Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

I’ll probably update this story once a week depending on how vicious and motivated I feel.

“The saddest thing bout betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies. It comes from friends and loved ones.” —Author Unknown

In other tongues, Berk was called ‘Freezing to Death’ and ‘Misery.’ The small village was heaped chaotically on the cliffs near the edge of the sea and guarded by statues with fire in their mouths. The only thing that grew well there was cabbage, the waters were frigid all year round, and the mountains were prone to rockslides. It was densely wooded and burned easily in summer. More sensible people would have just let the dragons and the elements have it, but Vikings had never been accused of being rational. It was a terrible island, but it was still home.

On a typical night, Chief Stoick the Vast was up to his elbows in dragons and flames. He had plenty of problems on his plate already and then one more darted through the firelight. Stoick allowed himself a moment to curse before he hurled the net of captured Terrible Terrors into Spitelout’s hands and shouted, “I’ll be right back!”

Spitelout spared a quick glance across the square, took in the sight of the skinny shadow, and nodded.

Stoick barreled through the village with his shoulders hunched against snapping dragons. Then, with one large hand, he grabbed the back of his biggest problem’s shirt.

With a sharp yelp of surprise, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third was jerked off his feet and hung limply from Stoick’s hands like a cod caught on a line. At nine years old, his green eyes were bright like his mother’s, his face was already streaked with dirt and smeared with freckles, and he smiled despite the danger. He wore no armor and carried no weapons. He might as well be carrying around a sign that proclaimed, ‘Eat me!’

“What are you doing outside?” Stoick shouted in the boy’s face.

“Uh,” Hiccup began.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stoick roared as he heard the belch of dragon fire nearby. “Just get inside. Don’t you think I have enough to do without worrying about you?”

“But—” the boy protested.

“Get inside!” Stoick raged. Then, he opened the door of a nearby house and tossed Hiccup inside with a crash. Though he heard the boy cry out in surprise and maybe pain, he didn’t have time to worry about it. He whirled around just in time to avoid a stream of nightmarish fire. It licked up the side of the house hungrily. Stoick pounded his hammer into the dragon’s face and a spray of hot blood rewarded him. “Fire!” Stoick shouted, feeling the heat sear against his back and knowing Hiccup was inside.

“Fire!” came an answering shout.

An instant later, Astrid Hofferson ran through the fray. Though only eight, she was laden with two buckets, carried a double-headed axe on her back, and wore armored shoulder guards that were too big for her. The other children raced after her, panting to keep up. She was a natural leader and a strong soul with a body and temper to match. Stoick bit aside a bolt of jealousy for Leon the Lionhearted’s daughter. Why couldn’t his own worthless son be even a fraction like her?

“Fire!” Astrid shouted in a voice swallowed by the roar of battle and threw her bucket of water on the flames. Part of them sizzled and went out, but there was still plenty of inferno remaining. She stepped aside quickly and directed the others to douse the blaze. The fire smoked out.

“Well done, Astrid,” Stoick commended.

Astrid froze, momentarily shocked to hear the chief’s praise. Then, she beamed, hefted her bucket, and tossed her head so that her blonde braid flipped over her shoulder. She opened her lips as if to speak, but there was another cry of ‘Fire!’ in the village and she whirled away instead. The other children rushed after her, tripping over themselves and their buckets. Stoick would have gladly traded any one of them for his useless son, if only someone would make that trade. Hiccup couldn’t even lift a bucket of water, never mind throw it onto a raging fire.

Stoick took a moment to appreciate Astrid’s work. It was because of her that they didn’t lose more houses and that was a weight off his mind. Then, he eyed the hinges of the singed door and realized they had been melted. The door would have to be hammered open, but that meant Hiccup would be trapped inside until someone bothered to come get him. At least that was one problem off Stoick’s plate. Now, he could devote all his attention to the dragons.

For that, he was grateful.

…

“No, please! Don’t hurt Toothless!”

That proclamation was the final nail in the coffin that Hiccup had been building for years. Stoick shook free of Gobber’s support, pushed aside the proffered axe, and glared at the night-dark beast that had come to save his son from the Monstrous Nightmare. Then, he tore his potent glare away from the dragon and onto his pathetic child. How long had he been hiding that dragon, feeding it, tending it, healing it, caring for it more than he did his own village?

