Stoick's back hurt, badly. To be completely honest, everything hurt. The sensation tingled through his veins, tightening his muscles, and popping against his bones. It painfully exploded in his brain, jumbling his thoughts like dust in a windstorm. The eye of the storm was in his heart. Burning, crackling, snapping, a never-ending fury of flames. Smoke swept away the ashes, rubble desolating the landscape. Pieces of it lay scattered across the steaming ground. Each one cries out, its voice screaming to be the main focus of Stoick's thoughts. They clatter together in disharmony, like nails on a chalkboard. Anger, sadness, guilt, joy, hatred, love; each piece singing its own song in the most off-key way possible. Now, Stoick's head hurt, badly.

"Don't let 'im pass out over there!" Gobber announced to Spitelout, gesturing over to Stoick with his wooden "hand". For some reason, this sparked something inside of Stoick. His thoughts organized themselves and screamed out one thing in complete unison.

"Stoick, you are a chief. Act like one."

He stood up from the chair. Someone's arms attempted to steady and guide him back down into the seat, but he refused. The chief made his way over to the table where Hiccup had been laid moments before. The bearskin had been carefully peeled off the boy's body and disposed of. It now sat in a tub of unmoving water in the far corner of the room. A sickly pink liquid filled the once clear water, the fur of the cloak disheveled and tacky.

"How is he, Gothi?" Stoick questioned the elderly healer as she examined the wounds covering Hiccup's unconscious body. Even to Viking standards, it was gruesome. He lay with his chest pressed against the table. Ripped, bloodied flesh, encrusted with cream-colored, sickly puss layered his back like a thick cloth. Dirt was like skin. It covered Hiccup from head to toe. He was black, blue, and ghostly white as if his entire body has been frozen in ice, thawed, and frozen again. The cold could almost be felt radiating off him. Gothi turned to Gobber and made several quick hand gestures. Gobber nodded and turned back to Stoick.

"The worst of it's on his back, shoulder, and wrists. She'll have to stitch 'im up and-"

The blacksmith looked back over to the stony-faced Gothi, who makes a few more gestures. Gobber translates nothing more, instead, he hobbles over to a cupboard to the left of him, digging through its contents until he finds what is needed.

A look over confusion forms on Stoick's face as he watches the man pull out a bottle of ale and take it back over to the healer.

The woman smiles slightly and thanks him with a small nod. Her bony, weathered hand smoothly uncorks the bottle, moving the liquid around in a circular motion. It was a bottle of dusty ale that Stoick's taste buds had never adapted to. Who knows how long it had been sitting in the cupboard? It was useless, as far as being a potent tool for lifting spirits, but it would do for this task. Gothi gradually began to pour. The amber liquid flowed steadily down, splashing slightly as it contacted the skin. Hiccup's face contorted with slight pain, a hiss shot from his lips. The ale seeped through his wounds, dulling the nerves, and pulling out the impurities. Gothi looked up at Gobber, who began to dab the cuts with a square of cloth.

The blacksmith had many good qualities, but gentleness was not one of them. As light as he tried to press, his touch was still heavy and rough. Strain and discomfort laced through Hiccup's features, growing worse with every touch of cloth and drop of ale placed on his massacred spine.

The bottle was transferred from Gothi's hand into Gobber's. The man hobbled over to the other side of the table and placed the bottle on Hiccup's lips.

"DON'T YOU DARE GIVE HIM ANY OF THAT!"

Every voice was silenced, every muscle paused. Only the sound of the flames of the fire chattering with the wood and ragged breathing are left.

Stoick's eyes didn't leave Gobber's for a second. Each man stared the other down as if challenging the other with his gaze.

"Stoick, "Gobber started calmly. "It'll help stop-"

"I don't care if it bloody stops Thor from letting lose all his f**king power, you are not giving him any of that ale." The chief's voice could have turned a Whispering Death to stone, but Gobber was no Whispering Death.

With a protective, rebellious glint in his eyes, the blacksmith tilted the bottle back, allowing the liquid to flow down the boy's throat. Hiccup shivered as the fiery drink hit his stomach. In a few minutes, it would help calm his nerves.

Think of a mother grizzly bear protecting her cubs, now multiply her by ten; that was the only way to describe Stoick's emotions. In his mind, a tiny child was laying on the table. Their feet were what seemed like miles away from the edge, but longing to reach the destination. Hiccup was still his little boy. That remained true, but little he was not.

