Chapter Text
Many, many things could be said about Berk. That it was sturdy; true. That it was a place packed with violent, super-awesome vikings? Also true. That it was packed with also violent, super evil theiving dragons? Also, also true. They’d burned down his neighbor’s house last week. They’d burned down almost everyone’s house, during some week.
It had scared Snotlout, if anyone could believe it. Served as an ashy reminder of what could happen to him. To any of them, if someone failed. If Snotlout failed.
His family’s own house got destroyed too, just a year ago; a monstrous nightmare had climbed on top of it like his ancestral home had been a toy. A hill to clamber over. The rebuild had gone as efficiently as the others, if his dad had anything to say about it, but Snotlout felt like the balance of…something had shifted. Something had changed in his father, that day. In both of them.
His ancestors would not be proud of the amount of heirlooms they had lost. (They also apparently wouldn’t be proud of how he cried like a “little baby” over the loss of his only remaining childhood toy that he had secretly still slept with at night. Which…didn’t matter. He was 15. He should act like it.) His dad certainly wasn’t proud, and his pride in Snotlout had seemed to distinguish overnight.
Never before had Snotlout felt such a burning disappointment, pointed at him. Because he had been too late. (They had all been too late.) It had felt like his world had burned down, that day. He never wanted it to happen again, but…
His world was on fire. This, unfortunately, was not new.
The loud, haunting bellow of the warning horns had seemed to send itself straight to his ears like a thunderdrum echo (or what he’d thought one would sound like, anyway…) in the middle of the night, like always.
Snotlout had jolted awake with a shout and fell out of his bed in his attempts to jump out of it as a “prepared viking should”. Like always.
By the time he’d shoved some kind of clothing on--some semblance of protection--he was off; bolting down the stairs, past the battered shields and the ceremonial axe that hung on the walls; they’d somehow survived the fire. Snotlout scrambled to fetch his shoes, mind racing in an anxious sort of terror. Not that. Not that he was scared, just… He wouldn’t be late this time; (last week, he had reported for duty even later than Fishlegs did. And that guy didn’t know how to outrun a lazy ram.)
Snotlout swore, those months ago, that he really would try. He would try harder, be better. He had thought he’d been doing good enough--been strong enough--already, but. Nothing seemed to make his father any happier. Nothing he did was as awesome as his Dad could be, but Snotlout tried anyway. (He did. He did try, and he, personally, thought the formation of an official Fire Brigade was cool, anyway.)
The second he opened the door (neither parent in sight--probably out fighting like good, strong vikings--) his 100%-not-scared face was blasted with a wall of heat, and he cringed very manly…ily. Very cool-y. He was cool, and he was running through the fire-scarred lands to his station like vikings in bedtime legends. Because he was so cool. And not scared.
The twins and Astrid were at the post already when he got there, (Thor, Astrid was so…awesome…), the twins snickering at the slightly awestruck look that overtook his face whenever he saw her.
“Hey, Snotdung, is Astrid’s stupid face on fire or are you just staring?” Tuffnut snorted, his gangly shoulders so curled inwards that Snotlout didn’t know how he could lift her own dumbass limbs, let alone the water bucket he had filled.
“Wait, if Astrid’s face is stupid, then what does that make his?” Tuffnut elbowed Ruff in the boney ribs, his long face contorting into a long-worn sneer.
“Snotty, obviously,” Ruffnut huffed, pulling her equally thin self up to her (annoyingly tall) height, like the wheatstalk she was, “ ‘Tis in the name, brother Nut--”
“Can you muttonheads stop talking, already?” Astrid huffed, nearly spilling her recently-filled bucket (but she didn’t, because she was so effortlessly cool--) as she hurriedly stood from the crouch she was in, “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s fire. Everywhere, and we--,”
Astrid took a pause to glare at him, a dragon’s roar and matching viking bellow echoing from…somewhere, (Oh, Thor, she’s looking at him with her eyes and he--) and then Fishlegs, as he came lumbering over in a fast-panting run, “--have to go put them out. Now,”
Nothing else was said, a sudden shriek splitting from the air as the chief’s commanding boom could be heard nearly from across town. Right.
Snotlout hurriedly filled a bucket, wincing man-ily again as a rumbling crash resounded across the path, a seething hiss of a dragon echoing into the chaotic night. Ash was beginning to steadily rain from the churning sky, whipped into a frenzy by dozens of beating, scaled wings. Ash that probably contained someone else’s family heirlooms. Right.
He turned just in time to watch as Astrid poured her bucket on a slightly smoldering hut, her golden hair gleaming divinely in the harrowing light. There had never been a person who could be so awesome, he thought. (Except for his dad. And maybe the chief.)