“No, no!” Hiccup shouted as the Vikings wrestled the dragon to the ground. “Don’t hurt him! Please, don’t hurt him.”

Gobber’s hand closed around Hiccup’s small bicep and held him back with comical ease as the boy struggled towards the dragon. In answer, the Night Fury moaned as a cold axe pressed against its flank in warning. Hiccup cried out again, pleading and begging in his small voice. The shock in Stoick’s heart began to give way to anger.

“The dragon?” Phlegma the Fierce murmured. “He’s worried about the dragon?”

“What about the people he almost killed?” Leon the Lionhearted asked.

“You’re not a Viking… You’re not my son…” Stoick whispered.

Hot rage bubbled behind Stoick’s ribs. Hiccup had always been a disgrace, a problem, a useless thing. He had always been weaker, smaller, less a Viking than just a talking fishbone. Hiccup had always been a disappointment, but he had never been a traitor—until now. He had harbored a dragon when he should have slain it, befriended it rather than spend time in his village, and stole food from their people’s mouths to feed it.

“Everything in the ring was a trick?” Snotlout muttered. “A lie?”

“He’s been taming that dragon,” Spitelout breathed. “It came for him.”

Stoick still couldn’t quite believe it. His own son had been sheltering their greatest enemy. No, not his son… not anymore… He could barely hear anything over the blood roaring in his ears. The shock stole his breath from his lungs, but now he could see the signs glaring in his face—sneaking away at all hours of the night and day, his improvements even over Astrid, being chosen at the top of his class. Stoick should have known better, but he was blinded by the joy to finally have a son he could be proud of.

“You’re not a Viking,” Stoik said, raising his voice. “You’re not my son.”

Stoick pushed Gobber away from Hiccup and fisted his hand in Hiccup’s collar. Jerking the boy up until he was level with Stoick, the chief glared at the useless abomination. His eyes were like twin knives, white-hot and deadly. In that moment, he almost struck out with his axe and mace and hammer. He could have killed the dragon being restrained by Spitelout and the others. He could even have killed Hiccup.

Hiccup’s pale throat flashed as he swallowed nervously. “D-Dad,” he began.

“No,” Stoick cut in icily. “You are not a Viking. You are not my son!” With a wordless sound of rage, Stoick hurled Hiccup onto the ground. His knees and elbows hit the charred stone with painful cracks. The skin sloughed off and blood smeared across the rough stone.

Gobber made a small sound of protest, but Stoick stopped him with a raised hand.

“Put the beast with the others,” he shouted to Spitelout, “And get me the stocks.”

Gobber gripped at Stoick’s elbow, but the chief brushed him off. Instead, he handed over his hammer so he wouldn’t be tempted to use it. Gripping the weapon cautiously, Gobber stared at Stoick with wide eyes. In fact, the entire village stared at Stoick in mingled shock and horror. Hiccup was a thorn in everyone’s side, but they tolerated him because he was the chief’s son. As long as the chief loved him, they would endure him. This was…

“Stoick,” Gobber began.

“Quiet, Gobber,” Stoick snapped as he loomed over Hiccup. “Get me the stocks.”

Abruptly, Snotlout stepped to the forefront, adjusting his helmet disbelievingly. Snotlout was Hiccup’s cousin and the comparison was a slap in the face. A fresh wave of rage swelled in Stoick’s chest, building there like the liquid fire dragons breathed.

“Wait,” Snotlout said nervously. “Chief, what are you—?”

“Silence!” Stoick shouted at Snotlout. “Don’t throw your lot in with him.” He shot a disdainful look at Hiccup, who slowly scraped himself from the ground with shaking limbs. His lip was split and the blood dripped down his chin slowly, another scar of his frailty and worthlessness. “The stocks!” he roared.

Astrid and Fishlegs’s mothers bolted into action and scurried from the arena to fetch the stocks from the armory.

