Chapter Text
Their ride back to Berk was silent.
Stoick held his boy in his arms, still so small as though he were a babe. His hair was tussled, knotted, and Stoick’s large fingers slowly worked through the tangles. He waited, breathless, for his son to suddenly wake up. Suddenly gasp into life and laugh. He would smile and stutter through some sarcastic joke and Stoick would -
But it didn’t matter now, what Stoick would do. All that mattered was what he had done, what he had said, all the things he couldn’t take back.
“Stoick,” Gobber said, his voice distant as though Stoick’s head were underwater, “We’re here.”
Stoick’s heart hammered, his arms tightening around the still figure in his arms. Acid burned the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes, but he held it all back. He was still a Chief, a leader, a Viking.
(He was a father. Or he had been.)
“Make preparations,” he ordered, his voice gruff with grief he didn’t know how to express.
Something hollow ate at him, a pit in his stomach that seemed to widen with every step he took, getting out of the boat. The crowd parted for him, quiet sobs and low murmurs following him. He didn’t know how he made it off the ship, with every sway feeling like it would make him topple over, but he did. Because he was Stoick the Vast, a mountain of a man, unmoving, unrelenting, unflinching.
(Stubborn. So stubborn, and Hiccup got that from him - had gotten that from him - and if only Stoick had been less stubborn - )
Time passed in fragments. Someone patted his shoulder, someone else gave him water. He paid none of it any attention, his eyes only on the boy in his arms.
He looked so peaceful. As though he were sleeping. He hadn’t looked this calm in a long time.
( You are not my son , Stoick had said, spat venom like it didn’t burn him too. Why had he said it? He couldn’t remember now - he could only remember the way Hiccup flinched, the way he stared up at him with those wide, kind eyes, full of hurt now. Why had he said it? And why couldn’t he take it back?)
They set Hiccup adrift in a boat made especially for the heir to a Chief. Stoick didn’t know where it came from, only that it was there now. Only that it was time to say goodbye. He lay his son down gently, more gently than he’d ever treated him in life.
Stoick felt something break then. Something loose finally coming apart - something unwinding like a vicious snake. It was more than he could handle.
But he handled it, because he was Stoick the Vast, unmoving, unrelenting, unflinching.
He lit the arrow, and it flew true. A Viking funeral, for a boy who had been more Viking than all of them. He would take his place among warriors in Valhalla, where even Odin would sing his praises. Of that, everyone was certain.
Distantly, he registered Gobber’s words. He heard more than saw all of Berk follow his lead, sending arrows flying. Everything had a haze to it, like a fog swallowing his senses. Only one thing was clear.
The shrill cry of a dragon, roaring in the air in a mournful tune that ripped Stoick’s heart out and laid it bare.
—
“His name is Toothless,” Astrid informed him, her voice raw.
Of all those that knew Hiccup, other than Gobber and Stoick, he was the one who was grieving him the most. In his last days, she explained, they had been friends.
Stoick stared at the girl in front of him, bags under her eyes as she looked everywhere but at him.
“The dragon’s name. It’s Toothless.”
Dully, Stoick’s mind made sense of the words. The dragon had been prowling the nights, it narrowed its eyes watching Stoick. No one had dared say anything against it. Sometimes, when Stoick passed it on the way to his duties, he could hear it rumble lowly, a sound he couldn’t quite make sense of.
“I see,” Stoick said, in lieu of anything else.
“He is,” Astrid’s eyes teared up, “He was Hiccup’s best friend.”
Stoick ran gentle circles on her back as she choked on sobs. They were sitting in Stoick’s house - Astrid having come to talk to him about what would happen to the dragons, now that they were free. She had asked for her blessing in training them, she and Fishlegs both.
(This was a conversation he should’ve had with Hiccup. His brilliant boy, who had seen what no one else had. His clever child, who had risked everything to protect an Isle that gave nothing back. His Hiccup .)