The Viking teenager was sprawled across the table. His feet dangled over the edge, almost as if they were being pulled towards the floorboards. Dreams of merriment were replaced with torturous visions of darkness and oblivion. Hiccup was still Stoick's little boy, but the world treated him as anything but.

The Viking chief did not respond to Gobber's actions, realizing he overreacted. Stoick eased himself down onto a wooden stool next to the table. Gothi continued her work. The woman's hands busied themselves amongst the boy's flesh, inspecting the various openings and tears. She paused for a moment and hobbled over to her bag of supplies. When she returned, a shiny needle and a spool of thin thread are clutched in her bony fingertips.

Gobber gets the gesture, grabbing the rag he discarded moments before and places it roughly into Stoick's palm.

"What's this for?"

Gobber huffed faintly before his reply. "My touch is as boorish as two Grunkles tryin' to…. well, you get the picture." The man placed his hand on Stoick's shoulder. "I need you to blot the wounds while Gothi sews 'em up."

"Gobber I can't do- "

"He needs you, Stoick."

Stoick glanced over at Hiccup. The rubble he called a heart ached. Gobber doesn't need his reply, shambling over to the water basin to clean his hands. Stoick is left by his son's side, stained cloth in hand.

Time seemed to stand still as Gothi readies the needle for the first stitch. She inserted the needle.

Hiccup screamed. His jaw clenched together with the force of 100 men as if trying to contain the rest of them.

"Hiccup, Hiccup, it's going to be okay." Stoick cooned, attempting to settle him down.

"I-I won't do it!" The boy cried, "I won't do it, Alvin!"

"Hiccup! Alvin's gone! It's me, Hiccup." Stoick gently wrapped his hand around Hiccup's trembling one.

"NO!" He shouted, pulling his arm away violently, cradling it against his chest.

Gothi gestured to Gobber. "Stoick, get the lad to calm down or she's going to miss or somethin'!"

The elderly woman continued to sew.

"Oh gods…oh-oh guh- "Hiccup stuttered, pulling his arms tighter together beneath him. Another scream ripped through the air. A roar followed it.

A flash of black scales and Toothless appeared at his rider's side. Another roar erupted from the dragon's throat. Gothi fell to the ground from the force of his wings. The needle dangled off the edge of the table, the pendulum of the world's clock. Black wings draped themselves over the boy as Toothless attempted to cradle him.

"Tooth-Toothless," breathed Hiccup from under the coverage of the dragon. Toothless cooed in reply, his eyes brimming with distraught. His rider was hurt. He needed to help him.

Stoick carefully began to make his way back towards the table. Toothless locked his gaze on Stoick, growls rippling from his throat. Adrenaline masked the dragon's sight; the approaching figure brought back the memory of that night on the beach. This time, Toothless was not going to let anyone take Hiccup away from him; he failed at protecting him once, he was not going to fail again.

"Toothless," Stoick began, "it's only me." He stretched out his hands to show the dragon he was approaching peacefully. For a moment, Toothless' expression softened, as if he recognized Stoick, but it hardened almost immediately. This did not stop Stoick, who continued to advance towards him. As he got within a few feet of the dragon, Stoick slowly turned his head away and gently stretched out one arm towards Toothless' head, as he had seen Hiccup do countless times.

Toothless' eyes darted defensively from the figure under his wings to the hand outstretched in front of him. He could now clearly see this was a man he could trust; this man was like Hiccup. With slight hesitation, Toothless touched his snout to Stoick's palm.

Stoick turned his head to the dragon. Their eyes locked; through that gaze, the two could see they shared the same heavy worry. An inaudible "thank-you" fell from Stoick's lips, but Toothless didn't need to hear it to know. In reply black wings rolled back, revealing Hiccup's small figure embracing the dragon's tale.

Guys...guys...GUYS! IT'S BEEN TOO LONG! Wow...for three years I've been working on this chapter. So much has happened...SO MUCH. I don't have time to fill you guys in on everything, but here's one thing: THIS STORY IS MAKING A COMEBACK! I have ideas, I just need to find time to write them. I can't say when the next chapter will come; I'm hoping it will be less than three years haha. To all of you who have stayed with me for this long, thank you so much, words cannot describe how much I appreciate each and every one of my readers. Seriously though, even if you only read a sentence of one of my stories, that still means the world to me.

Anyways, I love you all so freakin' much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and don't worry-there are more to come...sooner or later...hopefully sooner than later...but we'll see!

From your favorite fangirl,

Mary/Marian

(Wow...how I missed writing that!)