The Monstrous Nightmare had already retreated back inside its cell, quivering in fear of Night Fury. Spitelout and several other Vikings began dragging Toothless into a cell. It was filthy and reeking, empty of water, food, or bedding. Toothless howled and struggled. His soulful green eyes glanced wildly to the small boy who had rescued and mended him. His prosthetic tail whispered and lashed across the stone.

“Toothless,” Hiccup whispered. He staggered to his feet and tried to go to the dragon.

In a blinding movement, Stoick closed the space between them and struck Hiccup violently. His hand was big enough to engulf most of Hiccup’s head and face. For an instant, he felt the fragility of those bones before the blow rang through Hiccup’s skull like a gong. Hiccup choked on a scream of agony and crumpled, clutching his face. Toothless roared and struggled again to break free of the Vikings, but to no avail.

Gobber fought back the urge to intervene. His eyes darted between Hiccup, Stoick, and the desperate dragon. Hiccup wasn’t exactly his favorite youth, but he had always liked the boy’s spirit and ingenuity. He didn’t appreciate cleaning up Hiccup’s constant messes and mishaps, but he had been watching over the boy for so long. Hiccup almost felt like a son to him, albeit a distant one. He couldn’t bear to watch as Stoick struck down and disowned him.

“Bring me the stocks!” Stoick bellowed again.

Spitelout and the others finally forced the Night Fury into the stone cell. They slammed the door and leaned against it, panting. They watched the spectacle unfolding before them as the strong door vibrated with the efforts of the Night Fury at their backs.

Veena and Tarsus returned with the stocks, nearly dropping it upon their return. Though they carried it between them, it was large and awkward. Panting, they set it down before Stoick and backed quickly away. Everyone held their breaths, waiting to see what the chief would do now. For a moment, he only stared at the hideous device. Hesitation lined his eyes, but his mouth turned down hard with wrath and shame.

“Stoick,” Gobber tried.

“Silence!” Stoick shouted. Then, he grabbed Hiccup’s arm and hauled him to his feet. He slammed the boy against the stocks, threw the device open, and forced Hiccup into it. Though his head fit fine, his wrists were too thin to be contained by the wooden openings. “Chains!” Stoick demanded.

Silence stretched painfully over the arena.

Stoick whirled around to face his people and his eyes were embers of rage.

Gobber tightened his grip on Stoick’s hammer and prayed that his chief wouldn’t ask for it.

Stoick’s eyes raked the assembly. With a grunt of disgust, he ripped off his studded belt noisily.

Hiccup whispered softly, “Dad.”

Stoick kicked the boy this time. His heavy boot cracked hard into Hiccup’s rib cage and he jerked hard against the stocks. Crying out, he wrapped his arms desperately around his midsection and struggled weakly against the confines of the stock holding his head. Stoick tore his belt in half so that he had two pieces of spiked material. He pried Hiccup’s arm away from his stomach, jerked the skinny wrist back through the opening of the stock, and tied the studded leather around first one and then the other. The small armored spikes gouged into Hiccup’s flesh and he cried out softly. He tugged at his wrists and head, but the stocks now effectively trapped him.

Inside the stone cell, Night Fury slammed about and shrieked. The massive door shuddered with the effort of holding back the beast. Spitelout glanced at it nervously, tightening his fingers around the shaft of his axe.

Breathing hard, Stoick stared at his work. “You threw your lot in with the dragons,” Stoick panted at the captured boy. “You’re no better than them. You’re just a beast.” Then, the chief raised his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “This—this is no longer my son. It is nothing but a traitor!”

Snotlout’s eyes widened.

A small murmur ran through everyone assembled nearby. They didn’t know what to make of this sudden violent change in their chief. Should they join him, follow him like they did in anything else? Or should they protest this treatment of the boy?

Spitelout and Gobber exchanged a glance.

“It is nothing,” Stoick repeated in a roar. Then, he turned and stared at the figure of the immobilized boy.

Blood dripped from Hiccup’s wrists and lip, splattering lightly on the stone floor. Slumped in the stocks, he looked even smaller than usual with his green tunic hanging off him. His hair was mussed, his eyes were red-rimmed, and his expression was just short of completely shattered. He breathed raggedly, softly, as though he could disappear if he was quiet enough.

Stoick turned away and marched towards the portcullis of the arena. His hands shook.