Stoick swallowed, “I see,” he said again.
“Sir, I think - I think you should talk to him.”
“Whom?”
“Toothless.”
“Oh.”
Stoick swallowed anger, hating how his instinct told him to fight . Hiccup loved that dragon. Stoick would respect that. Even if a part of him wanted to blame the dragon for all of this. What did it matter that Berk burned every other week, if it meant Hiccup was safe .
(But he knew who was to blame. And by Thor’s beard it wasn’t that dragon. The last creature to blame was that dragon, who brought Hiccup back to him, who tried its damn hardest, when all Stoick had ever done was - )
“I’ll think about it,” he promised, even though he wouldn’t.
He walked past that dragon, the next day, its green eyes watching his every move. Almost as though it was waiting to strike - judging him.
Stoick paused, turning to the beast. He couldn’t figure out how to feel, the mess inside him trying to break free only to have Stoick clamp down. He didn’t have time to think now. Didn’t have time to grieve. Berk needed him.
(When had he ever had time for Hiccup. Why hadn’t he made more time .)
Stoick swallowed something in his throat as the dragon raised his head to … to what? Greet him? Chase him away.
(What would Hiccup do? He would know what to do. Hiccup had been so smart. Too smart.)
The dragon watched him. Stoick wondered what it saw in him.
He wondered what Hiccup had seen in that dragon.
—
“Stoick,” Gobber tried.
“And I want the northern docks repaired - “
“ Stoick .”
Stoick sighed, “Yes, Gobber.”
“Go home.”
Stoick stared at him, startled, “What?”
“Go home,” Gobber said, his face tired. He looked like he had aged decades, in the two days they’d been back from - “You need to take a break. Have you even slept since - “
“I don’t need a break.”
“There’s that stubbornness in ya,” a ghost of a smile touched Gobber’s lips. It disappeared just as quickly, “Please, Chief. Let us handle it for now.”
Stoick heaved a sigh, not being able to deny the fatigue that had made its home in his bones. But he looked at Gobber, stern.
“This is hard on you too, Gobber. Don’t pretend it isn’t.”
Gobber gulped, looking away, “I wasn’t his father.”
“You were a better father than I was,” Stoick said bitterly, “He loved you. You understood him better than anyone.”
“I didn’t understand enough.”
No one did. Hiccup had always been different. Understanding him had always been difficult. It had taken a dragon to do so.
Something turned in Stoick’s stomach. He told himself to hold on a little while longer. To not break here, where everyone could see. He was Stoick the Vast, unmoving, unrelenting, unflinching.
“Come - come by for ale sometime,” Stoick said, “Hiccup left behind a lot of projects I can’t make sense of. He’d want you to - to have them.”
Gobber nodded, clapping Stoick’s shoulder. He didn’t mention the stutter in Stoick’s voice, so Stoick didn’t mention how his eyes were glassing over with unshed tears.
—
Between every sip of beer he took, he prayed to the Gods to take him and give his son back instead. It was futile, because it was the same thing he had done when Valka was taken, and he knew it didn’t work, but he didn’t stop him from trying.
Hiccup used to bring him his nightly drink, when he had been just old enough to carry the large mug in his hands. He’d sit on Stoick’s lap and listen to the man’s stories about being Chief and fighting dragons. But Hiccup started to grow up, and their nightly talks became less and less frequent, until it stopped all together.
Would all of this have changed, if they still had their nightly rituals? Would Hiccup still be alive?
Stoick shook his head miserably, getting steadily more drunk. They had drifted apart and Stoick couldn’t pretend anymore.
Couldn’t pretend that all of this wasn’t his fault. Because it was , by Odin it was, and now his son was -
There was a knock at the door. Or more like a scratch. Stoick frowned, swinging the door open and staring out into the night.
When his eyes caught nothing, he looked down.
“Dragon,” he said flatly.
