Here's More of the Summary: A collection of one-shots of one Snotlout Gary Jorgenson. There'll be action, sadness, romance, laughter and even some tears. Follow Snotlout and Hookfang as Snotlout always manages to get himself into trouble. Follow Spitelout and his wife trying to raise a son, who, in his father's eyes, never seems to be good enough. But most importantly, follow Snotlout through each experience as he learns the most crucial life lessons of being a Dragon Rider and what it means to have Hookfang right there for him, to always guide him.

Dragon Encounter

"Come on, boy-o, don't dawdle now." Spitelout glanced back at his son with narrowed eyes, scowling as he saw the boy nearly trip over a tree root from not paying attention of where he was going.

"Oops. Haha, sorry dad." Spitelout heard the boy laugh and he gripped the handle of his axe tighter, shaking his head a little. In his other hand, he firmly grasped the handle of his shield.

Snotlout carried his own axe and shield. He wore his helmet proudly as he marched behind his father into the woods, towards the cove. He was excited; his dad had told him he was taking him out to teach him how to use his axe properly, something he hadn't really gotten to do before.

Snotlout was eight years old now and already the spitting image of his father. Acted just liked him too. That was one thing Spitelout was proud of in his son, but it was one of the very few qualities he was proud of.

"You excited, boy-o?" Spitelout glanced around, his green eyes narrowed, taking in the atmosphere of the forest. He was listening for any dragons that might be lurking around.

Snotlout grinned, perking up. "You kidding, dad? I'm really excited! Can't wait to throw my axe for the first time…." Snotlout waved the heavy axe around in his hand with a grin. "You know Astrid practices with her axe all the time, dad. You should see her."

Spitelout watched as a bird flew off from a tree as they passed, only half-listening. "Yeah, that's great, son."

Snotlout was chuckling to himself as he waved his axe around. But the axe was heavy and even when he tried to hold onto it tightly with two hands, it whisked right out of his hands, hitting the back of his father's helmet with a loud clang.

Spitelout stopped and whipped around. "'Ey! Careful, son!" He rubbed at his helmet and glared down at him.

Snotlout grinned sheepishly, embarrassed. "Heh. Sorry Dad."

"Just pick it up." Spitelout pointed to the fallen axe and turned, continuing to march, his fur cape flapping behind him.

Snotlout watched his father a moment with big eyes, reaching down and picking up the axe. His father gave him that axe for his birthday few years ago. Snotlout was very proud to own one but he didn't think he could be as good as Astrid Hofferson. But that was why Spitelout was taking his son out now, to teach him to fend for himself and learn some combat.

Spitelout sniffed the air as he marched along, listening closely. He didn't see anything, no sign of dragons anywhere. Good.

He suddenly stopped and Snotlout bumped into him with an 'oof.'

"Watch it, boy-o." Spitelout growled softly at him with a glare, pointing an axe towards some trees. "We'll practice here."

Snotlout looked at the trees, blue eyes wide. "Okay. Sure Dad."

Spitelout set his shield down up against a nearby rock and watching him, Snotlout did the same, using two hands to grip his axe, standing beside his father, watching him.

Spitelout's axe in hand, he looked proud as he stood in battle stance, holding his axe tightly with one hand. He also looked like a true warrior. Snotlout was amazed by him.

"Okay son, watch your old man do the works. Axe-throwing is simple, shouldn't be hard, even for you…..watch."

Spitelout brought the axe back with a hand and then threw it, sending it flying, the blade landing on the trunk of an evergreen tree, implanting itself.

Spitelout laughed in success, putting his hands on his hips. "Aha, Spitelout, Spitelout, oi oi oi!" He praised himself gleefully with a smile. "Now son, it's your turn."

"Me?" Snotlout's grin fell and he looked at the tree, then back at his father. "Uh, I don't think I can do it, dad."

"Well sure you can, boy-o," Spitelout nudged him on the shoulder a little, smirking. "You got it in you."

Snotlout's axe was being held up in his arms and it felt like it was slipping out of his grip. "Uh, maybe you should show me another demonstration again?" He grinned sheepishly, suddenly afraid. He didn't think he could do it. At least never as good as his father.

