Disclaimer: How to Train Your Dragon remains owned by Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks. Neverdone one of these before so please be supportive. I thought I'd try my version of the original movie.

One.

"Please, Snotlout-stop! You're hurting me!"

The larger boy pressed harder down on his smaller cousin, increasing the pressure cruelly and almost tearing the boy's shoulder from its joint. Writhing beneath him, the younger boy gave another incoherent gasp of pain, his ashen face beaded with sweat with only his little smattering of freckles and his glorious green eyes for colour. His untidy dark auburn mop was grubby with dirt from the rest of the battle. He gasped plaintively and his arm was pulled even harder.

"It's meant to, Useless!" the larger boy grunted, finally releasing him. He slumped onto his face and he lay for a long moment, gingerly moving his arm. Slowly, he pressed up onto his hands and knees-and then a fist smacked straight down onto his check and he was slammed unceremoniously into the dirt. Kicks pounded into his side and guts and he curled up, giving a pained moan. Finally, Snotout stood up, sneering down onto the smaller boy curled sobbing at his feet. "Now get out of my sight!"

"S-sorry…" Hiccup whimpered, tears streaking his battered face. His right arm felt bad, the shoulder horribly painful. He was sure he had felt something tear as the other boy had dragged on it. His body was hurting and he knew that the other teens had watched the beating silently, no one standing forward to help him.

Hiccup was small, scrawny, clumsy and universally despised. He was the worst Viking, unable to fight and apparently unable to follow orders. Every time he tried to help, he brought disaster to Berk. But he was the son of the Chief Stoick the Vast, his only son-and he was an embarrassment to the Tribe. Snotlout, his larger, brawnier cousin had replaced him as heir for the good of the Hooligan Tribe and Hiccup, set aside and supplanted, was now the constant target for abuse and beatings. He just lay on the cold ground, his head spinning and body hurting and just sobbed his heart out. it wasn't fair: he couldn't have tried more.

Finally, he lifted his head. The other teens had long gone, the fun finished for the moment. Painfully, he levered his body up and scrambled to his feet. It was just another day in his perfect life: his father ignoring him as usual, the daily beating and now he was late for work. He rubbed his painful shoulder and slowly began to drag himself down the hill to the forge.

He painfully slank into the back of the forge, grasping his leather apron and shrugging it on. He winced as he moved his right shoulder: this was going to be a nuisance at work. He looked up-and met the scowl of his boss, Gobber the Belch. The big blacksmith frowned, his eyes inspecting the scrawny and battered shape.

"Nice of you to turn up!" he said sarcastically. Hiccup just slumped miserably.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Somehow, he had got into the habit of apologising on principle. No matter what happened, he would end up being in the wrong so he might as well save time.

"Laddie, you've got work to do," the blacksmith said gruffly, taking in the grimy and battered shape. Gobber had been his boss since he was apprenticed at eight and though he trusted the blacksmith implicitly, he just didn't feel there was anything Gobber could do to help him. The blacksmith handed over an axe. "This was brought in for sharpening. Can you manage that without any catastrophes?" Hiccup nodded and held the axe, glancing at it and then freezing. He knew this weapon: it was Astrid's axe.

Astrid Hofferson. The most beautiful girl in Berk, with sun bright hair that flopped over one eye and braided fiercely. Her eyes were a clear sea blue and her face was perfection. She was totally the most beautiful girl on the island. If not the archipelago, his mind amended softly. Astrid had been his friend when they were small-before everything changed. She was now the most promising shield maiden in the history of Berk. And she had stood by, her arms crossed, as Snotlout had pounded him into the dirt this morning. He shivered.

He turned the axe over in his hands. This was a very familiar weapon-because Hiccup had made it. When Astrid was ten, she had wanted an axe, but her family had been too poor to afford the fine metals needed for such a weapon. But Hiccup, who had been listening to the awkward conversation between Gobber and Astrid's father, had set to work, using all the scrap iron he could scrounge and beg in return for his work to craft her a magnificent axe. It was the most perfect piece of work he had ever done and he had shyly handed it over to Mr Hofferson with the explanation why he had made it. Astrid had been his friend and though she was growing more distant as his capacity for screwing up became more pronounced, he already loved her. The axe was a gift for his friend-though she never acknowledged him or ever thanked him. He had felt a small inner warmth every time he saw her use the axe and he felt the same warmth as he turned it over in his hands.

"Sure," he said thoughtfully and gently pressed the blade to the grindstone. He knew Astrid went to the forest to train and he guessed that she had killed a lot of trees to get the blade this blunt. But he would have to be careful: if anything happened to the blade, he would be dead. Literally. Gobber peered at him.

"Laddie, are ye sure ye want to do that?" he asked and Hiccup looked up.

"What?" he asked softly.

"I mean, that is Astrid's axe and if anything happens..."

"You'll be looking for a new apprentice," Hiccup finished dryly. "I'm okay."

"You're holding your right arm funny," Gobber noted. Hiccup sighed.

"Being beaten up by Snotlout will do that for you," he shot back sarcastically. Then he paused. "Gobber, why does no one step in and stop it?" His bright green eyes were dark with hurt. The blacksmith looked at his apprentice and sighed.

"If your father raised his voice, they would leave you alone," he said. "But he believes that a Viking must stand up for himself and deal with his own problems." Hiccup stared at him incredulously. He swallowed and turned away, his shoulders hunched.

"Of course," he said sarcastically. "Couldn't possibly actually protect your own son!"