The dragon - Toothless - huffed. It - he - sat on his hunches, as if waiting. The sudden perplexity of the situation caught Stoic off guard, enough for him to look around as if hoping someone would pop in and offer him an explanation.
“Would you … like to come in?” Stoic asked.
The dragon warbled in agreement.
Stoic moved. Or rather, he was moved.
Because the dragon pushed passed him like he owned the place, strutting in and looking around as if judging (the admittedly bland) decor. Stoick stared at it for a moment, before deciding he wasn’t drunk enough for this.
“Dra - Toothless,” he said hesitantly, “What is it you want?”
Could the beast even understand him? It prowled around the small area in the entrance way, before deciding to head up the stairs. Stoick followed it, worried it would break something.
He . For Thor’s sake, Stoick at least should have the decency to respect the creature that had done more for Hiccup than Stoick ever could.
It waited near Hiccup’s door, as if asking to be let in. Stoick paused, not knowing what he should do, but the dragon turned to look at him with wide, kind eyes and -
(He looked like -)
And Stoick relented.
He hadn’t been into Hiccup’s room ever since that day. Hadn’t had the courage to even come upstairs most of the time. Everything in the house felt empty, like the hollow in his chest that only seemed to grow larger by the day. Everything looked bleaker, sounded duller, without Hiccup banging around, clumsily working on an invention and cursing when he made a mistake.
Stoick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He stepped into Hiccup’s room.
In an instant, everything in him screamed to leave . Because this wasn’t right .
He couldn’t breathe. Something had reached up and coiled around his neck, around his chest and lungs, choking him and maybe - maybe he deserved that. Who was he to be alive now when Hiccup was gone . His vision blurred and he stumbled forward, like the world was falling out from under him - like the world already had fallen out under him, and there was nothing to hold him up anymore.
Something scaly touched his side, stabilising him.
He flinched.
The dragon crooned, as if trying to comfort Stoick, even though the man so clearly didn’t deserve it. Slowly, they walked towards Hiccup’s bed, and Stoick sat down with a huff. His limbs felt heavy, like the sky was weighing him down.
Something landed on his lap. He looked down, only to see Toothless looking up, his eyes wide and kind and -
And so much like Hiccup’s .
Stoick choked, his vision blurring and narrowing until it was just him and his son’s beloved friend. He couldn’t bring himself to think - to even feel - because if he did, he thought that the vastness of his pain might rip him apart at the seams. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it.
“I killed him,” Stoick said softly, “I did this.”
The dragon made a low rumbling sound and Stoick realised that Toothless was crying.
He realised that he was crying too.
Tentatively, he laid his large hands on the dragon, smooth scales making contact with his callouses. He was a majestic being, beautiful in a way that Stoick had never truly appreciated until now. He was too scared to even touch him properly, hands just grazing over his head.
Toothless nudged his head up, firmly connecting Stoick’s palm with his nose. His eyes were so full of understanding that Stoick felt a fresh wave of grief wash over him.
So that’s what Hiccup had seen, in the amazing dragon. He was so, so much like his son that Stoick half-thought that it was Hiccup, in a dragon body. But he would be a fool to make a mistake like that.
Just as Hiccup had not been Valka, Toothless was not Hiccup. He was just someone that Hiccup had left behind. Someone that Stoick had now, to hold and to cherish.
“I’m sorry,” Stoick said, because Hiccup wasn’t around anymore, but Toothless was, “I know - I know that I can never make up for what I did. I know that. I’m - “ how could he put into words, the enormity of his guilt, the sheer force of everything he was feeling - how could he describe the unimaginable .
But Toothless purred under his hand, soft and full of empathy.
“Thank you,” he said instead, “For bringing him back to me. You did all you could.”
He wrapped his arms around the poor creature, a note of kinship between them even as so much couldn’t be undone or unsaid. Toothless pressed his face against Stoick’s neck and rumbled lowly, a sound coming from deep within, a sound so raw that Stoick could hear it in his own voice.
And Stoick finally let himself break.