Spitelout's hands went to his hips. "Now son, you're growing up now. You ain't gonna be havin' your old man teaching ya lessons like these yer whole life. You're a Jorgenson, boy-o. And Jorgensons, we're warriors. Now be a man and throw me that axe."

Snotlout hesitated, shifting on his feet, watching the tree in front of him with wide eyes.

When he didn't say anything, Spitelout hit his shoulder again. "Go on son, ya can do it."

Well, if his dad thought he could do it, then Snotlout thought he could do it.

The boy's eyebrows furrowed and he focused directly on the tree where he was aiming, doing his best to look tough.

Holding his axe with both hands, he raised it back and gave his best efforts, throwing his axe as hard as he could.

To say the axe went far was an understatement. Snotlout doubted it had even made it five feet.

He had thrown it practically straight into the ground.

A loud groan of disappointment came from his father, who shook his head with a scowl. "Ah, come on, son! Ye call that axe-throwing? You're gonna havta do better than that when it comes to combat, son. Otherwise, ye'd be dead in an instant."

Embarrassed, Snotlout grabbed the handle and pulled, trying to pry the blade out of the ground. "S-Sorry Dad." He kept his eyes downcast, frowning.

"Ach, jus' do it again, boy-o." Spitelout huffed, watching him.

Snotlout got the axe out of the ground and inhaled a deep breath, trying to relax. Being around his father always had him on edge.

This time he concentrated even harder on the tree in front of him and tried to use more of his strength, throwing the axe as hard as he could.

This time it went farther. But it still didn't make the tree. The axe was just too heavy for little Snotlout.

"Gah, come on son! You're better than this!" Spitelout almost growled at his son, giving him a mean look, walking over to the tree and yanking his axe out of the bark with ease, grabbing his son's on the way. "You're a Jorgenson! Now act like one!" He almost snapped, shoving the axe into his sons' arms.

"Now this is how you do it," He announced, repeating his process of bringing the axe back and throwing it, the satisfying crack of the blade landing in the bark ringing in the air.

Snotlout watched with an open mouth, frowning, eyes wide.

"Now you do it, jus' like that, boy-o." Spitelout looked at his son with a huff, watching him expectantly, narrow eyes dark.

Snotlout swallowed and tried again. It wasn't any better.

Now, Spitelout was losing his patience. Fetching his son's axe again, he grumbled aloud. "What in Valhalla is the matter with you, son? It's jus' a little axe-throwing. Sharpen up, boy-o!" He shoved the axe into Snotlout's arms.

"But dad, i-I'm tryin' my best."

Spitelout snorted at the whimper. "Yer best, eh? Well yer best ain't good enough. Come on, do it again now."

Snotlout raised the axe again.

"No no, boy-o, hold it one hand, one hand, son." Spitelout took his one of son's hand away. Snotlout's hand faltered. "Dad, it's heavy."

"Heavy? Oh don't even try me with heavy, jus' throw it, boy-o."

Biting his lip, Snotlout threw the axe and immediately regretted it.

Spitelout's fist hit him in the arm, not too hard but it still knocked him down. "Snotlout!" He growled. "What kind of Jorgenson are ya?"

Snotlout winced, rubbing at his arm. His head was immediately lowered, refusing to look up. He knew when his father got into his "angry moods" and when Spitelout's fists started punching, you didn't dare look directly into his eyes. "D-Dad, I-I"

"How are you going to become chief if you can't even throw one axe, boy-o?" Spitelout interrupted him, his voice gruff, eyes narrowed in anger. "Ye can't be chief if you can't even throw an axe."

"But dad, I ain't gonna be chief, Hiccup is." Snotlout frowned, managing to look up with big eyes.

"Hiccup? Stoick's offspring won't make it till even next spring. But you, Snotlout, you're gonna be chief one day. But not unless you can learn to handle an axe." Spitelout continued to criticize.

Snotlout got to his feet. "Dad, what if-"

"How you gonna defend yourself, son, when met with trouble?" Spitelout growled, pointing the axe threatingly at his son, who yelped a little and jumped back, wide-eyed, frightened.

Spitelout's expression darkened. "See boy-o? If you get scared from even yer ol' father-"

"I'm sorry dad, sorry, I jus', got scared."

