supposed ta start three hours ago."
"Oh." Fishlegs fell silent.
Gobber sighed, "What did Bork write about Zipplebacks?"
"Huh?"
Gobber really did turn around and glare at Fishlegs this time, "What did Bork write about Zipplebacks?"
"They–" Understanding dawned in Fishlegs' eyes, "He wrote that they had a sense of humor. That they were incredibly withdrawn, lived in dark places. Caves."
"Good. What else?"
O~O
Snotlout was off bedrest.
Finally.
It was getting boring staying in one place for so long. (His hands were starting to itch)
Of course, he was banned from doing anything strenuous under threat of Gothi's stick (was it just him, or did she swing harder?).
Either way, it wouldn't matter much.
The moment his father came back, he'd be dead meat walking.
As such, there were a few options Snotlout could think up, and unfortunately, none of them were… super viable…
Once Snotlout was able to return to his own hut, he ran over to his mother's room and started searching for a notebook.
He remembered his mother… differently, depending on the situation. He remembered how she would sing softly to him at night, how she would tap the back of his hands with her ladle fondly, how she taught him how to sew, how she taught him how to write, how to vent his feelings.
He also remembered when she would zone out in the middle of a sentence, clutching her wrist where there were sure to be bruises, muttering, muttering, muttering to herself. About what? Snotlout never knew.
She would always snap back to reality after a few moments and smile brightly, though, and everything would go back to normal.
(It took 5 years for Snotlout to realize that was not normal)
He found the notebook.
Snotlout traced the cover fondly. It was one of the few things he had left of his mother. One of the few gifts she gave him that he still had. His father took the liberty of cleaning out the other ones.
He reached again for a charcoal stick, and then started writing.
Kill Spitelout.
Snotlout stared at the words for a few moments and almost burst into laughter from the irony.
Why solve when you can just kill? Saves a lot of trouble, boy-o.
He crossed out the words, a strange sense of spite, fear, resentment, disgust, and nausea turning his stomach. He didn't want to be his father.
Kill Spitelout
Leave Berk
Snotlout looked at the option for a few moments, and shrugged. A good start as any.
Soon enough, an hour or so had passed, Snotlout's arm was getting tired, and the shadows at the corner of his vision which hadn't left since the time in Gothi's hut started to encroach deeper, laughing to this annoying joke that Snotlout just couldn't get–
The teen blinked.
Perhaps he'd been writing too long.
He took one final look at his list…
Kill Spitelout
Leave Berk
Disown
Ask Chief for help
Find mom
…And promptly decided to cross out the third option.
There was no way the Chief would help, even if he could.
(Spitelout was his brother, and Snotlout? Snotlout was just some kid. Some kid who bullied his son. Not. Very. Flattering.)
Kill Spitelout
Leave Berk
Disown
Ask Chief for help
Find mom
Snotlout's eyes lingered on the last one. Then, he sighed, and crossed that out, too.
Wishful thinking.
Kill Spitelout
Leave Berk
Disown
Ask Chief for helo
Find mom
Great.
Wonderful.
So his only two options were either disownment or leaving Berk.
Great.
Just–wonderful.
A dull throb started up behind Snotlout's eyelids, and something unreal and shadowy started pounding into his skull.
He needed some air.
He grabbed a short dagger–the one Hiccup made for him, all those many years ago, and set out.
(Logically, he knew that he shouldn't be trying to mountain climb, much less trace around the base of Raven Point, but Snotlout didn't really care much, if at all.
…He kinda wanted to see the cove again.
For nostalgia)
O~O
Gobber's going to kill me.
Hiccup crept past the billowing forge, wincing slightly, as a plume of flame and loud cursing exploded outwards.
Gobber's going to kill me.
Hiccup reached for the back door handle–he didn't have the courage to open the front door–but before he could do anything, the door swung open, and a wall of smoke hit him like three yaks and one of Sven's sheep.
Hiccup coughed, tears springing to his eyes, and it was only out of sheer self-preservation that he was able to open them to see who stood in the doorway, and–
It was Gobber.
A vein was bulging on his arm where he held the door open, and he held a twisted sword (a forge failure…?). The whites of his eyes were a bright, almost nightmarish yellow in the firelight, and his jaw was set into a hard line. He really was going to die.
Gobber twisted his hook slightly, a slight scraping sound emanating from the action.