Her water spray was, of course, super effective—far better than the twins’ had been—and he nearly dropped his bucket in his hurry to join her. (Faster, Snotlout, better, Snotlout--).
The fire on the house—it was unrecognizable as to whose, anymore--was steadily licking up the wooden panels, working its devilish path to the roof. Snotlout didn’t have to look at the haunted expression on Fishleg’s face as they worked to distinguish the flames that their efforts were probably useless, on this one, but he saw it anyway. Those wide, fearful eyes. He didn’t want to know if his own face reflected the other boy, and he didn’t stop to think about it--just kept his head down, eyes squinting through the heat, and ran to refill his own bucket.
Astrid had turned, eyes wide with a sudden fear that Snotlout dreaded seeing on her, “Oh, Thor,”
As she turned fully away from her filling bucket, Snotlout not far behind, a gleaming two-headed dragon slithered its way out from behind the smouldering hut, mouths clicking and spitting and gassing and--
Boom.
Snotlout and Fishlegs practically flew backward, the blast searing their skins more than either would probably admit later. Thor, that hurt.
“Hey!” Astrid yelled, pushing her way forward and throwing her bucket across them, fear seemingly pushed aside. Snotlout flinched away from the rash movement, even as he gazed with wonder and fear at her angered, ashen face.
(Later, he’ll realise that they had been on fire. Astrid had probably saved his skin, if not his entire life. She was so awesome.)
An older, grizzled viking came bolting over at the commotion, two others at his side, weapons held high. They all let out an angered shout at the destruction. Snotlout absently wondered if the home had been one of theirs, as he scrambled to pick himself up off the newly muddy, heated ground.
He stood just in time for one of the recent vikings to turn and shout, “Go! Protect the smithy and the square--if that burns down then we’ve as well as sent ourselves to Valhalla early!”
The woman next to him yelled, her voice splitting the air just as a dragon shriek chilled his bones, “Come back, you two-headed curmudgeon! I’ll make a Thor’s-blasted steak of you!”
Astrid nodded in concentrated fury, her teeth grit amidst the terror as she turned to the others, (she always knew what to do, she was just so--), “Hey! You heard him, get to the smithy! If we run out of weapons to protect ourselves, then we’re all dead,”
Snotlout laughed, loudly, Not Terrified, “Oh--wow, hey! I was just--just about to say the same thing, that’s so crazy, maybe I--we should, you know--”
“Stop talking?” Astrid shoved his fallen bucket into his hands, immediately turning away in the smithy’s direction, “Great idea. Run,”
The five of them took off like sheep in a boar pit, buckets clutched to their chests like harried mothers at a weeping baby’s crib, dragon wails breaking the night often enough to keep any thoughts of slowing down to a passing wish.
They got to the smithy just in time for Gobber to yell at them, “About time you lot showed up! ‘s beginning to think you all decided to sleep in!”
Another hut, shockingly packed close to Gobber’s residence at the anvil, was burning, a molten lump of rock piled at the burning door. Evidence, culprit.
Fishlegs whimpered, breath coming in heaves, (Snotlout couldn’t tell if it was in fear or excitement that he got to spew his stupid dragon facts again), “Gronkle lava, loo-looks like. Hot--don’t touch it, it’s a heat class five, maybe six? Right now, it’s even hotter than Monstrous Nightmare flame-”
“Do you ever stop talking, Fishface?” Snotlout snapped, pushing him towards the large, water-filled keg as he watched the twins bicker over the spout, Astrid running off with hes already filled, “Because I need you to shut your trap and be helpful for once,”
“Hello pot,” Tuffnut cackled merrily, the destruction seeming to do little to dull his constant amusement, bucket refilled and in his hands. He scampered off to the wreck before Snotlout could pummel him.
Ruffnut, chortling, followed suit, “Meet kettle!”
Snotlout practically yelled as he charged after them, matching bucket in hands, after a brief wait under the keg’s spout, “What does that even mean!”
The twins were busy tossing water every which way when he got to the burning doorstep, and Snotlout decided to go for the heart of the issue. Molten rock sizzled unpleasantly under his steaming efforts, the water boiling almost immediately after he threw it, and Snotlout swallowed uncomfortably as he stared at the hot lava. Was it…was it supposed to bubble like that? It almost looked like--
“Move!” Astrid all but hip-checked him out of the way, tossing her new water onto the flames, all thoughts of bubbles on his end forgotten. (She…she touched. She touched him. Voluntarily. Touched. Oh wow.)
“Haha…yeah,” Snotlout smirked, turning with her as she walked back to the keg, a subtle loosening in his shoulders. They saved it. Hel yeah.
All five of them walked back to the keg, hopefully to put out some other fire, and then.
A resounding boom shook what felt like all of Midguard as the house behind them was. Blown up. Again.
Sweet mother of Thor.