"Scared? Scared boy-o?" Spitelout frowned, picking his son up by his shirt, making him flinch and squeak with fear. "I'll give ya somethin' to be scared about! If you don't start actin' like a real Jorgenson and soon, I'm gonna give you a real lickin', boy!"

Snotlout squirmed a little, trying not to cry. "Dad-"

"Whatta ye gonna do when a dragon tries to kill ya? Cry to yer old man?" Spitelout sneered, dropping his son. Snotlout stepped away, just glad his father hadn't hit him. "You have to be ready, Snotlout. You gotta fight and you gotta be good at it. Now we're gonna keep doin' this till you get it right, son!" Spitelout huffed, his voice mean and forceful.

"B-Bu-But Dad, I don't think I'll be as good as you." Snotlout peeped a little.

"You better be, son." Spitelout growled, grabbing his axe. "A Jorgenson does not fail nor do they tolerate failure." He gave a loud yell, tossing his axe angrily, listening to the crack of the impact. Snotlout flinched, gulping hard.

"So give it all you got, son." Spitelout glared at him.

"I can't, dad, I-" Snotlout shook his head with a whimper, starting to back away. He was scared of his father when he was mad, mainly because he didn't want to get pummeled when his dad beat him, but his dad was just outright, naturally scary.

Snotlout was also discouraged. Clearly he couldn't do this and his father was only getting more and more aggressive.

"Snotlout, don't you go runnin' off on me now, boy-o." Spitelout almost snarled, pointing a finger as a threat.

But Snotlout started jogging off, whimpering faintly, afraid his father would follow him and snatch him up and beat the living yak dung out of him. But he only heard him yell and that was a good thing.

"Snotlout! Snotlout!" Spitelout shouted, than snarled. He grabbed his son's little axe and threw it with a yell, panting as he watched it hit the tree. He muttered and cursed under his breath, cursing his son.

He was angry, furious more like it. Here was his son who he wanted to be chief but the boy couldn't throw an axe, not one axe. What kind of chief would that be? Certainly he'd never let his son grow up to be chief living like that. He'd need to spare himself the ultimate humiliation first.

Spitelout didn't go after his son, he didn't even care where the boy ran off to. Instead he took out his anger by axe-throwing, using both of the axes, swearing and muttering as he did so, marching each footstep with aggression, his whole attitude a grumble.

He picked up a stone and sharpened the blades, snorting to himself, tossing the axes effortlessly again. He didn't understand how his son couldn't learn to throw his axe; this was how Spitelout's father had taught him to use an axe after all.

Angrily, Spitelout snatched the handles tightly, pulling them out of the trunks with a huff, stomping off back to his throwing spot.

"Spitelout!" He heard a yell, perking up with a mean look, throwing his axe as he did so.

"Aye, hello Gobber." He straightened and watched as the one-legged, one-armed Viking came up to him. A little brown-haired Viking followed close behind him.

"What are you doin' all the way out here, huntin' for trolls?" Gobber joked, grinning as he walked up to his comrade.

"Thor's heifers, no!" Spitelout snorted, arms crossed across his chest. "Teachin' the boy a little axe-throwin' that's all."

"Oh! Well same here. Sorta. Tryin' to teach the wee one a few things around the bat too while his father's out on duty."

Spitelout's eyes wandered to Gobber's feet, scowlin' softly. "Hey Hiccup."

Hiccup's green eyes poked out from behind Gobber's leg, looking shy. "Hi Spitelout." Came his soft voice.

Spitelout eyed him; he pitied the chief's son, what a weakling. At least his son was much better off than that fishbone.

"Eh, Spitelout, in order to teach the wee one a little axe-throwin', don't you sorta need the wee one around?" Gobber looked around, brow raised.

Spitelout shook his head, groaning with frustration. "Ach, boy ran off after he couldn't even impress his father with some axe-throwin'. Even that wee lass Astrid does a better job than 'em."

Gobber didn't really answer, just nodded a little.

Hiccup came out from hiding and looked around. "Where's Snotlout?" He frowned. Even though Snotlout was mean, the two boys still played together. Since their fathers were so close they got put together for play time often.