"So–"
Gobber stepped aside.
Hiccup flinched and looked at the single-armed, single-legged man cautiously.
"Gobber–" Hiccup broke off, half-expecting Gobber to interrupt and say something–anything–
The old man stayed silent.
Gobber's going to kill me.
Hiccup walked into the forge as slow as he could, half hoping to provoke Gobber into pushing him inside, half hoping he could delay… whatever it was Gobber was going to do to him.
(It didn't work)
Gobber slowly shut the forge door behind Hiccup with a soft, uncharacteristic click, and then–there was silence.
Hiccup heard nothing but the jumping of his heart, his short, narrow breaths, and the crackling of the forge. (Nothing of Gobber–nothing–it was as if he'd become a ghost–)
"Gobber–"
"Where were ye?"
Blank.
That was Hiccup's first impression.
The viridian-eyed teen flinched, "I was–I was in Gothi's hut." he whispered.
Gobber looked at him, "And why, pray tell, were ye in Gothi's hut?" he returned, almost conversationally. Hiccup couldn't help but notice how Gobber strolled over to the wall where he kept unsharpened weapons, and picked up an axe that looked, even by Viking standards, quite menacing.
It could have been anyone else, and Hiccup wouldn't care. It could've been his father, Spitelout, Mr. Hofferson–literally anybody and Hiccup would have responded with the kind of satirical humor that made everyone both hate and love him (but mostly hate).
But this was Gobber.
"Snotlout." Hiccup said.
Gobber weighed the axe in his hands, and hummed, "Snotlout?" he stopped, and turned around, "Snotlout, ye say?" Gobber chuckled tonelessly and turned around, "Hiccup, Snotlout was bedridden."
Hiccup gulped, "He–He was getting healed."
"Ah!" Gobber slapped his forehead with his free hand–his hook hand–and exclaimed, "Of course! Why didn't I think of tha'? Hiccup, ye li'l–" and then his face spasmed and morphed into something dark and angry before smoothing out again. Blood trickled down from a puncture in his forehead, where the hook's tip met skin.
"Hiccup." Gobber started, and he was blank again, "Snotlout gettin' healed was beside your priority. Gothi had it handled, and if she needed help, she would've asked. What did you do?"
Hiccup winced, "I was–I was there."
Gobber's face spasmed again, "Hiccup, you–"
"Look, I know–" Hiccup interrupted, speed-talking, half-glad that Gobber was finally interacting with him because this was something he could work with– "I know that I missed dragon training today, but I swear, it was for a good reason. And–And I can make it up! Give me a day or so–"
"A week, Hiccup." Gobber said stonily, and all of Hiccup's words died on his tongue. "T'day was s'posed to be a turn-of-the-curriculum. Ye didn't miss a class, ye missed a test."
Hiccup swallowed.
"Ye missed it, Hiccup. You and just about everyone else 'cept for Ingerman." Gobber frowned, and his voice lowered, "D'ye have any idea what your father will do if he finds ye–"
"Yes, yes, I know," Hiccup hissed. All too well.
(He'd be an embarrassment.)
"Hiccup. This is your chance t'be one of us. Wha–What happened?" Gobber's expression finally broke from the stone-cold state it held before.
"I–I…"
"Hiccup… Ye used to be so…" Gobber hesitated, "Persistent. What happened?"
Toothless.
"Nothing." Hiccup said instead, "Nothing happened."
Gobber sighed, and tossed the axe over to Hiccup, who jolted and caught it with relative ease. Gobber's eyes narrowed "Sharpen. Now." he paused, "And tell me about the Jorgen-boy while ye're at it… Your li'l escapade better not have been for nothin'."
"E-Escapade?"
Gobber leveled him with a deadpan, "Hiccup."
Hiccup balked, "H-How–"
"Raven Point has a very distinct smell, an' Jorgenson's kid got his sickness from the damned mountain." Gobber glanced pointedly at Hiccup's vest, who, at that very moment, let a leaf loose from somewhere within the fur folds. Hiccup shed the vest, embarrassed.
"He's healed. Should be good to go back to dragon training by tomorrow. Uh…"
"He missed the test. He's still with you lot for now."
A beat of silence passed.
"I barely see ye around anymore, Hiccup." Gobber suddenly said, quietly, "It's like ye've become a ghost."
Hiccup looked up from the grindstone, "I'm not a ghost." he protested, "Why would you say that?"
