Chapter Text
In Hiccup’s eyes, Snotlout was weird. Not weird in the ‘oh lookie, it’s the twins’ way, but weird weird.
Weird in how he interacted with Hiccup.
Weird in how he interacted with Stoick.
Weird in how he interacted with his own dad.
Now, get this– Snotlout was never bad. Well, not until a point.
Truth be told, even Hiccup was unsure what happened. One day, Snotlout was teasing him good-naturedly about how skinny he was and how he was willing to give an arm or two to help Hiccup bulk up, and the next…
The next day, Snotlout was quiet. Distant.
Hiccup regrets giving Snotlout his space. He shouldn’t have. Not on that day. He should’ve obeyed the impulse–the impulse to walk up to him and ask him what was wrong.
But he didn’t.
The next day, Snotlout became colder. Meaner. He started hanging around the twins, and his already mean comments got even meaner.
Hiccup didn’t even know what happened.
But he did know this–before this strange character jump, before this strange character arc, Snotlout was his friend. His only friend. Granted, he was a bit mean and didn’t know very well how to separate morality, but he still cared. Cared for Hiccup.
And that was more than what the teen could say for anyone else in the village.
O~O
Occasionally, from a distance, Snotlout watched Hiccup. He watched Hiccup get berated by the villagers, he watched his cousin shrink away.
Occasionally, his cousin stared back at him, and Snotlout was torn between looking away and keeping the gaze.
Eventually one of them had to drop it, and it was always, always Snotlout.
Snotlout was conflicted.
Hiccup is weak. So weak. He shouldn’t be cohorting with him. He shouldn’t want to cohort with him.
And yet…
Why is it that he always felt most free in Hiccup’s presence? Why is it that he felt most like himself and not who others wanted him to be in Hiccup’s presence? Why is it that, despite him not giving Hiccup any respect, he still treated Snotlout to it?
Was it some old sense of kinship he had?
Or was it an understanding?
Either way, whatever it was, Snotlout couldn’t allow it to interfere with his father’s his plans for himself.
Snotlout was going to be chief. He had to.
The only other alternative…
To be the chief, he had to lock these feelings away.
No friendship.
No weakness.
No empathy.
No freedom.
There was no alternative. Not for him.
O~O
Stoick could admit. He was a questionable father at some times.
Some times.
(Oh Gods, Valka would be so disappointed in him if she could see him now-)
He loved Hiccup. He really did.
(Hiccup reminded him so, so much of Valka. Her gentleness, her fierceness, her desperation to belong)
Hiccup was all he had left.
He cared.
Even if it didn’t seem like it at times, Stoick cared. It was just… hard to show.
Try as he might, he couldn’t be the Chief and a father at the same time.
(But if it came down to it, he would take Hiccup over Berk any day)
When Hiccup was young, and Snotlout was thrown in to become his playmate, Stoick had… conflicting feelings to say the least.
One part of him was glad that Hiccup finally had someone who’d be with him.
The other part…
The other part was terrified.
He was under no illusions–Spitelout, for all that he was his brother, was a… short-tempered… individual that did not have the patience to raise a child.
Stoick supposed that a small part of him was scared that Snotlout would turn out the same way.
But he didn’t, and Stoick was so glad that he could almost sob in relief.
(But he was the Chief, and as a Chief, he could not cry tears. Ever. Not unless they were tears of blood, of rage, of vengeance, of promise.)
Although, that was not to say that Snotlout wasn’t entirely unlike his father. They both shared the same temper. They both shared the same face, jawline, bone structure.
He was Spitelout’s spitting image.
Only difference was he had infinitely more patience than his father.
For that, Stoick was thankful.
(Hiccup was quite the handful at times, and yet for all the chaos he brought, Snotlout just sat there, blankly, uncomprehendingly, before laughing and continuing on with life.)
And then, it started to change. It was so weird.
All of a sudden, right as the boys turned 7, Snotlout started drawing back into himself. At first, Stoick didn’t mind–every child needed time to think, but after the third day of silence, he became a bit… worried.
So, he confronted the child.
Stoick remembered him. He was weirdly snappish that day. Fidgety. His eyes darted around as if he were constantly searching the corners for invading eyes.
Stoick remembered. He remembered asking, “Are you okay, boy?”. A heavy hand on a tiny shoulder.
The child stopped, and a hundred emotions flashed through his pale blue eyes, and then he looked up.
Stoick’s heart nearly stopped.
Snotlout was brash.
He was brave.
He was courageous.
He feared nothing for himself.
And yet, that same child was looking at him with fear, pain, and tears in his eyes.
He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but then a hazy look passed over his expression, and it closed off.
“Nothing, Chief.” Snotlout said, trying and failing to imitate his earlier bravery. His voice was still thick with tears and words he wanted to say, but somehow, couldn’t…?
Then, he became meaner.
Stoick was confused.
Spitelout seemed to be happier.
Stoick felt cold inside.