"Ain't here, boy-o." Spitelout looked down at him, picking him up into his arms. "Ey, maybe you could try yer hand at axe-throwin', son, since my own's outta commission." He grinned a little, giving Hiccup Snotlout's little axe.

Hiccup dropped it almost instantly. "Whoa! It's heavy!" He could barely hold onto it and Spitelout sighed a little, taking it away. "Aye, guess not then."

Gobber chuckled a little, watching. "Sorry Spitelout, no dangerous axe play for this young-un under my watch. Stoick's orders."

Spitelout set Hiccup down as the boy squirmed and hopped away after a butterfly with a giggle. "Ach, that Stoick. Don't he know he's gotta get his boy ready to be chief?"

"Thought you said yer son's gonna be chief?" Gobber reminded him with a sort of drawl, giving him a dry look.

"He is." Spitelout sent him a look and then tossed his son's axe at the tree with force. "My son's gonna be chief or it's gonna be the death of me. Speakin' of which, where is that boy-o, anywho?" Spitelout looked around.

It had been awhile since his son had taken off.

"He better get back here if he knows what's good for him."

"I'm sure he's fine. He's Snotlout!" Gobber huffed. He never seemed too worried about anyone.

Spitelout went and grabbed his axe, shaking his head. "Ah, I better go find him. The Mrs. will have my head if I don't."

Gobber nodded a little. "Aye. Good luck to ya. Come on Hiccup, ye rascal. Let's go hunt for some trolls, but don't tell yer father."

Spitelout shook his head as he started walking off, grabbing his shield, starting off in search of his son. He just hoped the boy hadn't walked himself into any trouble or he'd give him trouble.

Meanwhile

Little Snotlout hurried along from retreating away from his father, looking back with wide eyes. He was surprised his father hadn't followed but he was more glad for the latter, really.

He stopped jogging, after realizing he was safe. Looking around, he listened to the birds chirping. It was peaceful, out in the forest, even for Snotlout. He grinned a little, climbing over a log, looking up at all the tall trees looming around him.

He wondered if he should start trying to search for trolls, like Gobber had told him, when suddenly he heard a noise. Snotlout stopped, wide-eyed. What was that?

Snotlout was curious, looking all around him. It had sounded close. When he heard the noise again, he started to run towards it, though a little scared, not quite sure of what to expect.

He got to the cove and peered over the edge on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. "Huh." He looked around, not seeing anything.

Then there came the noise again and Snotlout jumped, flinching back, gasping when he saw what had made the noise. "A dragon!"

Snotlout cowered back a little, wide-eyed, afraid.

Down by the water, a young Dragon roared, rearing up on it's back legs, spreading it's wings out.

Snotlout recognized it as a Monstrous Nightmare dragon and even he knew how dangerous those dragons were. From where he lay, even from there the dragon looked scary.

Snotlout wanted to run away but he couldn't move, eyes fixated on the creature.

The dragon roared again and started flapping its wings, taking off, but soon she fell back to the ground with a weakened growl, slowly pulling herself back to her feet.

Snotlout watched with an open mouth as the dragon tried to fly away again but only fell to the ground. Scooting a little closer to the edge again, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched. "It's hurt…."

He frowned a little, watching the dragon struggle and give a pained roar, appearing weak. She raised herself but then fell back to her stomach, panting heavily, wings laid helplessly on the ground.

Frowning, Snotlout's mouth was an 'o'. He felt sorry for the dragon, completely forgetting he was supposed to be afraid of them. How could he be afraid of something when it was hurt and helpless?

Peering over the edge, Snotlout watched her struggle some more, frowning. He could remember times when he had gotten hurt and his father had to take him home and his mother would patch him up and give him stew and care for him, so that made him think. "Where's it's parents?" He whispered quietly.

The dragon down below let out another roar and started taking off again, eyes narrowed, trying to fly away, only to crash down again, landing hard.

Snotlout frowned and his eyebrows furrowed a little, almost sliding down over the edge to go help her. But then, there was an earth-shattering roar that left Snotlout frozen.