The Vikings murmured at his back, but no one moved.

Stoick stopped dead and slammed his fist into the wall. “What?” he demanded. “Is this your first criminal in the stocks? Have at him!”

No one dared speak, not even Gobber. Everyone stared at him. Beneath their horned helmets, it was like looking into the eyes of a horde of dragons. A bubble of anger built in Stoick’s throat and he stormed over to the stocks. With one hand, he ripped Hiccup’s tunic open and jerked the shredded fabric off him. Hiccup cried out in shock and fear.
Stoick unfastened the boy’s belt and then tore off his pants and boots. He tossed the clothing he had mended countless times aside like trash. Completely bare, Hiccup stood immobilized in the stocks. His thin legs and arms trembled, goose bumps broke out all over his pale freckled skin, and his teeth rattled together.

“I’m sorry,” Hiccup whispered, “Dad, what—?”

Stoick’s sharp blow cut Hiccup off with a yelp of pain. Blinking back tears, Hiccup fell silent as his back stung. Stoick studied his hand as if uncertain whether or not it belonged to him as he curled his fingers into a fist. Hitting Hiccup had felt good, but not good enough. The welt was already fading. Hiccup might not have been a Viking, but he was still toughened by their lifestyle.

Stoick circled the boy’s bare body, taking in the sight of his small round bottom and virtually hairless genitals. Freckles dotted his shoulders and the bridge of his nose, standing out as his skin paled with fear. On the cusp of manhood, Hiccup was as slender as any woman and no less pretty. Stoick jerked his trousers open, palmed his flaccid length, and stroked it.

“Stoick,” Gobber began.

“Silence, Gobber,” Stoick snapped, “Unless you’d like to go first.”

Snotlout made a strangled sound and stepped backwards. He bumped hard into Gobber and the blacksmith gripped his shoulder to steady him. He didn’t know what Snotlout was thinking. He and Hiccup had never really been close, but they were still cousins. They had grown up together, even if the years had divided them.

Restrained as he was, Hiccup didn’t know what was happening. He only heard his father’s trousers fall. If he craned his neck, he could see the horrified expressions on Gobber and Snotlout’s faces. What was going to happen to him? Would Stoick beat him? He braced for a blow that never came.

Stoick spit into his hand and then pressed his fingers to the small opening between Hiccup’s cheeks. Hiccup jerked against the stocks and cried out in surprise. Stoick’s hand was a vice around his narrow hip as he worked two slickened fingers into the tiny place. Hiccup whimpered and squirmed, but there was nowhere to escape to and no one was coming to save him.

Within the small cell, Toothless threw himself at the door. He could smell blood and fear, but he couldn’t get out.

“Dad, please,” Hiccup protested. “I’m sorry, I—”

Stoick rammed a third finger inside his small body, stretching the tight ring of muscle. “You are not my son,” he growled out and punctuated each word with another thrust of his fingers.

Hiccup whimpered and bit his lower lip. His mouth tasted of metal.

Stoick fumbled at his cock and stroked fervently, but no matter how he touched himself he couldn’t get hard. Disgusted, he tucked his dick back into his pants and hissed at Hiccup, “You’re not even good enough to draw a response from a healthy man’s body.”

Hiccup shuddered. His legs trembled to support his slight weight.

Stoick stretched out a hand and said without drawing his eyes from Hiccup’s naked body, “Hammer.”

For a moment, no one moved. No one even breathed.

Stoick turned and fixed Gobber with a glare. “Give me my hammer,” he demanded.

“Stoick,” Gobber protested, gripping Snotlout with his one good hand and the hammer in the crook of his elbow. “Think about this.”

“I don’t need to think about it,” Stoick snapped. “This is not my son! Not anymore.”

“C-chief,” Snotlout sputtered softly.

Without a choice, Gobber handed the hammer over. It was a broad and heavy with a thick shaft and ornate filigree around the base and head, crafted by Gobber’s own hands just for his old friend. It was easily as thick as Hiccup’s wrist. Stoick stared at it for a moment and another flicker of hesitation crossed his face.

“Stoick,” Gobber said softly. “It’s not too late. You can stop.”