Gobber hummed, some complex microexpression that Hiccup couldn't even begin to decipher flitting across his face, "Ye haven't been around much."
And the conversation ended there.
…
That night, after Hiccup fell asleep, his body collapsing on his bed with the kind of exhaustion that told Gobber he would not wake up even if there was a Monstrous Nightmare burning the forge down, the one-armed, one-legged man took to the forge.
He… needed to think.
When did it happen, he wondered, idly, as he poured pieces of scrap metal, old axe blades and the like into a bucket for melting, When did he detach so thoroughly?
Hiccup was–He was–
He used to be around more.
Well, actually, Gobber could admit–Hiccup didn't run around Berk much to begin with (having an entire village that hated and cursed your existence did, indeed, make one less inclined to spend time there), but at least Gobber knew where he was.
Now, Gobber just didn't.
Maybe it was teenage rebellion. He didn't know.
Were teenagers always this distant?
Gobber sighed and trudged over to the scrap heap. There was… There was a piece missing from this equation, and it made his analytical mind itch. There was something about Hiccup that changed–not just the distance.
When did it start?
Gobber had to admit–a lot of things were changing in the recent months. Stoick finally accepted that trolls existed, the Thorstons actually exiled a member of their clan, Hiccup started Dragon Training…
Okay, so perhaps it was actually quite hard for Gobber to pin down exactly what changed to incite… this whole situation.
He snapped out of his thoughts only to look at the scrap heap bucket in confusion.
He knew he gave Hiccup free reign of the Forge, but what–Gobber lifted up a strange, deformed metal… stick with a circle at the end?–What was Hiccup making?
O~O
Snotlout hummed as the wind picked up, and the sky darkened to a near pitch-black. In the shadow of the crescent-moon night, Raven Point looked more like a figure of damnation than the green forested mountain it actually was.
He should not be here.
It was unwise to be anywhere near Raven Point, even disregarding his current situation and the fact that it was nightfall.
He should not be here.
Shadows bit at the corners of Snotlout's mind, and he snarled, "Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stupid mountain… You don't scare me!" he raised his fist and shook it at the shadowy mountain, only to snap it back when a discordant, bone-chilling screech emanated from the wretched place.
Perhaps it was the moment of vulnerability given by his fear and surprise, but the shadows at the corners of his mind suddenly surged and gained voices.
"Here–you–worthless child" his father–his father?
Snotlout felt his stomach drop, and the shadows suddenly began to take form before him. Odd shapes, long tails, sharp teeth–dragons?
Black shadowy creatures bent into his vision, glowing orange eyes–or were they green? He didn't quite know how to describe it, but perhaps they were blue, just like his father's!
(He distantly registered his breath speeding up, his heart burning in ice cold water)
Whispers bounded and rebounded off his skull, burrowing, making itching, horrible, twisting sensations on his skin, and Snotlout could feel it, but he couldn't quite comprehend it–
He was drifting, drifting…
Another screech echoed through the air, alone, but Snotlout was too distant to pay attention, he was falling–standing–falling–standing–falling–
And then everything was washed in white, and the shadows backed away.
Snotlout blinked, his mind swimming in something languid and warm. He felt a long, twining tail curl around his torso, and sharp claws dig into his shoulder and ribs.
All of a sudden, his mind kicked into high gear.
"Ah! Wait! What?! Get off me!" he yelped and pulled at the tail on his torso with one hand, the other pushing away a long snout that attached itself to the junction between his neck and shoulder.
The dragon warbled playfully–playfully!?–and snuggled tighter. Snotlout wheezed.
Oh my Thor. I'm going to die. Why did I come here. What is wrong with me? Why did I not bring my axe–there is a dragon–why did I come here?!
The dragon cooed, and another pulse of warmth and safety cascaded down his body.
Snotlout froze.
The dragon froze with him.
Seeing his opportunity, Snotlout yanked off the dragon, feeling barely a moment's regret as the small being yelped and thumped against a tree, before sprinting off back home.
Not a single shadow creaked at the edge of his vision or whispered unintelligibly in his ear the entire way there.
The wind chilled his skin but didn't seep to his bones.
As Snotlout closed the door to his hut, warmth coursing through his body and clarity settling in his mind, a sudden thought coursed through him–
How the Hel am I still alive?
AN: MERCY MERCY COMMENT REVIEW!