He heard wing-flapping and looked up with his mouth agape, gasping when he saw two massive Monstrous Nightmares fly down into the cove, landing near the young dragon, who roared in response, lifting her head.

Snotlout's eyes wide, he watched as the two adults nuzzled the head of the little one, their roars filling the air, the one nudging and sniffing at her injured wing.

Snotlout assumed it was the dragon's parents, the bigger one, the father, roaring out, trying to nudge his offspring into flying. The mother nuzzled her, roaring out softly, trying to help.

Snotlout felt sorry for the dragon family, watching with an upset frown. Then he saw another dragon near the three that he hadn't seen before. It was another young one, most likely the dragon's brother.

Bright red and lighting himself on fire with a roar, he flew up into the air and flapped in place, trying to encourage his sister to fly.

The sister roared and shrunk under her father's wing, nuzzling into his chest, looking scared. The father roared at the brother whose flames went out and he landed back on the ground, crawling near his sister with a soft grumble.

Snotlout, who was watching curiously, blinked and thought to himself and before he knew it, he carefully eased himself over the edge, sliding down until his feet hit the ground, and little Snotlout made his way over to the enormous beasts, not even feeling scared.

He thought he could help them.

As Snotlout came up to them, the mother was the first to notice, raising her head, eyes narrowing, growing suspicious. Then the father noticed and he raised his body, roaring loudly into Snotlout's face, growling.

Snotlout flinched and gasped a little, stopping, watching them, swallowing hard.

He eyed the two little dragons under their father's wing, who appeared a little scared.

"I-It's okay…." He peeped, taking a couple steps, voice shaky. "I-I wanna try an' help."

The father dragon glared with his piercing yellow eyes and was about to roar at the boy again but the mother stopped him, slowly lowering her head to Snotlout's level.

He stopped and looked at her; even her snout was ginormous! He looked into her huge yellow eyes who seemed to stare at him before she started sniffing him.

She was careful as she sniffed his face, particularly his hair, snorting, knocking his tiny helmet off his head onto the ground.

Snotlout giggled softly and picked it up to put it back on, smiling at her.

The mother dragon grumbled softly at the father who snorted, sniffing Snotlout as well, letting out an angry snort, a puff of clear smoke escaping his nostrils.

Snotlout chuckled lowly, when he saw the red dragon, the other little one, clamber out from under his father's wing, hobbling over to Snotlout's leg with a roar, nipping at him, shaking his head around.

Snotlout raised a brow at him and lifted his leg away, stepping aside, watching as the father snorted a puff of smoke into the red dragon's face with a growl.

He chuckled a little and looked at the injured dragon, the pink one, slowly coming up to her, knowing he had to be careful.

She looked scared and roared faintly, trying to keep her face hidden.

"H-Hey, it's okay," Snotlout spoke softly, extending a hand out, approaching her. "Maybe I can help you."

He came up to her and squatted down, gently touching her wing with a frown.

She scooted away a little and roared quietly, watching him.

Snotlout tried to think of how he could help her; he wished Gothi was here, she helped Vikings get better all the time.

As he sat there on his knees, the mother nudged him a little with her snout, roaring quietly with a snort. He glanced at her, still trying to think.

"SNOTLOUT!"

Snotlout nearly jumped out of his skin, gasping as he heard the loud war cry of his father, looking up with huge eyes to see his father running up hurriedly, axe and shield in hand.

Snotlout got to his feet and took a few quick steps towards him. "Dad?!"

Behind him, the dragons roared and raised themselves, growling and roaring loudly, sounding angry.

"Dad, what are you doing?!" Snotlout cried out, watching his dad run as fast as he could up to them.

Spitelout snarled ferociously as any dragon could, throwing his axe at the father dragon, running up to them, running past his son to protect him from the wild beasts. "Get back, son!"

"Wait Dad, don't! Dad!" Snotlout shouted, watching him, gasping when one of the dragons snapped its jaws loudly at Spitelout.

"Run, Snotlout! Get back!" Spitelout shouted, pushing his son back with a hand protectively as the father dragon lit himself aflame, standing tall on his legs, looming menacingly over the Vikings with a deafening roar.

Snotlout gasped when he saw the dragon aflame, stepping back a little, mouth open with sudden fear.

