This will be a collection of one-shots and drabbles concerning the end of the movie and all things immediately after. Some will be humorous, others serious, who knows? Wide range of characters, wide range of ideas.

Moving Furniture

It really should have been a whole lot easier than it was. After all, the worst of the disaster was over, wasn't it? He had inanely led all of his warriors right into the clutches of a preposterously huge dragon. He had experienced the most terrifying moment of his life thinking his son was dead. He had repaired boats from little more than charred ruins. All of those had been difficult in their various ways. Everything should have become easier from there.

Stoick blamed the bed.

Who was out of his mind upon designing that little something known as the bed? What happened to just throwing a bunch of furs on the floor and calling it good? Oh, everyone liked to blame the mice. The beds were supposed to keep their sleepers up off the floor and away from mice. But wait, mice had those tiny little claws that could certainly get a mouse off the floor and into a nice warm bed. So beds were completely useless in that department.

And why did they have to be so big and heavy? What was with this personality flaw that led to this taste for things that were large, ornately decorated, and bulky? What was the concept here? Make things big so more randomness could be carved into it?

In the beginning, the bed was just to a bed. And it had made perfect sense to move it to the main floor. When one's kid and his dragon fall a thousand or so feet and wham into the ground and the kid is injured and unconscious and one doesn't know when the kid is going to regain consciousness it was perfectly logical to put them in a bed that was in a convenient spot for keeping an eye on them. Stoick was an extremely busy man who really did not have the time to enter the house, climb the stairs, check on Hiccup, go back down the stairs, repeat an hour or so later. Save a few steps and put his bed in the main room. Throw open the door every now and then to see how Hiccup was doing.

It had sounded so easy.

He couldn't remember how he had gotten that bed up there in the first place. No clue.

It barely fit through the doorway.

And that was how Stoick found himself. Trapped up at the top of a staircase with a bed scraping against the walls, a bed precariously leaning downstairs. And he had absolutely no help. He had figured he could move a bed by himself. And he could. And he would. And it didn't matter that it would have been much easier had there been someone grabbing the other side of the bed. He really should have thought of that in the first place. Now… now he really wasn't in the position of getting past the bed and grudgingly asking someone for help.

The only other person in the house was Hiccup. Unconscious Hiccup who had been more or less thrown into a chair while his father decided to take a few minutes to get him a nice comfortable bed.

Great.

He took a deep breath. He could do this. He would just… push. Yes, push. One step at a time.

Except it was a rather slender staircase. The bed seemed just slightly wider than it.

He tried anyway. He pushed. Miraculously, it worked. He pushed again. One step, then another. Okay, slow going, but definitely workable.

Then his side of the bed caught in the doorway. Stoick twisted the wood. Nothing. The bed was jammed.

He sighed and pushed it. Then he threw his entire weight against the bed and out it sprung, Smooth, quick, and—

The house shook as the bed crashed, not down the steps, but right off the side in one steep plummet to the floor.

Stoick closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a few moments. He really did not want to put together another bed that of course would have to be ornately carved. Then, faking calm, he surveyed the damage.

The bed, the big bulky thing, was fine. Except for the side that had fallen into the hearth and was gently smoking.

He climbed down the stairs, turned the bed upright, and shoved it into the corner he had cleared. Good. Amazing how domestic he could be. He was all over this.

He lifted Hiccup into the bed and tucked a blanket around him. Hiccup looked so… non-trouble-making this way. So peaceful.

But if the kid regained consciousness within a day, Stoick would kill him.

Moving a bed required at least three days of unconsciousness. At the very, very least.