“Dad,” Hiccup whispered in a small trembling voice. “Dad, please…”

Stoick shook his head firmly and turned his back on Gobber. Then, he spit onto his hand again and slicked the wooden handle. He turned back to Hiccup and pressed the unforgiving shaft to his vulnerable opening. Hiccup tried to squirm away. Blood ran down his arms, dripped off his fingers, and pooled on the stones. Panic filled his face.

“Chief,” Snotlout protested. He glanced at his father, but Spitelout had averted his eyes from the sight before them. “Chief.”

Stoick’s eyes were twin arrows when he turned, slicing into Snotlout and pinning him in place.

Snotlout pressed back against Gobber and felt the blacksmith’s worry and strength. He sucked in a deep breath and protested one final time, “Uncle!”

Stoick glared at him and said icily, “Quiet, Snotlout. After this is over, you’ll become my heir.”

The words sank deeply into Snotlout and he lost his breath. He could only stare, caught somewhere between happiness and the iron teeth of a trap. He started to shake his head his head in protest, but Spitelout closed the space between them. He put his hand on Snotlout’s other shoulder. Enclosed between his father and Gobber, Snotlout only heard Stoick’s final announcement and then Hiccup’s scream of agony.

“You’re not my son,” Stoick said coldly. Without warning, he thrust the thick shaft of the axe into Hiccup’s body mercilessly.

Hiccup screamed. His voice filled the air, echoed against the walls, and ripped into everyone in its path. In answer, the caged Night Fury howled. Six powerful blasts of fire slammed into the steel door that contained him. It rocked on its hinges and smoke plumed from beneath it, but it remained standing. The same could not be said for Hiccup. His legs folded beneath him so that the only thing holding him up was the terrible handle of the hammer. Stoick pounded into him with all his strength, sparing nothing. The expression in his eyes was frenzied and lost.

Hiccup’s screams faded into choked whimpers of anguish. Stoick’s breath came sharp and hard, panting, as he used the hammer on his son’s small body. In between vicious thrusts, he struck Hiccup’s exposed back. Soon, the pale skin was blotched with bruises and welts. Blood ran down his arms and from his torn mouth. Slowly, tears gathered in Hiccup’s eyes and ran down his cheeks. He couldn’t believe his father would hurt him like this. All around him, people he had known all his lives only watched as he was violated. No one lifted a hand to help him, but he could hear Toothless battering himself at the door of his cage.

In that moment, he knew he had done the right thing by saving the Night Fury. Toothless was the only one who cared what happened to him.

Stoick slammed the shaft deeper into Hiccup and he cried out sharply as something deep inside his body gave way. His legs convulsed, trembling as they struggled to hold him up. Stoick jerked the hammer at a new angle, pulling him open. He cried, fighting back screams and pleas for mercy. Stoick rammed it inside again and again, his breath rasping between his clenched teeth. Finally, he forced the hammer in as deep as he could and let go. The weight dragged Hiccup to his knees, spearing into his body at a sharp angle, and he whimpered desperately.

Stoick staggered backwards, breathing hard.

For a small eternity, no one spoke.

“Well,” Stoick said breathlessly. “Have at him. That’s not my son. It’s just the village whore now.” With that, he turned away from Hiccup and left his hammer buried inside the boy’s body. He disappeared from the arena, his head held high and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

In his wake, the villagers murmured. A few stepped towards Hiccup, uncertain, while others backed away.

Snotlout craned his head, trying to get a look at his cousin. Gobber turned away from the sight of the stocks, dragging Snotlout with him, and Spitelout closed in behind him. Together, they left the killing arena behind. The horrific sounds of the Night Fury trying to escape and aid Hiccup followed them.

Prompt: When Stoick captures Toothless, instead of using him to take them to the Dragons’ Nest, he kills Toothless in front of Hiccup. Then, he disowns Hiccup, locks him up, and makes him the town whore for anyone to use. Make it graphic, make it hurt! (Except… I just couldn’t bring myself to kill Toothless! I just love him too much! So, sorry to anyone who’s disappointed, but there will be no Toothless death in this story. I just couldn’t do it.)

Questions, comments, concerns?