The father snapped his teeth at Spitelout again and Spitelout hit the dragon with a fist, trying to push his son back to protect him. "Snotlout run! Now, boy-o!"

Snotlout gasped and shook with fear, eyes huge, turning and running off a ways, frightened, whimpering as he ran to hide behind a large rock, chest heaving as he panted.

He heard his father let out another war cry and his yell sounded just as terrifying as the dragons' roars did. He heard one of the dragons roar and he heard a blast of flame followed by his father's yelling.

Snotlout gasped and looked over the rock, eyes wide with fear. "Daddy?!"

He couldn't see the dragons or his father, but he could hear them all and it didn't sound good. His father was constantly shouting when he was in battle and all he could hear was roaring, fire and war-cries.

He whimpered a little and hid back behind the rock, hoping his father would be okay.

Suddenly the noise quieted down and Snotlout couldn't hear anything. He held his breath and looked over expectantly, hoping to see his father appear.

Gaping, his father suddenly came into sight and walked towards him, marching quickly. Snotlout was so relieved to see him alive he didn't notice the angry look on his father's face as he lept out with a wide smile. "Daddy, you're okay!"

Spitelout didn't answer his son, he just kept walking, his expression looking murderous.

Snotlout's smile fell and he cowered a little, watching him. "Dad?"

As Spitelout walked past him, he grabbed his son's hand without a word and kept right on walking.

Snotlout swallowed and held his hand, walking quickly beside him, having to walk fast in order to keep up with him.

Spitelout's axe was in his other hand and he was gripping it tightly and when Snotlout glanced over at it, he saw the blade coated in red blood, making him swallow hard, looking up at his father with a scared look.

He didn't know if his father was mad or hurt or what he was feeling but Snotlout was scared either way as Spitelout's hand gripped his tightly, almost pulling him along as they headed for the village.

Spitelout gripped his son's hand all the way as he marched home, not saying one word to him, glaring ahead, green eyes piercing with fury.

He flung open the door to their home, bringing Snotlout inside with him.

Spitelout's wife, June, looked up from her sewing, looking a little surprised. "Back so early? How was the axe-throwing?" She smiled at Spitelout, then her son, looking at them expectantly.

Spitelout let go of his son's hand, looking cross. "Ach, we had a little interruption. Dragons, the foul vermin beasts."

June rose from her rocking chair. "Dragons?" She sort of gasped softly. "Is Snotlout okay?" She looked at their son, half-expecting him to be hurt.

Snotlout frowned at them with big eyes, sort of hiding behind his father.

Spitelout watched his wife look over their son with a mean look, scowling. "Son, go to yer room."

Snotlout frowned a little and wanted to protest, but when his father gave you that look you didn't dare object. So he turned and crawled up the stairs that went to his room, swallowing, not sure if he was in trouble or not.

"Spitelout, is he alright?" June looked at her husband, her blue eyes wide.

"He's fine, lass, you saw him. He wouldn't be if I hadn't showed up on time though. Those dragons nearly got 'em. Imma go have a talk with the boy, knock some sense into him."

"Please be gentle with him." June said softly. "He's still a child you know."

Snotlout was sitting on the edge of his bed when his father opened his bedroom door and walked in, startling him a little.

He still had no idea if he was in trouble or not and he swallowed softly, clutching his stuffed yak doll his mother made for him tightly to his chest. "Daddy?" He peeped, watching his father close the door and wordlessly pace around the room.

When his father didn't answer or look at him, Snotlout tensed as he feared the worst for his punishment, gulping a little. "Dad, I-"

"What were you thinkin' out there, boy-o?" Spitelout suddenly spoke and looked at him. Even his voice was cross. "Dragons?! How many times do I havta tell ye-"

"But Daddy, I didn't-"

"They're beasts, son!" Spitelout shouted, fist clenching. "Vermin! They're MONSTERS!"

Snotlout flinched at the yelling, watching with huge eyes and an open mouth, scared, holding his toy tightly. "Monsters?" He squeaked. That word got to him.

"Have ye forgotten what they've done to us, boy?! Not only do they raid our village and destroy our homes, they KILL us! It was a dragon that killed yer grandfather ya know! Took 'em away and ate 'em!" Spitelout was yelling.