"He gave up so much protecting you that you owe him everything!" Gobber snapped. Stoick was his best friend. Hiccup winced and nodded.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. And then he groaned. In his distraction, he had notched the axe blade. He stared at it in utter dismay. "I really am useless," he whispered. "And Astrid is going to kill me!"

Then he paused. He knew that he had recently made a new axe for Haaken and Gobber was waiting for final specifications for the haft. He sneaked into the back and found the axe-head. He brought it through and measured it against Astrid's. The match was almost perfect but the head was lighter because Hiccup had improved his metalwork techniques in the last five years. He took the axe through and urgently began to work on it, shaping the blade and sharpening it exactly to Astrid's specifications. Finally, he swapped the axe handle over.

"Yer customer is here," Gobber announced and Hiccup looked up, guiltily. Then he gave the blade a fast polish and timidly handed it over. Astrid narrowed her eyes and turned the axe over in her hands.

"Hi-hi, Astrid," he stammered and she frowned as she stared into the pale face still darkening with bruises from his beating. She never used his moniker Hiccup the Useless or simply Useless because Snotlout had come up with the cruel name and because, despite his many deficiencies, it was very obvious Hiccup wasn't useless. Clumsy, uncoordinated, too small and pathologically incapable of following the simplest orders but not useless. She knew he probably was actually a pretty good smith.

"This feels lighter," she said coldly. Hiccup actually flinched as if expecting a blow.

"Y-yes, I-I rebalanced it..." he said, cringing inwardly. Gods damn it, Hiccup! Can't you even manage the simplest sentence without stammering like the village idiot? he thought savagely at himself. She swung it thoughtfully and then nodded.

"Thanks," she said brusquely. His eyes widened and a slight smile lifted his lips.

"You-you're welcome..." he replied hopefully but she had already turned and was marching away. He sagged. Then Gobber frowned.

"Rebalanced?" he said suspiciously. "Okay-what's going on, laddie?" Hiccup gave a wild grin for a few seconds.

"N-nothing! Why-why would anything b-be going on?" he stammered rapidly. Gobber folded his arms. Hiccup gave another yip and then sighed. He reached back and showed the ruined axe head, hanging his head in shame. Gobber shook his head.

"I told ye to be careful!" he scolded the boy. Hiccup inspected the floor furiously.

"I know," he admitted, "and I'll make it up, Gobber. I promise! I know I can recondition this axe head and make it as good as..."

"No, ye'll make if from new!" the blacksmith growled at him. Hiccup sighed and turned to the forge.

"Yes, Gobber. Sorry." His voice had dropped to a small whisper. It was going to be a long day and a late night. This day was just getting better and better!

oOo

It was long after dark when the boy dragged his aching body back up the hill to his home. He was cold, aching and hungry: he hadn't dared go to the Hall for food because he really didn't want to risk running into Snotlout or the other teens. He quietly opened the door to the Chief's house and entered reluctantly.

His father was already seated in the huge chair by the fire, his eyes focussed on the flames, ignoring the skinny boy walking quietly towards the store.

"Hey, Dad," he said softly, searching and finding some dry bread and a hunk of dried fish. Wearily, he sat by the fire and chewed uninterestedly. His father ignored him. "How was your day?" he persisted. Stoick gave a growl and his left fist clenched.

"I have spent all the day solving the problems of the villagers, organising defences against the next raid and training my heir," he snarled. Hiccup finished his bread. Snotlout had an ego the size of Berk but the intelligence of a yak.

"How-how's that going for you?" he asked tonelessly. It was a subject Hiccup still felt keenly: some of his best interactions with his Dad had been while Stoick had been trying to teach him Chiefing. Stoick turned on his son with a snarl in his face.

"That's none of your business, is it, boy?" he shouted. Hiccup flinched.

"I-I was only try-trying to m-m..." he tried to explain but the Chief fixed him with his enraged glare.

"And do you recall why this is not your business?" he roared. The boy shrank, his eyes shining with misery.

"Y-yes..." he murmured.

"Yes. Because you are utterly incapable of obeying orders, boy! You are weak and the most disappointing son a father could have. You cause chaos and destruction wherever you go. You deliberately defied me and tried another of your gods damned contraptions which almost destroyed half the village! And last time, because you can never follow orders, you caused...this." He rose on his wavering legs, his right arm hanging limp by his side. Hiccup's eyes widened and he cowered back.

"I-I-I-I'm s-so s-sorry, D-dad..." he stammered, his eyes shimmering with tears. "I-I..."

"You caused this!" Stoick repeated. "You deserve the scorn and dishonour of the village. I have already had to replace you as my heir. The village is tired of your antics, boy. Any more and I can't answer for what they'll do!"

"D-Dad, I-I only t-try b-because I-I w-want t-to b-be one of y-you..." Hiccup whispered.

"You are the worst Viking in the history of Berk!" Stoick bellowed. "I could not be more ashamed! Now get out of my sight!"

Hiccup could barely breathe for the lump in his throat but he scrambled to his feet and raced up the steep stairs to his loft. He was desperate to get away before he started sobbing and embarrassed his father further. Stoick sat heavily in his chair but he could still hear the soft sobs as his son reached his bedroom. The boy buried his head in his pillow and tried to muffle his grief but he had never before been torn apart by his father so brutally. He loved his father-he really did-but he knew his father no longer loved him. And worse, his look had contained contempt verging on hatred.

"I just want to make you proud," he whispered.