Snotlout watched him as he angrily paced around the room, swallowing hard, shaking a little. His father was right though. Spitelout's father, Achelout, was taken away by a dragon and he wasn't seen ever again.

"Wh-what kind was it?" Snotlout suddenly asked before he could stop himself.

"What?" Spitelout demanded, stopping to look at his son incredously.

"What kind of dragon was it?" Snotlout frowned at him, looking innocent.

"I don't know!" Spitelout didn't care, looking at his son as if he was off his knocker. "They're all the same, they're all killers, Snotlout! They're dangerous! They killed yer grandfather, they killed yer uncle, they killed the chief's wife, they nearly killed you when you was a babe, they've killed hundreds of us! And they'll kill you too if you ain't careful."

Snotlout was gradually getting more and more worried, believing his father. "They-they will?"

"Aye, son! They will kill you. But not if ye have enough sense to defend yourself. Stay away from the beasts, son. Don't go near 'em ever again! Ye hear me?! Promise me ya ain't never goin' near 'em again."

Snotlout frowned deeply as he could remember the dragons lighting themselves aflame, roaring loudly, snapping their teeth at his father. The vivid memory was haunting and Snotlout shook, convinced.

"I-I promise, dad, I won't go near 'em again."

"Aye, ye bet you won't." Spitelout huffed at him. "And the only reason you would go near 'em is to kill those foul beasts! Them lizards don't deserve to live in this world!" Spitelout grabbed his son's stuffed dragon toy by its neck, holding it up with hatred, showing his son.

"The monsters don't belong anywhere but rotting in Hell itself!" He declared and tossed the toy into the nearby fireplace.

Snotlout gasped, watching the toy take flame, burning and melting. Just like the Monstrous Nightmares…

Scared now and afraid, Snotlout looked back at his father. "The dragons aren't going to come here, right Dad? I don't want them to get me…..!"

"Ah, no dragons are going to get ya, son."

"But they're gonna come here and burn our house and get me and you and even Mom!" Snotlout almost whimpered, the scary dragons from earlier still pictured in his mind.

"Snotlout, they ain't comin' here, son." Spitelout almost chuckled a little. "And even if they do, I'm going to protect you. I won't let them lizards get you or yer mother."

Snotlout looked at him, almost in amazement. "Really daddy?"

"Aye, son. Yer old man can take on them foul beasts." Spitelout was smiling now, hands on his hips. "They'll learn not to come 'round here ever again after I spill the guts of the lot of them." He laughed a loud, hearty laugh.

Snotlout smiled at him, no longer afraid.

Spitelout turned back to him. "And son, one day, you're gonna be killing dragons too my boy."

"Like you and Stoick?" Snotlout said slowly.

"Aye son, jus' like yer old man. But first, ye gotta learn to master the axe-throwing."

Snotlout hopped down to his feet, grinning. "I'll learn! Let's go practice again tomorrow, dad! Imma be the best, dad! Even better than Astrid!"

Spitelout laughed loudly. "Aha that's my boy!" He punched Snotlout's arm playfully, though a little roughly. "And good thing ye got a warrior like myself to teach ya the right way to do it, Thor Almighty!" He laughed again. "You're going to be the best of the best, son. Though, never as good as me of course…"

Snotlout was smiling widely up at his father. "You really think so, dad?" For once, his father didn't seem mad at him, he was encouraging him. That was a first.

"I know so, boy-o. Then you'll be the best chief there ever was." Spitelout smiled at him.

Snotlout almost giggled and came up to his father, hugging his leg tightly. "Thanks Dad!"

Spitelout smiled softly and patted his son's head gently with a chuckle.

"And thanks for saving me earlier." Snotlout peeped quietly, looking up at his father with his big, blue eyes, smiling.

Spitelout looked a little surprised, but smiled, continuing to pat the boy's head. "Aye. Yer welcome son. I'll always be here to save you when I need to. Ye can count on that, boy-o."

A/N: Well how was it? I'd really like to know if you liked it or hated it...also, won't be accepting requests for Snotlout from HTTYD 3 cause i've still got 22 days to go, ugh.